Pelquin's Comet (29 page)

The sergeant spoke to his men, indicating Pelquin. “Throw him in a cell, and put this one in the waiting room. Oh, and, Gav,
don’t
leave him alone in there; okay?”

Drake found himself ushered to a windowless oblong box of a room, totally in keeping with expectations. He settled onto one of a line of moulded, hard plastic chairs set against a wall; each indistinguishable from the next. The hapless officer, Gav, sat down opposite him.

Feeble lighting from a low-energy ceiling strip completed the picture. Drake would have been hard pressed to imagine a more cheerless room had he deliberately set out to design one. If the cells were a step down from this, then God help Pelquin.

Not that Drake minded the sparse surroundings. He was too busy to worry about comfort. He slipped his perminal from his pocket, linked into the local infonet and started to manipulate the touch screen.

He paused at the sound of a chair leg scraping and glanced up to find his guard looking far from comfortable, as if caught in two minds.

“Gavin, isn’t it?” he said quickly and smiled. “Look, Gavin, the sergeant told you to keep me here. He said nothing about my having to sit still and stare at these bare walls all the while, did he?”

“Well, I…”

“So I might as well get some work done while I’m waiting. That’s if you’ve no objection. You have my word that I won’t kick up a fuss or give you any trouble. I’ll just sit here quietly and work.”

“I suppose there’s no harm.”

“Exactly, none at all. Thank you.” With that, Drake bowed his head and went to work, not knowing how much time he had.

The First Solar name had kept him out of a cell for now, but he needed it to do a lot more than that; he needed Sergeant Willis to see both the bank and the representative of that bank standing before him as a significant threat.

“What’s that thing on your shoulder?” Gavin asked, before he could properly begin.

“That? That’s just my genpet, Mudball.”

“Your
what
?”

“Genpet: genetically engineered pet. They’re all the rage on New Sparta.”

“Oh, right.”

Drake smiled and then bowed over his perminal once more.
Can you access this Willis’ personal files?
he asked without speaking.

Already done. For a policeman, friend Willis could do with learning a thing or two about personal security.

Drake studied the sergeant’s details and an idea began to take shape. Working feverishly, he spawned search after search, questing for answers both on the web and in the sergeant’s own personal records. As information gathered and a picture began to emerge, Drake was able to refine his initial plan and set about constructing the means of Sergeant Willis’ downfall.

When he was eventually summoned, he strode from the waiting room confident and prepared.

He was taken to a prefab office with windows overlooking the central workspace. The room was slightly on the messy side of neat without quite teetering into the untidy; coffee stains on the desk edge, dust on screens and a generally lived-in feel.

“Drake,” the sergeant greeted with no inflection of either warmth or hostility. “Take a seat.”

After brief hesitation, the banker did so. A 3D picture stood on the man’s desk, double-sided so that the image was visible to the sergeant and his visitors. The picture changed every eight seconds, through a sequence of what were clearly family photos.

“I’m delighted to say that you check out,” though he sounded anything but delighted. “It seems you genuinely are an officer of First Solar Bank and, while they’re not so big around here, we of course wouldn’t want to piss off such an upstanding organisation. So, you won’t be joining your friend in the cells. You’re free to go.”

“Back to the ship?”

“No, not that,” and the sergeant chuckled. “The ship’s off limits. She’s staying right where she is, same as her captain; and if you can do anything to persuade those on board to open up and let us in, so much the better. These are serious charges, and the longer we’re denied lawful access the worse this is gonna be for everyone concerned. And we will get access, even if we have to burn our way through her hull to do so.”

“Ah, then I’m afraid you
will
be pissing off my employers, very much so. The ship in question
and
its captain are currently engaged in a business venture directly sponsored by First Solar Bank…”

“Yeah, I heard all about what you’re up to from your pal, Pelquin. Cache hunting, isn’t it? If you ask me, that’s no better than stealing – just grave robbing with a fancy name.”

Drake drew a deep breath
. One of those.
“I think you’re being a little harsh, sergeant,” he countered, flashing his most disarming smile. “I would say it’s more akin to respectful exploration and recovery, comparable to the uncovering of the Egyptian pyramids back on ancient Earth. At the time, that process greatly improved mankind’s understanding of a once mighty and highly advanced culture. How much more do we stand to gain from increased understanding of the Elders? By reclaiming and examining…”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Willis interrupted, “but it’s still grave robbing in my book, and I’m not sorry to be putting the kibosh on this little venture of yours, wherever you might be bound. First Solar evidently value you, and while that’s good enough to keep you out of a cell for now, it doesn’t mean I have to like the fact.”

Drake allowed himself a cold smile. The sergeant’s attitude made what was coming all the easier. “While I was waiting in your… charming waiting room, I was able to compose a message…”

“Well, I’m glad your time wasn’t completely wasted. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” and Willis waved a hand towards the door. Drake ignored him. He had been watching as the 3D images in the desk frame slipped one to another, waiting for the picture he felt sure must be there to come around, as it now had.

“Is that your home, sergeant?” he asked, indicating the picture.

“What?”

“It’s a lovely place, I must say. I can quite understand why you would be willing to take on such a hefty mortgage to buy it. That must be a worry though, I would have thought – all the money you owe.”

“What? What the fuck business is that of yours? How dare you…”

“The Bulman Welfare Bank; that’s who the mortgage is with, isn’t it? A fine institution, no question. Did you know, by the way, that they’re a wholly owned subsidiary of First Solar Bank? It’s been that way for the best part of, oh, half a century or so. That’s why the First Solar name isn’t especially prominent here on Brannan’s World. Second largest financial institution on the planet, the BWB; why go to all the trouble of establishing our own organisation on Brannan’s when all we had to do was take over an existing one?”

“I don’t know what…”

“Fascinating things, mortgages – complex financial instruments. Did you read the small print when you signed up for yours? No? I’m not surprised; few people do; there’s so much of it, isn’t there? All that legal jargon and niggling details – not worth bothering with, are they? Or perhaps they are. A clause that perhaps you
should
have read is the one that allows the lender – BWB in this instance – to call in a loan at any time without justification. Not a clause that’s often activated, of course, but you know how banks like to cover all the bases.”

“Now just hang on a minute…” An indignant Willis was craning forward and looked set to stand up, but Drake hadn’t finished and the policeman froze as if pinned to the spot as the banker renewed his verbal assault.

“I gather your wife was working when you applied for the mortgage – very useful, having a double income like that. How many years is it now since she gave up work? Two, or is it closer to three? Of course, you could always try for a replacement mortgage with another bank, but you’d never be able to borrow anywhere near as much based on your salary alone, even with the pay rises. Still,” and Drake smiled, “you could always move to somewhere smaller. A lot smaller.”

“You bastard. How dare you threaten me!” Willis
was
on his feet now, pointing dramatically at the door. “Get out of my office
now
or I’ll have you thrown in the cells no matter who you work for.”

Pelquin, however, was just warming up. “I’m glad you raised the matter of offices,” he said, easing back into the chair and crossing his right leg nonchalantly over his left. “It’s interesting, isn’t it, that every single building around here, from the warehouses and distribution centres to the headquarters of all the various port authorities, even this impressive edifice we’re sitting in right now, is owned by the same company: the Victoria Port Property Management Company, to be precise. Very smart move that, keeping hold of all the land around the port when it was first established – worth a fortune now, of course. So, everyone, from commercial interests to civil departments, rents from the VPPMC; who, incidentally, are a subsidiary of the Corkhill Property Assets Association, who themselves are a subsidiary of the Brannan Property Company, which are owned by an outfit called Lassiter Holdings, which is part of the Hoffman Group, which, it might surprise you to learn, is owned by… First Solar Bank. Are you sensing a pattern here?

“The message I mentioned, the one I composed while waiting to see you, is addressed to one Kenneth Brockheimer, the man who oversees First Solar’s interests here on Brannan’s World. If sent, it will set in motion a most unfortunate chain of events, resulting in a demand for instant repayment of your mortgage reaching you tomorrow morning and notice being served on the lease for this property, making it clear that your continued employment within this department is the reason for said notice.”

Willis said nothing for a protracted second, before managing, “You’re bluffing.”

“No I’m not, Sergeant Willis. I never bluff. You can verify everything I’ve said in minutes. The ownership of the Bulman Welfare Bank and the Hoffman Group are matters of public record and I’m sure you can call up your own mortgage contract. Oh, and one more thing while we’re having this little chat. This is your son, Jai Pol, isn’t it?” He indicated the latest image displayed on the photo cube. “Sweet looking boy, by the way – clearly takes after his mother. He goes to a rather exclusive school, I understand.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Dismay had replaced indignation in the sergeant’s voice and the rising note of alarm was unmistakable.

“The Calbreith School for Technical Excellence – a very impressive title. It’s a shame they didn’t include excellence in financial management as part of the curriculum. You’re aware, I take it, that the school’s former Treasurer, a Miss Emilia Pershaw, absconded some ten months ago with a considerable sum of the money that had been entrusted to her care? No? Well, I suppose it’s not the sort of thing that such a prestigious institution would wish to make public. Your colleagues in the police haven’t found her yet, by the way, and nor have they recovered the funds. The school came close to financial collapse. No need to worry, though. Thankfully, a company called Bulman Investments stepped in and provided a substantial loan to prop up the tottering edifice. Recognise the name? Yes, you’re quite right, Bulman Investments is a subsidiary of the Bulman Welfare Bank, which is owned by… But you know that part by now.

“The situation is only temporary, of course. I’m sure the school will recover and endure in the long run; but, in the
short
term, they’re dependent on that loan and, need I say, deeply,
deeply
grateful.

“Now, let’s be candid here. Your grounds for holding the ship
Pelquin’s Comet
are spurious and clearly motivated by malice. I don’t know whether you are the person directly responsible for this outrage or somebody higher up in the chain of command, and frankly I don’t care. Whoever’s getting the payback on this,
you
are the man I’m dealing with and
you
are the man who will suffer as a consequence. If you do not give immediate clearance for
Pelquin’s Comet
to leave port, I will send this message, and by tomorrow morning you will have no home, no job, and your son will have been expelled from his highly prestigious school.

“Tell me, Sergeant Willis, is your wife an understanding woman?”

Ten minutes later Drake walked out of the port authority police building with Pelquin at his side. Neither looked back and for the first few moments neither spoke, as if by doing so they might risk fracturing the spell and bring events tumbling down upon their heads once more. They simply walked at a smart pace towards where they knew the
Comet
to be waiting.

“Not sure what the hell sort of magic you worked back there, Drake, but I owe you one,” Pelquin said at last.

Too true he does
, Mudball concurred.

Drake just kept walking, his thoughts troubled. Being a bank representative in the field often required quick thinking and the use of initiative. His employers expected as much and were happy to turn a blind eye to a certain degree, so long as it got the job done. However, Drake knew there was a point beyond which the bank would refuse to condone his actions and disown him if things turned sour. He had a feeling he might just have crossed that line.

“Hell of a job. Well done.” De Souza stared at Archer approvingly, impressed despite himself; though it was past time the man started to pull his weight. A few hours ago, all his plans had threatened to collapse into rack and ruin. Pelquin and Drake were languishing in custody and the
Comet
impounded. In a fit of rage, de Souza had demanded that Archer
do something about it
… And, wonder of wonders, he had. De Souza wasn’t sure
how
Archer had managed it, but all concerned were now free as birds. He was forced to admit that the banker had surprised him this time.

Not that Archer looked particularly triumphant… “I wish I could take the credit,” he said, “but the truth is I had nothing to do with it.”