It's a good enough reason to come to Tionisla. There are pickings aplenty among the wrecks. The treasures of centuries might be revealed by pressing the right panel on the right cube of black, alien metal as it floats silently by.
Or maybe not treasure, just the tomb's defences…
A pit with a laser.
A robot guardian with knives where its hands should be.
A hyperspace vacuum that sucks you in and throws you out into another time.
You tread carefully among the wrecks in orbit about Tionisla. The creatures buried here — human and alien — had money enough to buy these prized resting places, and more than enough wealth to protect their property after death from the mercenary fingers of bounty hunters.
Formalities completed, his newly issued pilot's licence checked, Alex Ryder was given a small tour-ship, an oddly shaped and cumbersome vessel. He drifted quickly among the tombs, seeking the resting place of Starpilot Fleischer, following co-ordinates on the ship's cemetery plan.
He soon found what he was looking for. Whoever Fleischer had been, he was monstrously egocentric: his tomb was a great crystalline structure, a puff-ball of diamond-bright needles, literally hundreds of feet across. His body, dressed in the red uniform of an elite combateer, hovered in stasis at the centre of this great construct, illuminated by focused light from the sun.
Tethered to the simple monument of the grave next to this was the battered, blistered shape of a Cobra class ship, its insignia still proudly displayed, but all its vital equipment, its fuel-scoop, its extra cargo bays, its aft missile and laser banks removed.
Alex stared at it. It looked nothing like the Cobra that had destroyed his father's ship. That vessel had been bristling with all the extra things that good money could buy, to defend and to attack, and to make the trading game an easier prospect for the elite trader.
A light on the Cobra winked at him.
Alex blinked, then looked again. Sure enough, a small, red light was flashing on and off, a brief sequence of code.
LAND ON DOR PL
'Land on the dorsal plate'—That was clear enough.
Alex manoeuvred his tiny craft above the arrow shape of the Cobra, and touched it gently onto the heat-blistered hull. He looked around guiltily.
Touching monuments wasn't permitted and the cemetery was patrolled by Kraits, small and deadly security craft, with instructions to blast away any man, woman or child seen tampering with a mausoleum…
But the graveyard was huge, and the shadows of the great tombs transferred this miniature world of the dead into a place of hide-outs, and shifting, occasional safety.
An entry port opened, and a green light quickly blinked the message 'Come aboard'. Alex flew the tour-ship into the hull space and when he got the
'pressure green' signal stepped out and walked cautiously towards the main control area. He opened the sliding door and blinked for a moment at the bright control displays and scanners. Ahead of him, the main screen was wide, and filled with a view of Fleischer's crystal tomb.
Silhouetted against the gleaming brightness of the crystal was the shape of a man, wearing full space suit. One hand rested on the navigation console, the other hovered above the laser button.
'I'm aboard,' Alex said, and walked up behind the silent pilot. The man made no movement, said nothing.
For a moment Alex stood beside him, staring out into the wreckplace, at the slowly shifting monuments, at the stars glimpsed in the background.
Then he turned to greet his host.
And nearly died of shock, taking a quick, horrified step backwards!
It was the drawn, mummified face of a corpse that half looked up at him from behind its visor, the rictus smile of death stretching wide across its lips.
'Do you think we should take him with us?' a voice asked from across the cabin. Alex started again with surprise and watched the figure which emerged from the shadows. 'As a sort of totem. A lucky charm.'
Alex tried to smile, but neither relief nor the new arrival's charming grin could relax him enough. Too much had happened too fast, and he stood rooted to the spot, watching as the woman came over to him.
She was quite small. Her skin was olive, her eyes dark. She wore her hair in a fashionable series of spikes, like a porcupine. Dressed in the light green coveralls that most traders sported, she seemed swamped by clothes.
Her hand-touch was cool and confident, and she kept the contact as she looked up at Alex Ryder, still smiling disarmingly.
'So you're the man that Rafe has chosen. Well, Alex. So far it seems that star-riding with you is at least going to be quiet. You do…er…' she frowned. 'You do have a speech function?' She turned him slightly and felt up his back for the switch. 'Or are you one of the early 'semaphore and gormless grin' models?'
'Sorry,' Alex said. 'You took me by surprise.'
'Oh God,' the woman said. 'Where's the off-switch? I think I prefer you silent…'
'Who are you?' Alex asked, irritated by her levity and keen to find out why Rafe Zetter had summoned him here? Where was the old man?
'Trader Fields', she said, and touched the heel of her right hand to her left shoulder by way of salute. 'My given name is Elyssia. Elyssia Fields.'
She smiled again. 'My brood mother's little joke. She discovered Greek mythology at age 9 when she was incubating her first cluster.'
Brood mother? Greek? Incubating clusters? That meant that Elyssia Fields was from Teorge, the so-called 'clone-world'. Alex struggled to remember what he'd been taught about Teorge… an inhabited world… settled by two colony ships that had proceeded to clone a select few of the crew and colonists, killing the others. For centuries Teorge had been a world apart, cut off from the normal flow of trade and commerce, and banned from sending representatives into space.
Elyssia Fields was clearly a fugitive.
'I'm Alex Ryder,' Alex said. different combinations of food and drink each time you play), night ensues, 'I know,' the woman said back, breaking the gaze with which she'd been fixing him. She patted the corpse on the shoulder, an oddly affectionate gesture. 'This is — or rather was — Space Trader Henry Bell. We're going to purloin Mister Bell's coffin. Of all the people who are going to object, he's going to be the most objectionable. This rust bucket is set up with holo-projections of our man here, warning of dire consequences for invading his sanctity. I've turned most of them off, but I expect I've missed a few.'
'We're going to steal this ship?' Alex said quietly, checking the flickering control display panel. Witchlight fuel registered enough for a
0.1 light-year jump, hardly sufficient to clear the Tionisla system.
Elyssia stared at him, a half smile on her lips. 'We could pass the time chatting if you'd prefer. Plant some flowers, clean the tomb up…'
'I meant,' Alex said drily, 'How the hell are we going to get away with it?' He found himself staring at the pert features of the humanoid female.
The shadow of gloom and grief that had haunted him for the last few hours seemed to fade a little. The girl interested him. He added, 'And just why are you helping me, anyway? Where's Rafe?'
With a quick laugh, Elyssia said, 'Funny thing about Rafe. Wherever you go in the galaxy, he's always there, a shimmering white holoFac… but where he really is… that's something you're about to find out.' she glanced up at Alex. 'Why am I helping you? Who says I am. We'll be helping each other, in fact. You have a father to avenge. I have some things to avenge too. Maybe I'll tell you about them one day. But without you I cannot fly this ship.'
Surprised, Alex said, 'Cobras were made to be flown by a single pilot.'
'But I'm a single Teorgeon. I'm not supposed to be here. I can fly this bucket with my eyes closed, but your face fits. Listen, Alex, this craft wouldn't survive the first attack by a pirate with a peashooter, no matter how good we are behind the laser button. We need shields, missiles, defences and cargo space. How d'you think we're going to get them? They don't grow on silvery moons, you know.'
'Trade for them,' Alex said gloomily, and the vista of his family's long life trading through the stars swept before his eyes.
Elyssia was right. He couldn't go hunting a Cobra without the proper equipment, and it would take too long to sort out his inheritance, bearing in mind the circumstances of his father's death.
He felt utterly overwhelmed with frustration. A part of him wanted to kill right now. A part of him wanted to rip out onto the space-lanes, and hunt his father's killer. But the best part of him knew that would be a recipe for disaster, that patience was called for, that a tactical appraisal of how he would set about the hunt was essential… and that a protected ship was the barest necessity!
'I've got a hundred credits in all the world,' Alex said, referring to the Galactic Emergency Services loan that he had been given to get him home.
'It's a start,' Elyssia said. 'It's a start in the trading business. As Rafe would say, we'll give this old lass an iron ass.' Her face darkened though the flickering lights from the console were bright in her eyes.
'Then we'll go to a place that I suspect only Rafe Zetter knows, and we'll watch a lot of heartache burn up courtesy of some fine shooting by the both of us. 'We'll get the ship that put an end to your father. It's a ship that has a lot to answer for…'
But she would say no more than that.
For anyone reckoning on beginning a space trading career from scratch the hardest task is finding a ship. Each planetary system has its floating junk yards, its second-hand craft, its impounded vessels, eventually auctioned by the police. Most places advertise for co-pilots, to work without pay for four years with the guarantee of a ship at the end of it — if they're still alive.
But ships are expensive, even if they're from the scrap heap.
Alex was impressed and startled by the audacity of the theft that was being proposed. In response to Rafe's plan, the fugitive, who had been hiding out in the dead craft for nearly a year, had managed to accumulate the fuel, food and power to make the brief hyperspace jump to the interstellar junk yard. All that had been missing was the right co-pilot, someone who could actually do the trading without arousing suspicion.
They hauled the mummified body of Henry Bell to the small tour-ship and set the craft adrift.
'Whatever happens now,' Elyssia said as they took positions at the bridge consoles, 'You're going to get an "offender" status tag. But Rafe thinks if you respect the body they'll just post it at Tionisla itself. Destroy the body and they'll probably notify most worlds in the vicinity, and we can't afford that. Here goes…'
On the screen, the small tour-ship drifted away, and the crowded monuments of the cemetery swung past in a dizzying array of bright and shadowy surfaces. Alex studied the scanners and monitors carefully. They had only tiny energy supply to fore and aft screens. A blast or two of laser power.
No missiles, of course. The craft was still locked on to the Dodo space station, whose position was shown by the darting bright point in the tri-axial grid map.
Slowly the Cobra turned, and began to move gently, silently towards the edge of the spiral grave-field.
The scanner scanned, and Alex watched it hard, alert and apprehensive for the tell-tale wink of its moving green light. The duller-colours of the tombs and stationary craft crowded the scanning screen, moving slowly past.
'There's something I ought to tell you about uncontrolled WitchSpace jumps…' Elyssia said, and Alex felt a moment's irritation.
'I already know. Thanks. Besides, wherever we're going we're only going a tenth of an LY. And that's reasonably safe.'
Elyssia sniggered. 'What god or goddess do you believe in?'
'Randomius Factoria…' Alex muttered.
'Me too…'
They looked at each other.
Alex laughed and said, 'Repeat after me: Lady of Fate, we adore you…'
'Get us to Rafe's, we implore you…'
The monuments and monoliths drifted by. The star field widened ahead of them. 'Nearly there,' Elyssia breathed. 'Get ready for the jump…'
Alex watched the scanner.
And two bright points of light appeared, moving rapidly towards them.
'Company!' he said, and Elyssia swore loudly.
'We've not got much laser power,' Alex said.
'Use our laser, and any chance of trading goes. Those are police. They may not be Vipers, but they're police nevertheless. Damn!'
Ahead of them the starfield was almost clear. The two security craft veered apart, to close in from the sides. Elyssia began to count down, finger resting on the simple trigger that would dispatch them Faraway. 'Ten seconds…'
The Cobra vibrated and whined, unused to activity after many years in stasis.
'They're closing — fire coming in!'
'Five seconds.'
The Cobra screeched as a laser shot glanced off its hull. The shield energy, low as it was, vanished! The attacking craft overshot. It's colleague fired and missed, manoeuvring with difficulty around a large, henge monument that slowly revolved at the edge of the cemetery.
'Three…'
'Lining up… fire coming in!'
The two craft were together again. Their laser fire played in the void around the Cobra.
'Two…'
There was a strike, a scream of pain, the vessel almost rocked out of control. And then-Star tunnel!
Elyssia flopped back in her chair. Alex cheered. When he looked at the woman he saw that she was drenched with sweat. When he reached a hand towards her, his fingers were shaking uncontrollably.
Chapter four
'You've got a ship,' said Rafe, 'You've got money. You've got a co-pilot who's a better shot than you, but not for long I hope. Now it's up to you, young Alex. And one thing more. If Jason were here he'd have this to say.
In time of trouble, forget common sense, forget the force. Do what you goddam feel like. If it don't work, one thing's for sure. You ain't going to be around to regret it.'
Seated at the astrogation console of the Cobra, Alex watched Rafe's home on the forward screen. It was a much modified, and quite bizarre-looking, Anaconda cruiser, its cargo bay dented, its fuel-scoop ripped open, its hull lights blinking not so much with meaning as with disrepair.
Rafe had not invited him aboard. At 0.1 Iight years from Tionisla he was safe from detection, and here he stayed in the cold and silence of interstellar space, collecting ships, fuel, food and weapons. Three Mambas — small fighters — were tethered to the service bay on the Anaconda's hull, robots crawling all over them as they patched-up the shot up vessels. Unlike humans, robots could work without arc-lights.
When the graveyard ship had arrived at Rafe Zetter's private system, Rafe's holoFac had appeared in the cabin.
'It takes a lot of effort and a lot of wile to get supplies for the sort of mission you're about to go on. I'll fuel your ship enough to get you to Isinor. But from then on you're on your own. You're going to need missiles, operational lasers, an energy bomb, a fuel scoop… a whole bunch of other things.'
'An iron ass,' Alex muttered with a smile.
'That's right. And I don't want to hear from you again until you've scalped that Cobra that killed Jason.'
'Why are you doing this for me?'
'I'm doing it for Jason,' Rafe said. 'And for others besides. And listen Alex. Don't you go worrying about Raxxla. Not yet. That comes in time…'
'But why did he say it?'
'To let me know he trusted you. Your father reckoned you have it in you to become one of the Elite. That's good enough for me.'
Alex's head span. What was this old man saying now? Not just that Jason Ryder had been an йlite combateer, but that he'd seen the same potential in his son?
In SimCombat Alex had often built up a success and survival score that had awarded him the simulator's highest accolade: a victory roll over the mock-up of the old Earth city of London. But he had never thought that in real life he would ever achieve a combat status higher than 'dangerous'.
>
To be йlite…
A dizzying prospect. And a nerve-racking one, with all that it implied of not just fighting off free-booters, but of spending time as a bounty hunter, deliberately hyperspacing into dangerous planetary systems and waiting for pirates to come to you; looking for trouble, in other words, boosting your combat status to the maximum by advertising yourself to killers, and outgunning them.
'One thing's for sure,' Rafe went on drily. 'Unless you get there, unless you become йlite, you'll never get to Raxxla. And you'll never know exactly what your father was searching for.'
'I don't understand.'
'Were you aware of his involvement in The Dark Wheel?'
Shock after shock! The Dark Wheel was a semi-legendary space unit, star-riders who made it their business to seek the truth behind the plethora of myths and romantic stories that filtered back from all corners of the Universe: fabulous cities, parallel worlds, time travellers, even planets that appeared to be the old 'heaven' of Earth legend. The Dark Wheel was as mysterious and as mythical to the traders of the Galaxy as King Arthur might have been to the first spacemen.
'It's not possible,' Alex breathed. 'He would have told us…'
'The hell he would,' Rafe said, staring at the younger man from the shimmering holoFac on the bridge. 'The ship that killed Jason was no pirate. He was killed because he'd found something. Something that certain parties were deeply unhappy that he'd found.'
'What exactly?'
Rafe laughed. 'Listen to the boy! Look at me, Alex. Do I look whole? I do?
Well I ain't. One leg, some of my liver, a few brain cells — all that's left of the real me. The rest is just bionic. Trying to do what your father did, I got shot to hell'n' back. I was йlite once. Now it takes me ten seconds to decide to spit. He didn't tell me because I'm not part of it anymore. Not to that degree. But I watch and I listen, and I do what I'm told. And as sure as there's gold-flake on the skin of a Geretean, Jason Ryder told me to get you ready to follow in his footsteps.'