Hurt World One and the Zombie Rats

  *

  The San Francisco Tower’s twentieth floor conference room was tense with anticipation. Seated at the long table were Renaissance; US Special Envoy, Kalp Falno; and Colonel Smithers. Falno and Smithers had only just flown into San Francisco and their very presence indicated that they were taking the mission seriously, for they were no strangers to luxury hotels and could not have been lured by the promise of one. Renaissance was pleased to have them, and she was even more pleased that Falno had ordered away the insurance agents: it meant the price of action was being left off the agenda for a change.

  Spiros Pardos strode into the room. He was the one who had called the meeting and it very much looked like he had something to say. He stood at the foot of the table and cupped his hands together at his waist. ‘The World Court verdict is in,’ he began. ‘The events in Switzerland have swayed the judges our way. We have been granted an all access search warrant for the poacher Mas. It means any individual the signature dog detects Mas’s scent upon can be held without charge for up to one year, and any item of property can immediately be seized. Anywhere in the world.’

  The US Special Envoy seemed surprised. ‘We will have those powers?’

  ‘We have those powers now. The warrant has been signed and ratified.’

  ‘Which makes the signature dog quite important, doesn’t it?’ said Colonel Smithers. ‘Where is it now?’

  ‘Our technician has gone underground with it. Last known location was the Leanov Clinic in the Swiss Alps. Dr Leanov operated successfully and placed the dog in a Cocoon 41. He is confident it will be ready for active service at the completion of its two week recuperation period. That is five days from now.’

  Smithers looked to Renaissance. ‘Your technician is currently uncontactable?’

  ‘That’s right. But it is not of significant concern. As a matter of fact, we have been using faked communications in an attempt to lure Mas to Portugal.’

  ‘Any indication of a result?’

  ‘Not at this stage. We will transmit news of the World Court’s arrest warrant and that may make the bait impossible to resist.’

  ‘Perhaps, but when we start incarcerating people close to her, we won’t need to fake our messages anymore,’ said Falno. ‘Do you know who those people are?’

  Renaissance gestured to Pardos to answer.

  ‘It is a decidedly short list,’ Pardos said. ‘We have a starting point, however. A woman in the Congo who we think trained her, a woman named La Pack. There is evidence they were hunting together when Mas was as young as five. We believe she may have been some kind of nanny.’

  ‘So you’re staking out a nanny?’ Falno muttered unimpressed. ‘Isn’t there a mother or father or some siblings?’

  ‘Her father is dead. He was a poacher too and every bit as secretive as his daughter. He might have known who her mother was, but no one else seems to.’

  ‘Alright, so there’s a nanny then. But we need to know what Mas is doing now in the heart of Europe, not twenty years ago in some Congolese backwater.’

  ‘You’d be surprised how quickly the past can catch up with people, especially when a little pressure is applied.’

  Falno stood up to leave. ‘Just remember your own past and what Mas did to it.’ He shook his head admonishingly. ‘Don’t let it happen again.’

  13 Internally flawless

  Naked bodies floated in silence on the warm waters of the European Science Society’s central bath; it was known as the death pool, for its network of sensors could predict future causes of death so accurately that it had become the most sought after bath in Europe. It was located in Baden Baden and was constructed of comet-forged silver and glass of absolute purity. Pierre Prian had captained the mission that extracted it and it gained him access to the control room as the European Space Agency scanned its latest batch of candidates.

  ‘How’s she doing?’ he asked, looking down on the pool through the one-way mirror.

  Inga Huffine, the Chief Scientist, was monitoring the twin control screens’ flood of data. ‘Which candidate?’

  ‘C19.’

  ‘Well, your question needs to be more specific. We’re running a hundred tests simultaneously. If you’re wondering what natural death is awaiting her should she make it that far, it’s simply going to be an old, worn out heart that stops beating, a long time from today.’

  ‘That sounds promising. How is she doing overall?’

  Huffine zoomed onto Mas’s superbly toned physique in one corner of the pool. Her vital functions and genetic makeup were surrounding her on the screen in charts and graphs that meant nothing to Prian but had Huffine’s eyes widening.

  ‘Where did you get her from?’

  ‘She’s just another student.’ replied Prian, trying his best to sound indifferent.

  ‘I find that hard to believe. Her genetic integrity is flawless. Governments scour their populations looking for that level and draft them straight into the military, or for medical research if they’re not so lucky. It appears she has been through her own wars, however. The scars on her body are quite exotic. The scans are inconclusive but it seems the marks on her left leg are the result of a crocodile bite.’

  Prian shrugged. ‘I’m sure you’ll see on the obstacle course that she moves freely.’

  Huffine chuckled dryly. ‘With an A1 rating, she doesn’t have to go jumping around obstacle courses. She is genetically strong enough for space.’

  ‘What about her astro-physics test?’

  Huffine put her finger on the screen and clicked through files, coming to a stop with the one labeled Norah Lee. ‘There was one candidate with a higher score. But he happens to be a nuclear fusion graduate from MIT.’

  Prian nodded awkwardly. ‘She has been one of my better students.’

  Huffine glanced at him doubtfully. ‘So a woman like this just turned up at your little school in Boudreaux and wanted to become an astronaut?’

  ‘Sure, why not?’

  Huffine looked over Mas some more, floating on her back amongst twenty other candidates. ‘Although her background identity checks out, she doesn’t look much like an information technologist to me. I would enjoy running a memory scan on her. That is impossible to fake. We have the facilities here to do it.’

  ‘It’s illegal to do without authorisation, and the Space Agency is not about to do that with their astronauts. Space is empty enough of human enterprise without keeping it out of reach of the crazy ones. And I’m sure she’s all of that.’

  ‘You assume she’s crazy because that’s been the trait of every peer you’ve ever known. Has it ever occurred to you that it might be space that does it to them?’

  ‘Space is a beautiful place. Quiet and clean.’

  ‘That’s enough to make most people crazy. Especially on longer missions. You travelled quite far yourself. Chasing comets.’

  ‘Did I snap? Maybe not. But zero gravity can certainly bend you out of shape.’

  ‘A woman with her incredible potential could do anything she sets her mind to,’ said Huffine seriously. ‘You should talk to her, make sure she’s going to space for the right reasons. Maybe she’s just being chased by a mad ex-lover, or she could be grieving the loss of someone close to her.’

  ‘Alright, I’ll talk to her,’ said Prian. ‘I’m just glad she’s going to pass her evaluations Otherwise, I might have needed to escape into space myself.’ He got up from his chair and took one last look down at the pool from the control room’s centre window. ‘Things have changed since the days I was just starting out.’

  ‘You didn’t have the technology back then?’

  ‘Fortunately, no. I’ve done quite well going through life not knowing how I’m destined to die.’

  14 The rats get bigger

  The Zopez’s paint had been stripped away and all its modern fittings removed. During its time at the Las Gabos wharf, the boat had aged fifty years. The Zopez was gone and the Kudos had ret
urned. Rarely had a boat captain been so proud of so decrepit a vessel.

  ‘Would you like to come aboard?’ queried Captain Titov, standing by the gangway that led down to the Zopez.

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ replied Jalanti, the Savage Alliance’s Minister for Risk and Acquaintance’s from beside her. Her arms were arms folded Jalanti and lips pinched as she scrutinised the vessel intently. ‘Mas will conduct a more thorough inspection on her return.’

  ‘When will that be?’

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘I understand. But if she does not return on time, I am willing to take on her role in your operation. You will find me capable.’

  ‘If it comes to that, I will give it due consideration. But I have already chosen my people carefully. You can expect to see Mas again.’

  ‘Any word when that might be?’

  Jalanti shook her head. ‘Not yet. Just keep focused on your preparations. Is there anything more that needs to be done?’

  ‘Refitting the engine to its original condition is the real challenge. Over the years there have been frequent refittings. To a trained eye these might cause suspicion.’

  ‘What parts?’

  ‘Rees, the engineer, can tell you that.’ Titov looked further along the wharf to a speedboat that had recently arrived bearing supplies. ‘He is currently helping Dr Franco unloading.’

  Jalanti looked that way too, seeing heads bobbing just above the wharf. She strode up to the wharf’s edge and gazed down at the small boat. Packages wrapped in blue plastic were being unloaded onto the crane’s platform by a mix of Zopez crew members and those of the dinghy.

  Dr Franco, who was supervising the operation from the platform, noticed her presence. ‘You’re here. That’s good timing. Our colony has progressed to its first stage and you may want to see this for yourself.’

  Jalanti noticed the blank eyes of a severed head staring up at her through a gap in the plastic of one of the packages. ‘If you want to keep your surprises,’ she said, ‘you should wrap your presents more carefully.’

  Franco realised what she was referring to and rushed to pull the plastic across. ‘Apologies. My people have been rushing to fill your order, keeping the product as fresh as possible. Freshness is important. I want our little friends to be fussy eaters.’

  The three dinghy crew members continued to work quickly, unloading all the large square packages before jumping back into the boat and speeding away. The crane platform rose onto the wharf where Dr Franco and Rees transferred the packages onto an awaiting motorized trolley. ‘Now, Minister,’ said Dr Franco, ‘if you would kindly follow me.’ He steered the trolley off the wharf and across the abandoned industrial complex to the Silo 1 elevator. Jalanti followed wearily, the knowledge of what was contained in the blue plastic filling her with unease.

  ‘We won’t have much time,’ Dr Franco said in a light mood as the elevator climbed. ‘I must emphasise that what we are about to attempt is highly dangerous. If you are at all squeamish or anxious about witnessing this aspect of the operation, we can have cameras connected to your office.’

  ‘No cameras,’ said Jalanti adamantly. ‘Secrecy is paramount.’

  ‘I understand.’ Dr Franco snickered. ‘When one is feeding human flesh to rats, discretion certainly is an important consideration.’

  Jalanti glanced grimly at the wrapped up flesh on the trolleys. ‘I assume these people were already dead before being shipped for this purpose.’

  ‘I can’t say. I’ve heard of people donating their organs to science, but not of anyone giving their bodies for rat food. You are not a scientist, however, and are free to assume whatever you please. I can at least assure you I have been using the same suppliers for a number of years and they have always been able to provide whatever required quickly, efficiently and discreetly.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  The elevator clanged to a stop and Dr Franco hurriedly pressed the kill switch to keep the doors closed. ‘The feeding floors are kept at a temperature too cool for the rats to stay there, but once the food is presented, we will have about forty seconds before they arrive. Beyond that, if you decide to stay, it will take about one minute before only your bones remains. Shall we proceed?’

  Jalanti looked nervously at the elevator doors and took in a breath. ‘Let’s do it.’

  Franco let the doors and guided the trolley out onto the narrow gantry. ‘Now be sure not to slip,’ he affirmed.

  Jalanti took a large, excited stride. The rumblings from the distant floor of the silo had already begun. Dr Franco pulled some meat out of the plastic and tossed it over the railing to the distant floor. ‘I’ve kept them hungry for this,’ he said, his breath a thick, icy vapour. ‘They’re going to associate cold with very good eating.’

  The rats were charging out of the darkness in a massive stampede up the steel stairs toward the seventh floor feeding platform. Their bodies were huge and they came in their thousands. They had just reached the second floor when Jalanti shakily started back for the elevator. Dr Franco, hurriedly emptying out meat from the bags, grabbed her with one hand. ‘Stay here,’ he said. ‘Feel their hunger.’

  Jalanti’s eyes widened at the grotesque sight of chopped up body parts covering the floor. She tried to break Franco’s hold but it was unremitting. She turned her attention to the shuddering stairs at the end of the platform. The stench of dead bodies and rodents was overwhelming and Jalanti felt herself growing light headed. The horror of fainting was too great to even contemplate. Dr Franco emptied out one more bag and yanked on her arm. ‘Let’s go.’ Jalanti went with him on rubbery legs. They were inside the elevator and the doors were closing. The rats sped onto the feeding platform, lunging ravenously at the first of the human flesh. They were enormous, terrifying creatures, ripping off chunks of meat with long, razor sharp teeth. Jalanti couldn’t contain her scream. And at last the doors were closed. Jalanti jumped up hugging Franco and this time screamed with joy. ‘Oh my God! That was so exciting. My heart is pounding.’

  Dr Franco smiled. ‘It was something, wasn’t it? Now you can understand why I’ve been insisting your crew make that boat so strong. It will be holding an army of supreme killers.’

  ‘I’ll have them add some steel reinforcement to the doors. When will the rats be ready?’

  ‘The toxoplasma has taken over their minds and human flesh has just become their meal of choice. My girl, they are ready now.’

  15 A warning

  Friday nights at the Spanish Club meant a few more people staying a little longer and people drinking a little more. Kaptu could see there were a lot of tired faces, people relieved the working week was over without yet being able to let it go. And there were others with hard faces and whispered conversations, very much looking like they were still working. Just as long as his view of the stage was not impeded, Kaptu did not much care who they were. Natalie was seeking him out as she danced and his eyes were rarely straying from her. This was his second week of watching her performance and he found it was becoming the centre of his existence. There were things he did before it and there were things he did after it, the strength training, the weapons practice, the love making, the planning to escape Paris, but it was only when watching Natalie dancing her flamenco did his day feel complete. Although there were dancers in Asylum City, none of them moved quite like this, moved like they were free. But suddenly Natalie’s eyes widened uneasily and she lost the fluency in her movements. It was at the same moment that the man sat down at Kaptu’s table.

  ‘My name is Mischa of the Special Alpine Force. Do you remember me? I certainly remember you. You caught our attention back in Par. Even from a metre beneath the snow.’

  Kaptu Z looked Mischa over carefully and sipped his whisky on the rocks. ‘How did you find me here?’

  ‘Intuition. A snitch tells us that a Greek death team has been brought in for a hit in this bar. The target has been given the codename Z. The client is someone
out of Asylum City. I thought it was worth dropping in to take a look. And here you are.’

  ‘Are you that keen to find me?’

  ‘Not in the way you may fear. You have been granted immunity from arrest for your actions in Switzerland, including drugging a very good friend of mine. It is Mas I want. She has disappeared into France and your presence is the only thing we know of that might lure her into the open.’

  ‘Mas is an employee. She went to Switzerland to kill a certain dog only because she doesn’t want to be linked to whatever job she has been hired to do. It is that job you should be worried about.’

  ‘And what do you know about it?’

  ‘Painfully little. A scientist specialising in bio-weapons is in the picture. But all I’ve got, by the decree of the World Court, is Mas.’

  ‘Par was evidence enough of her desire to kill you in return. And now a death is coming, compliments of an Asylum City gangster. It seems you are bothering some rather serious people.’

  ‘When are you expecting the death team to arrive?’

  ‘In their messages they say tomorrow. My partner is out on a roof with a sniper rifle, waiting in case they turn up a little earlier. My advice to you to walk out now and never come back.’

  ‘I’ll leave, but not quite yet. And I’ll never return only on the condition that you stay.’

  ‘Why would I do that? And don’t say the Greek hit team. If you’re not here for them to hit, there won’t be the opportunity to make an arrest.’

  ‘There’s a few at these tables who would be quite upset if you didn’t consider them worthy of arrest. Heroin 3 smugglers. IT thieves. And one or two Spanish killers pining for a little piece of home.’

  ‘Sounds more like a job for the local police.’

  ‘No, it’s the Spanish Club itself that I’ve got in mind. It’s a particular Asylum City gang’s European front. Heroin 3 smuggling is just the start of it. Slave trading, organ harvesting and contract killing.’

  ‘Which gang?’

  ‘Meltman’s gang.’

  ‘I have heard of him, but I didn’t know he had a foothold in Europe.’

  ‘He thrives by keeping his operation underground. And in Asylum City it’s literal. He inhabits a vast network of tunnels, basements and caverns, virtually never returning to the city’s surface. It makes him almost impossible to catch. But that’s what I’m here to do and you can join in.’

  ‘Is this the wisest place to discuss such plots?’

  Kaptu shrugged. ‘A bar with this kind of clientele wouldn’t last long if it took to eavesdropping. But it’s fair to assume they know who I really am. After all, there is a death squad on the way.’

  ‘That is why you should leave.’

  ‘No, this is not the end.’ Kaptu stood up. ‘The common trait of all criminals is greed. Even the really good ones.’ He took a parting gulp of his whisky. ‘If I’m not back, don’t bother leaving a tip.’

  He gave Natalie a nod as he strode past the stage. She was still staring with eyes loaded. Kaptu wondered if it was to do with the Greek death team on the way or the Swiss police officer at his table. As beautifully as she was dancing, he just couldn’t tell if she was on his side or not.

  Past the stage and down a passageway, there was a single door with a bullet hole that had been crudely filled up with chewing gum. It was Hannah’s office and Kaptu entered without knocking. Hannah was sitting at her desk and looked up with surprise even though she had been following his movements on her surveillance wall-screens. ‘What do you want?’ she snapped.

  Kaptu glanced at the empty bottle of Jack Daniels on her desk. ‘That didn’t last long. But I can get more. Maybe even enough to keep up.’ He noticed one of the surveillance screens was trained on Mischa, who was idly watching Natalie’s performance, interspersed with occasional head turning in the direction Kaptu had gone. ‘You know he’s a cop. Thanks to him I’m aware of the death squad coming this way. Obviously we need to talk.’

  Hannah stared at him in a hard, calculating manner. ‘You like to live dangerously, don’t you?’

  ‘I am from Asylum City. I’m used to a little danger. Perhaps, that’s why I’m less afraid of your boss than you seem to be.’

  ‘Who are you talking about?’

  ‘The Meltman.’

  Hana’s eyes betrayed her with another flash of surprise. ‘Maybe I should just kill you now.’

  ‘That won’t get you anywhere. And if this bar is all you’ve got, you really do need to keep moving. A front for a crazed gangster who has not been above ground in a decade, do you honestly expect to retire old?’

  Hannah shrugged. ‘The money gets made at this end. He needs me.’

  ‘Are you talking about the Heroin 3? I assume so, considering all the dealers you have stopping in for a chat. They’re as dangerous a bunch as Meltman. And they won’t all stay happy forever. Especially not as I’ve taken it upon myself to close your business down.’

  Hannah’s mood darkened. ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Heroin 3 is produced through an interaction of Heroin 2 and cobra venom, and the labs have so far failed to produce a synthetic equivalent. Which means somewhere in the bowels of Asylum City there are vast snake pits in which the cobras are being farmed. My predecessor was thrown into one of these pits, to face an end beyond imagination. That’s a score to be settled.’

  ‘You say it’s an end beyond imagination but it may become an end you get to experience.’

  ‘Such risks won’t stop me. I’m going to destroy Meltman’s subterranean lair and everyone in it.’ Kaptu sat down on an orange plastic chair with weight absorption technology that made him feel perfectly light. ‘But I like you. I’ve been spending my days looking over the bar, getting a feel for the place, deciding whether or not to make my proposal.’

  ‘What proposal?’

  Kaptu gestured to the empty whisky bottle. ‘A bar with a steady supply of old whisky will always prosper. I am offering that. And the detective outside will provide protection.’

  Hannah extracted a green Cuban cigar from her fluorescent yellow desk and lit it up. She sucked at it and exhaled its greenish and heavily scented smoke. ‘And cuts?’

  ‘It’s your bar, you’ll take fifty percent.’

  ‘It’s bound to be less than what I’m now accustomed to with my other enterprises.’

  ‘Probably. But it might be a nice change not being bound to a vicious killer.’

  ‘To a corrupt policeman instead?’

  Kaptu smirked. ‘By Asylum City standards, I’m quite decent.’

  Hannah took another drag on her cigar. ‘What about the daily running of the bar? Having gangsters as frequent visitors is one thing, but police officers is another matter altogether.’

  ‘It’s a long distance relationship I have in mind.’

  ‘Are you sure? You seem to be getting pretty close with Natalie.’

  ‘I’m going to get busy in Asylum City and I doubt she’ll want to come back.’

  ‘You’re right about that.’

  ‘Which means you’ll be making the trip on your own.’

  Hannah coughed on her smoke. ‘What?’

  Kaptu placed on the desktop a small glass vial. ‘This is how we bring down an empire.’

  ‘Poison?’

  ‘Poisons have antidotes. But this is unstoppable. It’s a scent marker. And I have the world’s best signature dog to track it.’

  ‘Metlman’s scent?’

  ‘That’s the problem. Hiding away in his subterranean world, we’ve never been able to get a sample. So, we’ll bring the sample to him.’

  Hannah picked up the glass vial curiously. ‘Whose scent is it then?’

  ‘Another criminal. Of no real consequence. But my signature dog is locked onto her and thanks to an ugly incident in South America we do have her scent bottled. I’ve been told it’s been enhanced a hundred times stronger than normal. Which means, if you can get i
t on Meltman’s skin, all we’ll need to know is the starting location. Then we’ll go in there and take him. He’ll have nowhere to hide.’

  ‘Getting it on him won’t be easy. Have you thought about that?’

  Kaptu shrugged. ‘I’ve never met him socially. I was hoping you might have an idea.’

  ‘Delivering your head in a box would be one way to get an audience. Would you count that as meeting socially?’ Hannah broke into one of her very rare disarming smiles. ‘Don’t worry, I have other ideas in mind as well.’

  ‘As soon as the scent-concentrate is applied to her skin, you must contact me. I’ll stop whatever I’m doing and rush there. The codename is Blast.’

  ‘Very well. I don’t see much alternative. That policeman is from the Alpine Special Forces. They like to have something to do and I’d rather it be drug dealers than me.’

  ‘You’re right, they do like keeping themselves occupied. Which means it would be a good idea to call off that hit team while you still can.’

  ‘While I still can? Unfortunately my influence over the Meltman’s decisions is not as great as you seem to think. And that’s why it won’t be me going to Asylum City.’ Hannah smirked. ‘But there is someone who could do what you need. And she will agree to it if you ask her.’

  Kaptu frowned. ‘Who?’

  ‘Natalie. You see, you’re not the only one with a thing for her. At least your particular brand of feelings could be described as natural.’

  ‘This sounds ominous.’

  ‘As ominous as it gets. Natalie is the Meltman’s niece. He is completely besotted with her. He banished her from Asylum City before he succumbed to his yearnings. The Spanish Club is the perfect place for her exile because it is easily explained to her mother.’

  ‘Meltman’s sister?’

  ‘That’s right. She dwells down in his subterranean world, a general in his empire. Shally Nirajo.’ Hannah slid the glass vial back across the desk. ‘It will be on your head if you send her there. It could go very wrong. Putting her in the Meltman’s way on the pretext of unrequited love.’ She pulled a face. ‘It could go very wrong.’

  16 Calls to the fray

  The Space Weaver 180F was an awe-inspiring sight upon its launch pad. The proton fusion rockets alone reached the height of a five storey building. The white 8-tech polymer fuselage contained windows of black glass through which a contorting galaxy would soon be viewed. Despite it being a Saturday evening, the preparations at its base were hectic as humans and machines continued the enormous task of loading the Space Weaver with a small city’s worth of supplies.

  Mas was watching from the main observation deck of what was the Belgium headquarters of the European Space Agency. She was wearing a resplendent black evening dress and was sipping gold champagne. The cosmetics was uncomfortably heavy upon her skin. She stole a glance at her reflection in the observation deck’s expansive windows. Her glittering evening dress and impractical high heels epitomised the lengths she had been willing to go to reach this point. When she realised she might soon be on that rocket, hurtling through space her heart beat started to quicken excitedly.

  ‘There you are,’ said Pierre Prian, stepping out onto the observation deck through a sliding door, loud party music coming with him until the door quickly closed again. Well-groomed and wearing a suit of resplendent black silk, he looked dashing, and very much at home in this unbearably formal setting. He stopped beside her and sighed. ‘Such a shame. We go to such lengths to look our best only for you to go and hide. It is especially a shame for me because I felt quite nice having such a fetching companion to show off. The best astronauts in the world are just as easily impressed by these things as anyone else.’

  ‘I felt like being alone awhile,’ Mas replied.

  Pierre nodded and glanced out of the Space Weaver. ‘Obviously someone contemplating getting on board that ship has an affinity for solitariness. Or is that something you are still asking yourself?’

  ‘Have you been able to get me on board?’

  Pierre nodded. ‘I didn’t even need to call in a favour. There are only so many murderers and rapists of a calibre that courts can banish them to deep space. Having a volunteer at your level of testing is too good to pass up on. Those are the words of the European Space Commissioner herself. She will sign off the boarding pass and waiver the usual psychological assessment - because in this mission it is not particularly relevant. Those too are her words.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Pierre frowned. ‘I would call in a favour for you. I want you to know that. The Arsia Mons colony has a ten year waiting list but I can get you on next month’s flight.’

  Mas shook her head. ‘Mars won’t do it.’

  Pierre gazed at the Space Weaver 180f and sighed. ‘In that oversized piece of metal you are doomed never to see Earth again. And there’s a real possibility no one on Earth will ever know what happened to you. The chances of the Woerden T80 colony establishing itself are one in a million.’

  ‘Not bad odds considering there’s a hundred billion planets out there. And it’s true it will take at least a century before it is known if the colony has been successful. But don’t you understand what is the prize? If humans can successfully start up a self-sufficient colony on another life sustaining planet, it will mean that humans as a species will never die. It will be the ultimate achievement in human history.’

  Pierre looked down at the flight preparation on the steel launch site so far below the penthouse floor of the forty level tower. ‘You can see they believe in it. Clinging to existence with their well-ordered little routines. A colony of ants with big dreams.’ Pierre sensed he was starting to rant and took in a breath to slow his voice. ‘The cocktail party it seems is similarly impressed with the idea. The Commissioner let it be known to all of your wish to join the voyage and there was a burst of applause around the room. I think you have just become the guest of honour.’

  Mas stared at him. ‘Well, I’m kind of busy. There are things I need to do, people I should say goodbye to.’

  ‘I’m sure there are. But these are important people to your ambition. And they’re polite enough not to openly wonder who you really are. Share a few drinks with them. Among them are some truly great astronauts. They haven’t ventured as far as you are intending but it would be arrogant to think they’ve got nothing to offer.’

  Mas ran her fingers down her dress self-consciously. ‘Alright then.’

  Pierre took her arm and led her down a long glass-floored race, back into the crowded sumptuously decorated gala room. The revellers turned to Mas as one and broke into spontaneous applause. Sparkling in the dazzling light of the chandeliers were the champagne flutes saluting her, the jewelry adorning the clapping hands and the perfectly denticed teeth of the beaming smiles. She battled to keep herself upright and strong in the face of it, but it was akin to standing up to a tornado.

  ‘Please forgive us if we have embarrassed you,’ said a silver haired man with a kindly smile, pushing up to take her hand with his voice loud for all to hear. ‘It is just that we are so very glad to hear from our good friend Pierre the terrific news.’

  Mas realised it was the European Space Commissioner, Geth Barzius. She had seen her enough in the media to be certain of it. The first commander of the Jupiter 1 Space Station. Not nearly as far as Mas was intending to go, but she found herself warming to him sure enough.

  ‘I’m looking forward to it,’ she murmured.

  Barzius turned to address the crowd. ‘Here we were fretting that all we had to entrust with the boldest voyage in human history was a band of cut-throats and scumbags when miraculously a free volunteer puts herself forward from amongst us. Her testing was off the charts and yet the simple options were not for her. A small blimp in deep space is destined to become her new world and the reverberations this will have on ours will be beyond imagination.’

  The applause came again, louder even than before. Mas nodded back
with the best smile she could muster. All the while she felt the distinctive vibration of her wrist scrambler. It was yet another message from Jalanti. Ship has left port. Come at once.