The Independent Worlds (The Sixteen Galaxies Book 2) (6 page)

Ron nodded. “We had guys that did the same job, I know we did. Sometimes I’d be on a case and word would come down to drop it. Some poor sap in the wrong place, gets to see or hear something he shouldn’t, and next thing he walks in front of a train, or throws himself off a building. I never argued; I didn’t want to end up the same. You guys are on a different level to us field agents.”

“Yeah. Not a higher level, though. I was a cold-blooded killer; the lowest of the low.”

“That is what you
were
, Jack,” Ron said. “But, from the sound of it, ever since you stopped that life, you’ve protected Mandy. You’re changed. You’ve left that past behind you.”

Jack turned to Ron, his eyes dark and empty. “Not exactly. Five times over the last twelve years, different gangs have put a price on Mandy’s head. She does love to expose drug rings, for some reason.” He turned back to the viewport. “It usually took a few dead bounty hunters to put the word out on the street that she had a guardian angel.” He sighed. “And now Mandy’s been told I killed her parents.” He looked at Ron. “She’ll never let me near her again, will she?”

Ron’s eyebrows shot up. “Good God! You killed Mandy’s parents?”

Jack didn’t reply. The two men stood at the viewport for several minutes before Jack spoke again. “I was used, Ron. They told me my targets were terrorists. Some of them were, I guess. Others were most definitely not. The department abused my trust and made me a murderer of innocent people. I’ll never trust anyone again.”

“You sound like my ex-wife.”

Jack turned to regard the American. “I didn’t know you were married.”

Ron shrugged. “Once; it ended five years ago. Rosie was a damned fine woman, too. Put up with my job like it was nothing at all. Never complained, not once. Always happy with whatever time I could give her. It was a great time for me, the best of times, especially at home.” His brow furrowed. “Until I got sent on an op that required me to pose as another agent’s husband. We had to share a room. Long days, lots of tension, both of us over-tired.” He sighed. “Put in that situation, it was inevitable, I guess. When I got home, I told Rosie immediately.” He turned to Jack. “I’ve done my share of interrogation over the years. Put a lot of pain on a lot of people and never missed a wink of sleep. But I’d never hurt someone like that before. It crushed her to her very soul. I held her while she cried. It was the worst feeling I’ve ever known.”

“Must have been tough,” Jack said.

“Toughest time I’ve ever been through, my friend. Anyway, she asked me to do her one last favor. She said that, if I stayed, every time I went out the front door to work, she’d worry. She could never trust me again. So, she asked me to walk out that door there and then; and never come back.”

“Damn. What’d you do?”

“Exactly what she asked me to do. I figured it was the least I owed her. We stayed in touch, had the occasional coffee together. She remarried in the end; nice guy, desk jockey in a finance company. But, she told me once, she’d never trust him, not completely.” He drew a deep sigh. “Not like she’d trusted me.”

Jack peered closely at Ron. “Why are you telling me all this?”

Ron put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Rosie trusted me completely, and I drove a truck through that trust. She will never put faith in anyone like that again. But, she married another guy anyway, and she’ll do the best she can. These guys need you, Jack. They have faith in you to do the best you can. Surely you can see they’re not like the people you used to work for. Maybe you never will trust them completely, but perhaps you don’t need to, to get the job done.”

Ron patted Jack’s shoulder and walked across the viewport deck. He wandered off up a hallway, his mind lost in the past. Jack watched him go and shook his head. He turned his gaze back to the breathtaking view outside. It didn’t cheer him up at all.

*****

Granfield & Porter press conference, New York City

Carter Granfield stepped up to the dais amid camera lights and flashes. He set his notes up and smiled into the lenses. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m proud to announce that Granfield and Porter have completed prototype testing of a new data transfer system that will change the way we see computers today.” He held a small machined steel cube aloft. “I proudly present the G&P Quantum Transit Cube, or Cutie Cube, as our lab boys call it. This little device offers an exponential increase in the speed at which data can be transferred, both from one computer component to another, and also between computers. In other words, this device will usher in a new information age; the Quantum Internet Network.”

He held the device out for the cameras. “Like so many other researchers around the world, we here at G&P have been dedicated to the development of quantum computing for quite some time. But, just like everyone else, we have had no luck in getting this technology much past the theoretical state; until now. Naturally, the details of this device will remain our secret, but what this machine can do, I am happy to tell you all about, right now.”

He turned and nodded to an assistant behind him, and a projector screen lowered down. The first slide showed a standard cable. “This, as everyone knows, is our current technological standard; the fiber-optic cable. It’s capable of some impressive transfer rates. Indeed, a 12 core fiber cable can transfer information over 50 kilometers at a rate of over 1 petabyte, or 1,000 terabytes, per second.” He smiled. “Not too bad, you might think.” The next slide showed two QTC units. “However, these little babies can transfer information at a speed so high it will blow your mind. How fast, you may ask? Well, that depends. If we use our current fiber-optic cables, you’re looking at about 100 times as fast as the best available today.” He waited for the murmurs to subside. “However, if you factor in the use of a network of quantum repeaters, then we are simply not able to calculate the speed increase accurately at this time. Suffice it to say, we are looking at speeds so fast as to change the way we do everything on this planet.”

He held up both hands. “Let’s not forget, though, the ability to transfer information inside a single machine. We are in discussion with several companies to incorporate the QTC into personal computers. No hard figures are available as yet, but our researchers have assured us, once a PC is fitted with QTCs, it’s transfer rates will far exceed the demands of the fastest processors available.”

He waited once more for the hubbub to die down. “I will leave it to you to figure out just how this little Cutie Cube is going to change our world, thank you.”

Kareetha

Asdrin sat in a small room in the council hall and watched the Granfield & Porter press conference. After it finished, he got up and stood at the viewport. He watched the sailboats speed across the lake far below, and sincerely wished he was on one right now. Their society had been this way for thousands of years, now. Peaceful, happy, prosperous and filled with a love of life. They had looked forward to the discovery of the planet of their origin as the next step forward to an even brighter future. And, now they had found that planet? He laughed to himself. Now, they were to face the toughest challenge they had ever encountered.

He sighed. “Too fast; it’s all too fast. Humanity is not ready for any of this. Their inventiveness will produce monsters of their own creation that will devour them. They already have too many of their people disconnected from each other by computers and their so called ‘Social Media’; they are devolving socially. What does Kestil hope to achieve?”

“The AI he has made is currently only a digital creation. It lives inside the human’s global network.” the Entity replied. “However, the most logical step forward is to install a quantum-level hardware system and transfer it to the quantum state. Once that is done, it will be able to reach anywhere on the Earth completely undetected; their digital machines will never see it. It will grow in power exponentially.”

“Agreed,” Asdrin said. “It will have complete control over the entire planet and its people. Our operatives will be in constant danger of detection, and without your aid from space. I am not so sure it is practical to send them anymore.”

“They will be at risk, that is true,” the Entity acknowledged. “However, I still calculate a 34.7% chance of their survival. I believe that Jack Short will agree to assist, eventually, and that will improve those chances by quite a margin. We must try, Asdrin.”

“But, it is not us at risk, is it? These humans have no real knowledge of what they will face, and that seems unfair, to me.”

“I have spoken to them about this; they know the chances of success are slim. Their attitude is that if they do not try to help, their planet is lost to a fate they cannot agree with. Humanity has a deeply ingrained sense of justice, despite what their history shows. While much wrong adorns their past, there are many stories of courage, too. The biggest problem is that the better people among them are not in positions of power; those places are occupied by the very worst of their society. Indeed, the qualities required in a person to acquire political office are the very antithesis of the attributes needed to be a good leader. The situation is now so bad that no decent person in their right mind would ever
want
to be a leader. This state of affairs continues to be exacerbated by their refusal, indeed inability, to reform. Ironically, Kestil’s aim of global unity will improve this, even if it is done against their will.”

Asdrin shook his head. “Three generations worth of technology in a few months; does he not realize what this will do to them? Plus, they are now only months away from their first FTL flight.”

“We cannot prevent much, if any, of that, Asdrin. We can only hope to subvert the Earth’s current direction enough to thwart their integration into the Independent Worlds. Kestil’s gifts of technology may actually aid us in this; he is making humanity more powerful. He may not realize that, yet. It might work out to our advantage in the long run, if we can help them stave off the worst of the political, economic and social disasters that will engulf them in the meantime.”

Asdrin nodded absently, still watching the boats. “I hope you’re right.”

*****

Global News Update

“…Vincent Technologies shocked the space exploration community today with the revelation that they have been building a spacecraft capable of travelling at a speed in excess of the speed of light for the last eight months. The ship is scheduled for a test flight sometime around August this year. Vincent have refused to comment on any technical specifications, raising the ire of many who feel that the secretive company has too much of a stranglehold on the technology sector of the market already. Regardless of the feelings of some, Vincent stock climbed to a new peak today on the back of this announcement. Some sources question the validity of the claims, saying that this is just a cheap stunt to artificially increase the stock price. When asked about this, CEO Donald Vincent replied, ‘Ask me again in August’. The announcement has alarmed the anti-globalism movement, who say it’s proof positive of Vincent’s involvement with one of the two intergalactic societies we now know about. Opinion is divided as to which one of those societies is supplying Vincent with alien technology, but the majority favor the idea that the Independent Worlds is responsible.”

*****

Kestil’s base

Kestil shook John Crabtree’s hand. “You’re in the best hands in the known universe, John. You will return to me a different man; able to raise your head in public once more. We are at a crossroads, now. Nuthros and his damned AI no longer dog our every move, and even when they return they can do little but watch as we prepare your people to become a part of the Independent Worlds.”

John smiled. “I can’t say I’ll miss this face, to be honest. And it will feel really good to walk around in public again.”

“It must be so, John, for the sake of the days to come. We will face some stiff resistance from the world’s governments. However, it must come to pass that the Earth is united. It will take a long time, but we need to begin soon. We cannot afford to give The Sixteen Galaxies time to disrupt our operations again.”

John frowned. “I thought you just said they could only watch.”

Kestil gave him a rueful smile. “They are advanced, and very powerful, John. Given enough time, they could thwart us, there is little doubt. However, I do not intend to grant them that time. Now, give my regards to Prestern, and good fortune to you until you return.”

John bowed to his leader, and promptly disappeared. Kestil turned to Barney Cantock, who eyed him warily. “I shall entrust this place to you, Barney, until I return from the TV studio.”

Barney gave the alien a long look, and then nodded. He kept his silence until Kestil disappeared. He then went to the rifle rack in the main common area. Barney nodded to the young man who stood guard over the weapons. “I’m gonna scout the perimeter, let me know if anything happens.”

The younger man gave him a salute. Barney grabbed his M1A and headed for the ladder.

*****

Chicago, Illinois, 2005

Justin found out which cleaning contractor Peter Somers’ newspaper used, and fabricated the necessary cover to justify his presence in Peter’s office at 3am. The security in the building was fairly loose, but it seemed every floor had people in it. Justin guessed a newspaper office like this one never really sleeps.

He pushed a trolley loaded with cleaning equipment out of the elevator and onto floor 6. Justin had dyed his hair and eyebrows jet black, and used makeup to give his face a tan. Peter Somers’ office was easy to locate, first on the right. He glanced briefly at the security camera mounted in the corner of the office and cursed. It pointed straight at Peter Somers’ desk. He knew the security station was on the ground floor, so he would have just a few minutes to get what he needed before a guard arrived. He grabbed a cloth and started to wipe down surfaces. He slowly made his way out of camera shot, before he placed a little transmitter on the desk below the camera. He pressed a button on the transmitter. He pulled off his cleaner’s rubber gloves and put on a pair of thick surgical gloves. He then went over and closed the office door.

It only took Justin four attempts to hit the correct password for the target’s computer; Mandy’s name plus her birth-date. He went to the diary and grabbed some screenshots, and decided to trawl the computer’s emails while he was at it. He found nothing to indicate a trip away any time soon. He was just about to shut the emails down when a name caught his eye; Symondson Energy.

Justin knew that name well. He'd done some work in Nigeria, once. Elimination of local gangs who often attacked convoys of trucks that belonged to British companies. Symondson Energy was the main British operator in the region where he’d worked. He shrugged, probably a coincidence, he thought. He had the mouse pointer on the shutdown button, but hesitated. What would an American investigative reporter want with a British energy company? Driven by curiosity, he did a search for Symondson on the hard drive. The email he’d seen popped up, along with three other emails in which the company was mentioned. Underneath those was a text document.

Justin had no idea why he was even interested, really, but he copied the text document and emails onto his USB drive, along with the calendar screenshots. He shut down the computer, removed the drive, and slipped off the gloves. He turned off the transmitter. He shoved the drive, transmitter and gloves into a trouser pocket and opened the office door. Just as Justin left the office, a guard appeared at the end of the corridor. There was a crackle on the guard’s two way, and he listened briefly before acknowledging the caller.

“Hey,” the guard called, “you touch any wires in that office?”

“Lo sentimos, pero no hablo Inglés, señor,” Justin replied with a shrug.

The guard held up a hand to him. “You stay there, comprendo?”

Justin bobbed his head in acknowledgement. “Sí, sí, te espero.”

The guard went into the office and looked around. He pulled out his radio, “Nothing out of place here, Johnny. Must have been some interference or something.” He turned to Justin. “Okay, you go now,” he said, waving towards the elevator.

“Gracias Señor,” Justin replied, and headed to the elevator.

“Dumbass wetback,” the guard muttered at Jack’s retreating back.

Jack waved at the guard from inside the elevator. “Su madre era un burro, Señor,” he said as the doors closed.

Back in his hotel room, Justin made a coffee and then had a shower. Clean and refreshed, he booted up his laptop and inserted the USB drive. He brought up the Symondson files. An hour later, he sat back, his face ashen. The target wasn’t a terrorist sympathizer. He had no political affiliations at all, as far as Justin could see. But Justin knew exactly why the department wanted him gone.

Peter Somers was about to publish an article that exposed Symondson Energy’s involvement in mass murder. According to the text document, which was an outline for the article, he had solid evidence; interviews, documents, emails, the whole works. None of the evidence was on the material Justin had copied, so he guessed it was on the two USB drives Hilary wanted taken back to England. What the evidence apparently showed was that Symondson had given weapons, ammunition and supplies to The Blood Alliance; a loose association of local rebel groups who were wanted in connection with raids on villages up and down the Niger delta. Shortly after Symondson paid TBA, the rebels raided four villages of tribespeople. Usually, they took all the food, stole some young men to fill their ranks, and took young girls for entertainment.

These raids were very different. TBA systematically massacred the entire population of each village; men, women and children. The few survivors who fled into the surrounding jungle were pursued relentlessly, but a handful managed to get away, and hid themselves in villages around the area.

When TBA carried out the attacks, the four villages were preparing to appeal to the UN over a huge toxic waste spill into a river upstream from their locations. The tribes had been decimated by ulcers and fever as a result of the spill. Symondson tried to buy their silence, but lives had been lost, and the villagers weren’t having a bar of it. So, Symondson paid off TBA to eradicate the problem.

Peter Somers had gone to Nigeria and managed to get some interviews with the terrified survivors. On arrival back in the States, he did some heavy research, and put together a damning report. Somers was a good journalist, and Justin couldn’t help but admire the man’s comprehensive work. The report was political dynamite, and it would destroy Symondson if it ever went to press.

A quick search of Symondson on the internet, and the reason for the department’s interest was obvious. Symondson had a multitude of high-profile investors and board members; some of whom were British aristocracy. Edwin Symondson, the current CEO of the energy giant, was a personal friend of several cabinet ministers, and had no doubt provided a healthy donation to the campaign coffers.

All of a sudden, the department’s true role became crystal clear. Justin looked at his hands. How much innocent blood was on them? How many of those people he eliminated were real terrorists or sympathizers? A picture of Hilary came to mind, and he felt the heat rise in his forehead. She had to know, there was no way she didn’t.

He got up and walked to the window. Not much of a view, really. A four lane road, some trees and lots of advertising. Cars passed by in a steady stream, and the odd pedestrian wandered past. Ordinary people, ordinary day. None of them had any idea of the kind of world they lived in. The type of world where highly trained killers were, in reality, janitors. There to take out the garbage and unwanted items that might inconvenience the lives of the elite few.

Justin stared out of the window for what seemed like hours. He had absolutely no idea what he should do.

*****

Washington DC, Present Day

Robert Markham found a park outside the bar and walked once around the old building. Nobody unusual, and nothing out of place. The alien Kestil had apparently made a few attempts to capture both he and Margaret, but gave it up when Truly thwarted every attempt. David said they were safe these days, but still urged him to be careful. He strode in and took a seat in the back booth with three other men. They were all in their sixties, like Robert, and they wore a badge on their shirt collar; a yellow Norman shield with a thick black diagonal stripe and a horse’s head in the top right corner.