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Pure Bollocks Issue 22_064
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F I C T I O N A L * R A M B L I N G S
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The second part of the ELITE novella - The Dark Wheel
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The Dark Wheel - A novella by Robert Holdstock
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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 light 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. You 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 the old man saying now? Not just that Jason
Ryder had been an elite 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 elite...
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 elite, 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 elite 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.'
Coming so soon after his father's death, with the memory of Jason's
murder so vivid in his mind, it was almost too much for Alex. He didn't
know whether to glow with pride, or shake with apprehension. he slowly sat
down at the astrogation console and played his fingers over the controls of
the Cobra.
After a while he smiled, and shrugged away the confusions and the
sadness he was feeling.
'Right. If it's what my father wanted, then I shan't disappoint him
...'
CHAPTER FIVE
Out of Witch-Space: the dizziness, the slight shudder, the brief
disorientation. Ahead of them, the distant, red-blue disc of the planet
Xezaor was only slightly brighter than the gleaming field of stars around. The
planet's sun was dim and very close by. It glowed red. A dying star, as the
world ahead of them was a dying world, a cooling world, a world whose
wealth and industrial development could not hold back the process of Galactic
ageing. Xezaor was a world where luxuries and warmth meant everything,
now, and Shanaskilk fur, with the multiple heads still intact, would fetch a
high price.
Routine. A routine trade run. Elyssia dozed, Alex punched co-ordinates
into the auto-pilot and prepared to pass the time of the long run-in to the
world.
Routine, a routine which Alex was by now well used to.
Out of Witch-Space and then the slow approach until the Coriolis
station came on target-
Nothing to do ...
Nothing to see ...
The Cobra rocked and a sound like the screech of metal being bent apart
echoed through the bridge!
'Company!' Alex said loudly, and Elyssia blinked awake. She must have
assessed the situation in an instant. She remained where she was. Alex was at
the console and there were only seconds available for thought.
Alex had been taken by suprise, not because he hadn't been paying
attention, but because the attack ships had been so close to the egress
point from hyperspace. With their tiny hulls between him and the glowing
sun, they had not been visible for an instant, and they had been
performing a 'tumbling' routine, mimicking, slow-moving asteroids.
Alex had half noticed them and half ignored them. They had got the
first shot in, then overflown the Cobra.
Now, they grouped behind as Alex punched up maximum speed, and scanned
space for them.
'Here they come ...'
The shields screamed as laser fire played off them. Beam lasers? Those
ships were well equipped. But then, so now was the Nemesis, the dramatic
name that he and Elyssia had given to their ship. Alex checked the rear
monitor and lined up the firing window. He stabbed out two bursts of fire
from the newly installed aft-laser. The pirate ships veered apart, one of
them struck.
As he had them on the screen, he targeted a missile. A missile from one of
the attacking craft began to weave towards them, and his screen flashed with
warning. Alex operated the Nemesis's ECM, and after an agonisingly long
few seconds the incoming missile vanished in a burst of heat and light.
The hull screeched and Alex dived. He noticed that the shields had
begun to put a drain on the first energy unit.
Elyssia sat calm and quiet while Alex handled the situation. Ahead of
them, the planet edged closer, rising and falling and spinning in a
dizzying way as Alex fought for a better combat position.
Then instinct took over. He looped the Cobra a full 180 degrees and
raced head-on at the pirate vessel that had been behind him. Now he could see
that it was a Fer-de-lance, a sleek, fast ship that was probably loaded
down with sophisticated navigational and defence equipment that had been
installed by the original owner. Or maybe not ... such equipment took cash to
maintain, and this ship had seen battle service aplenty.
As pirate and Alex closed, Alex took a chance. they had only four
missiles and one was targeted. He punched for fire and the Cobra jolted as
the deadly sting shot across space.
It reached its target and the Fer-de-lance literally disappeared.
Had it hyperspaced? No.
When Alex activated the rear screen, he saw the spreading ash cloud, a
silvery glimmer against the stars ...
'Good shooting!' Elyssia said enthusiastically.
Through the cloud of metal and ash came the other ship.
Alex looped again. A laser strike depleted the aft shield even more.
But now that the enemy knew that its prey had an anti-missile system, it was
going to try and dogfight Alex to destruction.
This ship was a Cobra too. It's fuel-scoop gaped, ready to suck up the
canisters of precious Shanaskilk fur from the wreckage of the shattered
trader.
Alex had other ideas.
Again, Xezaor was ahead of them. rear-shooting, Alex ducked and darted
towards safety, and the pirate weaved a snaking pattern against the star-
field behind. Alex targeted a missile -
'Save it if you can ...' Elyssia breathed.
'I know,' said Alex. 'But at least we can afford a replacement ...'
We won't afford the fuel scoop then,' Elyssia reminded him, and they
both laughed. At a time like this, worried about their shopping list!
The space station, and the safety it afforded with its own fighter
defences, was too far away. Alex veered sharply sunwards, and dropped his
forward velocity dramatically. the pursuing ship copied the first movement
precisely, but took a few seconds to orientate to the second. It overshot.
Before it knew what was happening it was no longer the hunter but the
hunted.
'Go, Alex, go!' Elyssia shouted, as Alex shot off pulse after pulse of
laser fire. the Cobra on the screen ducked and weaved, but Alex was equal to
it, hardly thinking, just reacting. the temperature of his forward laser
began to rise dangerously. The Cobra ahead of them launched a missile at
them, and Alex shot it, not even bothering to program the ECM.
Elyssia gasped at the cheek of that, and glanced at the young man in
whose hands her life was being so capably held.
A moment later it was all over. The pirate exploded, his screen energy
finally exhausted. Alex saw the wink and flash of a jetissoned escape pod and
for a second -
Remembering the beam of fire that had destroyed his own escape craft,
remembering the savage destruction of the Avalonia ...
- he was tempted to go in pursuit. His better judgement prevailed.
Around them, cargo cannisters tumbled like sycamore seeds.
'And us with no scoop to pick them up!' Elyssia muttered.
Alex grinned. 'We claim two. that's quite a bounty.'
Elyssia looked down at him as he sat and guided the ship towards
Xezaor. 'Alex, you're a natural. It's an honour to ride the stars with
you.'
No-one had said a word, neither of them commented on it: the fact that
this had been Alex's first solo combat!
CHAPTER SIX
They had been trading now for three standard months, and their Cobra
craft, the Nemesis, was was scarcely recognisable as the tomb-place of
Trader Henry Bell. With new insignia, new welding, new colour and the pods and
swellings of the armaments housings, it began to look like a fighter.
Three months a trader. And not for one hour of one day of those months
had Alex forgotten the reason behind this way of life. Something - someone -
disguised as a trader had killed his father, and done it's best to kill him.
His father had led a double life, and according to the oldest relic in the
Galaxy, had deputised his son to follow in his star path.
Alex Ryder was not about to fail his father in that wish.
There were so many questions, so much grief, so much anger. And for
Elyssia too, although the Teorgeon woman rarely showed the emotion that
Alex sensed was bubbling just below the surface of her cool, wise-cracking
exterior.
They were facing a task together, a task of growing, of becoming
strong. There would have to be a time of waiting, and both were accepting
that time with as much silent patience as they could muster.
But it was not easy, not easy for wither of them.
And for Alex, with blood on his hands at last ... not easy at all ...
The skirmish with the two pirate ships had scraped the paint a little,
and loosened several hull plates, necessitating a trip to a service
station where, because of their bounty hunting, the work would almost
certainly be performed free of charge. Though this had been Alex's first
solo combat, it had not been their first battle. Elyssia would have
qualified for 'dangerous' status had she been eligible for a rating. As it
was, her rating - on the evidence of the Nemesis's skirmishing - had been
assigned to Alex. Now, for the first time, Alex felt he had taken a
substantial step towards proving that he genuinely deserved that
particular classification.
Still at the astrogation console, he guided the ship to within a
thousand kilometres of the surface of the dying world, so close that the
planet filled everything in the forward vision screen. At dead slow
approach speed he finally looped around and there, slowly spinning before
them - a glittering metal cube - was the space station, its access bay, a
wide rotating mouth.
'Oh for a docking computer ...' Alex murmured as he began to match
rotation and slowly approached.
'Waste of money ...' Elyssia chided. 'If you can't dock without losing
your paintwork, you shouldn't be in space.'
Alex was a great flier. But snaking neatly into the reception bay of a
Coriolis station was his greatest weakness.
He made it, though, and once inside the vast hanger space, magnetic
traction drew the Nemesis slowly to a vacant berth. AutoCom links snaked out
and clamped to its hull. Alex watched the bustle in this great,
brightly-lit void, the customs ships, the police Vipers, the advertising
modules, the repair modules, all moving slowly in the cube-space, touting for
business. Elyssia hid in the escape pod as usual. Alex declared his cargo,
and received confirmation of his bounty killings, and notification of his
bonus: thirty credits!
That exactly covered the cost of a new missile.
When all the check-ins, log-ins and identity verifications had been
run, Elyssia emerged from hiding. The escape capsule had been their first
priority, and they had bought one second hand for four-hundred credits.
They didn't intend to use it anyway, except to screen off Elyssia's
unfortunate and unwelcome origins.
Now began the routine of business. Selling, then deciding where to
trade next, and what to buy to take with them.
Trading is very much a hit and miss profession. With certain high
demand, high turnover products, a small profit can usually be guaranteed -
foodstuffs, textiles, simple machinery, simple luxuries.
But the ship's running costs, and an occasional space skirmish, can
soon eat up such profits, making the whole exercise essentially worthless.
There is no way of knowing trade prices at other systems.Each planetary
state jealously guards its stock-market information, and there are heavy
penalties for faxing the market prices of any item beyond orbit-space.
Prices change, too. Speculators lurk in every system, no matter how
poor. that tonne of frozen bladderlash that would have fetched eight
credits a month ago on Ceinzala, against a buying prices of three from its
homeworld Reorte, will suddenly be worth only two. The demand for
bladderlash had not lessened. The speculators have made a secret killing, and
fixed up the market.
Hit and miss.
Alex and Elyssia had been lucky so far. they had carried Vargorn mind-
silk between Rexebe and Inera and doubled their initial hundred credits.
They had ferried gold-flakes of Geretean reptiles and only just covered
their costs. They had supplied twenty tonnes of sunflower seeds to the
grotesque amphibioid inhabitants of Bierle, to who sunflower seeds were a
particular delicacy, only to find that a mass, mind-induced mutation had
occured throughout the entire planetary population, changing their taste
buds ... The search was now on for the new delicacy to delight the
palates of the Bierleans. Lubrication oil had come close, and lavender
scented tissue paper. But somewhere there was a real profit to be made. One
day. One year.
Moving machinery from high-tech worlds to middle-tech worlds was also
unexpectedly profitable, and demand for luxuries was always high on
evolving industrial worlds. But on Xezaor the Shanaskilk furs (bought at
thirty galactic credits the tonne) were likely to be at their best bet
yet. Alex nervously called up the buying price at Xezaor.
He whooped with triumph as he saw that he and Elyssia had tripled their
money.
This time, in the hit and miss game, they had hit lucky.
They sold the furs without trouble. Then Alex called up the price list at
Xezaor of ship and armaments equipment. The new missile was the
standard thirty credits. He ordered one and a small robot scuttled off to
fetch the permitted weaponry. Beam lasers were one thousand credits, and the
temptation to invest in one was strong. The price of the fuel and cargo
scoop which the Nemesis so badly needed was extortionately high, at five
hundred and twenty-five credits. But an energy bomb cost nearly twice as much!
Of course a fuel scoop could be used for salvage, as well as topping up
their fuel banks by sun-skimming. so it was a good investment, even at one
hundred credits over the odds.
Alex ordered one. Delivery and fitting would take twenty hours, a
standard day. Alex fuelled the ship, next, and stocked up with Xezaorian
delicacies.
They had three hundred and twenty galactic credits left with which to buy
trade stock, an uncomfortably low sum. On the other hand, their ship now had
extra defensive shields, four-directional targetting of lasers and missiles,
an anti-missile system and a fuel scoop.
They were more than half way to becoming a battle cruiser.
Elyssia scanned the planet's market list with Alex. For all that
Xezaorians liked exotic things, they had precious little to offer. Two
narcotics were available - arcturan burstweed and, strangely, tobacco - and
Alex thought hard about them.
'Surely we could get away with tobacco ...'
'Uh-huh.' Elyssia murmured. 'No way. Nicotine is deadly, even in low
doses, to many races.'
'If we carried it to a human world?'
'Still too risky.'
Minerals were on offer, but were pricy. Durassion - one of the ores
that could be refined and 'time-stressed' to give duralium for ship's
hulls - was available at eight credits the tonne, and that would sell
exceptionally well at Lave ... but Lave was many light years away, now, and
any dura-ore could bottom-out on a standard day when a new richer ore was
found.
Too risky.
Gemstones? there were maroon and silver spectonals for sale, and red-
green emeronds. A pirate convoy would smell such booty from two light
years away.
As for the curiousity market there were two hundred fossilised
Dironothaxaurian life-bones on offer, at forty credits each.
'Ever heard of them?' Elyssia asked.
Alex said, 'I've seen one. And heard one. In a museum on my homeworld.
they sing. They're over forty million years old, and still they sing;
waiting for something, a hatching, or a change of climate. They're bones
from the pelvic region, so they could be incubation pods. Nobody knows
...'
'Are they valuable?'
'Very. Exactly by how much I don't know.'
'Check it for restrictions ...'
Alex did so. There were no known import restrictions, or potential
legal violations involved in trading in these fossilised animal bones.
'Better than food - ' Alex said.
'Any day,' Elyssia agreed.
'So we go for it ...'
'I suppose so.'
But as Alex began to key into the trade-centre to purchase the goods, the
console flashed the words, 'Incoming message ...'
'Rafe!' Alex said. And Elyssia too seemed excited at the prospect of
seeing and talking with Rafe Zetter again.
But it was not the wizened, crusty old space trader who appeared on the
screen as Alex accepted the call.
Nothing like.
It was a human being, and not a humanoid alien that faced them. But
what had happened to its face was beyond description. there were many ways to
change ordinary human looks to nightmarish caricatures of the same: flying
too close to certain stars, being exposed to the interstellar vacuum too
often, working in certain ore and mineral mines ... But Alex, as he stared
at the lumpy, grey swellings that swathed this person's flesh, could not
imagine what grotesque disaster had befallen the caller.
Lips like quivering gossamer wings trembled in the grey flesh. A hand,
skeletal and crippled, shot through with bright red blood vessels, touched the
wispy ginger hair that grew in a bizarre floral circle around the deformed
head.
'Are you Ryder?'
The voice, at least, was normal. And male.
'Identify yourself, caller.'
Ignoring the question the other man went on, 'What're you trading in
this time? Minerals? Specialities?'
'What's it to you?'
'Whatever it is you're thinking of buying, I can do you a better deal.'
'I wouldn't trade with you if I was running hot from a supernova.'
The human grinned (or so it seemed).
'Rafe Zetter would. How come you're so fussy?'
'You know Rafe?' Alex asked, perturbed and puzzled by the grotesque
man's invocation of the friendly name.
'Me and half the Universe.' The deformed man leaned closer to the
monitor. his features filled the screen totally. 'Parasites.'
'I'm sorry?'
'These things. This ...' tapping his face. 'Parasites. Spider worms. I
did a stint in the pen. on Dykstra's world, and the little buggers took a
liking to me. These are the larvae, about two million of them. They'll
hatch out in about ten years, and that'll be the end of me. I sort of hope I'm
at a dinner party with someone I don't like, at the time, but you can't
plan for these things. I don't blame you for not trusting me ...'
Pale eyes glittered from beneath the heavy, pulsating folds of grey
flesh. 'But don't judge by appearances. Alex - it is Alex, isn't it? I
mean, for hell's sake tell me if I've got the wrong number ...'
'I'm Alex Ryder.'
'And I'm Patrick McGreavy. I'll say just two things to you. the first is
this: when you kill the snake, you'll lay a ghost that's haunted me for more
than five years. I'm not a flier. What I am doesn't matter. There are more
people like me than all the sunflower seeds you've traded in your life.
People who need vengeance. People who can't do it for themselves. Kill the
snake and you'll do a service to us all.'
Alex couldn't help the wry smile that touched his lips, even though he
had rarely felt less like smiling. He felt as if he were being manoeuvred,
manipulated, like a robot ship, an autoremote, programmed to fly in
endless, mindless circles. What the hell was going on? He was jason
ryder's son, and until three months ago his best combat experience had
been in a SimCombat trainer. His pilot's license had hardly dried. And
somehow, despite all of this, he had been chosen as nemesis to exact a
savage vengeance from a ship that was certainly far more than a simple - and
simply deadly - pirate.
There were people watching him, and waiting on him, their fingers
crossed, their breath held.
Why him? Why him? (and Elyssia ...)
'Okay,' he said quietly. 'I get the message. You said "two things".'
'Right. Rafe told you to trade in Shanaskilk fur, as soon as you could
afford it. Am I right?'
He was right. It was one of Rafe's last pieces of advice to Alex, and
Alex had not forgotten it.
McGreavy went on, 'When Rafe told you to do that he was sending you to
me. You've got to get an iron ass. You've got to trade in something really
worthwhile. unship and fly across to South City, to the private traders'
centre in the Magellan Building.'
'I've already got an "iron ass",' Alex said.
'You think so, do you? Do it anyway. Take a chance. Make your way to
the Magellan Building, South City ...'
After a moment's hesitation, and with a glance at Elyssia, who just
shrugged and nodded, Alex agreed.
A Coriolis station is nothing less than a vast city built on six planes and
spread, around the wide empty sky of its interior, facing inwards. From
South City, the roof of the world is North City. At night, the lights that
glow above your head are the lights of streets and buildings.
Alex checked out of the ship's berth and took a sky taxi across the
void. the tint automatic ship slid delicately and smoothly between the
incoming and outgoing ships. Alex watched in fascination as the towering
buildings of South city dropped away below and the grey sky edged closer. To
his left, he could see the pattern of streets and parklands on the
inhabited plane known as Commander City. facing the entrance to the
station, on that particular level lived the high ranking officials and
various planetary envoys and ambassadors. They enjoyed a landscape which
included lakes, rivers and ski-slopes with real snow.
Below him, the Nemesis became a tiny dart-shape on the broad landing
pad. Above him, the towering offices and living blocks reached down
towards him like geometrical stalactites.
There was an abrupt moment's disorientation and suddenly the roof was the
ground and now the Nemesis was a single, winking light in the heavens. The
taxi dropped swiftly to street level, between the grey and black
monolithic structures. lights of different colours blinked and shone, and
when the atmosphere began, a strange dusty shimmer seemed to envelop the
city.
The streets were crowded here and it took Alex only moments to realise
that the South City of this particular Coriolis station was the 'down
town' area. Illegal trade abounded, in narcotics, robots, slaves,
sensuastims, prostitution and frozen organs. Spacers, walked slowly,
cautiously, most of them still wearing near-full suit, a certain sign that
this was the rough quarter. Hookers, of all sexes (the Galaxy counted
seventeen at this time) and races, but mostly humanoid, solicited from
hovering platforms, ready to escape fast from any over-welcoming,
unwelcome client. Advertising hoardings here were almost completely
devoted to proclaiming the illicit pleasures which were available in South
City. police cars and remotes roared overhead, as did med-ships. The
streets were alive with noise and bustle and filth.
The Magellan Building, a dark, squat cube, sat amongst this confusion
like a great, brooding monster. It had no visible windows. Lifts rose and
fell on its outer walls, slow-moving green lights that gave it an uncanny
sense of being alive.
Alex had come without a hand weapon, and now began to regret it.
Practically everyone - and everything - he saw carried a gun, in
contradiction of orbit-space law. He walked cautiously through the crowds of
reptiloids, cloaked amphibioids, armoured insectoids, squat, bristling
felines, and the grotesque robo-tanks in which things that looked like
giant molluscs, or worms, or branches of heather, moved within the safety of
their own environment.
He entered the Magellan building and noticed the stench for the first
time, the combined body odours of a thousand alien life-forms; suprisingly
some - those who drank raw methane gas - managed to excrete sweat that
smelled as sweet as apple blossom.
But most did not.
The private trading centre was a vast hall, surrounded by the entrances to
offices and warehouses. What was sold in this crowded, noisy place, was
anything that was considered too risky, or bizarre, or commonplace to sell on
the open market. The trader who loaded up his cargo bay from a private
purchase had better check with the planet's export monitoring system
before leaving, or his reception, at the other end, might be a little more
violent than he'd expected.
Alex scanned the high walls for a hint of McGreavy's warehouse. As he
did so, he found himself standing behind two tall, violent-looking insect-
forms, their bodies armoured in light grey, their facetted eyes swivelling to
stare at him as they talked together, chelicerae clashing and clacking in the
peculiar mode of communication.
Alex stepped away, heart beating, blood rushing to his head. Compound
eyes, jointed limbs, head antennae, double cutting jaws ...
Thargoids!
Here, on a space station!
Thargoids were deadly. Thargoid spacers had their fear-glands removed,
and were considered to be the most effective and potent of mankind's
enemies. The bounty for killing a Thargoid was huge, and for capturing, and
delivering the juvenile form, the Tharglet, to any Space Navy research
centre, even greater.
What were they doing here?
The Thargoids chatted together and watched Alex coldly. Alex noticed
that each had an appendage resting on its thoracic plate, where they
holstered their hand-lasers.
'Back off,' a voice whispered, and Alex turned. McGreavy stood there
blinking through his deformities. Alex had not grasped how short the man
was; he only came up as far as Alex's chest.
'Thargoids ...' he whispered.
'Bullshit,' McGreavy said, and dragged Alex away. 'They're Oresrians,
and the one thing that can make an Oresrian deadly is being confused the way
you've just confused them, with their deadly enemies the Thargoids. Check
the thorax markings and the shape of the fourth joint on each hind leg before
you jump to conclusions again ...'
Alex followed McGreavy gratefully, away from the whispering insects.
McGreavy's warehouse was small, cramped and smelly. Alex followed him
through into the dimly lit interior, and felt a pang of discomfort as the
grotesque little man closed the doors behind them. In several large,
transparent crates, peculiar creatures shuffled and murmured, excited at the
sudden disturbance.
'Are these what you have to offer?' Alex asked in a low voice. McGreavy
chuckled. he walked over to the nearest crate and brought up the light, to
illuminate more clearly the odd creature within.
Alex stared. The creature was vaguely familiar, but the memory refused to
come. It had a thick shell, patterned neatly, and limb holes at regular
intervals around this bony house. For the moment the beast was securely
hidden within its protective environment.
'What are they?'
'Mymurths,' McGreavy said. 'If they seem familiar its because they're
astonishingly like an animal of Old Earth: the tortus, as I believe it was
called. These things have two heads, four legs, and two anterior
organelles that seem to serve no purpose. They're named for the planet of
their origin. Mymurth. But you'll be shipping them to Cirag. The Ciragians
have a special relationship with the Mymurth.'
'They eat them?' Alex guessed.
'They worship them,' McGreavy corrected with a twitch of his flimsy
lips.
'Worship?'
McGreavy nodded. 'To the Cirag race, the Mymurth are the reincarnations of
gods. A particular sort of god, called an 'avatar'. The animal form of a
god. The Mymurth look very like the legendary avatars of Ciragian
religion and mythology. They're from another world, of course, and have no
connection with Cirag at all. But any Ciragian family will give a small
fortune to have a living Mymurth in its temple.'
Alex was fascinated and intrigued. The bulky creatures moved sluggishly
about, their fleshy pink limbs emerging from the shells to propel them
through the slush that filled their cages. 'How much is a small fortune?'
'Each of these will fetch a hundred credits. Maybe more. And i have
twenty-eight. twenty-eight hundred credits. that'll but you all the
shields and weaponry you need ...'
'Why not trade them yourself?'
McGreavy laughed sourly. 'With my record? You must be joking. No
thanks. It takes me half a standard year to get a pen full of these
things, and Rafe Zetter usually has a customer for me, someone like
yourself who needs credit fast, to perform a certain act ... of violence
...'
Alex found himself staring at the bright eyes of the hideous face
before him. He was no longer overly concious of the deformities, or of the
pulsating life that existed just below the man's skin. He was aware only of
the fact that he wanted - needed - to trust this aquaintance of Rafe's, and
yet didn't.
'Make me an offer I can't refuse,' McGreavy said, and hard reality hit
Alex again.
He said, 'Three hundred.'
McGreavy chuckled and shook his head. 'The idea is that you make the
profit. You won't do that offering me three times what you're likely to
make for a Mymurth.'
'I meant ... three hundred for the lot.'
For a second McGreavy stood in silence, staring at the younger man. 'Is
this a joke?'
'No joke. I have three hundred credits in the world. You've got the
wrong boy, McGreavy.'
'You just sold a cargo load of Shanaskilk fur!'
'And bought weapons and a fuel scoop. I bought the furs at a loss to
begin with. I'm no trader McGreavy. I'm a combateer. I did tell you.' Alex
looked down at the Mymurth. 'I'll buy eight off you. How's that?'
'I sell the lot, or not at all. I want fifteen hundred credits for
them. Rafe said you'd come through ...'
'Rafe was wrong. Shift them through some other sucker ...'
Alex turned to go. McGreavy's whimper of panic was almost funny to
hear. 'I save these things up for Rafe. Who else is going to trade in
Mymurth?'
'I'll take ten off your hands, for three hundred credits. The more you
stall, the less I'll offer.'
Alex was enjoying this.
'I need to shift the lot. To Cirag.'
Where was Cirag, Alex wondered. It was not a name that rang any bells.
'Then you'll have to trust me,' he said. 'Like you trust Rafe. I'll
give you a down payment of three hundred against one third of what I get at
Cirag. I'll come back and pay you off.'
McGreavy stared at him in silence; the man's breathing was laboured.
'One third will hardly cover my outlay. Fifty percent.'
'Forty percent,' Alex said. 'And no further bargaining.'
The Mymurth shuffled anxiously. McGreavy shrugged with defeat. He
summoned the vid-witness, and the two men signed the agreement. Twenty-
eight Mymurth for sale to Cirag, forty percent of the proceeds to be
returned to Pat McGreavy at South City, Coriolis 7, Xezaor.
If McGreavy was right, and the money was forthcoming from the religious
nutcases on Cirag ...
Where was Cirag?
... The Nemesis could be equipped with beam lasers, extra missiles,
extra shield energy units, and an energy bomb, and the hunt could begin in
earnest.
Alex returned to his ship to report the day's trading.
CHAPTER SEVEN
They had been set up, of course.
And in a way, they went into the set-up gamely. Alex checked up on the
planet Cirag and discovered that it was not listed with the Official
Planetary Register. That was the reason for its unfamiliar name. Not to be
registered was not in itself unusual. Only inhabited worlds were listed.
There were millions of uninhabited star systems of use to miners, traders and
explorers, which could only be located by reference to the Galactic
Gazatteer of Worlds.
But Cirag was inhabited by intelligent beings.
That meant just one thing: Cirag was an independant world, had refused
Federation Status, was dangerous, probably deadly, most likely the haven for
freebooters and criminals, and almost certainly a system in which the general
principle of 'laser first, talk second' was applied.
'We've got to be crazy ...' Elyssia said.
Alex agree, 'Could Cirag be Raxxla? Could it be the world my father
mentioned before he died?'
'No way. Cirag is Cirag, and Raxxla - if it exists - is in another
Galaxy; you know the legends. Cirag is just a hell-hole of a world, by the
sounds of it. Give the guy his turtles back. Let's trade life-bones.'
But Alex said no. Something about the whole deal, about the way he felt
manipulated, guided, had whet his appetite for this venture. There was
good money to be made, and the Nemesis could finally equip itself to
perfection.
And the hunt could begin. Vengeance could begin.
'It's hit or miss, right? And in Rafe's eloquent language, we'll not
know a goddam about any failure.'
'We've got to be crazy ...' Elyssia repeated.
'Let's not talk to any strangers, at least ...'
Out of Witch-Space.
The planet Cirag floated before them, a pastel yellow world, the dark
markings upon its surface - mountains, probably, or deserts - forming a
pattern that reminded Alex of bones. At nineteen light years from Xezaor, the
Nemesis had made two refuelling stops, and as they came into System Space
they had energy enough for a two-light-year jump only. The nearest world,
Alex knew, was more than twice that distance away.
No matter. With their new fuel scoop they would simply transit the
sun's corona, and recharge the fuel cells.
Cirag's sun was a large, yellow star, old, but with much life left in it
yet. It was active, too. As Elyssia - at the astrogation console - turned
towards it, so two immense streamers of fire were erupting from its surface,
whirlpools of plasma that were spectacular when seen through the Nemesis'
polarising filters.
'Let's catch some of that heat,' Elyssia said, and punched for top
speed. The Nemesis surged forward.
But they flew for no more than a minute.
'Holy Mother of the Stars!'
Alex stared at the scanner screens and felt his stomach turn over. The
bright marks there were so large that they could only be Boa or Anaconda
class cruisers. They had formed an attack pattern, four large ships,
surrounded by the darting points of light that was its fighter escort.
On the viewscreen, against the glowing sun, the assault group were dark
smears, rapidly closing.
'Boas,' Elyssia said. 'They're set up as fighter cruisers, by the look of
it. At least they're slow. Hang on ...'
Alex gripped his seat, then grimaced as he fell for the same trap that
his father had always set for him. But this time it was as well that he
secured himself. The universe shifted; his body organs did somersaults.
Elyssia feigned an escape loop, and the fighters - Mambas by the looks of
them - broke formation and went into the scatter mode that meant pursuit. But
Elyssia completed the loop to come full back against the looming pirate
craft.
She sailed under the belly of the leader with as much calm and cheek as
you please. It belly-shot at them, and she rolled the Cobra so that she could
side-strafe back. All along the Boa's under-belly, shards and sparks flew
brightly where the shields were lowered around the laser housings.
'Markings are unfamiliar ...' Alex said. There had been black and green
flags with bright sunbursts on them, and non-terrestrial ideographs on the
sides.
'Intentions very familiar ...' Elyssia breathed. Behind them, two of
the Mambas were closing fast. Pulses of laser fire made eerie streaks in the
dark circle of space around the glowing sun ahead of them.
The huge ships had turned too, and were accelerating towards them.
Elyssia made it clear, without speaking, that they'd never reach the star and
have time to refuel. Alex, never taking his eyes from the scanners, knew as
much.
Elyssia rolled the Cobra and turned to fight. She targeted a missile and
dispatched it on the turn, and the nearest fighter became a glittering dust
cloud. The other streaked fire across the forward shields, and the Nemesis
shuddered and whined. Two stabs of her finger on the side-fire button, and
the second mamba tumbled, its shield still up, its pilot disorientated by
the unexpected hit. Elyssia closed in for the kill.
Killed.
On of the Boas loomed large from the darkness. It was rolling slowly,
and beams of light played from its spike nose. Elyssia targeted a missile.
Sweat ran freely from her face, and her hands were white with tension.
Alex, feeling helpless, gripped the sides of his chair, leaning forward,
jumping and starting in sympathy with every sudden movement, every
avoiding action.
The Boa ECM'd the missile before it had gone a tenth of the distance
between the two ships. the Nemesis slid smoothly along its belly and again
turned side on, strafing the sensitive underparts as it matched the
giant's slow roll.
And then it happened. From somewhere, out of nowhere, pulsing laser
fire made a direct aft hit on them. the Nemesis shuddered and stuttered and
was forced into a rapid, dizzying roll. Alex swore, feeling his body
wrenched by the seat harness. The shock had nearly taken his head off. He
straightened up, assessing the situation: there were two Mambas behind, and
they were closing rapidly on the maw of an Anaconda; it hovered there in the
void, like a giant net waiting to swallow them.
'Let's see you get out of this ...' Alex said loudly, and glanced at
Elyssia to see why she was running so straight.
She was slumped in her chair; Blood flowed freely from her scalp and
nose. Her eyes were closed. She must have had her seat belt too loosely
fastened, and had struck the console when the Cobra bucked.
Alex leaped from his co-pilot's seat and literally wrenched the woman
free, throwing her to the floor. this was no time for courtesy. he buckled in,
stabbed fire at the Anaconda's ram-scoop, then overflew, dodging laser and
outrunning a missile, which then closed on him with alarming speed before
he was able to destroy it.
The planet Cirag was ahead of them once more. he began to run for
safety, and then thought an alarming thought: what guarantee did he have
that the Coriolis station would protect him if he got in range? He had no
such guarantee. The space stations were as likely to be against him as the
ships that pursued him.
But if he could let them know what he carried, if he could communicate
that he carried their god creatures, perhaps they would send their
fighters to keep the freebooters at bay.
To his right a Mamba appeared out of nowhere. he rolled the Nemesis and
shot from his rear laser, then slowed speed, span and strafed the killer
vessel from his port gun, watching the mamba tumble out of control, not
destroyed, just dead.
If he could only release the cargo, jettison the cannisters containing
the Mymurth life-systems, perhaps the pursuit would end. He and Elyssia
would be out of pocket by three hundred credits, but so what? Neither he nor
Elyssia were elite, yet. He might feel like an elite combateer, but faced
with this sort of -
A Mamba strafed him. Shields screamed. he targeted a missile, but used
side-fire to battle with the attacker ...
- faced with this sort of pressure, neither of them could survive.
Elyssia came round, staggered to her feet and stared, through blood-
encrusted eyes, at the combat. Cirag came closer. A tiny spinning point of
silver light winked and beckoned to them, but the sight of it did not fill
Alex with joy.
'There must be more than Mymurth in those cannisters ...' Elyssia said
quietly.
'Let's discuss it later,' Alex retorted, as he rolled and veered to
escape the fire coming from the closest of the big ships.
The woman left the bridge. hanging on for dear life, she went down to
the cargo bay ...
And suddenly the attack finished.
Alex nearly jumped with suprise. One moment his tail had been hot, and
his port laser almost at exploding point. the next, nothing. The heavy
lights of the massive pirate ships dropped away into the background. tow of
the Mambas continued to dog his tail for a moment, firing last,
optimistic bursts of fire. Then they vanished, streaking away into
darkness, away from the sun.
Alex slowed the Nemesis and checked damage levels. They were not
seriously hurt, but two missiles were gone, and energy levels were low.
Their cargo was intact, however, and if the pirates had backed off this
close to the world, it could only mean that Cirag would defend its
visitors.
Elyssia came back onto the bridge, holding the small, black box that
was a thru-Vis camera. 'They look like turtles. They stink like turtles.
They're as boring as turtles. But I've taken a couple of Thru-Vis shots,
just to see if anything else is hiding in there ...'
'Good idea. let's see?'
'Two or three minutes ...'
She placed the camera down, sat back in the co-pilot's seat and looked at
him. 'You okay?'
Alex nodded. 'Shaken. How about you?'
'Bruised, bloody but unbowed. We in the safe zone?'
'Looks that way.'
The Coriolis station span gently before them, bright with sunlight,
casting its shadow on the patchy grey and yellow of the huge world below.
Several ships were tethered to buoys close by. They looked safe enough.
Lights flashed on the Station. Everything gleamed, everything welcomed.
Alex sailed gracefully past the immense flying city, then turned to
face the entrance.
But there was no entrance. 'What in God's ...?'
He sat there, motionless in space, rotation matched with the Coriolis,
facing blank metal. By zooming in he could see the shape of the entrance,
closed, now, protectively.
'Afraid of strangers?' Elyssia suggested.
'We need fuel badly. They'd better not be too afraid ...'
Then the crackle of an audio message coming in. On the screen, only the
space station, with stars and the sun behind.
'Identify, identify. This is Cirag Orbit Space.'
'Cobra class trader, the Nemesis,' Alex said. 'We have a cargo of
Mymurth. Open the gates.'
There was silence for a while, through the channel remained open
because it continues to hiss and crackle. Then:
'Attention, Nemesis. Mymurth trade in Coriolis stations is prohibited.'
'What?'
'Release your cargo before coming aboard. Release cargo. You will be
compensated.'
Alex glanced at Elyssia. 'What the hell do we do?'
'Sounds unprofessional to me,' the woman said. 'Sounds a little fishy
...'
She picked up the camera and removed the developed and printed film.
Staring at the two prints for a moment, she suddenly seemed to realise
what she was looking at and gasped.
'Oh my Sweet World ...' she said slowly, and passed the prints to Alex.
On the screen, the entrance to the space station began to open slowly.
two lights shone there, likes eyes, tiny in the dark void space beyond.
Alex looked at the Thru-Vis pictures and for a second couldn't
comprehend the grotesque sights he saw. Looking through the bodies of the
Mymurth, the camera had picked up the spider-like lifeforms that were
living inside the shuffling, harmless turtle-forms. The sight was
discomforting, jointed legs seemed to be reaching out into every limb, and
every body space. the central black body was shiny, and from it peered a
number of bloated, faceted eyes. Two long, bristly tendrils stretched into the
Mymurth's brains from each of these hideous parasites.
'What are they?' Alex whispered, and Elyssia said,
'Trouble. They're immature Thargoids.'
Alex felt his heart quicken. Tharglets! He was transporting Tharglets,
the larval forms of one of the most deadly life-forms in the known galaxy!
Set-up? Being set-up hardly began to describe the way they'd been duped on
Xezaor!
No wonder the pirates closed in so ravenously ...
'There's good bounty on Tharglets. The navy pay well, for research
purposes.'
'They're also deadly; and they make ideal mercenary fighters if trained
and developed. We've been carrying fighters for Cirag. Pirate fighters. No
wonder they was to destroy us. They won't want any evidence left of this
...'
Alex stared at the space station. For a moment Elyssia's word just went in
and didn't register. he was thinking of the pirates who had attacked, and
who had been beaten back ...
He was thinking that the danger was over ... they were at a Coriolis
station, and the only danger now was illegal trading ...
He was thinking safety ...
He watched as the bright eyes slid forward, out of the space port.
Behind the eyes came the bulky shape of the ship to which they were
attached. Behind the ship came light, brightly lit, a gleaming yellow
beam that cast the shadow of the ship against the Nemesis...
The shadow of a snake.
The Cobra!
He would have known that ship anywhere. It was months since he had seen it,
but not a night had passed when the shape of it, when the evil of it, had not
infested his dreams.
The ship that had destroyed the Avalonia came slowly towards him and he
had no doubt at all as to its identity.
And not had Elyssia.
She sucked in her breath and moved towards the console. 'I want him. Let
me take the controls ...'
'Sit down,' Alex said coldly, and Elyssia turned angrily on him.
'I have as much stake as you ...'
'Luck of the draw,' Alex said. 'the pilot of that ship killed my father
...'
'Killed my whole family! We were escaping Teorge, and we asked that
ship for help, for supplies. It took my sister and myself as slaves, and
blasted my family's vessel to pieces. I escaped. My sister didn't. Alex, I
want that bastard.'
'Too late ...'
Fire blossomed from the front of the Cobra. The Nemesis rocked and
rattled. Alex targeted a missile, then stabbed laser fire back. The energy
spread over the Cobra's screens like a bright yellow flower.
It accelerated towards them. Alex accelerated too, but rose over the
killer, and over the space station.
We can't fight it! We've not got the weapons, nor the defences. Not
yet. Damn! What should we do?
On the rear screen, Alex saw the sombre shape of the killer rising
above the Coriolis station. A flash of light presaged the warning INCOMING
MISSILE, and Alex targeted the ECM to destroy it. As he did so, he turned. The
two ships tore past each other, majestic metal galleons, raking each other
with fire before turning and approaching again.
Twice they duelled in this way. The Nemesis groaned beneath the weight of
the laser strikes on its hull; the energy in its storage cells began to drain
away. In Alex's mind there was only confusion. the Cobra knew him and
wanted him and wouldn't let go. And this was the ship he wanted to kill ...
But he wasn't equipped to kill it ... Not yet. Not yet!
So despite Elyssia's objections, Alex turned and ran for the sun.
The Cobra followed. The two ships manoeuvred and looped, slowed and
speeded up. Whenever possible, Alex rear-lasered, and this had the effect of
driving the Cobra back a little. It targeted and dispatched three more
missiles, and Alex shot them down. he was tempted to think that that
represented the full missile load of the Cobra, but he wisely avoided such
complacency. His own missile remained targeted, ready to fly, but he
imagined that it would meet a quick and pointless fate.
The sun edged closer. It grew in size and majesty. The cabin
temperature of the Nemesis rose. Immense arms of plasma curled out from the
surface, like weird creatures rising above a molten sea. Alex flew towards
one, fuel-scoop ready.
The Cobra fired at him. Shields screeched.
The duelling ships entered the realm of the Inferno ...
Alex said, 'It's working. Look ...'
The fuel gauge was edging up as the scoop sucked in raw plasma and
converted it to the energy form needed for Witch-Space transit. he skimmed the
Nemesis along the edge of the great ocean of fire. The arms of the corona
was millions of miles long, thousands wide, and curling round, like a
whirlpool. At its centre, there was a calm place, a place away from the heat
and danger.
Alex headed towards it. The cabin filled with an eerie brilliance in
which shadows seemed to writhe and beckon. The sun was an unbearable
glare. The temperature of the ship rose dramatically. Fire played about the
hull, and the shields moaned and creaked.
'Not long,' Elyssia said. At last she too had come to realise that they
were just not ready to fight the Cobra. They had to get out of here, and
fast. The nearest star was six light years distant, their fuel gauge
showed a jump capability of four, and rising ...
In the calm sea, wrapped around by sunfire, the Nemesis hovered, and
waited. Somewhere in the brilliant glow of the plasma arm the Cobra
searched for them, but perhaps they were safe, now, safe from scanning, or
from probing, since no electronic eye or ear could pierce the intense
radiation field of the corona.
'Five light years and climbing. get ready to go, we're already targeted
...'
'I'm ready,' Alex said. He tried not to think of the consequences of
such a long, unsupervised jump ... In the first instance they would just
jump small distances, but they hyperdrive mechanism wouldn't tolerate too
many such feeble movements.
Alex turned the Nemesis so that it gently span in a circle, searching
the flickering, shadowy fire for danger.
'Five point five light years. A minute more. Just sixty seconds ...'
'Just thirty seconds ... we're filling up lovely ...'
The ship hummed. Alex dripped with sweat.
'Just twenty seconds more, Alex, and we can fly like star seed ...'
On the scanners, the merest flicker of light hinted at the presence of
the Cobra. It was on the other side of a strand of plasma; a curtain of
fire seperated them. Nemesis and the killer stood motionless in space,
facing each other through the great erupting wave of sunfire.
'We're ready to go,' Elyssia said. 'Alex. Go! Now!'
Alex Ryder shrugged her off. 'No,' he said. 'Not yet ...'
'Alex!'
He pushed the ship towards the fire. The flickering, ghostly image on
the scanners moved too. Closing
And with a sudden cry, Alex stabbed speed into the Nemesis' engines, and
raced towards the veil of flame and plasma. All vision had gone. All he
could see was his father's face; and the white ball of flame that had been
the Avalonia ...
All he could feel was grief, and anger, and hate ...
All he knew was that he had a missile targeted on the Cobra, and that he
had one last, desperate chance ...
The ships closed. The distance between them was the distance of the
plasma veil. It played on the hull of the Nemesis, and the shields
screamed and complained. He could not go too deep ...
Not too far in...
Too dangerous ...
He fired the missile.
The tiny vessel sped into the sunfire, weaving and ducking as it homed on
the Cobra. It didn't show on Alex's scanner. It didn't show on the Cobra's
scanner. Not until it was too late ...
The Cobra triggered its ECM. Alex saw the burst of brightness, the
sudden detonation ... and then he saw the great fire ball that gyrated
around the destroyed missile.
Momentum, heat, plasma, fire ... all gathered together into a ball of
death that swept from the corona and engulfed the Cobra.
No shield known could stand against such intense energy, the raw energy of
a sun, stung and screaming, blown into a great tidal wave of explosive
terror.
The Cobra bathed in light and fire. Alex watched the scanner, and
suddenly ...
The light was gone.
The Cobra was dead. Destroyed. Gone forever.
The Nemesis slowed and turned, went back to safety.
No-one on the bridge said a word. But in the bright light of the ageing
sun, tears glistened on two faces.
CHAPTER EIGHT: CODA
The holoFac of Rafe Zetter gleamed and shimmered on the bridge of the
Nemesis as if with pride. Behind it, the full face of Lave was a welcome and
relaxing sight. The last of the Mymurth and their precious parasites had
been off-loaded into two Navy Asp-type ships. The final payment had not yet
been agreed, but the figure would not be less than on hundred credits per
creature.
'I knew you could do it,' Rafe said, chewing happily and stroking his
wispy sidewhiskers. 'Had to be sure. But was confident to get you to Cirag
before you were ready.'
'We could have been killed,' Alex muttered. 'That system was crawling
...'
'But a good combateer, even an elite combateer, knows when to run, and
how to run. I'm proud of you ... you ran and scored.'
And as he spoke, so on the screen a message came through from the
Galactic Police HQ on Lave Coriolis 6.
Congratulations to Alex Ryder, and thanks on behalf of the Galactic Co-
operative of Worlds for your efforts and skill in destroying pirate
vessels as documented by you, and verified by on-board V-film. We have
pleasure in assigning you the Combat Status of 'Deadly'. Your legal status of
'Offender' has been negated. You new rating as Deadly will be logged in the
GalNetwork within a standard day.
'Select wisely in battle, and be strong.'
So there it was. Alex was not yet twenty earth years of age, had come
within one step of being rated more highly as a combateer than most people
would even dream about.
He was deadly; he had killed the Cobra; why the Cobra had killed his
father Alex hadn't thought to ask ... of the ship's pilot, at least. He had
guessed that the ship and its bounty killer pilot had simply been earning
a wage.
Instead, he said to rafe, 'Did you know the ship was at Cirag?'
'Had a good idea of it, Alex. That's why we sent the Tharglets with
you. Nobody, but nobody - if they're a tad evil - can resist booty like
that. I knew it would bring every freebooter for a light year after you, but
I reckoned you could handle them. Most importantly, I was damn sure that
your cargo would bring out the Cobra.'
'You fought well. You showed the sort of instinct for combat that I
remember in Jason. He was right. You are the man to follow him.'
'Follow him where?'
Rafe chuckled and shook
his head. 'You see, that's the big question.
Your father was chasing the mythical planet Raxxla. Does it exist, or does it
not? If it does, then on Raxxla there's an alien construct that's a gateway
to other Universes, and all that's in those Universes in the way of bounty,
and treasures, and aliens, and life ...'
'Jason Ryder was convinced that Raxxla existed. That's why he trained
for, and became part of, the Dark Wheel, the legend-seekers. I hadn't
heard much from him or about him for some time until just before he died,
when he told me he'd found evidence for the real existence of Raxxla. He
came back from Deep Space to get a proper team together ...' Rafe smiled
bitterly. 'But just before he was due to go back he decided to take a
safe-worlds holiday jaunt with his son ... and an assassin was waiting for
him.'
'But why?' Alex asked. 'Why kill him for finding Raxxla?'
'Because there are people on Raxxla already. This is only a guess mind
you, but from what happened to Jason I'd say it was close to being right.
We've long suspected that a corps of elites live there, and are exploiting the
gateway. They're powerful, twisted men. Powerful enough to hire an
assassin to kill the threat to their dominance.'
Rafe leaned a little closer to Alex, his bright eyes gleaming, an
intense look on his grizzled face.
'I've put you through your paces, Alex, you and Elyssia both. The Dark
Wheel needs you. Both of you. But believe me, what you've just been
through is nothing to what you face now. You've got to become elite, Alex. And
that means a lot of training, and lot of fighting, and maybe a lot of months,
even years. But then the Universe will open up before you in a way you never
imagined possible.'
Alex stood silent, thoughtful, watching the old man. In the corner,
half in shadows, Elyssia stood and watched too, frightened by what she was
hearing.
'Has the grief gone?' Rafe asked, and Alex nodded. The old trader
smiled.
'How does it feel to be rich?'
'Empty,' Alex said, and Rafe Zetter laughed.
'You'll do for the Dark Wheel, Alex. You'll do ...'
<The end>
