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Chapter One
In The Depth of Space
C8 – CHY VII: “Drenali Seven”
Fade Region
Kaurikou Junction
Counting the blue pills and exile packs for the third time, Vilamo reflected on how much he hated himself for what he was doing. He sealed each of the plastic bags and placed them inside his jacket pocket, pausing to take a long look at the Rist-11 on the counter. He despised guns, and had never handled one before getting involved in this ugly business. But it no longer mattered what his personal distastes were. Those needed to be set aside in order to survive. He tucked the weapon into his belt, making sure the heavy jacket concealed it. Opting for warmth instead of weapon accessibility, Vilamo buttoned the coat right up to his neck. As dangerous as this line of work was, he had yet to find himself in a situation that required him to even draw the sidearm. Besides that, it was –10 degrees Celsius outside. The odds of trouble were slim on a bitter day like this.
Walking outside of the decrepit tenement building that he called home, Vilamo passed by a homeless couple huddled over a small fire in the street. Their faces were expressionless, as if beyond despair and far past the point of feeling sorry for themselves. It was a reminder to Vilamo that the sale of the drugs in his jacket pocket was imperative. The rent was due in just a few hours, and currently there wasn’t enough money in his account to cover it. He knew that if he missed that payment, Ishukone Watch agents would evict him immediately, and electronically seal the door to his own apartment before giving him or his son a chance to gather their belongings.
As always, the contact was anonymous, and the location was in one of the most dangerous sections of Kaurikou Junction. Vilamo had done this enough times already to know that the client was a corporate-type from the wealthy section, where all the city officials and Ishukone reps lived. They always seemed to pick the darkest parts of town to meet in, presumably to minimize the chances of being discovered by their own peers. Vilamo felt the bitter cold pierce through his layers of clothing as he walked past another group of shivering homeless people. No one had any business being outdoors on a day like this, unless you couldn’t afford to be indoors. Or, Vilamo thought, if you happen to have a nasty drug habit.
One of the planet’s 200 atmosphere scrubbers loomed beyond the city’s skyline, a solitary mountain of metal surrounded by a vast expanse of snow and ice. It took almost one hundred years to terraform this icicle, Vilamo thought, and look at all the good it’s done. Vilamo shook his head while crossing the street, avoiding a Snow Cat rumbling by from the opposite direction. Ishukone had bet that the vast deposits of heavy metals beneath Drenali Seven’s thick shell of ice were the only source of such commodities in the Fade Region. When the planet’s atmosphere had finally become breathable and industrial-scale mining operations took hold on the surface, Kaurikou Junction became the premier economic hub for Ishukone operations in the region.
Miners, entrepreneurs, bio-engineers, and construction specialists flocked to Kaurikou by the thousands, shuttling back and forth to various planet-side project sites and orbital stations. Ishukone’s massive investment soon began yielding huge returns, and the business opportunities for new arrivals seemed limitless. But the bubble had burst much sooner than anyone anticipated, and the consequences were disastrous. Astrogeologists employed by Ishukone’s competitors discovered equally abundant sources of heavy metals in adjacent constellations. The reality uncovered by science was that the entire region was, in ancient times, the site of a dense nebula where supernova explosions and the heavy elements they fused were commonplace. As more deposits were discovered, the price of the commodities plummeted, and the costs of maintaining operations on Kaurikou quickly outpaced revenues.
Ishukone responded by scaling everything back, stopping just short of abandoning the system completely. Now, the only ships that landed in Kaurikou were police vessels and the occasional supply ship. The Fade Region’s immense distance from Empire space accelerated the economic collapse of the Drenali System. With the prospectors and venture capitalists gone, all planet-side projects were placed on standby or cancelled outright. Soon afterwards, people could no longer afford to hire transports to get them off the planet, let alone out of the system.
As was typical with Caldari society, Ishukone’s decisions for Drenali Seven were based purely on numbers, not conscience. The corporate philosophy was applied equally to both the pursuit of risk, and the retreat from it. Thus, Ishukone offered neither aid nor comfort to the contractors affected by the radical turn of events. The risk of failure while pursuing success was an accepted reality of Caldari culture, and so Ishukone was neither obliged nor compelled to adhere with the welfare principles of Empire space.
Vilamo Gariushi, an expert geologist and engineer by background, was one of the hundreds of thousands of people who were now faced with a struggle for existence. His story was no more or less tragic than all of the others living in Kaurikou Junction. When asked by an Ishukone senior officer for an estimate regarding an excavation project with an impossible deadline, Vilamo had made the mistake of responding with an honest answer. An executive mandate so obtuse could only have come from someone who knew very little about the realities of mining through several kilometers of ice. But the officer could not be bothered with such mundane “academic” concerns, and quickly replaced Vilamo with someone who would tell him exactly what he wanted to hear.
Reputation is everything in Caldari society, and the major corporations that exist within its rigid cultural framework have zero tolerance for pessimism in the workplace. Vilamo now had an official reputation as someone who couldn’t think large enough to suit corporate ambitions, and was effectively ostracized from Ishukone and every other corporation operating in the Drenali system. His great gamble for success had failed miserably and became his complete undoing, culminating with the tragic death of his wife in an industrial accident and the bitter estrangement of his daughter as a result. All that remained of the family that he brought to Kaurikou Junction was his son Otro, who looked to his father to help him make sense of the cruel world around them ever since.
Walking around the corner of a building, an icy breeze made Vilamo wince. Otro still has a chance, he thought, tilting his head downwards as he walked into the wind. His son was now 16 years old, intellectually gifted and ambitious. Otro aspired to join the Caldari Navy, and had a fighting chance of being accepted into the School of Applied Science. The tuition was enormous, but Vilamo always allayed Otro’s concerns and encouraged him to pursue whatever he desired. Failing his son was not an option. Vilamo was prepared to do whatever was necessary to provide Otro with everything he needed to succeed. That meant taking extra care to ensure that Otro avoided making the mistakes that he did, the greatest of which was placing his complete faith in the Caldari State.
Someday I’ll tell him, when he’s old enough to understand, Vilamo thought as he turned left towards an enclosed courtyard. He couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing his son the way he had disappointed his wife and daughter. The irony was that Vilamo now depended on that which the Caldari State wanted him to hate—the Guristas Cartel—for his salvation. It was the Guristas who took him in as a dealer and saw his academic credentials as an asset, using Vilamo as a contact for wealthier clients because of his refined manners and intellect. The Guristas hated the Caldari State for all the same reasons that Vilamo now did, and he found the shared resentment comforting. But he could not, would not, tell his son that he planned to finance the boy’s dream of becoming a starship captain through the sale of illegal drugs. Vilamo’s handler, a Guristas member known only as “Gavriel”, swore very sincerely to uphold that request. It still amazed him that these men—these “criminals” —had become the only people in his life that he could trust. Are we really villains, Vilamo thought as he jumped up and down to stay warm, or just honorable men who respect each other’s right to exist?
The hovercar passed by twice, as it always did, before stopping to let out a small passenger covered head to toe in winter clothing. A much larger figure emerged from the other door and stood by the car, keeping Vilamo in a clear line of sight. A light snow started to fall, with the occasional gust kicking up powder that stung Vilamo’s face. The shorter figure walked deliberately forward and stopped about five meters in front of him, shifting weight from foot to foot.
“Blue stars…red...stars…” The client was female, and she was trying to remember the phrase that Gavriel had instructed her to speak. Vilamo could tell from her accent that she was corporate, that she was new at this, and that she was already drugged out of her mind.
“I think you mean ‘Blue stars burn the hottest, and red stars grow the largest,” said Vilamo. “Then I’m supposed to say ‘The blue will die young, but the red have grown old.’” He focused his eyes on her, but kept her companion in his peripheral vision.
“Yeah! B-l-l-l-lue stars, they’re my fa-a-a-vorite,” she answered, looking straight up and trying to catch snowflakes with her tongue. Vilamo wanted to end this nonsense as quickly as possible.
“Who’s your friend over there?” he asked.
“That’s C-r-r-o-w-la, my m-m-b-o-d-yguard,” she slurred. “He likes the b-l-l-l-u-e stars, too.” She took one step forward. The bodyguard did the same.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Vilamo asked, squinting through another icy gust of wind.
She shifted dreamily back and forth, with a vacant smile on her face. “You…have a-a-a-all the stars!” swinging her arms out for expression.
“Yes, thirty blue pills and six exile packs, as ordered.” Raising one hand over his head to get the attention of the bodyguard, Vilamo slowly reached with the other hand inside his jacket and gently pulled out the plastic bag. The bodyguard had his own coat unbuttoned now.
The client’s eyes opened wide when she saw the “stars”. “Yum! Gimme, gimme, gimme!” she clumsily lunged forward for them, catching her balance just in time as Vilamo stepped backwards.
“Ah, ah, ah, you have to pay for these,” Vilamo said. His heartbeat accelerated as another hovercar drove past the courtyard, but then calmed down after it continued by without stopping.
“I-s-s-s-s-k…I’ll give you lots o’ i-s-s-k for the stars…” she reached into her coat pocket. Vilamo’s eyes involuntarily widened. She caught his expression and pulled the wallet out quickly, pointing it at him as if it were a gun. Vilamo’s face went pale and his heart stopped for a moment.
“Bang bang!” she exclaimed, then began laughing. Vilamo was not amused.
“That’s 25,000 isk,” he said through clenched teeth. “If you’ll please wire the funds.” Following the same routine as before with the bodyguard, Vilamo reached into his jacket for his wallet. The device was set to ‘proximity’ and could already detect the client’s wallet online.
“Two-o-o….F-i-v-e…Z-e-e-e-r-o…” she fumbled with the tiny keypad . Vilamo was about to lose his patience, but regained his composure as the wallet display confirmed receipt of payment to the Guristas corporate account, followed by an automatic transfer of 2,500 isk to his own personal account. He smiled. The rent would be paid on time, and the next sale would complete the first tuition installment for the School. Vilamo reached out with the package, and she seized it.
“M-m-m-mine!” she said, clasping it to her chest and tearing open the plastic.
“It certainly is now,” he answered, pocketing the wallet. “Good day.” And with that comment, he walked past her towards the street, away from the courtyard.
“Hey mister!” she called after him. Vilamo was reluctant to acknowledge her, but decided to anyway. It was snowing harder now, and the wind was making it more difficult to see.
“Yes?”
“What kind of stars do y-o-o-u like?” An empty exile pack fell from her hand into the snow. Damn, he thought. That’s an awful big hit for a girl her size. The bodyguard started walking briskly towards her.
“What kind of stars do I like?” he repeated again.
“Yeah! What kind of s-t-a-a-a-r-z-z…” Her head was tilted downward, but she was looking up at him with a strange smile on her face. One hand was in the same coat pocket she had drawn her wallet from.
Vilamo answered without thinking, just wanting to go home. The bodyguard suddenly broke into an all-out sprint.
“Red,” he said.
“Wrong answer!” she exclaimed, raising her hand suddenly. Vilamo thought she had pulled her wallet out again, but something didn’t look quite right. The bodyguard shouted a warning just as Vilamo saw a bright flash and heard a sharp crack. He never felt the 10-millimeter slug slam into his chest and explode through his back. Instead, he thought it was strange how the girl suddenly dropped from his view, and how warm it had just become despite the snow that was now falling directly onto his face.. In his final moment, he remembered how much he missed his wife and thought of her beautiful smile, and focused on that gentle image as the light outside faded to blackness.
~
“What the fuck just happened?” screamed Gavriel, as he watched the snow and ice around Vilamo Gariushi’s corpse turn crimson.
“Gavriel, what’s your status,” came a terse response through the earpiece. Unzooming the scope for a wider view, he saw the bodyguard quickly disarm the woman and begin hurrying her towards the idling hovercar. He trained the crosshairs on the her, trying very hard not to shake.
“Nest, this is Gavriel, flash morgue, repeat, flash morgue, permission to return fire,” he responded. “Flash morgue” told the dispatcher that one of their own was just fired upon and was presumed dead. The bodyguard had lifted the woman up onto his shoulder and was now running towards the car, and had maybe 15 meters of open courtyard to cross before reaching it. Gavriel moved the crosshairs to the vehicle’s rear, where the fuel cells were.
A different voice spoke through the earpiece. “The woman fired the shot?” The Nest was looking at the exact same view that Gavriel was through the riflescope.
“Affirmative, Nest,” he breathed, wishing so badly to hear the words that would allow him to squeeze the trigger just a little bit harder.
“Permission denied, Gavriel. Stand down.”
He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. “Say again?” The bodyguard practically threw the girl into the back of the car and slammed the door shut.
“She walks, Gavriel. Stand down.” He kept the crosshairs trained on the car until the view was obscured by a building. Then, he lost his temper.
“God damnit, Nest! She just blew him away and you’re going to let her walk?”
A third voice now came through the earpiece, and it was one that he knew well. “The order stands. Pack up your gear and report back to base. We have another assignment for you, and your other pushers will be covered by different handlers.”
Gavriel was incredulous. “Bane, I don’t understand.”
“I know about Vilamo’s son, ” the voice said. Some people were starting to gather around the bloody corpse. In just a few more moments, Ishukone Watch officers would arrive at the scene, and they would know that a handler was nearby. He quickly began to dismantle the rifle.
Bane’s voice continued. “We’re going to make this right, Gavriel. You have to trust me.”
He took one last look at Vilamo Gariushi’s corpse before leaving the apartment. That dead man lying in the snow down there trusted me.
Trust had always been a risky venture in Fade.
~
As tumultuous as their relationship was at times, Otro Gariushi viewed his father as the rock upon which his own comprehension of the world was built.. Otro had already seen plenty of hardship for his young years, so much so that he considered himself well conditioned for the worst possible outcome of any situation. His father had taught him to be resilient in the face of adversity, which was the key to survival under the harshest of circumstances. As the vague memories of his mother and sister melted away over the years, the two gradually formed a strong bond that included a reliance on each other for predictability.. Each knew the other’s schedules and routines as well as his own. Otro had his prep classes to attend, and his father had his erratic work schedule with Ishukone. Any kind of deviation from plans by either of them was noted well in advance, which Otro understood as necessary because of the dangers that lurked in the part of Kaurikou Junction they lived in.
So when two men that Otro had never seen before appeared at the door of their apartment at the precise time when he expected his father to return home, the darkest cloud that he had ever known descended upon him. Trying his best not to be distracted by the fear and dread that was now on the verge of engulfing him, Otro silently made his way to where his father kept a gun for home defense.
The door chime buzzed a second time. “Otro, I know you are there,” the taller, older looking one said. Keeping his eyes on the view screen in the kitchen, he fumbled with the ammunition clip of the weapon before finally slamming it into place. “We mean you no harm, Otro. But I’m afraid that we have bad news, and we don’t have very much time to discuss it.”
Otro didn’t say a word, but crouched behind the kitchen counter, keeping the gun pointed straight at the door. He watched the two men nod to each other, and then the shorter one pulled a small card from his coat and inserted it into the keypad lock. To Otro’s brief amazement, the taller one plugged a small device into a socket implanted at the base of his skull.
“Otro, you have to trust me,” said the taller one, whose deep, raspy voice continued to resonate throughout the apartment as before, only now his lips were not moving. Otro realized that the visitor was a starship captain.
“What I have to tell you would best be told face to face,” the pilot said. The shorter man held a device to the door, and then nodded again to the taller one. “Man to man, as your father would have wanted.” Tears began to flood down Otro’s face. The realization of what the stranger was about to say was just too overwhelming, and he struggled to keep the gun steady.
“It is as you fear, Otro. Your father was murdered today, and we came here to protect you from his killers.”
Otro turned away from the entrance and sat with his back against counter, sobbing heavily.. He heard the door to the apartment slide open, but he did not care. The shorter man entered first, very cautiously, with his weapon drawn and pointed at the counter behind which Otro sat grieving. The elder pilot followed, and spoke again using his voice.
“I know the pain well, and the anger that will soon follow it. But now, in this very instant, you have a decision to make. You can either come with us, and we will give you a new life and a chance to continue pursuing your dreams, or you can take your chances here, alone.”
Otro looked through his tears at the gun still in his hand. There was really only one thing he wanted to know. “How…how do I know it wasn’t you?” he stammered.
“I can show you proof, but now is not the time. You can either trust me, or I can leave. I know this is not fair to you, but fairness is not something that you or your father have been accustomed to. You now have exactly 30 seconds to make up your mind, after which you’re on your own.”
Otro turned the gun around and placed the barrel against his own forehead. It seemed a sensible choice, given the hopelessness of his life. He placed his thumb on the front of the trigger and began to push ever so slightly.
“When I was expelled from the Caldari Navy, I thought about doing that,” the elder man said. Otro’s thumb froze where it was. “Had I made that choice, I would have denied myself the privilege of being able to lead a meaningful life by helping good men like your father, and now, yourself as well.”
Otro’s actions were involuntary, and his survival instincts took control. With a sudden gasp, he released his thumb and dropped the gun onto his lap.
“Five more seconds,” the elder said.
Otro tossed the gun away from him, along the tiled floor and beyond the counter’s edge. As he watched it slide, a boot came down and stopped its momentum. Looking up, he saw the shorter man lowering a weapon of his own. His expression betrayed a kind of resigned sorrow that Otro’s young instincts sensed was genuine. Then the stranger reached out towards Otro with his hand.
“Get up,” he said.
Otro reached out, and with a solid grip and a strong jolt was hoisted to his feet.
Сообщение отредактировал Nordeck: 06 February 2014 - 8:18
Наверх
Оно ж на Вики есть.
