Pelquin's Comet (28 page)

S
EVENTEEN

The highlight of Leesa’s morning was a leisurely wander around Victoria’s Westside shopping district, which proved far more extensive than anticipated. She went there on impulse. The
Comet
had been allocated a launch slot for later that afternoon, which meant that, having already checked and double checked the ship’s engines and systems, she had some time to kill. Bren had mentioned Westside in passing, saying that it was worth a visit; and the prospect of a little retail therapy sure as hell beat sitting around kicking her heels on the ship. The vague notion of picking up a souvenir or two soon evaporated. After all, she didn’t really need any herself and had no one else to buy them for.

The
Comet
was quiet when she returned, with only Nate, Anna, and the doc on board. Presumably Pelquin, Bren and Drake were off making the most of what little time remained planetside, much as she had. Anna was all right, but the other two were hardly Leesa’s ideal choice of companions; not that she’d yet worked out who was.

Nate Almont was in a tetchy mood, even by his usual standards, so she quickly decided to forego the galley and the pleasure of his company in favour of the bridge.

She carried a drink up to Anna, who smiled in thanks.

“What’s up with Nate?”

“Oh, ignore him,” Anna advised. “He’s just sulking. He and Pel were going off somewhere when Drake intervened. Not sure what was said exactly, but it ended up with Nate staying behind and the banker going in his place. He’s been in a foul mood ever since.”

“Where were they going?”

“No idea. We’ll be the last to know, as usual.” Anna suddenly sat up, staring at her monitor. “Hello… What’s this?”

Leesa leaned forward for a better view of the screen. It showed three uniformed figures, presumably approaching the ship.

“Nate, you’d better get up here,” Anna said. “We’ve got company.”

“Who is it?” Nate replied over the intercom.

“Port authorities by the look of it, with cops…”

“I’m on my way.”

Pelquin drove a hired car. He had barely spoken to Drake since they left the ship. Clearly he was far from happy. Tough. The banker had worked out in a general sense where they were going but that was the point: he shouldn’t have
needed
to deduce that. As First Solar’s representative he ought to have been kept in the loop and was fast losing patience with the captain’s continued failure to do so.

Pelquin had proved evasive the previous evening when Drake asked him about the stranger, and Drake had decided enough was enough. He wasn’t in the least surprised to catch Pelquin and Nate trying to slip off the ship unnoticed that morning. Pelquin had even looked surprised when he said, “I take it this has something to do with Senator Oliver Webster,” as if it hadn’t dawned on him that the banker might cross reference last night’s guest list to identify the stranger. “Based on his current responsibilities,” he continued, “I’m assuming you’re after a Sanction to legitimise a trip into Xter space. By all means correct me if I’m wrong.”

Their reaction told him that he wasn’t.

The argument was won and everyone present knew it. Drake couldn’t pretend he was disappointed when Nate said, “We can’t go in mob-handed. If he’s going with you, I’ll stay here.”

Pelquin was left with little choice but to agree; which didn’t mean he had to like the situation. On the plus side, Pelquin hadn’t once thought to complain about Mudball, who rode in his accustomed position at the banker’s shoulder.

“Now that I’m here,” Drake said at length, “you might at least give me some idea of what I’ve talked myself into.”

“A meeting, much as you guessed,” Pelquin said after slight hesitation. “When we get there, I want you to stick close to me at all times. If I move, make sure you follow, understood?”

“Understood.” Why, though?

“Knowing ‘Oily’ Olly Webster as I do, things won’t be straight forward,” Pelquin added.

“You don’t think he’ll have the Sanction ready?”

“Oh, he’ll have it. He could probably have signed off on one last night at the reception – he has the authority. No, Oily wouldn’t risk
not
having a Sanction prepared. It’s just that handing it over will be his Plan B. Plan A will be to try and bully me out of it first.

“So this is likely to get physical?”

“Why do you think I was taking Nate along?”

They arrived at an extensive industrial site, though the lack of activity suggested it was currently disused – long buildings with shuttered doorways and empty forecourts providing a downbeat setting. Not quite deserted. A single black limo stood before one and, as they approached, three men got out. Drake recognised one as Senator Olly Webster – the stranger from the previous evening – while the other two gave every impression of being hired muscle.

“Right, game on,” Pelquin said as he stopped the car. “And remember, follow my lead.” He was all smiles as he climbed out. “Olly, good to see you.”

The senator scowled. “Who’s this?” and he gestured towards Drake.

“My associate, Mr Drake.”

“And these are
my
associates, Mr Terrivel and Mr Feliz.” The two men wore matching smart suits and might almost have been twins.

“Three of you? This Sanction must be heavier than I’d realised.”

As Pelquin spoke, he stepped away from the hire car. It was a casual movement but took him unnecessarily wide. Drake followed.

“Ah yes, about the Sanction… It turns out that both Mr Terrivel and Mr Feliz have strong reservations on that front, Pel. I spoke to them after our little chat last night. Well, of course I did. They have a vested interest, you see, having provided considerable support to my political career – money, influence… You know the sort of thing.”

“I can guess.”

Webster smiled. “So I’m sure you can understand why the prospect of someone from my past appearing out of nowhere and threatening to
undermine
that career is of concern to them.” He held his hands out, as if to display his helplessness. “They’d like a little chat, Pel, to explain their take on the situation and why it would be best for all concerned if you were to simply forget that you ever knew me.”

“That’s not going to happen, Olly.”

Drake had been watching the senator’s companions throughout, waiting for them to make their move. When it came, however, he was still caught off-guard by the sheer speed of attack. Instead of the forward movement he had anticipated, the one on the right – Feliz – simply raised his left arm, as if to scratch his ear, and there was a weapon in his hand. Without hesitation, he fired, straight at Drake, who whipped his cane up, barely in time. It was an instinctive reaction rather than a deliberate attempt at defence, but it proved at least partially successful. Much of the energy spent itself on the staff’s non-conductive surface. Unfortunately some of the blast still got through to strike his arm. Pain screamed from every fibre. He felt as if the skin were being flayed from his limb, despite what his eyes told him – that the arm had suffered no physical damage.

The cane tumbled from fingers that would no longer obey him, and the arm twitched as his muscles spasmed. A stun blast, and a nasty one. He was just grateful that he hadn’t taken the full blast.

Can’t you do something about the twitching?
he asked silently.

I am. Why do you think you’re not a quivering wreck already?

Olly’s two associates were converging on Pelquin, and there was nothing Drake could do about it. He tried, crouching down to reach for the fallen cane with his left hand, but the twitching and his own haste turned the effort into a fumbling and clumsy one.

“I’m sorry, Pel, but what can I do?” he heard Olly say.

Then one of the twin-like pair – Drake had lost track of which was which – spun round and dropped to the ground, crying out. The other followed a split second later, and this time Drake could see the blossoming wound near the man’s shoulder.

A sniper. Drake had assumed Pelquin was being so particular about where they stood to allow clear line of sight for photographs or a recording, perhaps for the purpose of further insurance, but the captain was evidently playing hardball. It had to be Bren. She was the one on the crew with military training and had disappeared from the ship ahead of them that morning.

“What the fuck have you done?” a horrified senator asked. “They weren’t going to
kill
you.”

“And I haven’t killed them, though that can soon be rectified. If you like, we can make it three bodies as easily as two…”

“Now, come on, Pel, this was nothing personal, you know that.”

“I know, Olly, just business. As is this: the Sanction?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ve got it here, all ready. Given a choice, I would have preferred to just give it to you in the first place, but…” Olly reached into his jacket and produced his perminal. “Everything’s ready, all drawn up. Just needs your retinal scan to confirm acceptance.”

Pelquin gave the details no more than a cursory glance before staring directly into the screen for the scan.

Drake heard the captain’s wrist-worn perminal give a muted chime to indicate an incoming message. Pelquin opened up the document, studied it for a moment and then smiled.

“It’s exactly what you asked for,” the senator said, his attitude transformed into the epitome of obsequiousness.

“So it would seem. Thanks, Olly; it’s been a pleasure doing business with you, as ever.”

“You do realise this is a one use only Sanction? You go into Xter space and you come out again; there’s no going back.”

“One trip is all I’ll need.”

“And, sorry, but I have to say this… Please, don’t screw up. In effect, you’ll be an ambassador for humanity while the Sanction is evoked. If you mess up in any way the potential repercussions don’t bear thinking about.”

An odd time for the senator to get conscientious by Drake’s reckoning, but better late than never.

“Olly,” Pelquin said, “you know you can trust me.”

Following Pelquin’s lead, Drake climbed back into the car, the twitching steadily subsiding and the pain reduced to a widespread ache.

“What do you expect me to do about these two?” Webster called after them. Terrivel was sitting up, one hand clasped to his shoulder, but Feliz appeared to be badly hurt and had hardly moved.

“Not my problem, Olly,” Pelquin replied. “I wasn’t the one who brought them into this.” And with that they drove away.

“You might have warned me,” Drake said.

“Of what? I didn’t know for certain how things would play out. Bren was just there as back-up.”

Like hell
said a silent voice in Drake’s head. He couldn’t have agreed more.

They stopped round the corner to let Bren in. She scampered across to the car, clutching a holdall, and Pelquin gunned the engine as soon as she was safely inside.

“Where’s Nate?” she asked.

“He decided to sit this one out.”

She raised an eyebrow but made no further comment.

They were halfway back to the ship when Pelquin received the call. “Shit!” he said in its aftermath.

“What’s happened?”

“Our launch slot has been cancelled. The port authorities have impounded the
Comet
.”

They parked in front of a large, oblong redbrick block of a building. The legend above the door declared its purpose candidly: Port Authority Police. Bren had already been dropped off, not wanting whatever she had in the bag to be inspected, so just the two of them marched into an over-bright, over-bland reception area, where Pelquin announced himself to the receptionist.

Their arrival brought an immediate response.

Five uniformed figures appeared – four men and a woman. Five seemed a little heavy-handed to Drake, bearing in mind there were only two of them and they had walked in here of their own volition. A deliberate display on the authorities’ part, to demonstrate they meant business. The officer in charge – slightly older than his fellows and, conversely, the only one who
didn’t
resemble a nightclub bouncer – said, “Captain Pelquin?”

“That’s me,” Pelquin confirmed. “And you would be…?”

“Sergeant Willis, of the Port Authority Police. Captain, I’d appreciate it if you would instruct your crew to open up your ship and make all records available for inspection. They are currently being… less than helpful.”

“With all due respect, sergeant, like hell I will.”

Willis smiled. “Don’t be an arse. We’re going to gain remote access to your systems eventually, with or without your permission. Things will go better for you if you co-operate.”

“What exactly do we stand accused of, Sergeant?”

“The way I hear it, you made an unauthorised departure from New Sparta, recklessly endangering lives and ignoring instructions to abort.”

“That’s bullshit,” Pelquin said, looking suitably outraged.

“Be that as it may, I’m duty bound to investigate the allegations.”

“Sergeant,” Drake spoke up for the first time. “I’d advise a degree of care here. My employers have a considerable investment in Captain Pelquin’s current venture and will be concerned by any unnecessary delay.”

“Is that so? And you are?”

“Corbin Thaddeus Drake; senior representative of First Solar Bank.”

I like that ‘senior’ bit,
Mudball said.

“First Solar, huh? Then I’ll interview you too, Mr Senior Representative, and you can explain to me what your employers’ part is in all this.”

Drake remained deadpan, though the previous evening’s encounter with Alexis had rattled him more than he cared to admit. He’d been circumspect when living on Brannan’s, as was his habit, but he hadn’t been a complete hermit, and last night had proved that the odds should never be taken for granted, no matter how much you thought them stacked in your favour. It only took one person at the wrong place at the wrong time…

Logically, he ought to be safe. He’d declared an officially sanctioned identity to this Sergeant Willis, one that could be confirmed readily enough. There was no need for anyone to look beyond that. And yet, what if they did? What if there was the ghost of an image somewhere on a forgotten system that might be dredged up? He’d been careful in that former life, but had he been careful enough?