Project U.L.F. (4 page)

Leonardson’s image disappeared. The message had been so abruptly terminated that Mannheim wondered if there might have originally been more.

He accessed the second file and a second image appeared to replace Leonardson’s. It was the head of a young man, but the recording was of such poor quality that on occasion the image distorted and broke up. The accompanying hiss of static was interrupted only by fragments of garbled speech. “Mayday....deep space mining ship....failure....put down....two point...light years....Centari Red 603. Food....onth....Mayday. Help. Please.” The image broke up and vanished.

Mannheim was still none the wiser as to how all this information was of importance to him. He was puzzled yet curious.

The third file comprised a number of documents from the CSETI. Fortunately the distress message had contained some vital information. Centari Red 603 was a giant red star on the very boundary of charted space and there was only one deep space mining fleet reported beyond the Centari sector at that time. Assuming the mining ship had been forced to put down on its return then an investigative team would only need to travel directly from Centari Red 603 on a course which would eventually result in a rendezvous with the mining fleet, and somewhere between two and three light years beyond the star they would encounter the planet where the ship had been forced to land. It would take time but it was exactly what the CSETI did.

The search was aided by the fact that the mining ship was constructed relatively recently and by law had to be fitted with a transmitting radio beacon. These beacons regularly transmitted a radio signal that was unique for that ship. Since their introduction they had proved invaluable in rapid identification and searches such as this one.

The CSETI craft dispatched had found the mining ship but reported no trace of any of the crew even though there was still at least one week’s worth of supplies still on board. As their search continued over the next few days, two of the investigative team had mysteriously disappeared. Shortly afterward, all contact with the team had been lost. CSETI command and control had not ruled out the possibility of radio malfunction, but when the ship did not return as scheduled it was realized that something was dreadfully amiss. At the present time the CSETI was licking its wounds. All information regarding the failed mission was being carefully scrutinized and there were no plans to send out another team until their safe return could be ensured. What had originally begun as a routine find-and-rescue assignment was developing into something far more sinister.

Mannheim grasped the arms of his chair and eased himself back into it. He brought his hands together in front of him and steepled his fingers, tapping them together thoughtfully. Two ships had landed on this remote, uncharted planet and not one member of either crew had returned. An idea began to take form in his mind and with it came a grin that spread across his face.

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He was barely conscious, but conscious enough to know that his neck hurt like hell. Wyatt stretched and tried to rub away the stiffness. He didn’t need to open his eyes to realize he was still slumped in the armchair he had fallen asleep in last night. He opened one eye with a grimace and brought up his arm to check the time on his watch. 8:03 AM. For a split second the time didn’t really register, either because he hadn’t really taken it on board or because he didn’t want to believe it was true. But then again, watches didn’t lie. “Aaah shit!” in a second he was up and bolting for the shower.

Twenty minutes later Wyatt was speeding up the ramp out of the underground car park. He screeched to a halt before joining the traffic on the road which was moving at a much more sedate pace.

He was grateful that this was the last day of his shift. He was exhausted. The nightmare and thoughts of Tanya seemed to be conspiring to deprive him of as much sleep as possible lately. He yawned, absently rubbing one eye while keeping the other firmly fixed on the taillights of the vehicle in front of him. The traffic was getting unbelievable these days. He recalled the politicians from the television the night before. There was indeed an overcrowding problem.

Driving to work always seemed the attractive option, a novelty, but it infrequently was. Fortunately there was an alternative. Chicago city congress had at least had one good idea in recent years.

The skytrack had been completed over eight years ago. It took the form of a chain-driven monorail suspended some forty feet above the road and was a compromise between road vehicles and the hover vehicles.

Hover vehicles were developed three decades ago and had become incredibly popular in a short space of time. They provided a much-needed escape from land-bound transport and cut traveling times in half. However, aerial traffic could not be controlled by the tried and tested methods that worked on the ground, and as the skies became more densely populated with the new vehicles, accidents became more common. The problem with aerial collisions though, was that the drivers were not the only victims of the accident. Debris had to fall somewhere and pedestrians were, more often than not, seriously injured or killed by these mishaps. The problem became so bad that the city congress was beseeched to provide an alternative. Hover vehicles could not be banned outright and the roads would simply not withstand the increase in the volume of traffic should hover vehicles be restricted to land use only. The skytrack scheme was proposed and accepted. With slight modification, hover vehicles could utilize the skytrack.

Wyatt let his head fall back against the headrest. The traffic was moving intolerably slowly. He sighed heavily.

“Would you like me to prepare the vehicle for the skytrack?” the onboard computer asked.

“Yeah, that’d be good,” he replied. From somewhere above and behind his head he could hear modifications being made. The roof of the car was changing above him, a portion being retracted to be replaced by another with a large claw like hook attached.

“Modifications complete,” came the voice again. “Vehicle is ready for hover and skytrack use.”

“O-kaaay.” Wyatt checked the monitors on the dashboard. The track was empty above and for some distance behind him. He grasped the control stick next to the parking brake and depressed the button on its tip. The turbine under the car began to whine and leaves began to fly up and around the vehicle, caught up by the disturbed air that now swirled viciously outside. Inside the car the steering wheel dropped away from Wyatt and lay flush with the dashboard.

Wyatt pulled back on the stick and watched the vehicle in front of him disappear under his hood as his transport lifted off the street. He felt the familiar thud as the wheels folded under and into the chassis. With his left hand he slid a lever up the armrest, adjusting the stabilizers outside which had appeared like stunted wings from beneath the doors. The vehicle began to move forward, picking up speed until it matched that of the skytrack chain above. Wyatt leaned forward, looking up out of the windscreen to ensure that the track was roughly lined up in the middle of the hover vehicle. He pulled back gently on the stick and the car rose slowly and smoothly until finally the hook on the roof engaged the skytrack chain and the car was carried away, rocking gently under the rail.

When Wyatt approached the staff entrance of the IZP the gates slowly swung open in front of him. Even traveling the short distance overland from the skytrack drop-off point to the zoo had been slow and frustrating as the minutes had ticked by on his watch. His vehicle glided into his bay and he shut off the power with the press of a button. He paced across the parking lot and into the nearby building through a set of glass double doors that slid aside at his approach and returned with his passing. He navigated the maze of lifts and corridors, following a well-practiced route before eventually arriving at his office.

“Messages?” he asked, although there was no one else in the room.

“One only,” came the reply, “Sender. Mannheim, Douglas. IZP managing director.”

“Play message.”

Mannheim’s voice filled the room. “Wyatt, I’d appreciate it if you could take some time out of your day to come and see me, the sooner the better. Talk to you later. Douglas.”

“Message concluded,” came the other voice.

What scheme had Mannheim come up with this time? The last time he had actually called Wyatt up to his office was to propose Project U.L.F. And what was with this “Douglas” stuff? Since when had the two of them been on first-name terms?

Wyatt set off for Mannheim’s office with a hundred different thoughts buzzing around his head.

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Leonardson watched the bubbles on his coffee swirl aimlessly around, elbows on his desk, his hands propping up his head. “What have I done?” he muttered to himself. Realizing he had thought out loud he quickly raised his head. He need not have worried. He was alone.

He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and he knew it. He hated the feeling. Here was where he should have been in charge: this was his domain. He was respected here but that…that…maggot, Mannheim. That wretched little man had a power over him that crushed him.

The CSETI would dismiss him instantly if they suspected he was supplying information to parties outside the organization, but he had no choice. He had nowhere to turn, and he felt like he would crack under the pressure soon.

He shouldn’t have told Mannheim about the mining ship. It was too risky. If Mannheim acted upon that information, the CSETI would know there had been a breach of security. No, he was underestimating Mannheim. They had never been discovered yet, and this had to be partly due to Mannheim’s discretion. It would be all right after all, he told himself.

He took a sip from his coffee, holding the cup with a shaking hand. His nerves were not put at rest as easily as his mind appeared to be.

What could he do? He had often thought about it and he always came down with the same two answers. He could admit to the cover-up all those years ago, but that would certainly result in his dismissal and disgrace. The thought horrified him. He was too proud for that.

The other option was elimination. But how? If he took the task upon himself and was then caught and convicted, the outcome would be worse than if he simply admitted to the cover–up, which would surely be exposed during the following investigation anyway.

Alternatively, he could hire someone. He still had contacts in the forces that could put him in touch with ex-military personnel now making a living as hit-men, assassins and bounty hunters. He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. While he did not doubt such individuals their expertise, the thought that the hit could go wrong bothered him greatly. Any attempt to eradicate Mannheim would have to be precise, without error, and impossible to link to himself, and that was something that simply could not be guaranteed.

A new notion began to dawn in his mind. What if Mannheim was ousted from his post? Surely their secret would leave with him. God knows, there had already been numerous investigations into the management at the IZP. Something suspicious was going on, zoological parks were closing in all the neighboring states but the IZP was expanding all the time. People already suspected something underhanded was taking place; they just hadn’t quite put their finger on it. Yet.

It was not as crazy an idea as it sounded. Certainly there were other people in management positions at the IZP who were hungry for the top job. People who had been denied the possibility of furthering their careers because of Mannheim’s long rule. Perhaps the most unlikely, and popular, of these pretenders to the crown was Wyatt Dorren.

Wyatt never claimed to be interested in Mannheim’s position, but among the staff he was respected and considered suitable for the job. He already headed a division and had proved his ability as a manager. He had never forgotten his roots at the zoo, and his staff liked him. To him they were colleagues and not underlings.

Leonardson had only met him on a couple of occasions, but he liked the man. He seemed to carry an air of authority that was well above his station but not out of place. He had watched Mannheim when he was in the presence of Dorren and it was obvious that Mannheim realized the real threat that the other man posed to his position.
Your turn to squirm, you bastard,
Leonardson had thought.
Now you get to see how it feels under pressure.