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

He shook his head slowly. “No. You’re wrong, my love. They had me fight for all the wrong reasons; me and over two and a half million guys just like me. Now, when they get a
real
enemy turn up, a
real
threat to our way of life, what do they do? Roll over and let him tickle their fat bellies. No, this is a war we all fight, babe; we have to. And that includes me.”

Margaret picked up the remote and flicked the TV on again. She switched it over to the movie channel. “Well, as long as you fight it from that chair, and quietly, you’ll have my blessing. Now, pipe down and let me watch my movie, please.”

London, England, 2005

Another grey and rainy day outside. Inside his office, Justin Blake watched the raindrops on the window slowly join together, until they grew heavy enough to run down the glass, gathering others up as they tracked their zig-zag course. He reached for the cup of coffee on his desk. He nearly spilled it when Pat, his secretary, bustled into the room.

She gave him her usual bright smile. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but a memo just arrived from the vaunted heights of Her Majesty’s office. I know you like to see these as soon as they come in.”

“Thanks, Pat.” Justin took the memo, and slid a folder towards Pat in exchange. “Please see that Roger gets that as soon as possible, he’s been on my case for days to get it done.”

“Of course.”

He waited until she closed the door and then picked up the memo. It was, indeed, from his supervisor; Hilary Huntley-Downes. He quickly skimmed the two sheets of A4 paper that Hilary insisted was a memo. Hilary was generally despised by most of the staff in Justin’s section. It didn’t help her cause that she was an officious, overbearing, toffee-nosed old cow. She was one of the few die-hard old timers who still used hand written inter-office communications, for instance. He slid the two sheets into his briefcase.

The rain was still falling when Justin arrived at the front door to his modest flat. Tidy, bland and soulless it may have been, but it was warm and dry, and that’s all Justin cared about right now. After a dinner in front of the TV, he pulled the document out of his briefcase. An innocuous message that pertained to the soon to be implemented restructure of the Home Office internal chain of command. As always, there were twenty times the required words to convey a fairly simple message. Naturally, most of those words were civil service double-talk and gobbledygook.

He smiled to himself. At least that’s what it was supposed to look like, in the unlikely case that it ever fell into the wrong hands. He got a pencil and notepad, and wrote down the alternate first and last letter of every second line. This gave him the real message the memo carried:

Alexander Brian Dalgleish. 0 periph.

Nice, an easy one, he thought. Solo target, no peripherals. Justin picked up the two sheets and put them back in his briefcase. He’d compose a similarly worded reply tomorrow when he got to the office. He sat down in the lounge with his laptop. He logged in to an innocuous looking chat room; the kind that were all the rage these days. He engaged in conversation with a cartoon woman for a few minutes. Once he had supplied exactly the right responses to each of her questions, a new page appeared that asked for a password. He entered his password and the front page of the MI6 database came up.

For the next three hours, he learned everything there was to know about Alexander Brian Dalgleish from every record the British government had on him.

*****

Nuthros’ ship, Present Day

Jack Short flopped back in his seat. He looked across to where Mandy Somers sat, eyes glued to the display that floated in front of her. Another long stint, and the woman didn’t even look tired. “Hey,” he said, “you ready for a coffee?”

Mandy smiled at him. “Good idea; let’s go.”

He followed her out into the corridor. “I got a lead that might turn into something, you want to hear about it?”

“Oh yeah?” Mandy said. “Which girlfriend did this one come from?”

He laughed. “I don’t reckon this guy is my type, to be honest. Aside from the fact he’s a man, the greasy hair and missing teeth just ain’t doing it for me.”

She laughed, “Better luck next time, I guess. So, what’s the story?”

Jack took a seat next to Mandy. A fresh cup of steaming espresso appeared in front of him. “Well, this guy says he’s got a contact in the White house. He claims to be able to supply raw data from security videos which contain meetings between Kestil and the president, complete with sound.”

Mandy’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay, that’s what we want. The government will claim it’s a fake, of course.”

Jack shrugged. “Well, Truly says this stuff is important for the future, and I’ll take her word for it every time.”

“Won’t argue with you there.” Mandy fiddled with her cup. “I can’t say it’s easy to keep going, though.”

Jack took a sip of coffee and nodded. “I hear ya. I still feel like a fifth wheel around here. Hiram’s on the council, and has proved himself to be a real asset, from what Nuthros tells me. Ron has all these enhancements to turn him into some kind of super-agent, although I hear he’s still getting killed by Truly on an hourly basis.”

Mandy stifled a laugh. “Keep that to yourself, he’s very touchy about it.”

Jack shrugged. “He’ll get the hang of it. Anyway, those two are doing meaningful stuff. Chris is off to Kareetha when her ride gets here, and then there’s the wonder boy over there.” He nodded to where David Markham stood at the viewport, his eyes shut.

Mandy grimaced. “You shouldn’t call him that. He has a job ahead of him we can’t even imagine.”

“Yeah, well, they seem like they all have their roles laid out for them. But, you and me? I just don’t see where we fit in.”

“Well,” Mandy replied, “we’re investigative journalists, so I guess we’re meant to do what we
are
doing; investigating.”

Jack spread his hands. “To what end, though? Anything we do find will get nailed to the wall as conspiracy theories, and you and I will just look like nut jobs.”

Mandy gave a snort of derision. “We already look like nut jobs, Jack. Remember the last show?”

He laughed. “Yeah. Well, I guess we just have to do what Asdrin said; trust Truly.”

Mandy set her cup down on the table with a sigh. “Well, I will if you will. Seriously, though, why do I find that so hard to do?”

Jack smiled. “She’s a machine, I guess. Then again, when I watch you work like you do, I sometimes think you’re a machine.”

Mandy arched an eyebrow at him. “You watch me work?”

Jack shifted in his chair. “Just a figure of speech.”

“Of course,” Mandy said. She didn’t miss the tinge of red in his cheeks, though.

*****

Christine Joyce watched David from the little table by the viewport. She waited for some sign of life to indicate he’d finished whatever the hell it was he was doing. He spent hours like this; sometimes eight to ten hours at a stretch. Eyes closed, perfectly still. He looked completely relaxed while he stood there, almost like he was asleep upright. David had told her he was either absorbed in events on Earth, of which he saw everything, or in conference; with the council, with individual councilors, or with the Entity/Truly, whatever you wanted to call it.

David had asked her to remain on the ship with him, but she couldn’t stand it. The loneliness, the isolation. She didn’t belong here, and she could feel it. She longed to lay in the sun, swim in a lake, or take a walk in the forest. That time at the cabin had been like a taste of paradise, and she yearned to feel it again with all her soul.

She turned her gaze to the Earth. She couldn’t go back there. When Kestil discovered the truth about David, and Truly said that was unavoidable, Christine would become a very viable target; a bargaining chip that Kestil wouldn’t hesitate to possess. That made her nothing but a liability on Earth, when the others went back down.

David told her that Truly would be cut off from the earth sometime soon, but they didn’t know how, yet. When she was, the only connection to Truly that couldn’t be severed was through David. So, he had to be on Earth. If Chris was with him, then everyone would have to protect her as well.

Nuthros had offered her the chance to stay on Kareetha, the capital planet of the Sixteen Galaxies. The idea of life on another world scared her out of her wits. But, the only other choice was to stay on this tin can, and she was determined that was not going to happen.

Another councilor, Brantok, was on his way to pick her up and take her to Kareetha, along with Hiram Sertan, who was to return to Kareetha for the foreseeable future. She was ambivalent about the prospect of leaving David. It would be hard; very hard. But, the thought of waiting on board this ship while he went through the trials ahead of him was far more repugnant.

A hand gently caressed her hair and snapped her out of her reverie. David stood beside her, a tender smile on his face. “Hey there, beautiful one.” He leaned forward and kissed her warmly.

Christine returned the kiss and put her arms round him. She shivered slightly as he pulled her close. She marveled at this new man who held her. David had changed so much, in so short a time. Where he had been distant, he was now attentive, affectionate and kind. Where he had been distracted, he was now fully focused on her. When he wasn’t in a trance, she thought to herself.

David stood back. “Are you okay, my love?”

She smiled at the words. She’d never heard them before he underwent his transformation. “I’m fine, I guess.” She met his gaze. “But then, you could tell me how I felt more accurately than I could tell you, and we both know it.”

He nodded. “True. I’d rather hear it from you, though.”

Dear God, he was perfect, Chris thought. She used to have to guard him jealously enough before he became this Starchild creation of Truly’s, but now? She gave a little laugh at the thought of him being chased down the street by a horde of screaming women.

He looked deep into her eyes. “I may know you better than you know yourself, but I can’t read your mind. What’s so funny?”

Chris told him, and he laughed, too. He took her to a nearby bench and she sat in his arms and stared at the Earth.

Okay, she thought, stop life right here. Freeze this moment in time and leave me here with him. Her contented smile turned bitter. Just two more days, and I may never see him again.

*****

East Farleigh, England, 2005

It was 2am and the streets of East Farleigh were silent and still. Justin Blake slid the glass door of the dining room open without a sound. No alarm systems, no security door; quick work with a set of lock-picks and that was it. Piece of cake. A very convenient laxity on Alexander’s part, Justin thought. A man who could own a house like this, and park a Jaguar in the garage, could easily afford some security. It would’ve made little difference tonight, though, he mused. It might have taken a little more time, but the end result would have been the same. Alexander Dalgleish was alone tonight, Justin knew. His wife and son were on holiday in a little coastal hamlet near Devon, as Justin had found out with a little digging. People were so ready to share their location these days, even when they had no idea who might be interested.

He hefted a small bottle of carbon monoxide onto his shoulder and picked up the canvas tote bag he’d brought with him. Justin made his way carefully through the house and up the stairs. He followed the sound of snoring to the main bedroom. An empty bottle of scotch lay on its side by the bed. Tut-tut Alexander, Justin thought, bet you don’t do that when the wife’s home. Alexander was flat on his back, which helped no end. He set the gas bottle down, and connected a facemask he took from the tote bag. He went over to the other side of the bed and tucked the sheet and blanket in tight. He returned to the gas bottle, and turned the tap on. He gently placed the mask over Alexander’s nose and mouth with his left hand. Alexander started to struggle as his lungs filled with carbon monoxide, and Justin pulled the covers down tight with his right hand. Trapped by the bedclothes, Alexander could do nothing as his lungs ran out of oxygen. The struggle was soon over, and Justin removed the mask from the lifeless body and turned off the gas.

He took the equipment to the garage, found the car keys on a hook in the hallway, and then returned to the bedroom. He brought the body of Alexander Dalgleish down and put it in the Jaguar. Once the body was placed in the driver’s seat of the car, Justin lowered all four windows. He went back up to the bedroom and carefully put the bed in order. He picked up the empty scotch bottle and took it with him. He placed Alexander’s left arm out towards the passenger side, and placed the left hand on the bottle’s neck. With everything set, he went down and started the car. The car had half a tank of fuel, so no problem there. He shut the garage access door and marveled at how quiet the car’s motor was. He was very grateful Alexander was into Jaguars; one of the quietest motors out there. He left via the sliding glass door he came in through, and made sure it locked behind him.

Justin stopped at a motorway service station on the drive home and bought a coffee. He went to the toilet and dumped a pair of thick surgical gloves in a rubbish bin on his way out.

*****

US Presidential aircraft, Present Day

President of the United States Michael Maitland sat in his office on the upper deck of the presidential aircraft, commonly known by its call sign; Air Force One. He smiled when Kestil appeared and waved him to a chair on the other side of the desk. Kestil always insisted that these meetings were just the two of them, even though it drove the secret service mad that their charge was alone with this mysterious alien. He suppressed a smirk when an agent knocked and entered. They did this all the time, in the hope of catching Kestil there, and to let the president know that they knew.

“Hello, Michael,” Maitland said to the agent. “You’ve met Kestil before, haven’t you?”