Broken Glass (Glass Complex Book 1) (9 page)

After checking in they were directed to a small suite that Steg painstakingly surveyed. His conclusion was that the suite was not totally secure from possible unauthorized intruders.

“What do you think, Tziksis? Am I being overcautious?”

“Master youth, if danger threatens, always overcautious be.” Tziksis had followed the survey with interest.

“I suppose it will have to do for now,” Steg compromised with himself. “How about organizing a tailor—can you arrange for someone to come here? I need to improve my wardrobe.” At the enthusiastic reaction from Tziksis, Steg continued. “Give me a few hours to clean up, have some rest—my time clock is about two in the morning and I need to adjust.”

He closed the door carefully as Tziksis departed on his errand and collapsed onto the bed. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow. As he descended into slumber, sets of numbers, strangely scripted and framed in green light, flashed and were gone, too rapidly to be read. An urgent voice spoke unfamiliar words that failed to penetrate his sleep-fogged consciousness and repeated them again and again with ascending emphasis on the need for him to comprehend their message. He tossed and turned, restless, while the voice continued, now presenting the words as text rather than speech, however they sped by before he could reach out to them. He tried to slow them down but they slid away unhindered by his dream perceptions. The words kept on, hammering at his slumbering awareness with a shrilling vibration and his frustration mounted with each unsuccessful attempt to contain and comprehend the strange communication. Then he felt his mind moving, drawn by the irresistible attraction of the flow of words and symbols, and it surged, matching the flow but he still could not catch and hold the elusive mixture. Each time he almost caught the distancing pace of the flowing patterns and he felt understanding was within his grasp, the flow accelerated and left him lagging behind and more and more perturbed. The movement continued, segued into loud hammering and suddenly changed to a heavy and repetitive knocking. The flow of indecipherable symbols jumped and faded, disappearing as suddenly as it had appeared. He struggled with the heavy muffling blanket of exhausted sleep. The knocking continued and he opened his eyes, realizing he was no longer dreaming.

He struggled to the door and checked the door spy. He then fumbled with catches and deadlocks and opened the door. He blinked at the sight of the two brightly colored aliens.

“Come in, Tziksis. Sorry for the delay. I was in the middle of a very strange dream. I trust you found a good tailor for me?”

He stood back to allow Tziksis and his companion to enter. They were trailed by a string of self-propelled units that he realized contained the stock in trade of the alien tailor.

“Oh youth highness, my paltry fellow Dnarsis be an unworthy tailor but perhaps with fortune, in his clothes and needles, you will discover something worthy.”

Steg examined and selected new clothes and the two aliens bargained and bickered, clicking and wheezing. Occasionally Tziksis translated for Steg. “This poorly colored creature bankruptcy claims, young human master. But he has profits enough for many such tailors, well Tziksis knows. Broken he will not be if our fair price agreed is.” Two sets of eyestalks bobbed and swayed as they regarded Steg anxiously.

“Your price must be fair, Tziksis,” he instructed. He avoided the furious exchange that followed. At last honor was satisfied, and once the automated tailor bot made adjustments, Steg possessed a replenished wardrobe. The tailor was happy with his profit and Tziksis would see a commission from the tailor for finding a customer, and from Steg, his master. Eventually the door closed behind the tailor and his self-propelled showroom, and Tziksis fussed and folded or hung the new acquisitions.

After an early dinner Steg retired for the night; however his attempts to sleep were fruitless and he tossed and turned. Each time he managed to cross that indefinable border into sleep, the rushing word strips reappeared and worried him back to wakefulness. Each time the colors glowed with increasing intensity, emphasizing the urgency of the strange message. The word strips spiraled into a huge funnel and Steg could feel himself being drawn into its unknown depths, down and down, until he was surrounded by spinning and spiraling word strips. Each time his alarmed rejection brought him awake just as he was about to drop into the blackness that he knew awaited him at the bottom of the funnel.

He sat on the edge of his bed and silently acknowledged he was becoming more and more concerned. Perhaps some danger was looming, perhaps this nightmare struggle was some form of premonition. He was not ready to attempt to sleep again.

As he stirred the little alien clattered into his room, an anxious expression on his face. “Oh master youth, problem has?”

“Yes. I keep seeing an urgent message as I try to fall asleep. The words travel past far too quickly for me to read the symbols or understand the words. Perhaps I am just tired,” he explained.

The alien clicked his concern and proceeded with a jumbled interrogation and Steg tried to explain something he could not understand. How, he wondered, could he explain the unknown? He stood and gazed out at the Altherean night, watching as the city lights were extinguished. The hour was late. He needed his sleep. And he could not explain the inexplicable. He could not identify any reason for his nightmare. Eventually his weariness overtook his fears and he returned to his bed. This time he managed to sink into a deep and undisturbed slumber that carried him through the remainder of the night.

The next morning Steg decided he should carry out the next phase of the plan prepared by the Complex. He needed to discover the most expeditious way to purchase his commission as a junior officer in the Imperial Fleet. His first step was to visit the bankers where funds were waiting on his arrival. Undoubtedly a number of palms would want to feel the weight of his gold before he received his commission papers.

“Come, Tziksis,” he directed. “You can be my guide again. First to the banking district and then perhaps to the Imperial Fleet.”

“Imperial Fleet? Are you sure, your humanness? Do you jest with Tziksis?”

“Why ever would I do that? I intend to buy a commission and you will be able to assist. I believe junior officers are permitted to take a servant with them and you can be my servant on board, if you wish?”

The little alien clicked furiously. Steg was intrigued to see the color of the alien’s carapace lighten from dark violet to almost pure white and then back again. He could not decipher the mutterings and clicks, and he could not determine whether the alien was excited or frightened. He shrugged.

“Come on now, first we must visit a bank. Then we shall see what your problems are with the Fleet.”

The banking district was more of the same with tall gray buildings that stood in row after row, street after street. However here the passersby were less gaudily dressed and private guards protected the outward sanctity of each nest of bankers, ensuring that nothing untoward disturbed the deep waters of finance. Steg’s Complex-provided destination was a bank that he surmised was either controlled or owned by Homeworld interests.

The autocab dropped them in front of one of the buildings and they climbed the broad sweep of stairs leading to the columned entrance of the bank. Past the heavy metal and glass doors was a vast and characterless foyer with cold marble floors and walls. A severely featured security guard stopped their progress before Steg managed to enter the large antechamber. The guard imperiously held out his hand, arresting Steg’s progress.

“Your weapon, sir.” The request was conveyed as an order.

Steg placed a steadying hand on Ebony; the sword was slung from his shoulder. “I am afraid not,” he declined with a brief but unamused smile. “I am here on business. My sword remains with me.”

“We cannot permit anyone to enter the bank who is armed, sir,” responded the guard with barely a facade of civility. His watching companions appeared to brace themselves and Tziksis clacked away to himself, his eyestalks bouncing in concern.

“In that case we must do business from here.” He mentioned an astronomical amount. “Please arrange the withdrawal.”

The guard paled and stepped back to his console. “You have a card, sir?” he queried. Steg handed across the card given him with his identification and other papers by the dying Acolyte.

The guard spoke softly into his intercom; however, Steg could not hear the one-sided conversation. He assumed a sound damper protected such conversations from being overheard by waiting bank clients and idle passersby. He waited patiently, ignoring curious glances from other bank customers who were passing through the entrance, under the supervision of the other two guards. At last the guard finished his conversation and returned the card.

“Please place your hand here, sir,” he instructed. “Our security system will verify your identify with our records. Then our Mr. McWhimple will speak with you.”

Steg followed the guard’s instructions and placed his hand firmly onto the palm reader. He did not know what identity arrangements had been communicated, he just hoped the Complex had been thorough. He moved back at the guard’s request and stood waiting quietly with Tziksis while the slow machinery of the bank churned through its routine security processes. At last a newcomer arrived from within the bank.

“Sir,” he addressed Steg. “I’m to accompany you to our Mr. McWhimple. Please come with me. Yes, bring your sword.” He led the way back into the bank.

Steg and Tziksis followed the clerk inside the bank to a waiting elevator. The doors hissed their closure and the banker pressed a series of buttons. The elevator descended and Steg counted floors as the indicator lights flashed at each passing of a sub-level. Eventually the elevator stopped, jerking softly to rest at the fifteenth sub-level. A florid-faced, self-important banker was waiting when the elevator doors eventually opened.

“Sir,” he addressed Steg, ignoring the alien, as they moved towards an indicated office. “We have checked our records and verified that we are able to do business with you. I’m Mr. Aloysius McWhimple, a senior over-director.”

Steg ignored the banker and stepped across to the banking terminal on the desk. To the banker’s astonishment, Steg busied himself at the desk. He keyed in codes provided by the Complex and examined display after display in silence.

“Sir—uh—I think—” quavered the banker.

Steg frowned. “I trust that you realize a number of your activities are in conflict specifically with your delegated authority and indeed with the Bank’s charter?” Steg was almost more amazed than the banker. He had no idea what had prompted his access of bank records. “I’ve examined just
your
activities. I daresay this is an endemic issue, across all the bank’s senior management.” He turned the display towards the banker. It listed a series of banking events and transactions. “All with your approval or initiated by you.”

The banker sat at his desk, claiming one of the visitor’s chairs. “But—but—I –how did you know?”

“Never mind. The details are all there.” Steg had the same question of himself. Had the Complex known of this fraudulent mismanagement of the bank and planned for his discovery of the infractions? “I represent the shareholders, and have their full authority.” He keyed in another code and sequence. He again turned the display towards the banker. “See?”

“Why, yes. We can assemble a board meeting immediately. I can offer my resignation. You will not make formal charges, I trust? I have—a wife, children“

“We—my principals—are prepared to waive the malfeasance and your private account drawings—well, some of them—as long as you provide your complete cooperation. Some things—information—you can help me obtain. Your—er—transgressions will not be made public if I receive your full cooperation. However it may be necessary for you and, of course, for some of your fellow managers, to take early retirement.”

The banker brightened. “Yes sir. What do you need? How can I help you“

“I need some information from bank files on some clients.”

“But—but sir, the bank cannot give out confidential information.”

“That applies only to those who do not have the authority that I hold. I act on behalf of the shareholders—with their full authority—and you can think of this as a shareholder audit. I’ve enough information to have you brought before the Bankers Guild. The charges would not be minor, with penalties including prison and fines. The fines would wipe out your wealth, even the funds you’ve hidden. Providing information to me is a minor issue, as I am sure you understand?”

“Yes, yes, I understand. Tell me what you need to know.”

“I assume you have Imperial Fleet officers as bank clients?”

“Indeed. We have a special arrangement—”

“Good. I want names, rank, personal details and full account data. I want to explore and discover who takes bribes, who gambles, who has a mistress, and so forth. As quickly as possible.”

The banker scurried away, thankful he had an excuse to leave the office. Shortly after his hurried exit a tray of refreshments was brought to the office. Steg and Tziksis sat in silence as they waited for the return of the banker with the information Steg had requested. The little alien had not spoken since they arrived at the bank and Steg was about to question his subdued silence, when a knock on the door signaled the return of the banker. He entered the office accompanied by a burdened autofile carrier.