by Paul Barrett
“No. Is it important?”
“One of her hired goons mentioned One-Eye wanting to see me in hell.”
“Oh, an enemy! That will stretch my database limits, but let me check.”
“Funny. Speaking of that: did you record Anne when she was on board?”
“Of course.”
“Take it and start a search. I need a full profile on her.”
“Already on it. It might take a while.”
“I know,” Hawk said. “She said she was originally from Paraquan. It’s as good a place to start as any, even though I’m sure she lied. Check the database here on Pa’trais Prime also, in case she left tracks.”
“Aye, Captain. Anything else?”
“That’s it. We’ll be back soon.” As Ashron drove, Hawk sat back, keyed up, and trying to let the adrenaline-induced jitters seep out of him. As he waited to reach the spaceport, one question echoed through his mind: Who the hell is One-Eye, and what does he have against me?
3
The Plan In Motion
Alexic Salakon, owner and CEO of Unicybertronic Technologies, watched as Moran, his business associate, stared at the viewscreen set in the wall. An urgent signal had just come through, and they waited while the relays connected with another view screen light years away. Though they had been expecting the call, Alexic saw the tension in Moran’s body, his firm jaw clenched, his muscles pushing against the snug silver shirt and black pants.
Moran’s hired assassin appeared on the screen. Her golden eyes shone with defiance. One look at her bandaged arm and bedraggled appearance took Alexic to the same conclusion Moran voiced a second later.
“You failed.” His voice remained neutral even as his eyes narrowed in annoyance.
“I’ve had a temporary setback,” the assassin said, scratching absently at the bandage. “He had backup, he got in a lucky shot, and I had to evacuate before the authorities arrived.”
“The way I see it, you underestimated him and then ran when the situation got out of control,” Moran’s voice edged toward anger.
“You can see it however you want,” the woman said with her own snap. “If you had let me go with my plan instead of forcing me to grandstand in the alleyway, he would have been dead as soon as I boarded his ship.” She seemed unconcerned by Moran’s agitation. Alexic found himself both impressed by her bravery and annoyed by her insubordination. If any of his employees spoke that way to him, they found themselves seeking new employment; he suspected Moran was even less forgiving.
His associate surprised him. Instead of rebuking the woman for her defiance, he tilted his head thoughtfully, his loose-curled black hair shaking at the motion. After a moment, he said, “I’m certain your reputation is well-earned, but any one of the crew could have killed you before you blinked. It doesn’t matter for now. What’s done is done. Did you find out what I wanted to know about the ship?”
“Yes. I confirmed everything you suspected.” She held up a peach-colored purse, scuffed black in several spots, and pointed to the side. “I got holo.”
Alexic saw nothing on the purse but assumed she had a camera concealed in the side
“Excellent,” Moran’s voice swung from chill to something that made him almost sound pleased. “I will send full payment for the information. Your bonus will have to wait since Hawk is still breathing.”
“I can remedy that.”
“Not yet. I have another plan for now. I‘ll be in touch.”
The woman started to speak; Moran hit the disconnect button. Her image faded off the screen.
Alexic waited patiently for Moran to return his attention to their interrupted discussion. Alexic was a patient man, a trait that had served him well in his eighty-eight years. It had taken twenty-five years to build his company to its present position of power and respect in the cybernetics industry. Others had laughed at his cautiousness, his unwillingness to swiftly grow in a rapidly expanding industry. Those others no longer laughed. They had blossomed like supernovas and collapsed just as violently, victims of their accelerated expansion.
Which left slow, patient Unicybertronic sitting on their smoking ruins.
As he waited, Alexic studied Moran, trying to guess the thought behind those inhuman black eyes. While the left eye simply appeared soulless, the right was, in truth, an unfeeling cybernetic implant. The only flesh involved with that orb was the muscles that moved it and the nerve that transmitted the information. Alexic tugged at the wrinkled flesh on his neck, idly wondering if he should get surgery to remove the sags and folds age had brought to his papery peach skin.
Moran walked over and sat in the plush leather chair in front of Alexic’s desk. Alexic could hear the faint clicking and hissing of the man’s other cybernetic enhancements. He wondered, as he had many times before, how much of the real Moran remained. Alexic had no upgrades; he felt them a violation of the natural order. However, his morals didn’t prevent him from making a profit from other people’s dependence on the technology.
“What do you think?” Moran asked.
Alexic ran his finger along the edge of his kroa desk, enjoying the smooth feel of the dark alien wood. He decided he would get the surgery if Moran achieved his goals. It would be a reward to himself for his faith in his strange compatriot. “Assuming the holo proves what you believe about the ship, this could be a lucrative venture.”
“It will,” Moran assured him. “I have suspected it for too long to be wrong about it. We need to institute phase two.”
“Why go that route? Why not move in and take the vessel by force?”
Moran’s dark eyes stared at Alexic. Their expressionless glaze made him squirm. “Two reasons. First: Hawk has enough pull with the Planetary Council that we would have a hundred capital ships breathing down on us wherever we moved, whether Hawk was alive or otherwise. Second: I want Hawk to know who destroyed him and took his ship. I want him to pay.”
Moran spoke with such vehemence that a shudder ran down Alexic’s spine. He said nothing for a moment, reflecting on the depth of his associate’s hatred.
They had met five years ago, Moran presenting himself as an entrepreneur and inventor. Alexic found the dark-haired man’s ideas radical to the point of lunacy, but Moran’s fervor won Alexic’s respect. Alexic saw in this younger man the person he often wished he had been, or perhaps the son he would have raised had he been capable. Although Alexic would never admit it, he had begun to feel old. Despite his success and wealth, life had somehow passed him by. With no time for a wife and no ability to produce an heir, he had turned into another soul dead corporate master: a slave to the very creation he was supposed to control.
Moran woke up Alexic’s dormant sense of adventure. Rich beyond common sense and bored with anything life had to offer, Alexic decided to take a chance and invest in Moran’s lunatic plans. If nothing else, it would occupy his time.
The gamble paid off almost immediately. Moran’s strange ideas turned out to have merit, and he proved to be a shrewd businessman.
Not long after their partnership formed, Moran began exhibiting disturbing behaviors. Alexic often caught him muttering to himself, long dialogues in his native speech that had the tone of argument beneath them. He often screamed at his subordinates and threatened them with physical violence. Alexic had been forced to replace several staff members who quit.
After years of such behavior, Alexic came to believe Moran was not entirely rational and, considering his high number of implants, undoubtedly suffered from low-level cyberpsychosis. By the time Alexic realized it, Moran had entrenched himself firmly in the company and knew too many of Alexic’s personal and professional secrets to be easily disposed. As long as he continued to make a profit for the company, the board members choose to ignore what they saw as nothing more than idiosyncrasies.
Recently, Moran had begun discussing his vendetta against someone named Hawk. He spoke little about his past, only letting Alexic know Hawk and others in his employ had betrayed him. Ale
xic had tried to learn something about Moran’s history. The best efforts of his people had revealed nothing. Any probing questions to Moran met with silence and a cold stare. After a while, Alexic gave up. Moran’s private feud, like his mental tics, did not affect his profitability, so Alexic held his peace and offered what little aid the man requested. It seemed Moran’s vendetta would still make money for the company.
He seemed to have the Midas touch.
“As you wish,” Alexic said, rubbing his hand across the thinning strands of his ash colored hair. “Implement phase two. You have carte blanche.” He paused a moment, and then, to reassure himself as much as Moran, added, “I trust you.”
Moran gave him a curious stare, his mouth twisting into an enigmatic half-smile. “Thank you,” he said as he stood. “I’m waiting for a progress report on our experiments. I’ll let you know when it arrives.”
Alexic nodded. He didn’t like to think about the experiments, which were a necessary part of the plan. His hand still rubbing his head, he decided he would add a full head of hair to his surgery order.
Moran turned to leave and then turned back. “You should call a board meeting tomorrow. That way we can make sure they agree with our plan and get rid of any who don’t.”
Alexic suppressed a shiver at his associate’s choice of words. Even though he had no proof Moran had ever killed anyone, the large man appeared fully capable of such an act. “They’ll all agree,” Alexic assured them both. “When they find out how much money they stand to make, you won’t have any dissension.”
“The illegality of it won’t bother them?”
It was Alexic’s turn to offer a crooked smile. “Has it ever?”
Moran nodded. “Call the meeting anyway. It will also allow us to ferret out the Council spy.”
“Spy? There’s no spy on our board.”
“Of course there is. I spotted him when he joined your little company a year ago. He’s almost as clumsy as the man you have spying on me.”
Alexic didn’t waste time denying Moran’s accusation. His mind rolled back a year, trying to remember who had joined the organization then. A face formed in his mind, a thin face of pale skin and gleaming red hair. “Yonath Maratai is a Council spy?”
Moran nodded.
“I’ll get rid of him immediately.”
“Don’t bother. I have other plans for him, and they’ll work in perfectly with what we need to do. I’ll take care of it.” Moran turned and left.
Alexic stared at the door for a few seconds after it closed. News that a spy had slipped in under his nose and remained for a year disturbed him. Still, if Moran said he would deal with it, then Alexic would let him. Obviously Yonath had discovered nothing actionable yet, so one more day wouldn’t matter.
He pushed a button under his kroa desk and heard the click of the main door locking. Business with Moran always set him on edge, and he felt a need to relieve his tense muscles. Time to indulge in one of the few secrets his associate didn’t know about. “Come here now,” he said, turning his wrinkled head to the right.
A concealed panel slid open in the plum-colored wall. A slender boy, wearing only a pair of sheer blue pajamas, emerged from the secret room where he had hidden while Moran and Alexic talked. Alexic’s eyes followed the youth like a cat; he licked his lips as he relished in the boy’s cream-colored skin and hair so golden it almost glowed.
As the boy, his eyes downcast, moved towards him, Alexic’s smile grew broader. Just because he couldn’t have a son didn’t mean he couldn’t care for them in the same way his father had cared for him.
4
Taken
Yonath Maratai left the Unicybertronic Technologies building and strolled across the parking lot. He put on a cheerful face for any who saw him, so they would have no idea his life had been yanked from under his feet.
His engineered grin projected calm even as his mind raced. Everything by the book, no time for mistakes, he thought as he reached his hovercar. He made a show of brushing back his hair, using it to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He could smell his fear.
He pulled his magkey, attached to a thin, rectangular fob, from his coat pocket. Fob held against the bronze vehicle, he pressed the top of the device. A small whine emitted as it scanned the car for any unusual electronic or chemical traces that might indicate explosives or surveillance equipment. Negative. Yonath opened the door and slipped in.
After powering up, he sat for a moment and observed the parking lot. His smile slid away as the shock of what he had learned overtook his need for deception. Since managing to infiltrate Unicybertronic as an employee and board member a year ago, Yonath had found precious little to report to the Criminal Surveillance unit of the Planetary Council. Though several of the company’s practices skirted legality, they had done nothing that required direct Council involvement.
Until today.
When Moran walked into the board meeting that morning, Yonath thought he stared at a ghost. Only his extensive training kept the astonishment from showing on his face. He had thought Moran dead five years ago, but there the man stood, the only notable changes a new cybernetic arm and eye. Yonath, through surgery, had been altered considerably in the intervening time since they last saw each other. The Planetary Council surgeons had thinned his face almost to gauntness. His whole body had the lean appearance of a marathon runner. His ordinarily blond hair they micro tinted to a nearly unnatural copper color.
“I’m sure he didn’t recognize me,” Yonath said. He hoped hearing it aloud would make it sound more convincing. It didn’t.
Moran’s appearance had been only the first shock of the morning. When Moran explained his reasons for being there, horror hit Yonath like a blow to his gut. He struggled to keep his face impassive. Even worse, when the other board members applauded Moran’s genius, reveling in the riches and power they would soon possess, Yonath had smiled and clapped, all the while tasting the sour bile of revulsion in the back of his throat.
One positive thing had come from the board meeting: Yonath had information that would force the CS branch to act. All he had to do was tell them about Moran’s “experiments,” and they would descend on Unicybertronic like a force of nature. Remembering Moran’s descriptions of his experiments made Yonath gag. He pushed the disgust aside and focused. Whether his cover was blown or not was now irrelevant. He couldn’t return knowing what he knew. He had to report his findings to his superior and then warn Hawk about Moran’s plans so the Knights could take appropriate defensive measures.
First, he had to get home and get his family to safety before things got ugly.
“Tasha, would you call the children in for lunch, please,” Dona Maratai yelled from the kitchen.
“Okay,” Tasha replied from the living room. As she strolled toward the back patio, her willowy tail swished back and forth in a playful manner in anticipation of the children. Tasha wasn’t her real name, only a close approximation of the sounds her name made when spoken in her language. Tasha was easier for her employers—indeed, most others not her race—to say. “Lunch!” She yelled when she reached the porch.
“Watch this, Tasha,” Yoseph stood at the end of the diving board. The thin ten-year-old bounced twice and attempted a forward flip. He failed miserably, landing in a tremendous belly flop which sent a spray of water through the air. Several droplets fell on Tasha’s loose green unisuit.
Tasha made a move for the pool. When Yoseph surfaced with a pained expression and a shaky, “How was that?” she had to grin. Children, no matter the race, were made of eighty percent rubber.
“That was great, Yoseph,” she said as she dried him off on the way to the house.
“I’m going to do it backwards tomorrow,” he declared.
“If you say so dear, but I’d wait till I got the forward part down first.”
“Whisker rub,” eight-year-old Patishi yelled as she jumped out of her deck chair and ran to Tasha.
The children loved to play ‘whiske
r rub’ whenever they could. Soft fur, chocolate brown with tawny and russet streaks throughout, covered Tasha’s body. The area around her whiskers and along her cheeks was exceptionally silky. The two children enjoyed rubbing their faces against her’s and cooing like kittens. Patishi referred to it as “cat kissing” even though Tasha sternly reminded her that Pralins were in no way related to cats.
After a short “whisker rub,” Tasha tickled Patishi, who screamed in delight and ran to the house, followed closely by Yoseph. Tasha walked into the house and found the two children seating themselves at the table as Dona placed bowls of soup in front of them.
“I’m going to finish cleaning the living room,” Tasha told her. “Give me a call if these two monsters get to be too much for you.”
“Thanks, Tasha. I made cookies, so I imagine I’m safe until after dessert.”
Tasha walked into the living room as Dona sat down at the table with her soup bowl. “Pass me the crackers,” she said to Yoseph.
A van advertising “Carpet Installation and Repair” sat across the street from Yonath and Dona Maratai’s house. Five men waited inside. One listened to a receiver in his ear as it delivered instructions.
“Okay,” the man said, his assignment received. Looking at the others, he said, “Maratai’s left and should be here in fifteen. Let’s get into position. We move when he arrives.”
Lunch was almost over. Bored that she hadn’t argued with her brother for the past five minutes, Patishi said, “I can do a flip better than you.”
“Cannot,” Yoseph retorted. “I do great flips.”
“You do great belly busters,” Patishi snapped back, giggling. Dona smiled. Score a point for the ladies, she thought.
“Well, I still do jackknifes better than you.”
“Yeah, but you’re ten. When I’m ten, I’ll be able to do every dive there is, and even invent some.”