The medical staff kept a respectful distance for a few minutes. Anthony was holding Jack’s hand and tears silently rolled down his face. Bobby sat with head bowed. He gently put an arm around his brother’s shoulders.
“I’m very sorry,” one of the nurses said and Bobby nodded in acknowledgement. The nurse took Jack’s other wrist and held it for a while, confirming there was no pulse. She nodded at the doctor, who made a note on his comdev.
“Would you like a few minutes in private?” said the doctor.
“Yes,” said Anthony, “we’d appreciate that.”
It’s said that important decisions should never be made when tired or angry. After staying up two whole days and nights with his dying father, and immediately after witnessing his death, Anthony Karjalainen went directly to Charles Venkdt’s office.
After initially being held up by Venkdt’s PA he was finally told that his president was currently busy with an important function. The PA’s reticence had wound him up even further. It took some more infuriating pressing to get the PA to reveal what and where the function was. Anthony left the Venkdt building with fire in his eyes.
He had been told that Venkdt was addressing the inaugural meeting of the Martian Trade Association. This quasi-governmental organisation had been put together with the purpose of allowing networking between Mars’ emerging business class and forging some sort of unified front in key business areas. All Martian enterprises needed financial resources as well as logistics, communications and regulation. Taxation was another issue. It was something Venkdt thought he would leave to a later meeting. The inaugural session was something more akin to a backslapping session or a works beano, particularly in light of its setting in Gluttony, one of Marineris’ premier restaurants.
On entering the restaurant all Anthony Karjalainen could see was his father’s sworn enemy, in business for the last thirty years and in a profound ideological sense for the last few months of his life. For Anthony Karjalainen Charles Venkdt represented everything bad.
Venkdt was standing at the head of a long centre table and was making a rambling informal speech. His audience were mostly attentive and a few waiting staff moved about the room clearing plates from the dessert courses and bringing coffees. Venkdt was smiling, having just made a light-hearted remark about something or other.
“Charles Venkdt!” shouted Anthony. Venkdt stopped and peered through the semi-darkness to the figure he could see approaching. Two of Foveaux’s MSS personnel, seated either side of the room, snapped to panicked attention. Until now they had been enjoying the cushy assignment and free food. A crowded room such as this was a terrible place to have to subdue an assailant. They both desperately hoped the situation was benign, and each was keenly aware that inaction or overreaction were equally undesirable. One caught the other’s eye as they both stood, hands moving towards their concealed firearms. They had the ability to immobilise a target and silently communicated their intention to do just that should the situation deteriorate further.
“First of all,” said Anthony, striding across the floor of the restaurant as if he was about to start a bar fight, “I want you to know that I do not recognise you as my president.”
“Anthony?” said Venkdt, dumbfounded. All eyes were on Anthony, some of the more distant patrons standing and craning for a better view.
“And I want you to know that when the USAN arrives, as they are going to someday, somehow, they’re going to install me as interim president and I’m going to oversee the reversal of everything you’ve done. You are a threat to peace on this planet and you’re a disgrace to your own company, the company that bears your name.” Anthony had stopped just short of Venkdt and he jabbed his finger violently as he spoke. The two MSS personnel were silently drifting closer to Venkdt.
Anthony turned to the crowded restaurant behind him. Again, he crazily jabbed his finger as he spoke. “And all of you are complicit. Every one of you. If any of you had any decency, a single shred of patriotism for our home planet and great nation, you would have hauled this man off to the stockade months ago. It’s not too late. Here he is, right now, in front of you. The Great Traitor. Are you going to do anything?” He waited in vain for an answer. “Look into your hearts. We will have our planet back. You need to decide which side you’re on. When this terrible injustice has been righted I will remember where each one of you stood. With me, or against me.”
Venkdt had detected that although Antony’s anger was being directed at him it may have bubbled up from somewhere else. “How’s your father, Anthony?” he said.
“My father is dead,” spat Anthony, “and don’t act like you give a shit. You always hated him and you hated everything he stood for. He was a good man, a man who knew right from wrong and would stand up for it. He could see right through you. He could see what your power grab was all about. He wasn’t taken in by all your fancy words and that comfortable, matey manner in your streams. He knew what you were about: power. You wanted to seize this planet to use for your own ends, and people like my father could see right through you. Well I can see right through you too, and when the army arrive I’m going to be right there when they throw you in jail.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your father,” said Venkdt. “He was a good man.”
Anthony snorted. “You didn’t even know my father, he was nothing to you.”
Venkdt shrugged. He knew there was no point arguing and he could see the distress Anthony was in. He hoped the talk was all bluster. He bore Anthony no ill will, but it was hard to deny that talking about throwing presidents in prison wasn’t treasonous. “I think you should go home, Anthony. You’re very upset and you need some time alone to think things over. I’m sorry for your loss, please relay my sympathies to the rest of your family.”
“That’s right Venkdt, I’m going home. But the next time I see you I’m going to have an army with me. You’d better be ready.” He turned and left, the MSS agents skittering behind him at a short distance.
Venkdt stared at the door long after Anthony had left. He knew the kid was in a distressed state but some of the things he had said would have to be addressed. Was it all bluster? The things he had said about the USAN Army installing him as president sounded unsettlingly specific, and some of the other things he had said had been directly threatening. A loud murmur hummed through the room as the politico-business class discussed exactly that.
Venkdt had always known that being president would mean taking difficult decisions. He had genuine sympathy for a young man who had just lost his father, but openly challenging the president was something he could not let stand. It was well known that the Venkdts and Karjalainens were rivals in business, and that Hjälp Teknik was the only challenger to Venkdt’s operation on Mars. He didn’t like the way it would look for him to be arresting the new CEO of his erstwhile rival. It could easily be interpreted as an abuse of power, of him using his presidency to silence his enemies. But equally he couldn’t let someone threaten the presidency in public with impunity. He knew what he had to do. He did it with a heavy heart.
He tapped on his comdev and spoke to his PA. “Can you get me Ms Foveaux, please,” he said. Moments later, as colleagues fussed about him, his comdev buzzed. It was Foveaux. He made his excuses and quickly walked to an anteroom for some privacy. “Hello,” he said into his comdev.
“I was asked to call you,” replied Foveaux.
“Yes,” said Venkdt. “You know Anthony Karjalainen, Jack Karjalainen’s son?”
“I do,” said Foveaux.
“I need you to arrest him.”
“Arrest him?”
“Yes. You need to be quite sensitive about it; his father has just died.”
“Okay. What are the charges?”
“Sedition.”
Anthony Karjalainen, despite having only grabbed a few hours’ rest here and there over the previous forty-eight hours, had not gone home after leaving Venkdt. He had headed to a café to have breakfast. He didn’t want to be a
round people he knew, people who might be asking questions about his father or how he felt. He didn’t want to be at home, where the coms would be buzzing and visitors would be dropping by. As well as not sleeping he had not eaten properly either, so he headed for a café where he had a full English breakfast with beans and tomatoes.
He was wiping up the bean juice with a piece of bread when the two officers arrived. He paid no attention to them. The bean juice was mixed with tomato juice and there were also remnants of brown sauce and tomato ketchup, with bits of egg yolk and some bacon oil in there, too. The bread was buttered and it picked up the fabulous liquid, which tasted incredible in Anthony’s mouth. He was so distracted by the unbelievable flavours he didn’t notice the officers approach.
“Are you Anthony Karjalainen?” said one.
Anthony had a mouthful of delicious buttered bread and breakfast juices. He looked at the officer and continued chewing. He gestured with his hand that his mouth was full as he chewed and swallowed. There was some bean juice on his chin.
“I am,” he said. “What’s this about?”
“Sir, you are under arrest, please come with us.”
The other patrons of the café were paying full attention now and the low-level murmur of their conversations and the chinks of their cutlery had faded.
“What do you mean, under arrest? I haven’t done anything.”
“Sir, we have a warrant for your arrest right here. Please come with us quietly.”
“Let me see the warrant,” said Anthony.
The officer tapped at his comdev. “It should be on your comdev right now, sir,” he said.
Anthony took another wipe with his buttered bread and put it in his mouth before he looked at his comdev. He pressed the screen a few times and then read, chewing. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “On whose authority are you doing this?”
“We’re doing it in line with the statutes of this planet, sir. Can you please come with us? If you refuse to do so we will take you in by force and add resisting arrest to the charge sheet.”
Anthony was rankled now and he figured exactly what was going on. As far as he was concerned the terrible despot Charles Venkdt was using his security services to silence all dissidents in his police state. It confirmed for him exactly what he had thought; that Charles Venkdt was an evil power grabber who could not be trusted. Having earlier had some doubts about his outburst in the restaurant he now thought perhaps he had not gone far enough. Maybe he should have gone with an armed guard and seized control of the government by force right then and there. But it was too late for that now. He felt the righteousness of the oppressed. “May I just finish my breakfast?” he said, with all the stroppiness he could muster.
The officer didn’t want to make a scene and thought it was worth losing face a little to keep Anthony placated. “Yes, sir,” he said.
The two officers stood by while Anthony finished his breakfast.
The USAN garrison building on Mars had plenty of conference rooms. Maya had booked one to go over the plans for the rescue. She had her assistant commissioners, Matthias Schroeder, Virgill van Velden and Laura Khadzhiyev with her, as well as Bobby and Kostovich.
“You’re all familiar with the equipment by now,” said Kostovich, “but if there’s anything you need to know just ask. We understand this is going to be a simple search and rescue operation. The helmets will give you thermal imaging or infrared if you need it. There is no power on that ship but you should be able to find your way around with no problem whatsoever. Your coms will work inside and you’ll be able to talk back to the shuttle, which will relay your coms back to me. I’ll be taking data feeds from all of you and combining them into a real-time model of the ship. I’ll feed all that straight back to you, of course, so what any one of you knows the rest of you will know. The data will be displayed in a 3-D model available to you in your HUDs. Obviously, during the mission you will each be focusing on your immediate environment. I will be monitoring the overall situation so if I feel the need to draw your attention to anything I will do that. I will be with Commissioner Foveaux, who will have ultimate control of the operation.”
“There are no simple operations,” said Bobby. “Our biggest problem is going to be getting them to trust us. Remember, we are the enemy. We destroyed their ship, so there’s no reason they should welcome us with open arms. Gaining their trust is at the heart of the mission. They are going to be in the dark, cold and frightened when we turn up, and we’ll be suited and booted, with guns too. We need them to know that we are coming to save them rather than finish them off.”
“I have prepared a drone. The drone will find them and tell them you’re coming, but that might not necessarily help. It’s all a question of trust,” said Kostovich.
“Okay,” said Bobby, “how do we get in?”
“There’s an emergency hatch on Ephialtes. It’s standards compliant so we’ll be able to dock onto it. We may need to blow the locks, but we have the equipment to do that if necessary.”
“Good. And the shuttle is ready to go?”
“It is,” said Kostovich. “You’ll launch in approximately four hours. You’ll need to be at the port in two.”
Bobby nodded.
“You’re happy with the personnel you’re taking along with you?” said Foveaux.
“Sure,” said Bobby, “they’ll do a fine job. How many survivors are we expecting?”
“Well,” said Kostovich, “Ephialtes itself has a crew of forty, and there are twenty-six commanders on board - one for each dropship and two substitutes, one commanding officer and one civilian. So it should be sixty-eight. We’ve no reason to believe there were any fatalities, though it’s impossible to know what’s gone on up there for the last two days.”
“Why is there a civilian on board?” said Bobby.
“She’s the designer,” answered Kostovich. “She works for Helios and she came along for the maiden voyage. There were problems with the other ship so she came along with this one to see if she could iron them out.”
Bobby had an inkling in his gut as to what the answer to his next question might be. “What’s her name?” he asked.
“Askel Lund,” replied Kostovich.
Bobby nodded.
“You know her?”
Bobby thought carefully before answering. “I know of her,” he said, and left it at that.
The stockade at the former USAN garrison was small. Most of the criminals taken down by the USAN’s army-police were placed under house arrest, if necessary, before coming to trial or being repatriated to Earth. Rarely was anyone considered dangerous enough to be incarcerated and, where no immediate danger was posed, allowing suspects to remain amongst the general population made sense. The habitable part of Mars was an extremely limited area. There was nowhere for anyone to run to. The only people who were put in the stockade were either mad, drugged or otherwise dangerous.
Anthony Karjalainen was not used to the conditions he found in the stockade. His cell was small. There was a bed, a lavatory, a wash basin and a small desk with a terminal on it. There were high windows, but in order to see out of them Anthony had to move the table and stand on it. The view was not inspiring. He could see the parade ground and not much else.
Anthony found himself in the stockade at the most turbulent point in his life. His father had just died, which was extremely difficult for him emotionally, and at the same time and through that death he had become the CEO of a major company. On top of that, he was involved in some interplanetary diplomatic intrigue, and then to round it all off he had been thrown in jail for sedition.
Luckily he had eaten well moments before he came in. After shouting at the guards when they left him he lay on the bed and closed his eyes. In an odd kind of way, he thought to himself, maybe alone in a prison cell was the best place for him to be at that particular moment in his life. He took deep breaths and tried to focus on his breathing, pushing all thoughts of his father and the situation he found himself in o
ut of his mind. Slowly he began to calm and it became easier to push the thoughts away each time they resurfaced. The bed was not uncomfortable and after lying still on it for a few minutes he had fallen asleep.
He was awoken by the jangling of keys turning in the lock. He turned his head to look and saw Bobby entering. “Hey, kid,” said Bobby.
Anthony sat up on the bed and leant back against the wall of his cell. “What are you doing here?” he said.
Bobby half sat on the desk opposite Anthony. “I just came to check that you’re okay. You’re okay, right?” he said.
Anthony looked at him. “Not really,” he said.
“Is there anything I can do?” said Bobby. “Is there anything you need?”
Anthony snorted. “Well, I need to be out of this place. Can you do anything about that?”
Bobby shook his head. “No, I don’t think I can. I meant do you need any stuff? Clothes, toiletries? Have you got a lawyer?”
“A lawyer? Sure, we’ve got Toni.”
“Okay,” said Bobby, “I’ll get her to come down here as soon as possible.”
“That’s it then,” said Anthony, “you’ve done your big brother part, now you can go. Get out of here.”
Bobby didn’t move. His arms were folded across his chest and he looked at Anthony. Anthony was looking downward, fixated on his own predicament and paying no attention to the rest of the world.
“You haven’t changed much, have you?” said Bobby. Anthony didn’t react. “I mean, this is exactly how I remember you. Passive-aggressive, truculent, feeling hard done by. You haven’t changed one little bit.”
“And you have?” said Anthony. “Travel, experience, the army, war. You went away a boy and came back a man, is that it?”
Ephialtes (Ephialtes Trilogy Book 1) Page 45