Chapter One
The streets were dirty and dingy. New Earth Three was no better than the two before it or its parent world. Mag Ciuin Riein once settled and colonized became host to the same evils and vices that made one leave home in the first place. Overcrowding and over population were human conditions that had never been settled on the birth place of these colonies. Manifest Destiny took on other meanings once spaceflight became a commonplace occurrence. Humanity in its ample capacity for self discipline, restraint, and understanding looked to the skies for answers. They found it in extra-solar forays leading them outside of their own solar cradle. This led to the discovery and utilization of other habitable worlds. So it was with on New Earth One, Carthandria and then again on new Earth Two, Helsinkaret. Eventual saturation and the delicate balance could no longer support the teeming hives of life. Soon Mag Riein would be a volatile nest of barely suppressed passions waiting for whatever slight catastrophe or mishap that would serve to ignite the fuse.
Seeming oblivious to the crowding life that pressed about him a man in an olive ex-military jacket and brimmed, dark brown hat passed unmolested among the throngs. He moved slowly through the detritus and debris on the walk, his booted feet showing agility and poise. He moved with purpose, deliberately tracing his route so those tailing him could not and would not lose his trail. They were trying to be covert, circumspect, but he had known and played the game so long that picking out “shadows” was even less than second nature to him.
About him barkers, merchants and hawkers, traders and pawn-men cried their wares, their fares, their prices and percentages. Those used to the confines of such establishments and environs jostled and pushed their way about, jockeying for better positions in the melee of commercialism. Hard faces and scarred forms in a delirious choreography moved and passed in a grotesque ballet. The man pulled the fedora down tighter on his head and ducked as he shouldered through a particularly dense throng of humanity, surreptitiously stealing a glance behind to make sure his three escorts had not lost sight of him.
Suits! In this environment, suits! They had to be middle admin from some global power. The Government didn’t stoop to such tactics. They just sent in their helmeted goon squads, the Pail Faces, and let collateral damage be hanged. Wouldn’t be a commercial concern either. Caught up in the intrigue and corporate espionage they would hire a professional to make contact or to erase competition. Must be the Church!
“Damn!” he exclaimed only to himself. No one about him took notice. “Just what I need, the Church meddling in my affairs again. Shit!”
He sped up and within four heartbeats complete threw of their attempts to follow him. To the three behind it seemed as if he just disappeared. They continued on for several blocks, splitting to trace divergent courses but they gathered at the end of each attempt to report their defeat. One pulled a com-card from his shirt pocket and reported to another, then listened as he was given orders to return to whatever lodgings they had acquired on this globe-spanning metropolis. From a shadowed doorway the man in the hat watched them leave. He chuckled to himself and then turned to make his way to his office.
Charlie was behind the counter at the coffee shop. Owner and proprietor, he wasn’t one to make someone else do anything wasn’t going to tackle himself. Sunday mornings were usually the hated shift to the youthful employees that made up his staff.
“Cup of Joe, Harlan?” he called as the man in the hat entered the shop.
“Yeah, I could use one. ‘S been a busy morning!”
“Oh, really?” Charlie asked as he slid a steaming cup of the black across the counter. Charlie was thick but sturdy and had the look of being a trained soldier once. A slight limp in his left leg and a stiffness to his right hand were probably why he no longer plied that trade. His face was frank and open, weathered and gruff, but friendly all the same.
“Yes,” the one called Harlan replied. He took a long pull on the hot liquid and sighed as he set the cup back down. He was of the same height as Charlie, they both stood about five nine, five ten, but where Charlie was thick and rock hard, Harlan was slight seeming and moved as if he had corded coiled steel hidden under his garments. Although the smaller of the two he definitely appeared the more dangerous. It was a mysterious indefinable something that warned most to keep clear of the man.
“I was tailed by no less than four different sets of shadows just coming here. You’d think if they wanted to talk to me they’d come to my office.” As he took a seat on one of the stools at the counter he indicated a door to the back of the coffee shop. It was a massive wooden door, imported from the “home world”. It had a large window of frosted glass in its upper half and upon it was written in gilded letters, “H. W. S Transportation Services.”
“Maybe they aren’t looking for a solar taxi,” Charlie mused. “Any idea what they wanted?”
“None yet. The first set of three yokels was wearing suits. Followed me through the market district. I figure they were with the Church.”
“The Church!” Charlie whistled through his teeth. “Who wants them zealots nosing around?”
“I sure as hell don’t.”
“You said four…”
Another gulp of coffee and Harlan continued. “Yup, sure did. Second set met up with me t’other side of the yards.” The Yards were the grounds where most off-world traveling ships were kept and maintained. The area got its name from the old shipyards that used to hug the seacoasts back on the original Earth.
“More Church idiots, I think. They were trying to look like mechanics but each one had the tell-tale square in their back pocket or their breast pocket.”
“I think you lost me.” Charlie leaned back and grabbed a clean rag and began to dry off the cups that just came out of the clipper.
“Bulge about so big by such…” Harlan said indicating a shape with both hands.
“Oh, Tech-taments. Gotcha”
“Not too sure just who three and four were maybe commercial, maybe some senile individual hired them for some bizarre reason. All in all each group had three to four dedicated novices trying to dog my tail.”
“Lost them all?”
“To a person,” Harlan leaned back in his stool and looked contented. Charlie poured him another cup of coffee and nodded over Harlan’s shoulder at someone that had just entered the shop. He was dressed in a suit, black coat white shirt, black pants, black tie. Tell-tale bulge in his breast pocket. Harlan swiveled in his seat and the two of them watched quietly as the man moved to the back of the shop and knocked on the wooden door to Harlan’s office. He was not any of those that had tried to trail him earlier.
“He’s not in there yet,” Charlie called helpfully after hesitating just a bit for the comedic effect on his friend. “Usually doesn’t open up for a couple minutes yet.”
“Mind if I wait here?” the suit asked as he move to the counter.
“Not so long as you’re buying,” Charlie responded.
“Tut,” Harlan said and tossed a couple Solars onto the Formica. “Your first cup’s on me,” he said smiling at the suit. “Visiting or lodging?” It was the usual innocent question for breaking the ice one received anywhere in the galaxy. It was delivered with just a hint of interest, as if the patron and shop owner were bored and in need of any distraction from a humdrum existence. But in Harlan’s case it was not so innocent. Yet nothing could be read in his eyes or his demeanor to give him away or cause him to seem insincere.
“I’m passing through, but I have to meet with this man,” the suit replied nervously as his head nodded slightly towards Harlan’s door. He was young and obviously out of his element. A quick appraisal by both men summed up his station in life. A lower mid-admin slot with the Church. Been in that position for all of three, maybe four years. He probably pissed someone off, or embarrassed them, or himself to pull this kind of task. Go off world to the third New Earth and look up one reluctant if not recalcitrant taxi jockey and try to gain an appointment. He sipped timidly at the coffee. His hand shook slightly.
Outside the din of traffic and pedestrians and over flights of globe hoppers and the roar of someone lifting off world gave the shop a comfortable, regular feel. The city noises were the same everywhere. The suit looked about the shop at the photos, posters and paintings that lined its walls. Someone cursed someone else as their hovercars caromed about the many tiered hover lanes.
Harlan raised his cup and took a large gulp just to prove that it was potable fare. “You looking for a taxi, are you?”
“No. I’m, umm… We… That is I work for…” the suit started than caught himself. “Look, it’s rather confidential and I can only discuss it with Mr. Waters.” He sipped again at his coffee and his free hand rose from his lap and unconsciously patted the reassuring form of his portable Good Book and Apocryphal Reference. He started to sweat along his hairline and under his collar as both Charlie and Harlan looked at him blankly as if to say they had no clue what he was doing there.
“Look, is he often late?” the suit persisted. He fidgeted on his stool, ill at ease and uncomfortable under their assessing yet blank stares. “His sign says he should have opened five minutes ago.” He looked at a watch implant on his right palm quickly, and then returned his hand to his lap.
“Oh, he usually opens after he finishes his coffee,” Harlan replied. Standing he drained his cup and then nodding with camaraderie at the suit and winking at Charlie, sauntered to the back of the shop, removed a chit from his jacket pocket and keyed open the door.
The streets were dirty and dingy. New Earth Three was no better than the two before it or its parent world. Mag Ciuin Riein once settled and colonized became host to the same evils and vices that made one leave home in the first place. Overcrowding and over population were human conditions that had never been settled on the birth place of these colonies. Manifest Destiny took on other meanings once spaceflight became a commonplace occurrence. Humanity in its ample capacity for self discipline, restraint, and understanding looked to the skies for answers. They found it in extra-solar forays leading them outside of their own solar cradle. This led to the discovery and utilization of other habitable worlds. So it was with on New Earth One, Carthandria and then again on new Earth Two, Helsinkaret. Eventual saturation and the delicate balance could no longer support the teeming hives of life. Soon Mag Riein would be a volatile nest of barely suppressed passions waiting for whatever slight catastrophe or mishap that would serve to ignite the fuse.
Seeming oblivious to the crowding life that pressed about him a man in an olive ex-military jacket and brimmed, dark brown hat passed unmolested among the throngs. He moved slowly through the detritus and debris on the walk, his booted feet showing agility and poise. He moved with purpose, deliberately tracing his route so those tailing him could not and would not lose his trail. They were trying to be covert, circumspect, but he had known and played the game so long that picking out “shadows” was even less than second nature to him.
About him barkers, merchants and hawkers, traders and pawn-men cried their wares, their fares, their prices and percentages. Those used to the confines of such establishments and environs jostled and pushed their way about, jockeying for better positions in the melee of commercialism. Hard faces and scarred forms in a delirious choreography moved and passed in a grotesque ballet. The man pulled the fedora down tighter on his head and ducked as he shouldered through a particularly dense throng of humanity, surreptitiously stealing a glance behind to make sure his three escorts had not lost sight of him.
Suits! In this environment, suits! They had to be middle admin from some global power. The Government didn’t stoop to such tactics. They just sent in their helmeted goon squads, the Pail Faces, and let collateral damage be hanged. Wouldn’t be a commercial concern either. Caught up in the intrigue and corporate espionage they would hire a professional to make contact or to erase competition. Must be the Church!
“Damn!” he exclaimed only to himself. No one about him took notice. “Just what I need, the Church meddling in my affairs again. Shit!”
He sped up and within four heartbeats complete threw of their attempts to follow him. To the three behind it seemed as if he just disappeared. They continued on for several blocks, splitting to trace divergent courses but they gathered at the end of each attempt to report their defeat. One pulled a com-card from his shirt pocket and reported to another, then listened as he was given orders to return to whatever lodgings they had acquired on this globe-spanning metropolis. From a shadowed doorway the man in the hat watched them leave. He chuckled to himself and then turned to make his way to his office.
Charlie was behind the counter at the coffee shop. Owner and proprietor, he wasn’t one to make someone else do anything wasn’t going to tackle himself. Sunday mornings were usually the hated shift to the youthful employees that made up his staff.
“Cup of Joe, Harlan?” he called as the man in the hat entered the shop.
“Yeah, I could use one. ‘S been a busy morning!”
“Oh, really?” Charlie asked as he slid a steaming cup of the black across the counter. Charlie was thick but sturdy and had the look of being a trained soldier once. A slight limp in his left leg and a stiffness to his right hand were probably why he no longer plied that trade. His face was frank and open, weathered and gruff, but friendly all the same.
“Yes,” the one called Harlan replied. He took a long pull on the hot liquid and sighed as he set the cup back down. He was of the same height as Charlie, they both stood about five nine, five ten, but where Charlie was thick and rock hard, Harlan was slight seeming and moved as if he had corded coiled steel hidden under his garments. Although the smaller of the two he definitely appeared the more dangerous. It was a mysterious indefinable something that warned most to keep clear of the man.
“I was tailed by no less than four different sets of shadows just coming here. You’d think if they wanted to talk to me they’d come to my office.” As he took a seat on one of the stools at the counter he indicated a door to the back of the coffee shop. It was a massive wooden door, imported from the “home world”. It had a large window of frosted glass in its upper half and upon it was written in gilded letters, “H. W. S Transportation Services.”
“Maybe they aren’t looking for a solar taxi,” Charlie mused. “Any idea what they wanted?”
“None yet. The first set of three yokels was wearing suits. Followed me through the market district. I figure they were with the Church.”
“The Church!” Charlie whistled through his teeth. “Who wants them zealots nosing around?”
“I sure as hell don’t.”
“You said four…”
Another gulp of coffee and Harlan continued. “Yup, sure did. Second set met up with me t’other side of the yards.” The Yards were the grounds where most off-world traveling ships were kept and maintained. The area got its name from the old shipyards that used to hug the seacoasts back on the original Earth.
“More Church idiots, I think. They were trying to look like mechanics but each one had the tell-tale square in their back pocket or their breast pocket.”
“I think you lost me.” Charlie leaned back and grabbed a clean rag and began to dry off the cups that just came out of the clipper.
“Bulge about so big by such…” Harlan said indicating a shape with both hands.
“Oh, Tech-taments. Gotcha”
“Not too sure just who three and four were maybe commercial, maybe some senile individual hired them for some bizarre reason. All in all each group had three to four dedicated novices trying to dog my tail.”
“Lost them all?”
“To a person,” Harlan leaned back in his stool and looked contented. Charlie poured him another cup of coffee and nodded over Harlan’s shoulder at someone that had just entered the shop. He was dressed in a suit, black coat white shirt, black pants, black tie. Tell-tale bulge in his breast pocket. Harlan swiveled in his seat and the two of them watched quietly as the man moved to the back of the shop and knocked on the wooden door to Harlan’s office. He was not any of those that had tried to trail him earlier.
“He’s not in there yet,” Charlie called helpfully after hesitating just a bit for the comedic effect on his friend. “Usually doesn’t open up for a couple minutes yet.”
“Mind if I wait here?” the suit asked as he move to the counter.
“Not so long as you’re buying,” Charlie responded.
“Tut,” Harlan said and tossed a couple Solars onto the Formica. “Your first cup’s on me,” he said smiling at the suit. “Visiting or lodging?” It was the usual innocent question for breaking the ice one received anywhere in the galaxy. It was delivered with just a hint of interest, as if the patron and shop owner were bored and in need of any distraction from a humdrum existence. But in Harlan’s case it was not so innocent. Yet nothing could be read in his eyes or his demeanor to give him away or cause him to seem insincere.
“I’m passing through, but I have to meet with this man,” the suit replied nervously as his head nodded slightly towards Harlan’s door. He was young and obviously out of his element. A quick appraisal by both men summed up his station in life. A lower mid-admin slot with the Church. Been in that position for all of three, maybe four years. He probably pissed someone off, or embarrassed them, or himself to pull this kind of task. Go off world to the third New Earth and look up one reluctant if not recalcitrant taxi jockey and try to gain an appointment. He sipped timidly at the coffee. His hand shook slightly.
Outside the din of traffic and pedestrians and over flights of globe hoppers and the roar of someone lifting off world gave the shop a comfortable, regular feel. The city noises were the same everywhere. The suit looked about the shop at the photos, posters and paintings that lined its walls. Someone cursed someone else as their hovercars caromed about the many tiered hover lanes.
Harlan raised his cup and took a large gulp just to prove that it was potable fare. “You looking for a taxi, are you?”
“No. I’m, umm… We… That is I work for…” the suit started than caught himself. “Look, it’s rather confidential and I can only discuss it with Mr. Waters.” He sipped again at his coffee and his free hand rose from his lap and unconsciously patted the reassuring form of his portable Good Book and Apocryphal Reference. He started to sweat along his hairline and under his collar as both Charlie and Harlan looked at him blankly as if to say they had no clue what he was doing there.
“Look, is he often late?” the suit persisted. He fidgeted on his stool, ill at ease and uncomfortable under their assessing yet blank stares. “His sign says he should have opened five minutes ago.” He looked at a watch implant on his right palm quickly, and then returned his hand to his lap.
“Oh, he usually opens after he finishes his coffee,” Harlan replied. Standing he drained his cup and then nodding with camaraderie at the suit and winking at Charlie, sauntered to the back of the shop, removed a chit from his jacket pocket and keyed open the door.
No comments:
Post a Comment