Fleetingly, Petroff remembered that the shipyards on Runnymede were now producing two weapons-capable starflyers a month. They were using NARR emigrants for that too, and using materials made from Outer Worlds resources.
Overall, things were going well.
‘... And so, the Last Horizon press release is due out tomorrow morning at 7.30 am. Set your alarms,’ Orbatan continued. Petroff recognised it as the end of the speech.
‘We expect our share price to drop on the initial news, but to recover quickly, as and when we report progress. No doubt, several of our competitors and the media will approach you in the days ahead. We trust you will remember that you are a part of this team because we value your inputs, and value the loyalty you have given the company over the years. We are on the cusp of an amazing period of human development, and you are a part of that.
‘Thank you.’
Petroff made a note, to misappropriate some wormhole time. He needed to drop a message into Earth’s publicnet, instructing his broker to sell his Lynthax shares before the press release went out.
He would buy them back later.
123
Trevon Herald
Tuesday June 16th 2219
‘Lynthax Invests Trillions in New Space Travel Tech
Some say it’s impossible, the money’s wasted’
‘Lynthax has today announced the upcoming spend of some 13 trillion Earth dollars on the development of a new kind of space travel, which has for its aim, the democratisation of space.
Lynthax CEO Nicholas Orbatan says, ‘Earth’s population pressures will go away. It will change everything. When fully developed, everyone will be able to travel between the stars, and that’s no exaggeration…’
Cohen read the rest of press release and cast it aside.
He was out of the loop and blind to developments. All he had left were his unofficial sources and his long-term friendships with Cotton, who was still on strength with the ORF, and Mary, who was now an ISRA Deputy Ambassador. But neither of them was able to provide him with an up-to-date commentary on the affairs of the Outer-Rim. They were light years away, for the most part, and being so absorbed in their roles they often forgot to feed the curiosity of an old man. If he wanted to learn of Earth’s changing relationship with the Corporations, or the development of democracy on the New Worlds, he had to go online.
On occasion, though, they did meet over a dinner, or a hurried lunch, and today was one of those days.
Lynthax was holding a post-press release cocktail party. He was an official guest, despite being retired, as was Mary and her boss, Humphries. He guessed it was so Lynthax could remind their former foes that they were still a major player. That probably explained why it was the celebrated Chan made it onto the guest list—although, in Chan’s case, it could also have been a genuine attempt to mend fences. But Cohen doubted it: Chan had been just too much of an embarrassment to Lynthax in the early years of the rebellion for Petroff to want to bury the hatchet.
Cohen grabbed his coat, left his short-stay apartment on Third Avenue and hailed a driverless STAX, the first taxi to come his way. It dropped him off at the Palace of Prosperity where he made his way down to the banquet hall on the third underfloor. By the time he arrived, he had found his “meet and greet” persona, and was ready to press the flesh with long-term enemies and friends alike.
By the time he entered the room, the party was in full swing. The high-ceilinged hall was packed. Music played softly from hidden speakers, overwhelmed by the volume of talk. A few solida-graf devices lay dotted about the room, casting blue-tinged images of LM tankers in the air, high above the guests.
He made his way across the floor, easing between groups of executives and journalists, almost all of them too young to recognise him. He looked for Cotton but found Mary instead.
‘My dear, it’s wonderful to see you again,’ he said, standing immediately behind her.
Mary recognised the voice and swung around.
‘Samuel!’
She tiptoed, holding her head up to let him kiss both cheeks.
‘You look well,’ she said.
Cohen held his arms out from his sides, to allow her to get a better look at his newly acquired trimmer figure.
‘I am. 87 and still doing push ups,’ he added. ‘And yourself?’
‘Working hard, Samuel, as always. I’m glad you could come. It’s been a little while.’
‘Yes, it has my dear. Congratulations on your promotion, by the way. It was well earned. They made a good choice.’
‘Only good? If it’s only good, then I should have gotten myself a better mentor!’ she joked.
‘Well excellent, then. Of course it was.’
Mary put a hand inside his arm.
‘Samuel, let me introduce you to Mr Chan, his assistant Mr Li, Albert Coxey, and Obama Lin Biden. Chan and Li work at the GCE, in media, and Albert and Obama are technical execs from the project. From what they are saying, we’re in for a huge surprise. It sounds as if they’re ready to transform the galaxy!’
Cohen gave the two technical execs a quizzical look.
Coxey offered a correction:
‘Actually, Mr Cohen, we said we’re confident we will be able to. Not that we’re there yet. But nice try, Mary.’
Mary forced a laugh. Biden too. Cohen studied Biden’s face to see how stressed he was. Well, maybe a little.
Cohen then remembered that Mary was under some stress of her own, of late. She was in the middle of a divorce. Her husband had custody of their children because of her continued absences.
‘How are the little ones, Mary?’ he asked.
‘They’re very well, Samuel, very well, indeed. Little Mark is at kindergarten, and Alice is due to follow him in the autumn. Miguel is doing a terrific job with them, and I get to see them whenever I’m on Earth.’
Cohen knew it was a little more complex than that, and that Mary had dug deeply before accepting the Deputy Ambassador’s job. The previous two years in the human trafficking department had killed her marriage.
‘I’m glad, Mary. Really. Are we still on for dinner at nine tonight?’
‘Absolutely! I’ve already asked Ronald, and he’ll be joining us.’
‘Splendid, Mary. Then I’ll leave you to it and will bounce around the room a while.’
He nodded at Mary’s little group and stepped away, immediately into the path of Jack Petroff who was negotiating his way to the bar.
Neither of them acknowledged the other’s presence.
124
Dinner was at The Marseilles on the 17th floor of the hotel. Mary arrived with ISRA board director, Charles Flowers, although it soon became clear he wasn’t interested in the French cooking, or in socialising. He was all business.
‘Samuel, we know Lynthax is up to no good—we just can’t prove it,’ he said. ‘They don’t advertise a 13 trillion dollar-spend on a brave attempt at proving science fiction to be science fact. We think they’ve already made the technological leap and had already done so when they got the Authority to vote on the 250 year leases.’
‘And so ...?’ Cohen replied, wondering what was coming next.
‘And so we’re troubled. If they have such a technology, they’ll have such an advantage it’ll thoroughly up-end things on Earth, and disturb the finely balanced of power out here. It’ll lead to unexpected consequences, not all of them pleasant.’
‘So, plan for it, Charles,’ Cohen replied, polishing his fork with a napkin. ‘Assume they have it and work around it. I don’t see how you can stop progress because it is inconvenient. But if your goal is to deprive Lynthax of it, to bring Lynthax to heel, and to make them share it, you’ll need to be a little more willing to go outside the conventional norms. Lynthax doesn’t play by our book. It never has.’
Flowers looked at each of them in turn.
‘That’s why I’m speaking to you now. To the two of you. You’ve already tried to bring Lynthax to heel.’ H
e looked Cohen directly in the eye when he added, ‘I’m aware of your “unofficial” action on Trevon in 2210.’
Cohen concentrated on his next comment, refusing to admit guilt by looking at Cotton.
‘I’ve done many things in the past, Charles, all of which I can live with. I’m not so sure you could live with similar choices. ISRA wouldn’t let you.’
Cotton adjusted his seating and wiped his mouth with a napkin, trying not to flush. This was a dangerous topic: the consequences of anyone blabbering about Booni would be dire for both him and Cohen.
Flowers shook his head and dismissed Cohen’s smokescreen with a wave of a hand.
‘Samuel, I’m not moralising or making judgements. I’m just stating a fact. You killed Booni.’ He paused and glanced at Cotton. ‘You both did. The plan almost worked, but Lynthax eventually bested you. In my opinion, ISRA was less than supportive. It was too weak.’
Cohen froze. He felt his breathing quicken. How did he know? Why hadn’t he mentioned this before? His mind raced. Flowers had replaced him as Ambassador upon his retirement, only to be promoted to the board almost immediately afterwards, something that was almost unheard of, especially for a man who was still in his late thirties. Well, perhaps no longer than a year afterwards. Maybe that was it: he had found out about the Booni incident and the board had rewarded him with a place among them for staying quiet about it. Or he had used the information to swing a vote or two in his favour. He was known to be quite a “thruster”, ambitious.
‘What are you getting at?’ Cohen asked, a little too defensively. Mary nudged him under the table.
Flowers explained.
‘I’ve convinced the board to take Lynthax more seriously. It was OK to grant New World leases back in the day when Earth was in desperate need of resources. And I guess it was OK to grant notional leases on these yet-to-be-discovered worlds, especially for worlds that are well beyond our capabilities to travel to. After all, no one thinks these political compromises or incentives, whatever you call them, will amount to much.
‘But if Lynthax already had the technology before they asked for these 250 year leases beyond the first 1000, it was a cynical ploy to exploit our ignorance. It shows the Authority is still weak, and Lynthax is still in the driver’s seat. The board has woken up to that. Even our Western Bloc director has his concerns, though he’s obviously under pressure to keep Lynthax sweet for some reason. Again, it’s probably politics.’
Cotton and Cohen exchanged knowing glances.
Flowers ploughed on:
‘But if the Western Bloc is to some extent aware of progress in this new form of space travel, it may be wishing to protect its perceived future advantage over the Southern and Asian Blocs. After all, I doubt Lynthax could keep the technology from the Western Bloc military, if it truly wanted it.’
Cotton made his first contribution since Flowers dropped this on them.
‘So you’re telling us about this because ...?’
‘I want you both to find out what’s going on.’
‘Ha! We’ve tried,’ Cotton said. ‘Believe me, we have.’
‘I know, but not with our approval, and not with the full use of our resources. You were handicapped by the politics of the day. I’m here to tell you, we’re on board. We’re setting the resources aside.’
‘Overtly?’ Cohen asked.
Flowers hedged.
‘With the board’s approval.’
‘That’s not the same thing, Charles,’ Cohen persisted. Other than G-eo, none of the New Worlds had proven co-operative when they tried the first time. ‘Is this an overt investigation, or are we to lurk in the shadows? Do we get the powers of interrogation denied to us the last time around? Can we requisition the resources of the local authorities?’
‘Yes and No,’ Flowers replied. ‘You’ll have to use your common sense. We mustn’t tip them off. It’s to remain a covert operation, as we can’t let them know we’re involved. But ISRA has approved the operation, and we won’t deny you agency resources, so long as you can disguise the reason for needing them. If we get complaints from anyone about what you do, or how you do it, we’ll sit on our hands and play stupid. We can also requisition New World resources on your behalf, in our name, if we can also disguise its purpose. But for the time being it’ll have to be deniable support, so no extra powers, I’m afraid—it’d be too obvious.’
Cotton looked up from his wine.
‘It’s better than nothing, Samuel. Maybe we’ll get somewhere this time.’
Cohen pushed his chair back a few inches, threw his legs forward, and leaned back, brushing bread crumbs from his chin.
‘Why the change of heart? Why now?’ he asked.
Flowers glanced at Mary, then back to Cohen, reaching into his shirt pocket.
‘Because of him.’
Flowers passed Samuel a picture of an untidy young man with shaggy, blond hair. It was an ISRA registration mug shot.
Cohen shrugged.
‘What does he have to do with Lynthax?’
‘Mary dropped him into a Lynthax recruitment drive on Constitution earlier this year. She was testing their NARR emigration procedures. We still have jurisdiction over human trafficking and wanted to be sure everything was kosher.’
‘And …?’
‘We haven’t heard from him since he passed the word to us that he was being shipped out. That was in March. Then his messages stopped. We don’t know to where he was shipped.’
‘So you suspect Lynthax is running some kind of forced-labour scheme?’
‘Actually, it’s more than just that. We suspect Lynthax has been working on Project Last Horizon for a few years, at least, and we think his disappearance is linked. If our operative can’t communicate with us, then perhaps thousands of other people unconnected to ISRA are in the same boat. That’s illegal. It means they are hiding something, which brings us back to Last Horizon.’
Cohen frowned.
‘That’s a bit of a leap, isn’t it, Charles? Lynthax might have assigned him to a secret aspect of the project. A non-communication clause could have been inserted into his contract.’
Flowers nodded. It was a fair assumption.
‘We thought of that, but he was told not to sign any such contract. We were testing their emigration procedures—that’s all. In any case, if he had signed such an agreement and then gained information, we couldn’t use it in court.
‘Our conclusion is this: he was correctly recruited but then assigned and retained against his will. He’s a planetary terraforming engineer by way of education, with a secondary in anthropology. We know they are short of both disciplines, which is why we chose him for the job: Lynthax has been recruiting them from across the OR and we had no doubts they would snap him up. They can’t seem to get enough of them.’
Cotton gave Cohen a nod.
‘I’ll go back to the politicos on Constitution,’ Cohen said. ‘They know where their rebels are, I’m sure of it. They vanished, their politicos don’t say a thing, Lynthax proposes independence for the New Worlds and then makes its 250-year lease request. There’s a connection. But they’re a tight knit and tightly lipped bunch.’
‘And I’ll up the surveillance on Nettles,’ Cotton added. ‘I’ll mix it up with him and his friends again, only this time, without the gloves.’
Flowers nodded at Mary and got up, leaving the photo on the table.
‘If you’ll forgive me, I’ll be off. I don’t need to know the details. You can coordinate everything and obtain your resources through Mary. It was nice meeting you both again.
‘Be careful.’
125
Scat was standing in a white room. It must have been a room. He could hear a humming. A ventilation unit, maybe? He couldn’t see a floor, but he was standing on it. It was also white. The walls must have been a long way off. He couldn’t see where they met the floor, or the white ceiling.
He turned around. He looked down and saw no shadow. He looked up. The
re was no lighting. He looked around again. Then he saw a man standing some 20 feet away, clothed in a chocolate brown and fraying inner-suit. It was his woodwork teacher from Larkhill. He was wearing the same kindly old face he wore decades ago. Magil—that was his name—a black man from the Greater-Chicago suburbs.
‘Hello,’ Scat said, surprised to hear his voice echo around the room so quickly. ‘Where did you come from?’
Magil lifted his gaze from the floor and brought his hands from behind his back. He was holding a drill. He checked it was working. It whirred viciously. His eyes lit up. Then he stared at Scat.
Scat sensed the menace in Magil’s gaze. He wasn’t focusing on him: he was looking right through him, between his eyes. Then Magil took a step forward, then another. Scat turned and ran.
He ran, and ran. The room seemed endless. After a few minutes, he stopped and turned around. Magil was still there, now only 10 feet away, walking right up to him, holding out both hands. Scat turned and ran again. And he kept running.
Eventually he stopped, exhausted and confused, finally willing to confront Magil, man to man, not as boy to teacher. He shouldn’t be frightened. Magil was a good man.
He turned to look back. Magil was still there, only he was now right next to him, reaching up with his left hand to hold the right side of Scat’s head. Scat jerked back, but the hand held him steady. He couldn’t move.
Magil’s right hand came up to place the drill against Scat’s left temple. It whirred again. He looked directly into Scat’s eyes, speaking with no sound, asking him questions, incensed at Scat’s uncomprehending look.
The drill bit into the side of his head, but Scat felt no pain. He could only smell the burning of flesh and then of bone and hear the drill increase its speed as it broke free and went clean through into his brain. Then everything made sense.