Chapter completed below the ************************.
Ch 13 in progress.
Steve
Chapter 12: Serendipity’s Kiss
“Guess who?”
“The luckiest girl alive?” Tomas grinned in reply, gently removing her hands from his eyes and turning from his station to look up at his girl.
His girl! The phrase still had an unlikely ring in his ears. Tess, beautiful and brilliant Tess, was his girl! It made the last ten months, crammed in an interplanetary probe with Challenger and a couple of pilots, hunting asteroids and skulking from Xenon, worth it, even without their momentous discoveries.
Unbidden, a huge grin split his face. It spread to Tess, who could, she claimed in all seriousness, read his mind. Sometimes he believed she indeed could.
“Nailed that paper then?” She asked, using his head as a fulcrum as she performed a slow, zero-G, cartwheel into the bucket seat beside his console.
“Completely nailed, nailed completely. Permanent tenure is mine! Mine I say!”
He cackled with mock glee, rubbing his hands. Her grin mutated into a crooked smile as she pulled the lap restraint tight.
“Publish in haste, repent at leisure!” She shared his excitement if not his ambition. His brain was like a boiling pot, new ideas constantly bubbling to the surface, extrapolating new technologies and new possibilities in a constant, excited stream, fuelled by the data encrypted in the heavily shielded computer core. Forcing him to focus on just one, long enough to yield substance, was a constant battle waged within himself.
“Inter-stellar travel without jump-gates Tess. Just think!”
Impulsively he leant across and kissed her button nose.
“Oooh, itchy beard!” she piped in a little girl voice.
“You just make sure your name is printed in a type size somewhere near the 28 point letters the Professor’s will be.”
“His expedition, his rules. Me just humble grad student, everyone knows how these things work. I’m just happy it’ll be him doing the chat-show circuit. Have you written anything?”
“It’s all up here.” She replied, tapping her head. “Fermenting. There’s a whole new physics in those wave forms. Nothing to patent so it’s my name only!”
“You’re going to piss off practically every physicist in the universe you know.” Tomas joked. “People don’t like being told everything they know is wrong, especially academics. You’ll look good in effigy.”
“Don’t forget the historians and archaeologists!” Professor Challenger interjected as his rotund shape sailed past them from the flight cabin, his tiny legs peddling uselessly.
Tomas reached out and grabbed an ankle. Challenger awkwardly pulled himself to the floor using their bodies and proffered hands and hooked a foot underneath Tomas’ seat for stability.
“Damn those Xenon.”
The gravity generator had finally given up after the last Xenon attack and Tomas, for all his engineering skill, could not coax a fraction of a G from it. Tomas and Tess had made the adjustment quickly, even enjoying it in the few moments of true privacy they managed to snatch in a ship with exotic instrumentation crammed into every available space. The two Argon pilots seemed to have been born in zero gravity, accepting the new environment with the same taciturn equanimity with which they met every situation.
Only the Professor, for all his deep space experience, couldn’t cope, his skin had taken on a green-tinged pallor, that Tess joked, was likely to become permanent if they didn’t get into a gravity well soon. By common insistence he ate alone and his unkempt beard declared a health hazard.
“Anything?”
Tomas shook his head and indicated the static striated screen. The scanners were only functioning on half-power and could not cut through the sub-space distortions generated by the inter-planetary drive as it bled the last few thousand klicks per hour from their relative speed.
“Nothing until we switch off the drive Professor.”
He tapped at the keypad.
“Which should be in about 15 minutes. Then we can coast the last few hundred klicks.”
Challenger nodded, impatient, his eyes half focused on the fresh accolades his envious and intellectually challenged colleagues would be obliged to heap on him, through what, he was happily sure, would be gritted teeth.
He patted his protégé on the shoulder in what was meant to be an avuncular gesture, instead it caused him to lose his tenuous toe-hold and drift what would have been upwards.
Tess grabbed a leg.
“Thank you my dear.” Challenger said with as much dignity as he could muster. “If you could be so kind.” He indicated the sliding door to the flight centre.
Tess manoeuvred him with both hands, lining him up with the exit before giving him a gentle push. The Professor drifted like an escaped clown balloon, beginning to rotate as he began flapping his arms.
“You don’t have to do that Professor.” She called, returning the twinkle in Tomas’ eyes with a flashed smile. They both waited until Challenger managed to open the door and swim through before giving in to their common urge to chuckle.
“It’s been a real trip.” Tess said finally.
“Ten months playing hide and seek in Xenon space and a discovery that’s going to re-write every text book in a dozen disciplines. A real trip, you could say that.” Tomas agreed.
“Here.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper although they were alone in small, instrument-lined, circular operations room.
Tess took the small flask. “Hah, I knew you were holding out on me.”
She sucked gingerly at the small tube as she squeezed.
“Oh, that is mellow, Tomas. We need a toast.”
She screwed up her face as she thought, screwed it in that cute, unconscious fashion that always melted Tomas as she wrestled with a problem. He loved that about her, he loved the way her thoughts and feelings flitted across her face, like silver-bright cirrus across the face of the sun. He loved everything about her.
“I know.” She said after a few moments. She raised the bottle.
“To whomsoever provided the wherewithal for this voyage. Unknown friends.”
She took another deep sip, allowing the alcohol to pleasantly numb her tongue before it burned down her throat.
Tomas took the flask.
“Unknown friends.”
The expedition must have cost millions but everything the professor wanted he’d got from whoever it was that handed the Challenger Institute a blank cheque. The normally garrulous man had been close-mouthed about this, allowing his assistants imaginations to fill the long days with idle speculation.
Whoever it was, provided both the resonance signature that finally led them to the mother-lode and the pilots for Challenger’s famous old ship.
Tess favoured the military, Tomas inclined towards some variety of spook, Han and Jervis being too tight lipped and suspicious for his liking. After ten months shut up together in the cramped confines of a metal ball hurling through inter-planetary space they still knew nothing about them and the fact neither had made a pass at Tess, to him, definitely ruled out any form of uniform.
They could fly though, and they could fight. Most of the Xenon kills went to Jervis, Tomas found the turret plasma targeting scanners impossible to master and his hand-eye co-ordination not up to tracking a fast moving target accurately. Even so, he had three kills and could summon the feeling of exultation of his first at will. It would be a great story for his children.
Their children! He leaned across and planted a whisky kiss on her lips, a gesture Tess returned with pent up passion.
Time passed pleasantly, until drive cut out and the scanner cleared.
“Uh, Professor.” Tomas called through the intercom. “You’d better check the long-range scan.”
At the extreme edge of their range Tomas could detect the gate back to the safety of Boron space. Their was no sign of the Orca mother-ship that was meant to be on station to get them past any Xenon but a single small ship, two thousand klicks distant, appeared to be heading their way, followed at some distance by a pack of other vessels. The distance was still too great to get more detailed readings through the residual charge of the hull but there also appeared to be a station in the centre of the gate system.
Both relaxed, the sector had been colonised. The last part of the journey, which had threatened to be the most hazardous, was going to be a cake-walk.
He was over 80 klicks from the nearest jumpgate before Xela reported the first signs of an organised pursuit. Max disengaged the shadow skin, allowing the Mamba to reach it’s maximum possible speed and checked the scanner.
A dozen Bayamons trailed a dozen Mandalays.
“The M5’s will reach us before we reach the IP.” Xela informed him coolly. “They must be real tired of life.”
And so it proved. One hundred klicks short of the Intercept Point Max flipped the Mamba 180 degrees and slaughtered every one of the pursuing Mandalay fighters, almost without conscious thought, just brutal efficiency.
“No sweat eh Max?” Xela remarked, her tone laden with irony.
“No sweat.” Max agreed, activating the zooms for a close-up of the approaching probe.
He whistled.
“Do you see what I see, Zee?”
“I see lot’s of things Max. It’s an old style manned inter-planetary exploration probe, no registry, no IFF.”
“Speculation?”
“No need.” She replied curtly. “All extant vessels of this class are in private hands, one pair of those being Professor Challenger, currently going through one of his ‘missing-presumed-dead’ periods. It was in the news recently. If anyone is chasing legends in Xenon space it’ll be him.”
“Then that’s..”
“The Serendipity, well done Max. I met him once, interesting man and not shy about getting in harms way. Let’s see if we can resolve this without gunfire shall we?”
“We could try I suppose.” Max replied, mock doubt coating his words like treacle.
“You’ll have about 7 minutes, before the B’s arrive.”
“Perhaps we could just hijack them?”
“It’s possible.” Xela answered doubtfully. “But this is a pretty big ship, with a crew that could spot what’s going on. With the clock running I’d be happier with a second option.”
“One that did not involve things going boom.” She added. “We want the information Challenger has.”
“I’m open to suggestions.” Max replied.
“Persuasion, trickery or threat. You know the sort of stuff Challenger has pulled in the past. He doesn’t threaten easily. You could just try telling him the truth.”
“The truth eh?” Max mused. “It’s just crazy enough to actually work. Raise them.”
“Too much residual interference from the drive system Max.” Xela replied. “Best I can do is jam their comms at this distance.”
“Do it.” Max ordered.
“.. I repeat. Professor Challenger, this is Commander Force, acting on the highest authority for the Argon Federation and the Community of Planets. We have reason to believe you are in possession of information of the highest significance and you are ordered to heave to and lower your shields. This sector is under the control of unknown Clan forces, their fighters are inbound. Damn it Professor, pick up the comm.”
“Leave it.”
Jervis caught his hand and propelled the Professor back towards his seat. Challenger flailed helplessly before finding a handhold and pulling himself into the chair.
“Look at the ship he’s flying.”
The pilot indicated the circling gull-wing fighter with a jerk of his head.
“That’s a Split ship.”
Challenger bit his tongue, he knew it was a Split fighter, he was neither blind nor stupid and he almost said it but for a familiar feeling in the back of his skull, just where it joined the spine.
It was a feeling he had learned to trust.
“But those are Clan vessels heading our way, are they not?” he inquired, trying to keep the suspicion from his voice but unable to shake the growing certainty that something had subtly changed, that he was no longer in charge.
“Everything is going according to plan.” Han interjected smoothly from the co-pilot station. “This is a Xenon sector. We need an escort and the Argon Navy isn’t available for private parties.”
It was a poor joke, delivered badly and Challenger felt his heart quicken. This wasn’t the plan, wasn’t the plan at all, but the Orca wasn’t showing on the scans. Just the Mamba, and Bayamons.
“I take your point.” He replied casually, unbuckling the seat restraint. “I’ll inform the children of the change of plan.” It came out a little too smoothly, a little too glib.
The gun seemed to appear from nowhere, conjured by sleight-of-hand. Han pirouetted gracefully out of his seat, gliding over Challenger with the practiced ease of a zero-g veteran while Jervis kept the stubby barrel of the laser pointed at Challenger’s head.
“Nothing personal Professor.” Han whispered as he fastened Challenger’s wrists to the armrest with field cuffs. “I’ve read all your books, play along and everything will be fine.”
Challenger’s caustic reply was muffled by a strip of hull sealant.
“Take care of that Force guy, whoever he is.” Jervis ordered Han. Challenger could only follow Han with his eyes as he swam to the rear compartment.
Jervis tapped Challenger’s knee with the barrel of the gun and grinned.
“You should pick your backers with more care.”
Tomas and Tess were engaged in a heated discussion that broke off the instant Han arrived.
“Pirates.” Han said curtly. “With more inbound. Turbo’s.”
The two students looked at each other doubtfully.
“Turbo’s.” Han repeated. “Now.”
Tomas reluctantly unclipped the seat restraint and with a gentle push propelled himself towards what would have been the lower access hatch, in a gravity well. Satisfied that his order was being obeyed Han unsealed the upper access port and floated in.
Tess waited until both airlocks re-pressurised before turning back to her scanner. The Split ship continued to circle, the pirates continued to close. Ignoring the repeated demands of Force she opened a channel to Tomas in the lower defence turret.
“Something is wrong.”
She knew he knew that. Black and white had become several shades of grey.
“Try the Professor.”
She did. No response.
“Can you raise Force?”
She could not, access to the external transmitter was blocked.
“What are we going to do?”
It was the first time she’d heard genuine fear, genuine doubt in his voice. This was real, not another of Challenger’s Great Adventures.
They were both intelligent, both trained to dispassionately analyse facts. Challenger had only alluded to the nature of his backers, hinting the millions of credits it took to mount the expedition came, indirectly, with much circumlocution, from official sources. They had no evidence to back it up, and no evidence to support the counter-claims of the circling Mamba pilot.
Except he had fought and destroyed other pirate mark fighters.
“What are we going to do Tomas?”
The decision was taken from their hands.
Max cut the comm channel and went evasive the second the barrels in the upper defence turret pivoted in his direction.
Quad Beta PAC’s, in pulse mode, began spitting plasma, ripping into his shields. The lower turret opened up as he shot through it’s wide field of fire, close enough to see the gunner, an hirsuite young human, fear-faced, through the clear plasti-steel. The bolts sailed around him, missing completely.
“Cease fire you maniacs.” Max shouted. “Professor, talk to me.”
“He can’t Max. I scoped the cockpit. Look. That’s Challenger. Gagged and from the position of his arms, restrained.”
The image was blurred and Max couldn’t make out any features, but if Xela said so.
“Four minutes Max.” Xela announced. “Then we have to be out of here. Even you can’t beat a dozen Bayamons. Damn.”
She paused.
“That Orca is back Max, and heading our way.”
Max did not respond, he could feel his thoughts beginning to freeze, unable to either choose between two unpalatable options or come up with an alternative. And he was tired, tired beyond the bone, his body so soaked in adrenaline it no longer had any effect.
“Can we knock down the shields and use the teleport?” he screamed as he twisted the Mamba, a fatigue-wracked fraction of a second too late, from a pinpoint plasma burst from the upper turret.
His ship bucked and shook under the assault. Max jinked and rolled to avoid the precision fire.
“Dream on Max.” Xela replied, her own voice rising with alarm.
Another volley, this time from the lower turret, smeared through the vacuum, metres from his wing.
“We’ll ‘jack this sucker, Zee. We can’t take the chance they’ve found that crashed ship. You know what the consequences would be.”
“Three minutes, Max. Three minutes.”
“Send this on repeat, Zee. Attention Serendipity. You are ordered to abandon ship now. Surrender or be destroyed.”
Max did not wait for Xela’s acknowledgement. The Mamba rolled onto the tail of the probe and opened fire.
The spherical ship, Max discovered, had no blind spots, forcing him to smash down the 50MW shields with missiles and slashing hit and run attacks. Even the lower turret gunner had no trouble hitting him if he tried to sit and keep the shields low enough for Xela to work through.
“I can’t do it Max, I can’t do it! Keep those shields low!” She shouted frantically.
“One minute. Almost there, almost there..”
Max held his position, under the aft port quarter, weaving between the plasma bolts, gambling everything on reflexes he could feel failing as his shields fell towards zero.
“Damn, someone is countering. I can’t do it Max. Get us out of here!”
The Bayamon pack was almost on them now.
Max froze, froze on the cusp, impaled on the horns.
“Those who fight and run away Max! Max! Snap out of it!”
Max dimly heard the words as his thoughts flowed like cold molasses.
Who knows how we make those crux decisions, why we take that turn instead of this?
Is it unconscious logic, a rational act emerging from the roiling psyche? Is it just random neurons flipping, life ruled by quantum dice, angels or devils with the loudest voice? Nature, nurture? Fate? Hubris? Left, right, her or her, him or him?
When we look back on the wreckage of our lives and ask, in bitterness and regret,
“Why the hell did I do that?”
When we wonder, what lay down that other road?
What is the answer?
“One, two three Zee.”
Max ripped her chip from the interface and fired a sustained, devastating stream of plasma into the failing shields of Professor Challenger’s vessel.
“So you wasted THE Professor Challenger?” Jackson took a long pull on the water-pipe, holding the smoke deep in his lungs, embracing that feel-good rush. He searched for and, face brightening, found an appropriate response to the denouement of the increasingly plausible story.
“Cool!”
Force took the pipe stem, choking down a full breath he quickly coughed out.
Jackson watched with wry amusement and with a click of his fingers signalled the hovering waitress to bring fresh drinks.
“This is a real classy joint Jack.” Max said finally, jerking his head back at the bar beyond their booth. Another fight had erupted. Jackson watched it with a practiced eye. Teladi and Split against the Argon, this time.
“I should raise my prices.”
The waitress waltzed smoothly back through the flying furniture, the beers balanced elegantly on one sure hand. Jack took the tray, acknowledging her performance with a wink she returned with a grin.
Later.
“What can I say Max?” Jackson gestured helplessly. “Since you moved in they’ve been pretty cooped up. No pillaging, very little plundering. The Argon are frustrated, the Teladi portfolios aren’t accruing at the predicted rate and the Split? Well, they’re getting just plain ugly.”
He grinned.
“You know what I mean?”
Max drained half the glass in one draught, before taking another large hit from the bubbling pipe in the centre of the table.
He exhaled slowly this time, in control, and nodded.
“So, you’re a spy working for some Argon Intelligence operation and Max Force is dead?”
He sipped his own beer, it was too cold, with an indefinable aftertaste. Marteene, Force or whatever, he was right. This place lacked class.
“Why are you telling me all this?” he asked finally.
“Mission over.” Force said. “The location of the alien ship remains unknown, no-one gets to play with new toys, call it a draw. And I haven’t done everything I’ve done just to walk away from it now. Outstanding scores.”
“And someone just might get hung out to dry for Challenger, leaving no loose ends. Your people wouldn’t do that would they, Planet of the Free and all that?”
“It’s good to see irony thriving in such an inhospitable environment.” Force replied without smiling. “What do you think? My company is fully incorporated, in friendly Teladi jurisdiction, I’ve got a couple of million credits, a thriving business, advanced technology and my own pocket fleet. Would you walk away from that, with Stoertebeker still standing?”
“Of course I wouldn’t. But I’m one of the bad guys remember?”
He stroked his thin beard as he regarded Force quizzically.
“The question is, would Marteene?”
“Marteene died with Challenger, Jack.” Force replied fiercely. “As far as I know, he’s still wanted for stealing his ship and the shadow-skin tech. My Controller is missing, presumed dead, and he’s the only guy that can either finger or clear me. I’m feeling a strong breeze on my ass and I’m tired, Jack, just tired of it all. It’s time to look out for Number One.”
“Okay.” Jackson nodded slowly. “Max, it is. But you haven’t answered the question. Why tell me this?”
“Because I’m going to make you an offer and I don’t want any misunderstandings to arise later when you do some digging.”
He waited while Jackson took another hit from the pipe and then took another himself.
“I’m going to let you in on the ground floor of something big, something I need one helluva lot of credits for. Fifty mill gets you a quarter slice of infinite profits.”
Jackson fixed Max with a saucer stare, his pupils wide and black.
“We’re already partners Max, sort of. What else can you offer besides spaceweed?”
He took another hit.
“Fine, fine stuff by the way, improving with every batch.”
Force leaned forward to conspiratorially whisper.
“I got Challenger’s computer core Jack, scooped it right up from under their noses and ran for the gate. Jump-drives without jump-gates, we could control that technology.”
Jackson raised a brow in surprise, then his boyish face hardened, making him look years older.
“What’s to stop me killing you now and just taking it for myself Max?”
Max smiled and relaxed back into the leather upholstery.
“First, you don’t know what safeguards I’ve put in place or what sort of damage they could cause.”
Jackson conceded the point with a smile.
“And second.” It was Max’s turn to smile. “You just won’t be able to resist. You didn’t get where you are today by scorning opportunities, or words to that effect. Or was it just a pretty speech?”
Jackson looked at him for a long minute, chewing a knuckle unconsciously, as he assessed his options. He’d heard of Marteene of course, some Argon spook woman had lifted a lot of rocks looking for him. He’d heard she’d died in the Black Hole Sun station riots when Max had run the gates.
Interesting.
So was the news that some of the Clans, and no doubt some Teladi and who knows who else, were involved in their own conspiracy. And he had not been invited.
Too small-time, too new and no stake to bring to the game, that was fair enough.
But where people conspire, in his experience, there were credits to be plucked from the air. Force, his Corporation, and the precise location of this alleged alien ship. That was what he would call a stake, if he could persuade Force to sign up instead of going it alone.
And if this was not all some elaborate ruse by Marteene.
Jackson prided himself on his instincts and he listened to them now. Trauma and stress did bad things to a man’s mind and Force was unbalanced.
Absolutely no doubt.
He’d calmed down now, after smoking enough of his own dope to make a Split reasonable, but when he first appeared, fresh from the scene of the crime, he’d had a strange glow in eyes, which darted and danced as if he was still in combat.
His face remained pale, haunted and feral, even now.
If this was a game of poker, Jackson realised, this would be the guy with the busted flush, and his gamblers reflex cut in.
Raise or call?
Jackson smiled inwardly as he allowed himself to be swept away on the tide of his own recklessness. He knew he was taking a big risk, knew this could be a trap, knew he might just be bait for a bigger catch.
But the potential reward and the sheer, for-the-hell-of-it fun! What was life without a little risk?
“Fifty million Max, that’s a lot, even for us. What control do I get?”
“Sleeping partner Jack, got to preserve my legit status, but to make this work we need each other. Joint strategy, tactical implementation up to me, following consultation of course.”
Jackson shrugged. “I’ve worked with sketchier agreements, not with these stakes though, but what the heck. Can you sell this to your people? The electronic chick?”
“The Raiders will follow my orders Jack, Paskaal was a bounty-hunter and hasn’t shown any particular scruples so far and Xela is programmed to do as she’s damn well told. My only problem will be to stop her bitching about it. Anyway, I don’t plan on telling them everything.”
“The sign me up for the wild ride Max baby.” Jack said with a wide, little-boy grin.
They shook hands.
As one new alliance was forged another was breaking down.
“Daht has called an emergency meeting to discusss recent events.” Director Morn venomously hissed. She held a data-padd to the monitor but Law could not read the Teladi script over the low resolution back-up comm.
“Proxy votes continue to fall, thisss may threaten my position and Force could make legal representations to the Community of Planetss for the actionss of my security patrolss.”
Law forced himself to concentrate on what his main Teladi ally was saying, it was difficult to make out her sibilant speech through the blood pounding in his skull or concentrate through the slow-cooling rage.
They were bound together, it was an unpalatable truth.
“What can be done?” he said, as evenly as he could.
“What can always be done.” Morn said. “Pay bribesss. You will transsfer one hundred million creditsss to the account. No negotiations, ssum I match.”
Law realised he had no choice and acceded with the best grace he could muster, which was very little.
The sweet cloying smell of blood from his gore soaked arms mingled with the foetid stench of ripped bowels and as Law contemplated how to best deal with the consequences of his rage a signal came from his main operative in the Enterprise base station.
“Are you sure it’s functional?” Jackson asked, reaching out. Max handed him the silver sphere. “Careful. It’s heavier than it looks.”
It was, he found, taking it gingerly in both hands, indeed heavier than he expected, despite being nearly the size of a medicine ball. On closer inspection the heavy silver shielding was tarnished in patches and pitted with microscopic scars. It certainly looked as if the computer core had been in some sort of accident.
“Keep it somewhere safe Jack.”
“This is as safe as it gets.” Jackson gestured around. “My own walk-in vault in my own quarters.”
He snapped the sphere back to Max with a surprisingly strong throw. Max caught it awkwardly, staggering slightly as he held it to his stomach.
“Put it anywhere.”
Max knelt carefully and placed the computer core between two unmarked cylinders amongst the clutter of sealed containers. The vault was the size of a small cargo bay, accessible only through a heavy blast door keyed to Jackson’s biometrics.
“Ill-gotten gains?”
Jackson shrugged and smiled.
“Sometimes you just don’t want to give things up.” He picked a small, nondescript metal box from a free-standing rack of shelves, littered with small containers, and pressed a thumb to the seal.
“Isn’t this great? Number eleven,” he indicated the serial number as he handed the model to Max. “Of only fifty. And still in it’s original packaging. I’ve got the Brennan action figure somewhere!” He finished, grinning boyishly.
“Cool.” Max agreed, handing Jackson the model X-Shuttle. “This isn’t a toy though, it’s the Serendipity computer core. Once we figure a way past the protection, the lockouts and the encryption, it’s our ticket to the top table.”
Jackson carefully placed the X-Shuttle back into it’s container.
“I’ll get people onto it.”
Max laughed.
“Right Jack. If I thought you could crack open one of these babies do you really think I’d stow it here?”
“Okay Max, no problem partner. What next?”
“I’m about to branch out into the high tech business Jack. Once I figure out how to get Xela to play nice it’ll be no problem. Meanwhile, it’s our hole card, no need to show until someone calls.”
“Okay Max.” Jackson agreed. “No peeking. When does the game start?”
“As soon as we find out who to invite.” Max replied. “I need to get back to Base and don’t be a stranger Jack, it’s always party time at Max’s Place!”
Jackson waited until the Force Mamba vanished through the jump-gate to Scale Plate Green before calling together his squad commanders. A more open alliance with Force would be easier to sell, now that the objectors to his rule had been weeded out, and fifty million credits was a cheap price to pay for entrance into the big leagues.
Max, he thought, had a much more challenging task. So to speak.
“You did what?” Paskaal echoed Xela’s question with a deal less volume and silently let the admission sink in while Max argued with the disembodied female voice filling the small briefing room.
“Are you sure that was wise?”
It was not a question. Rather, it was a question, just not the stated one.
“Have you gone completely insane?” her tone screamed.
Either way an insouciant shrug was not the reply either of them were looking for.
“Not good enough Max! I..”
“Hush lass.” Paskaal cut in softly. “Tell us what happened Max.”
“They wouldn’t lower their shields and the reinforcements were all over me.” Max answered in measured words. “What else could I do? With the exact location of the alien ship they could launch a recovery mission and have the technology.”
“And I know,” he continued, cutting across Xela’s renewed protests, “I could have let them have the information and stuck with the original plan and build a legitimate industrial infrastructure as the lure. That wouldn’t work. Every time we give the clans a bloody nose we break a finger. Just one dead pilot this time but we can’t lose ships and cargo at that rate. And you aren’t going to like this so, in advance, shut up Zee.”
He finished the Java and took another three chocolate biscuits.
“I told Jackson the whole story. Can you wait ‘til I’ve finished?”
Paskaal choked back his words and Xela fell silent.
“Not the whole story, almost all, not the Marteene side. Force changing sides, and Challenger was the clincher. The Confeds are our foot in the Clan door, we have to find out what’s going on in that sector and we’ve got to get involved ASAP.”
Max ran his fingers through his sweat matted hair, looking, Paskaal thought, as exhausted as he’d ever seen him. And brittle, beneath the bone white mask of his face, his voice, controlled tremulous.
Paskaal wished he could see his eyes, invisible behind the shades.
“If I hadn’t stopped Challenger we’d have left the Clans in control of the sector, able to retrieve the alien device at their leisure. It’s damn clear they have a much closer alliance with some Teladi than we thought otherwise Law wouldn’t have dared use sector security forces in that last fight. We could be cut out of the loop totally.”
“And then there’s the question of Boron involvement.”
He let the statement stand for a few seconds.
“I don’t believe that the Clans could seize and fortify that sector without Nibris being complicit.”
Max paused to push another biscuit into his mouth, barely chewing before swallowing and taking another.
“And there was an Orca TL. It jumped in, I’m sure of it.”
“That is not a logical deduction from the data, Max.” Xela observed. “It appeared at the Menelaus Paradise gate.”
“Precisely.” Max answered.
“If it’s a Clan mother-ship of some kind then it must have come through Paradise.”
“Perhaps it did.” Paskaal observed. “Our nav-sat there has been knocked out again.”
“If it is a Clan TL then Nibris must be at least turning a blind eye.” He continued. “But we guessed that already. A counter-balance to the Split, remember.”
Max shook his head.
“No – holding that sector against the Xenon requires masses of resources and it’s been there some time. Intel would have picked up on the traffic. They might not have mentioned it to me but I’m damn sure you would have heard, Zee.”
“I just might not have mentioned it to myself Max, if you know what I mean. Unlikely though, I take your point.”
“Even if Nibris could get hold of a jump-drive, why would she give it to the Clans? And if she did, surely someone would have picked up a rumour? Every intelligence organisation in the universe would be on her case.” Paskaal interjected.
“Hiding a jump-capable fighter, especially one with shadow-skin, is one thing, an illegal drive on a damn TL is a completely different proposition. It would have been spotted the first time it appeared in regulated space.”
“Not if it’s an officially registered drive.” Max replied. “Nibris commands that sector, right? It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out if there is a civilian TL assigned to the frontier and who owns it. I’m betting whoever owns it, she controls it. Then I begin to wonder what if something happened to it and another civilian TL were needed to keep the civilian stations happy?”
“Yes, Orca’s fall to pieces if you so much as look at them.” Xela agreed, electronic tongue firmly in digital cheek. “I think in that case they would need a replacement. Sinas quoted 16 million for a refitted model, make that 20 with a spot of upgrading. You’d better get out there hijacking Max.”
“That just pays for our fighters.” Max replied. “But Jackson is giving us fifty million.” He added casually. “For a stake in the new technology.”
The stunned silence was eventually broken by Xela.
“Uhh Max, you do realise that the Community of Planets goes to great lengths to prevent Clans from laundering their money through legitimate corporations? It’s why none of the big boys will play with them and why our plan is to provide access to hi-tech resources as a way into the conspiracy. They’ll shut us down fast.”
“We don’t need to hide it forever.” Paskaal interjected. “Just long enough to complete this mission. What do you think lass? You up for it?”
“Messing with the banking system could be tricky, but yes, sounds like fun! It’s a pity Artur isn’t around.” Xela replied enthusiastically.
“Go for it Zee.” Max said. He turned to Paskaal.
“You and Payter get to work on a plan to take out that Orca once Zee has pinned down the particulars. If possible, one that will leave us in possession of the jump-drive without anyone knowing it’s gone and one that won’t leave us in Nibris’ or Clan bad books.”
“And doesn’t involve mass slaughter.” Paskaal added. If Max noticed the faint edge he gave no sign.
“The Memorial is fixed for six hours Max.” He continued. “You should get some rest.”
“Too much to do.” Max answered. “I’ll grab some more Java and work on our next moves.”
“If you don’t take a break right now Max.” Paskaal said, with more vehemence than he intended. “I’ll cold-**** you and drag your unconscious body to bed.”
“I’m with Paskaal.” Xela added. “Repressed homo-erotic imagery aside. Bed Max, NOW! And leave me with Paskaal, I need to hook up to the comm. system and get digging around the Boron data-net.”
Her tone triggered adolescent memories and he complied with as little truculence as he could manage.
While Paskaal and Xela shared deep concerns, Max wrestled a half-sleep from the melange of nightmare images floating up from his subconscious.
*******************************************************************
Paskaal took the Xela data-padd and made his way from Raiders Territory up the levels to Corrin’s Casino.
Adjust the walk, hold yourself a little loose, smile and glad-hand, slipping into the Corrin identity was as simple as changing into the lounge suit he kept in his flight locker.
Uniforms and signifiers, they kept your head straight, undercover.
Max though, and Paskaal realised even he thought of him as Max, Max and Marteene. There was no distance. One and the same behind the ubiquitous shades, reflecting mirrors not windows on the soul. He resolved to have a long, serious talk with Marteene and considered broaching his increasingly reckless actions with the Xela AI but he considered her loyalties uncertain at best.
Killing Challenger, damn, that was serious! If it ever got out? And fan-dancing with the truth to hook in Jackson? His jaws tightened with unconscious anger. Too risky and something he should have discussed. Fatigue, guilt and, if he was any sort of judge, incipient stim psychosis, were not the best foundations for good decision-making.
As it happened, Paskaal thought turning the tragedy into an opportunity to force the pace of their penetration of the Shadow Conspiracy, was an inspired action. But it could have damn well waited until Xela and himself had a chance to comment and suggest improvements.
What was that old saying from the days of sail, when the Argon were spreading across the planet?
A loose cannon.
The sound and the disparate mix of smells: alcohol, spaceweed, and dozens of perfumes, masking or enhancing the natural body odour of four species; hit him like a left-right combination as he stepped from the elevator. The casino existed in it’s own time warp, here it was always, relentlessly, party time.
Corrin bon-homied his way across the floor, shaking hands, back-slapping and exchanging stilted air kisses with the minor celebrities that seemed to have taken up permanent residence, gasping on the thinning oxygen of publicity afforded by the notoriety attached to the Force name.
Free publicity for both them and Max, and not one of them was smart enough not to draw to an inside straight, making for a healthy bottom line.
With relief Corrin sealed himself in his office and ordered beer and sandwiches, which were delivered immediately with a discreet tap at the door. He tipped the statuesque hostess handsomely and was rewarded with a flash of dazzling teeth.
He hooked the Xela AI to the comm link, letting her loose while he ate his meal and played with the accumulating backlog of routine paper-work. His viewer he tuned to the Universal News Network with orders to search for any mention of Challenger, hoping it would remain muted.
“…firmed reports are coming in of the destruction of missing maverick explorer, Professor Challenger’s ship, the Serendipity.”
Corrin jerked instantly awake in his seat, his neck stiff.
The presenter, one of the young blondes he assumed must be bred in a tank somewhere, listened intently to her silent feed before announcing.
“This footage just in.”
“Damn.” Corrin murmured. “Damn, damn, damn.”
It was digitised gun camera footage, high magnification, an unmarked Mamba and an obsolete interplanetary probe. The Mamba circled the probe, methodically firing volleys into the shields while defence turrets punched back, forcing the Split fighter to twist and weave.
The magnification stepped down as the camera ship closed on the dramatic scene, as it did so Bayamon fighters drifted in and out of shot.
A voice-over observed that the film must also have been shot from a clan ship.
Corrin found himself oddly relieved when the Mamba rolled and destroyed the spherical ship with a sustained burst, a disintegrating comet plunging through space, trailing a debris tail. At least Max had clearly tried to capture the vessel but the turrets made the attempt futile.
Tough, tough call.
The clip ended abruptly, leaving most questions still unanswered, but at least the Mamba remained unidentified.
Corrin had a suspicion that Max had only the libel laws to thank for that. Whoever leaked the footage to the media was intimately connected to the clans operating in that sector and he realised they must have a good idea who was flying the Mamba, even if they couldn’t prove it.
“Is that how you remember it girl?”
“Pretty much Corrin.” Xela replied. “But Max disconnected me before finishing the ship and didn’t hook me up until we docked back here. The news is over every channel, no more details though. I think we got away with it.”
“Got away with murder?”
Xela paused before answering.
“Legally, no. He acted under orders from the highest levels and the action took place in neutral space.”
“Except that Artur is our only official contact. Without him we’re just what we seem. Another corporation dancing close to the edge.”
“It’s his mission Corrin.” She replied. “Legally speaking again. Are you having problems?”
Corrin finished the beer as he considered his answer.
“No lass.” He answered slowly. “Not precisely, but don’t you think Max is becoming, in the absence of a thesaurus, reckless?”
“Reckless? That’s a harsh term Corrin. Look at what he’s achieved and look at how few people we’ve lost.”
“He’s gambled and won each time. Luck.”
“And luck runs out?”
“When you most need it.”
“Can’t argue with that.” She acknowledged. “And if you want something to worry about, worry about the stims. He’s popping way too many, if I was a doctor I’d ground him for a few days.”
“A problem?”
“Possibly – and they are not exactly conducive to good judgement. Ground him for a few days.” She repeated
Corrin stroked his chin and absently munched on the remaining sandwich.
“Can you see Max sitting for that? As you say, he’s in charge.”
“Find some way to keep him busy here. Business. Raiders.”
“I suppose.” Corrin mused. “It would be good for morale if Commander Force spent more time with the troops, particularly the new recruits. And there’s all those important people that need stroking.”
“That’s the spirit Corrin! Stealth relaxation.”
Corrin ordered another round of sandwiches, along with a beer and a whisky chaser, they arrived a few minutes later, a discreet tap at the door.
“This Jackson business.” Corrin said through a mouthful of cheese and pickle.
“What do you think?”
“If Jackson swallows it and nothing comes up to throw the Force masquerade? It might be a brilliant move.”
“Might be?”
“Jackson’s not a fool.” Xela said. “He’ll do some digging, but Max is exploiting his weakness.”
“Our boy Jack is in a hurry?”
“Correct. The man is a gambler and Max is offering him an inside track to the Clan Big Table. We can take it as read that Law has a seat. If we deal with him, hurt him badly enough then they are going to need replacement resources. Jackson can present himself as a conduit for Force Securities and with luck we can wrap the whole lot up before the authorities catch on. We’re going to need a hell of a lot more than a Bliss Place and a couple of Dream Farms.”
“In which case.” Corrin said, finishing the beer. “We need money, fast.”
He called up the accounts on screen and played with the numbers.
“Allowing for replacing the Maglit, we’ve only a couple of million credits but the income stream is good and we’ve a list of wants from the locals that’ll keep our freighters busy. We need more ships though. Quickly.”
“Once I’ve finished my prying we should take the Mamba out.” Xela said. There are still Xenon coming through Black Hole Sun, are those old reflexes up to a spot of hi-jacking?”
“Less of the old, if you don’t mind lassie.” Corrin smiled. “Anything Max can do, I can do better!” He mock bragged.
They discussed more business details while Max slept. Xela continued to probe the banking system and sought information on the Orca.
Then news came in from Teladi Gain. Two items.
Corrin contacted Payter and sent him to rouse Max.
Rogues Resurgence Ch 12 completed
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Rogues Resurgence Ch 12 completed
Last edited by SteveMill on Mon, 11. Nov 02, 11:52, edited 1 time in total.
Excellent!!
I wonder, though, how they will manage to bind Max to the station. For a moment I thought he could teach the new guys some combat but that would have him in a cockpit again
Intriguing that there is no definite sign of a plan to 'sort' Max out
Will be very interesting to see how his plans eventuate and what his friends have to say.
Mooooooore
I wonder, though, how they will manage to bind Max to the station. For a moment I thought he could teach the new guys some combat but that would have him in a cockpit again
Intriguing that there is no definite sign of a plan to 'sort' Max out
Will be very interesting to see how his plans eventuate and what his friends have to say.Mooooooore
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Gandalf The White
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