Authors: Ian Whates
Aside from the flies, the world seemed draped in an unnerving blanket of silence.
Leesa allowed herself to see then what she’d been trying so hard not to. She was surrounded by the dead; her slaughtered brothers and sisters, mown down by an awful and wholly unsuspected weapon of the coalition. Many of the bodies were contorted at odd angles, testament to their perishing in the throes of intense suffering. Some appeared to have clawed at their own faces, cutting open fleshy cheeks. The caked white of dried spittle and the yellower stain of vomit crusted open mouths. She took one hard long look and then averted her eyes. She strode from the scene with her gaze fixed firmly on the horizon. A cloud of black flies and blacker birds surrounded her, disturbed by her passage; her own dark bow wave as she traversed the sea of the dead.
Leesa came awake suddenly, eyes wide, breathing hard, momentarily overwhelmed by the pure emotion of her dreams. It took her several ragged breaths to regain full composure. She sat up slowly, rubbing at her forehead. She’d revisited snippets of the battle before and experienced tantalising snatches of that wonderful communion of auganic minds, but never in such a coherent sequence, and this was the first time she’d relived the battle’s finale. A shudder coursed through her body. Gods, she hoped her dreams didn’t ever take her back there again. Yet she suspected they would, given that her subconscious mind appeared to have a penchant for revisiting significant moments of her past; and this counted as one, no question about that.
She’d had no idea… Could
this
be the reason her memory was wiped – because she was an auganic who had somehow survived the genocide of her kind? No, that made no sense. Why not kill her as well, or imprison her, or pull her mind apart under the guise of research? Why would the authorities wipe her mind and cast her adrift on some random planet with no idea of who she was?
Leesa reached for the compartment where her drugs were stored but hesitated, reckoning that she’d had enough dreams for one night. She wasn’t sure she could handle any more revelations, not right now. Nor did she fancy another encounter with the banker, so she didn’t get up.
How
had he worked out what she was? What had given her away? Instead of moving she simply settled back, stared at the bland off-white ceiling of her cubbyhole, and considered this newly reclaimed segment of her past, examining it tentatively as she might an unexploded bomb.
One aspect of the harrowing experience stayed with her, resonating with her current self: the sense of being adrift and alone in the universe that had overwhelmed her as she trudged from the killing field. That was a feeling she knew all too well.
Balanced against that was the intoxicating joy of union. That melding of minds, that sharing of so much with her auganic brethren, had been seductive and so very, very special, but at the same time so utterly terrifying. A part of her mourned the fact that she would never experience that again while part of her felt relieved.
F
OURTEEN
Pelquin had summoned him to the bridge, which was a first. Drake wondered whether the venue was meant to emphasise who was boss or if the tiny cockpit was merely the closest thing to privacy available on the ship. Probably a bit of both. There was no sign of Anna, who tended to hang around here much of the time, so they had the place to themselves.
The
Comet
’s captain sat comfortably – Drake was almost tempted to think ‘lounged’ – in the pilot’s chair, while the banker was left to stand.
“Ah, Drake, thank you for coming.”
The man really could be a pompous ass at times. “I’m always at your disposal, Captain.”
Pelquin smiled but let that pass without comment, saying instead, “I was wondering, are all those suits of yours the same, or do you keep one for special occasions?”
Momentarily nonplussed, Drake temporised with the obvious, “Why do you ask?”
Pelquin shrugged. “No reason. It’s just that there’s this function I have to attend once we make planet fall; a formal affair, you know the sort – circulating waiters and fussy canapés, chilled wine and stilted conversation. The invite includes a ‘plus one’ and I thought you might like to be that one.”
Drake stared at the other man, knowing that no such invitation could have reached Pelquin while they were in transit, so this must have been another pre-planned, not to mention carefully timed, commitment. None of which explained why the captain should extend the invite to him. “I take it you’re not asking me out on a date, so presumably there’s a specific reason you want me to go along rather than anyone else aboard – one of the women, say.”
Pelquin smiled. “There might be. For a start you’re just about the only person on board I can trust not to show me up in polite company, then there’s the small matter of the man I’m going to meet; someone I’ve done business with in the past. He’s going to ensure, you see, that should we happen to stray into Xter space through some unfortunate miscalculation – as you seem convinced we’re about to – it’ll be all nice and legal… Well, mostly legal at any rate.”
“Is that so?”
Legal?
Now that would be a trick worth seeing. “In that case I’d be delighted to accept. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. And yes, I do indeed have a suit for formal occasions.”
“Excellent, excellent. That’s settled then. We’ll be dropping to sublight shortly and will make planet fall late this morning, ship’s time; so dust down your glad rags, for tonight we party!”
“And precisely which planet will we be falling into, dare I ask?”
“A place called Brannan’s World. It’s a bit colonial but pleasant enough.”
Brannan’s
? Drake made sure his expression never faltered. He was becoming adept at hiding dismay. First Leesa and now Brannan’s World; it was as if somebody had deliberately plotted a course through the dark and dusty recesses of his past.
Don’t go getting all paranoid on me
, Mudball said.
This is the area you used to operate in, isn’t it?
You know it is.
Well what do you expect, then?
He supposed the alien had a point. It was almost inevitable when coming to this sector of space that a ghost or two would be waiting in the wings, but that didn’t make their appearance any more palatable.
Dropping out of RzSpace was the reverse of entering it but less so, in that the sensations were gentler; the folding-in upon itself that the mind experienced – that return from a higher level of awareness which the brain didn’t even realise had been there until it was gone – came with a good dollop of stability, of sensing that all was right with the universe once more. Part and parcel of that experience was a sharpening of mental focus and a return of emotional intensity. Scientists claimed that all these sensations – the feeling of rapid mental expansion when crossing into RzSpace and the impression of returning limits when departing it – were entirely psychosomatic, that people felt these things only because they expected to. Pelquin knew otherwise. Let the boffins dismiss whatever they wanted too. Spacers knew from experience the difference between what was and what was supposed to be.
“We’ll reach Brannan’s World’s upper atmosphere in a little under an hour,” Anna informed him.
“Good work.” He sensed there was something she wanted to add. “And…?”
“Well, I was just checking the register of ships in port at the moment. “I know this is probably nothing, but one of them – a flash exec number called
The Star Dancer
– is listed as belonging to the Jossyren Mining Corporation.”
Pelquin digested that. “Thanks for letting me know but it’s a coincidence; has to be. Jossyren must own a whole fleet of ships and we’re bound to come across one or more of them from time to time. There’s no way whoever was messing with us back at New Sparta could have got here ahead of us.”
Not unless they knew where we were going
, but that was impossible. The only person privy to his plans was Nate, and Nate was as tight-lipped as a vacuum seal. Unless he had good reason… No, Pelquin had to believe in Nate, or they were all in trouble.
It wouldn’t hurt to do a little snooping, mind, to see if they could learn what the Jossyren ship was doing here. “Anna, let’s keep this to ourselves for the time being, shall we? No point in worrying the others over nothing.”
“Okay. You’re the captain.”
He let Anna take them in to Victoria – Brannan’s main port. She was a good pilot. Better than Julia. Better than him, truth be told, though he’d never admit as much to her face. Initially everything was automated in any case, their course dictated by local traffic control, the ship responding to data packages squirted to them from the ground.
“
Pelquin’s Comet
, you’re cleared for final approach,” a calm voice announced right on cue. “We’re set to guide you down.”
“Thank you, Victoria Control,” Anna responded. “Your signal received and locked in.”
That didn’t mean that the pilot was redundant, though; far from it. No system was foolproof, and any pilot worth their salt would sit glued to their station during landing; monitoring, checking and rechecking trajectory, entry speed, hull temperature, along with every scrap of data that groundside fed them.
Take-off and landing were where pilots earned their keep.
During the approach, Brannan’s World looked very different to Babylon. More greenery for one thing; and even from here the city looked less crowded. Victoria always gave Pelquin the impression that buildings here were granted the room to breathe.
He liked Brannan’s, always had. It was the sort of place where a man might consider settling down one day, if he were that way inclined; which, of course, he wasn’t.
Once above the landing field Anna resumed control and brought the
Comet
in for a cotton wool landing. Bay 133: the designated slab of concrete that was theirs for the duration of their stay. Which wouldn’t be long if everything went to plan. While docking fees at Victoria were by no means the steepest Pelquin had encountered, they accumulated by the hour, and First Solar’s money was running pretty thin – the damage inflicted by the gun fight had eaten up most of the reserves.
There was one other thing he needed to sort out: his old friend Mokhtar. Mokhy had his sticky fingers in everything, and he was bound to catch wind that
Pelquin’s Comet
was back in port. In fact, he’d probably been told about their arrival before they’d even touched down. Mokhy termed himself a ‘facilitator’; the kingpin among local fixers, he knew everyone and everything worth knowing, and the last time the
Comet
was here, Pelquin had left something with him for safe keeping, something he hadn’t dared carry with him on the ship given the amount of heat focused on them at the time, and which he swore faithfully he’d collect at the first opportunity. He’d called in a big favour that day, and Mokhy would expect him to collect as soon as.
Mokhy had always had a soft spot for Bren. She was the ideal person for the job, particularly given the nature of the item in question. He might even suggest she pick up a bottle of Tarkhillan brandy on the way. If there was one thing Mokhtar was even more partial to than Bren, it was Tarkhillan brandy.
Leesa liked the feel of Victoria immediately. Whereas La Gossa had been all bustle and crowds and heat, Victoria was more laid back. If anything the port was even busier than La Gossa’s, but it was more efficiently organised, lacking the haphazard attitude that had typified Babylon and its culture. Conversely, this greater degree of organisation led to a calmer ambience, possibly because people were less worried about what might happen next.
The climate here was described as ‘temperate’, which Leesa took to mean cool, since it was certainly a lot milder than La Gossa had been. At the same time the air wasn’t as oppressive, and it tasted fresher, cleaner. She imagined that rainfall here would be light and refreshing, a definite boon, whereas in La Gossa rain tended to fall with such intensity that it resembled an assault.
Nate slipped off the ship almost as soon as they touched down, and Bren looked set to follow soon after.
“Where are you off to?” Leesa asked, reckoning that, as the new girl, she could get away with a degree of directness.
“Oh, nowhere special,” Bren said.
“Great! Is it okay if I tag along to nowhere special with you?”
“Well, I’m not sure…”
“Oh please, Bren. I don’t want to stay here on the ship kicking my heels and I’ve never been off world before, so I’d rather not go out there on my own.” A cocktail of truths, half-truths and fabrication – always the best policy when spinning a line. Her real motive was to put some distance between her and the banker for a while, and she didn’t trust herself to wander around a new city on her own. Judging by recent experience, she had too great a knack of finding the urban underbelly.
“The thing is,” Bren said, “I’ve got an errand to run…”
“That’s fine. I won’t get in the way. I’ll just stay in the background and you won’t even know I’m there. Promise.”
Bren didn’t look convinced this was a good idea, but she said, “All right, you can come, but you do what I say
when
I say. Clear?”
“Perfectly. You’re the boss; and thanks, Bren.”
Victoria differed from the city she was used to in more than just climate. On leaving the spaceport they walked down a broad multi-laned street called something-or-other Boulevard, which had a line of tall healthy-looking trees growing from a long island that ran down its centre. There were cars, yes, and taxis and other vehicles, but they all moved at a sedate, patient pace, without the frantic darting and changing of lanes and constant traffic snarl-ups she was used to in La Gossa. This all seemed so much more
civilised
somehow.
The shops here, too, were different. She noted immediately an absence of outlets selling gizmos and gadgets, while the only jewellery store she saw had a sparse, tasteful window showcasing a few expensive looking items as opposed to a plethora of dazzling gold spilling out in every direction. Clothes shops predominated, their windows full of sweeping, elegant dresses and immaculately tailored suits. While colourful, they lacked the dazzling vibrancy she was used to.