Dyson's Drop (15 page)

Anneke would know about the meeting. It would present her with a golden opportunity, one he doubted she could miss.

He must think how he could turn this to his advantage. Unfortunately, Anneke Longshadow was a secondary concern right now. The real reason for calling the meeting was to establish his own control over the sprawling
Majoris Corporata.

Taking over the chairmanship was one thing; becoming the Military Capo of the organisation was another. He would need great luck and finesse to bring it off And the Envoy was no help. He simply referred to Black’s
Kadros -
his destiny - as if things would take care of themselves.

Fat chance. Whatever that meant.

Black spent the next twenty-four hours working on the Enigma encryption. He did not sleep, hardly ate, nor did he feel the need for either. He was solving a complex puzzle, tracking a path through a multi dimensional maze. His intellect was challenged. That did not stop other parts of his brain from computing thousands of different scenarios aimed to solve the twin problems of Anneke Longshadow (and the coordinates) on the one hand and gaining absolute military control of the MC on the other.

Before the twenty-four hours were up, he had a solution for preventing Anneke from going after the coordinates. He would cripple her from travelling. With this in mind, he launched plans to accomplish this end.

Only then did he go to bed.

When he woke the next morning, he was smiling. He never remembered his dreams, but figured that whatever his sleeping mind had entertained itself with in the night, it must have been good.

And what was good for Maximus had to be bad for Anneke.

The morning of the general meeting was cold and overcast. Winter storms hung on the horizon to the north of Lykis, held back by the local planetary fields deployed by Weather Control. Only some would be let through, those that would cause little property damage, but which might prove stimulating to the jaded city dwellers. Hammering hail and rain in the cities were things of the past.

Black rose early, dressing carefully, choosing a sedate traditional cut to his tunic and trousers. He needed to send specific signals today: authority, yes, but also steadfastness and reliability, loyalty and competence, all with a touch of boldness and ruthless strength, the ability to do what was necessary. Strong leadership always counted for more than integrity with humans, whose needs as a political species were closer to that of Earth’s sheep than any other lifeforms. Naturally, he was presenting as his alter ego, Nathaniel Brown.

Black took a ground car to the meeting. Another symbol of boldness, yet one that paid homage to the old ways of doing things.

He entered the lobby of the Coliseum, moving openly in public, with not even one bodyguard accompanying him. As he passed through, he caught snippets of conversation: ‘He must be crazy’ and ‘Now that’s sheer goddamn
brass
for you - whatever that means.’

Of course, he had plants all over the place; professional sociometricians, they called themselves. The spin doctors called the shots and the metricians amped it up at street level.

By the time Black reached his temporary council chambers, preparatory to taking the main stage in the middle of the Coliseum floor - a superb target for any would-be assassin or madman - he knew the entire place was talking about him.

The head of his PR section, Dr Oresta, gave him the figures when he sat down. He perused them as he sipped a lime juice cocktail.

Then it was time.

He readied himself, nodded at his fellow Quesadan councilmen and women, and walked out onto the floor of the huge Coliseum. A moving walkway took him to the dais in double time. He mounted it like one carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders. When he stopped, he was facing an array of infinitesimal cameras and microphones, and a massive protective wall of deflector shields, with his face portrayed in vast holographic displays around the great circle. Then the dais rose thirty metres into the mr, m a shining column of light.

Impressive.

A hush descended on the crowd, which comprised major executives of Company and Clan, numerous ordinary Quesadan, Imperial Standard and Ekud stockholders, and various Combine Cartel members.

Black, in his role as Nathaniel Brown, addressed them all.

‘Isn’t this a great day? Isn’t this a day to be great?’ he said. His voice rampaged around the Coliseum like a flood, like the Voice of God. It was packed, of course, with subtle and not so subtle voice amplifiers, actuating tones and key words. The crowd responded with a roar. Most had seen their stocks skyrocket in recent days, and at Black’s suggestions substantial dividends had been paid out.

So these people have something to roar about,
thought Black.
Let’s hope they fiel that wqy when I finish.

‘Times are good. And they’re going to get a whole lot better.’ No chance of that, if Black had his way.

A year from now, the sector-wide stock market would crash and most of these cheering people would be bankrupt. ‘But times are also precarious and to make sure things go our way, we need to consolidate. We need steady, bold leadership. The
Majoris Corporata
has shown the way. Strong, decisive action.’ Another hush fell when he mentioned the MC, as if people were afraid someone would spring up to arrest them.

Black allayed their fears and wondered if Anneke was out there somewhere, if even now she was taking aim at his heart. ‘The old days are gone,’ he said.

‘RIM is all but gone. The Sentinels do not interfere. Our future is in our own hands for the first time in a thousand years. And we must not lose our grip ever again!’

His voice rose to a shout and the crowd roared back its approval.

‘In these unsteady times, we need a military leader to steer our course true, not a mere chairperson to worry about our investments.’

Vokler from the Ekud Clan stood up. ‘I propose Nathaniel Brown as Military Capo!’

‘I second that,’ shouted a woman from Merkator Mining. Black had chosen his lackeys well.

Of course, the board members protested, as Black knew they would. And theirs were the crucial votes, after all. They each voted enormous shares, deeded to them from smaller companies, clans, individuals and trusts.

If Black did not win their hearts and minds he would win nothing.

But this was not the arena for it. The closed meeting that would follow would bear the fruit of his day’s work. Black continued in the same vein for a while than handed over the dais to other speakers.

An hour later he was in the closed meeting. Some members were not happy that he had launched a pre-emptive attack on the military leadership of the MC.

‘It is not the time for such foolishness,’ insisted Bodanis from Imperial Standard.

‘I agree,’ said a sallow-faced woman from a smaller clan.

Black held up his hand for silence and got it. ‘If not now, when? And if not me, who?’ He paused dramatically. ‘We are on a cusp, ladies and gentlemen. And we are riding the flood. History is with us. You heard them out there.’ He waved an arm theatrically, taking in the vast Coliseum they could see through the floor-to-ceiling windows. ‘They feel it, too. It is the time of the little man and woman. The time to do great things . . .’

‘Spare us the histrionics, Brown,’ said Bodanis.

‘Becoming Military Capo would give you emergency powers such that you could order us about according to your whims. I for one am not happy at such an eventuality.’

‘Was it not my idea to fake the raid on Heliopolis? To put Rench into power and lead him down the road of passive avoidance? Have I not shown my dedication to this organisation already? Have I not done more in a few months than all of you put together have done in fifty years?’ He saw heads nodding, minds weighing his words. What he said was patently true. ‘And yet you treat me like an interloper, like someone who does not have the
right.’
Bodanis wasn’t impressed. ‘Let’s talk practicalities, Brown. There has been no military leadership of the Combine Cartel in over one hundred years. Why should we have one now?’

Black couldn’t believe the old man was so blind. Or was he more perceptive than Black supposed?

‘The Combine Cartel has never before been so prominently placed in galactic affairs. And in any case, we are discussing the future of the
Majoris Corporata.
We are talking about a military destiny, not an economic one. I must admit I too believed that we could not dare show our hand until we stood at the helm of a fleet of dreadnoughts, but circumstances have propelled us to the front of a great tidal wave of history. Not to seize our chance would not only be foolish, it would be criminal.’

‘Fine words,’ said the sallow-faced woman. Black searched his memory, found a name. Ziisik. ‘But we have
already
declared ourselves, Brown. RIM has already shown its spinelessness. Why risk more until we
do
have the dreadnoughts? We are still weak. Still exposed. The tide could turn.’

‘Well said,’ said Black. ‘But a great poet also once said, the tide waits for no man. And if we are to form a new galactic empire, then we must act. I call for a vote.’

That brought an uproar of talk and mutterings. It was a daring move. Did Black have the numbers to carry the day? He genuinely did not know.

Vokler seconded the move and the vote was taken. Such votes, by tradition, were open, a raising of hands. Each voter looked Black in the eyes as he or she raised a hand, or refused to raise it. He memorised his enemies for later, and his friends.

Finally, it came down to one last vote. The deciding vote. It was the woman, Ziisik.

She regarded him a moment, enjoying her power, and Black knew in that moment that he had lost, that the Envoy’s
Kadros
had been found wanting.

Then the door burst open and a young man stumbled in, panting.

‘They’ve taken it,’ he exclaimed. ‘Myoto has taken it!’

Black felt an invisible wind move in the room; something had shifted somewhere. He did not know what the youth was babbling about, but he knew that it was
Kadros.

‘Myoto has taken Dyson’s Drop. A hostile takeover! They
own
it!’

Collective gasps raced around the room. Dyson’s Drop was the portal planet at the heart of the galaxy wide Dyson jump-gates, the gates that constituted the most important - and indispensable - mode of transport ever developed.

Whoever owned Dyson owned the galaxy.

As this sunk in, Ziisik, looking stunned and frightened, slowly raised her hand, confirming Black as the new Military Capo.

ANNEKE saw the Envoy before he saw her, in the East Wing of the Paxan Heights Hospital where josh was in a coma. She ducked into a doorway so swiftly she bumped into an orderly carrying a tray of surgical supplies, sending both man and tray flying. Anneke helped the man up and manoeuvred him between herself and the Envoy, who had turned and glanced in her direction, before continuing on his way.

She could not tell if she’d been ‘made’.

‘Why don’t you watch where you’re going?’ snapped the orderly, rubbing a bruised elbow.

‘I’m sorry. Let me help you.’ She snatched up the supplies and piled them high on the orderly’s tray.

By then, the Envoy was long gone. She ran a sensor sweep of the hospital and picked up his heat signature moving towards Josh’s room.

Anneke made off at a sprint. She thanked her lucky stars that she’d recently discovered the Envoy’s species had body temperatures about three degrees lower than human beings. Most sensors weren’t calibrated for such nuances. It wasn’t necessary except during pandemics, when fever symptoms were a concern.

Using the sensor readout to keep her out of the Envoy’s path, Anneke circled round, coming to Josh’s private room from a different direction, her blaster discreetly drawn, her finger to the side of the firing stud white with pressure. The sensor showed the Envoy had not entered the room, though clearly he’d had the opportunity.

That could mean only one thing.

The mole wanted Josh alive. Josh would know the encryption key for the QSUs, even if he did not know the actual location of the lost coordinates. And he might have that, too.

But a dead, or brain-damaged,Josh was of no use to Brown.

All this gave Anneke an idea, one to consider for later. Right now, she had a chance to track the Envoy back to the mole.

She settled down to watch the Envoy’s movement on the sensor screen, making sure she was close enough to intervene should he change his mind.

The Envoy maintained his position for the next two hours, barely moving a muscle. A human could not have remained motionless for so long. Indeed, it looked as if he had settled in for the night. Then he moved suddenly. Anneke reacted, poised to go to Josh’s defence if need be, but the Envoy moved off in the other direction as if summoned elsewhere.

Anneke shifted into tailing mode, using the sensor, which had a three-dimensional sweep of up to three hundred metres, as a way to hang back at a safe distance. She had barely stepped from the hospital when her personal phone rang in her ear.