by Ian Whates
"Right."
"So if the ship's mission was intended to be a peaceful one, why did the Byrzaens send it back to us packed to the gills with high-tech weaponry?"
"That's a question the media have asked more than once."
"I know, and no one has yet come back with a satisfactory answer. 'They're aliens, how are we supposed to understand them?' seems to about cover it. The point is that the official account does not tally with what I found on that ship, nor with what I've been able to extrapolate since. Everything I saw when I was in contact with The Noise Within suggested that the human-built AI part of the ship's mind was the sanest element involved.
"Trust me, there's a lot more to our new friends the Byrzaens than they're letting on."
Philip had a feeling he knew where this was leading. "And I suppose you intend to find out what."
"Well... I've nothing better to do, and I thought it might be fun."
"Uh-huh."
"So, are you in?"
"Of course."
Leyton was happy to be out of it. Benson had reacted with predictable anger at news of Beck's death, coming as it did so soon after the loss of Philip Kaufman, and security had been cranked up significantly, though no culprit or even serious suspect had yet emerged. Julia Cirese being responsible for Kaufman's murder gave Benson all the excuse he needed to throw most of the reporters out of New Paris, despite their bleating. Only a carefully vetted representative pool was allowed to remain.
Leyton seemed less in demand than he had been - doubtless Benson's way of expressing his displeasure at his failure to take Cirese alive - which enabled him to slip away, and he had every intention of making the most of this precious downtime, determined not to speculate as to what his lords and masters had lined up for him next. Benson might be preoccupied with all this Byrzaen business for now, but that wouldn't last. He'd soon remember that he had an idle eyegee to assign.
Leyton clocked the girl as soon as she came in. In theory he was hunched over a drink while perched on a stool towards the far left side of the bar and ensconced in a world of his own. All that was missing was a sign slung around his back saying 'do not disturb' for the image to have been complete. In practice old habits die hard, and while he was seeking some privacy, he still checked the long mirror behind the bar every time the door opened and a new customer walked through. In her case, he checked twice.
She was tall and slender - an athlete's frame, he thought, or perhaps a dancer's. The latter, judging by the way her hips moved as she walked; nothing exaggerated or over-pronounced, but mesmerising all the same - a seemingly unconscious and understated sway.
She wore a figure-hugging dress, black and expertly tailored, ending just above the knee and boasting a slit which exposed thighs as shapely as her calves. Her skin looked as pale as new-fallen snow, suggesting that wherever she came from they didn't see much natural sunlight.
All this he registered in two quick glances, before looking down once more and getting back to what he was there for: drinking and brooding.
Yet he was fully conscious of her presence as she lifted herself smoothly onto one of the stools near him. Being one of New Paris's swankier drinking holes, even the bar stools were elegant affairs, each composed of four sweeping rods of chrome which emerged from splayed feet and then curved upward to end in scroll-like curls that supported the seat proper. And what a seat. Mock leather skins stuffed with smart foam which moulded itself to your shape, constantly refiguring as you fidgeted or adjusted your balance, even responding to changes as slight as your leaning forward to pick up a drink.
The girl gave an "Oh!" of surprise and Leyton couldn't help but smile, knowing full well why. Their eyes met and she smiled in return.
"This'll take some getting used to."
A sweet, young voice. He couldn't place the accent; her pronunciation was crisp, precise, perhaps even a little old fashioned.
"I know. It feels as though someone's caressing your buttocks, doesn't it?"
She laughed, appearing to be caught off-guard and perhaps even a little shocked by his candour. "Yes, it feels exactly like that!"
"May I buy you a drink?" The words slipped out automatically, his commitment to an evening of solitary introspection crumbling like so much piled sand overrun by the waves.
She hesitated as if wary, but only for a breath or two, before smiling and nodding. "Thank you."
"What would you like?"
She shook her head and shrugged. "I've just arrived. No idea what one's expected to drink here, so why don't you surprise me?"
He thought for a moment and then ordered her a cocktail, not too bitter, not too sweet; a drink constructed around vodka and two very different citrus fruits, with a dash of Xanashu - a liqueur from Minos III which he'd developed a taste for a few years back - and crowned with a sprinkling of delphy seeds, which sank slowly through the drink, lending it a bitter hint but also making it sparkle enticingly.
The girl took a tentative sip, looked up at him, smiled and then took a longer one. "Mmm... this is good," she said. "Well chosen."
"Glad you like it. I'm Jim, by the way."
"Kethi. Pleased to meet you, Jim."
Kethi? That rang a bell, but he couldn't quite place why. Someone he'd known in the past? He didn't think so. Someone he'd heard about perhaps. "Unusual name," was all he said.
"Do you mean unusual in a good way or a bad way?"
He smiled. "Oh, in a good way, I reckon."
"That's all right, then." She turned her attention back to the drink. "What do they call this, again?"
"A Star Fall."
"Ah, because of the delphy seeds. Very apt." She took another sip. "I'd order this again, no question."
He noted her casual recognition of the delphy seeds. Hardly a momentous feat but at the same time they weren't common. His respect for her went up a notch. He was growing increasingly intrigued by this strange, pale, elfin-faced girl.
"So what do you do?"
"Several things, to be honest, but I suppose basically I'm an analyst."
"A human analyst? I thought we had computers and AIs to do that sort of thing these days?"
Her smile this time was a little thin, as if she'd heard similar responses often enough to be tired of them. "You're right of course. Computers are far swifter and more efficient at sifting data than we are, but they can't intuit. They can't make leaps of logic and extract meaning from the faintest of hints and scattered clues in the same way a human can, so there's still room for us organics in the analytical game."
"Really?" It made sense when she put the argument like that, but he had never considered it before. "That's fascinating."
She snorted. "You think? Try sitting on your jacksie sifting data for days on end. I promise you, the fascination would soon wear off."
He laughed. "I'm sure you're right."
The evening wore on and they continued to chat easily. Jim's thoughts were turning towards where the evening might end up with a bit of luck, when he asked the wrong question.
"So what brings you to New Paris?" It seemed an innocent enough thing to say.
"Believe it or not, I've got a message to deliver to someone."
He stared at her. "And that's it?"
"That's it."
"Must be a pretty important message."
"Oh, it is."
"Would it be nosy of me to ask who you're delivering it to?"
"Probably. Is that going to stop you?"
"No," he admitted.
"Well in that case, I'll tell you anyway. It's for you, Jim."
His blood ran cold. "Pardon?"
A setup. He should have guessed - a beautiful girl like this just happening to sit down next to him.
"I'm here especially to see you."
"Well done. You know, I was actually beginning to like you." All gaiety had gone. He was suddenly stone cold sober and all business, all suspicion, all offended anger. "So, why the charade? Why didn't you just come straight out and
say your piece?"
"Who said it was a charade? I had to know you really were Jim Leyton, and I had to know you were worthy of receiving the message."
Pretentious, but it piqued his interest again. "And do I pass?"
She smiled. "You do, on both counts."
"Fine; then say what you have to and then get out of here." Out of the bar, out of his life.
"If that's what you want after you've heard me out, then fine; but at least listen first."
He didn't say anything, just glared. Then he nodded - an almost imperceptible bob of the head.
"It's about Mya," the girl said. He froze. Mya? "She's in trouble, Jim; real trouble, and she needs your help desperately."
He didn't say anything. A dozen reactions chased each other through his thoughts without any of them condensing into words. She stood up, saying into his silence, "I'm going to leave now. If you're interested in helping her, follow me. If you're not, don't, and you'll never see me again. Nor Mya, for that matter. It's up to you."
She turned and walked out. Not hurriedly, not anxiously, but as calm as you like, without once looking back. Leyton watched her cross the room, until she was out the door and gone. Keeping tight rein on his thoughts and his emotions, he pushed the stool back and stood up.
He followed after her.
SHINE
Edited By Jetse De Vries
A collection of near-future, optimistic SF stories where some of the genre’s brightest stars and most exciting new talents portray the possible roads to a better tomorrow. Definitely not a plethora of Pollyannas (but neither a barrage of dystopias), SHINE will show that positive change is far from being a foregone conclusion, but needs to be hard fought, innovative, robust and imaginative.
Let´s make our tomorrows SHINE.
SOLARIS
[email protected]
www.solarisbooks.com
THE AGE OF RA
Eric Brown
The Ancient Egyptian gods have defeated all the other pantheons and claimed dominion over the earth, dividing it into warring factions. Lt. David Westwynter, a British soldier, stumbles into Freegypt, the only place to have remained independent of the gods’ influence. There, he encounters the followers of a humanist leader known as the Lightbringer, who has vowed to rid mankind of the shackles of divine oppression. As the world heads towards an apocalyptic battle, there is far more to this freedom fighter than it seems...
SOLARIS
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www.solarisbooks.com
THE AGE OF ZEUS
James Lovegrove
The Olympians appeared a decade ago, living incarnations of the Ancient Greek gods on a mission to bring permanent order and stability to the world. Resistance has proved futile, and now humankind is under the jackboot of divine oppression. Until former London police officer Sam Akehurst receives an invitation too tempting to turn down: the chance to join a small band of guerrilla rebels armed with high-tech weapons and battlesuits. Calling themselves the Titans, they square off against the Olympians and their ferocious mythological monsters in a war of attrition which some will not survive.
SOLARIS
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www.solarisbooks.com
DARKLORD
Ed Greenwood
Rod Everlar is about to become the most unlikely hero the world of Falconfar has ever seen...
When he mysteriously finds himself drawn into a world of his own devising, writer Rod Everlar is confronted by a shocking truth—he has lost control of his creation to a brooding cabal of evil. In order to save his creation, and himself, he must seize control of Falconfar and halt the spread of corruption before it’s too late.
SOLARIS
[email protected]
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Title
Indicia
PART ONE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
PART TWO
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
AD: Shine
AD: The Age of Ra
AD: The Age of Zeus
AD: Dark Lord