Starweb Page 4

  'There’s been no word or sign of the Starweb since their defeat above Dyason, and perhaps we’ve all become a little complacent—secure in the belief that our brand-new ‘Three-World-Fleet’ of super battle cruisers, will defeat any new attack by the Guardians of God.

  'However, whilst we’ve been getting on with our day-to-day lives, new evidence leaked to us by a Masorack operative, suggests that we are again under attack by the Starweb. But this attack doesn’t come in the form of starships and space-fighters; this attack is far subtler than that!

  'Tonight here at CNK, we prove to you that the enemy is within!'

  North Atlantic Petroleum Head Office, New World Tower, City of London, England

  20.40hrs, GMT May 21st 2057

  Lord Steel pressed the remote and the image on the holo-screen faded and died. He leant forward over his desk, made a temple with his hands and looked thoughtfully into the middle distance. His eyes wandered across the panoramic view of London, visible from the twenty-fifth floor of the new skyscraper. It was a fine summer evening and the golden light of the setting sun reflected off the numerous tower cranes, still busy working on rebuilding the city.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of the intercom. 'Yes, what is it?' he said.

  'Your visitor is here Lord Steel,' the soft, educated voice of his personal assistant told him. 'Shall I show Miss Smith in?'

  'Yes, show her in,' he told her, then got up from his desk and walked over to the walnut paneled drinks cabinet. He pulled out two crystal tumblers and filled them with vintage scotch from a decanter.

  'I'll have ice with mine Lord Steel,' said a low gravely voice.

  Steel turned and glanced at the woman who had entered his inner sanctum. She was of indeterminate age, somewhere in her thirties would be his guess. Her flame red hair had been cut into a shoulder length bob that framed her strong, strangely compelling face. She wore a well-cut short skirt and waistcoat with a tasteful white blouse worn underneath. About one metre ninety in height, Miss Smith had a slim, athletic figure and a confident body language that intimidated as many men as it attracted. Lord Steel would never admit it, even to himself, but he was definitely one of the intimidated.

  'Of course, I'd forgotten. How foolish of me,' he mumbled, turning and dropping two ice cubes into the tumbler. He passed the glass to his visitor who promptly made herself comfortable on one of the big leather sofas, which adorned the office. He eased his tall, lean frame into an armchair opposite her, ignoring the sight of her long elegant legs and took a sip of the whiskey.

  Once it had slipped down his throat he looked at her and said, 'I presume you saw the holo-programme?'

  'I watched it in the limousine on the way here from Surrey,' she confirmed casually, turning the tumbler in her hand without drinking from it.

  'And?' he asked.

  'It changes nothing,' she replied matching his gaze.

  'How can you say that?' he asked incredulously. 'Surely this changes everything? Now, every soul on not just this planet, but Dyason and Heligsion as well, will be looking for traitors in their midst!'

  'I say it, because it’s true,' she replied coolly and evenly. 'Bruce Quaid and those morons at CNK have neatly diverted attention away from industrial espionage, and put the world's attention right back on the little green men from space.

  'Certainly, people are going to be looking out for traitors in their midst. Security forces are about to be swamped with claims from those with an axe to grind, claiming their neighbour, workmate, or boss, is in fact an alien member of the Starweb. Nobody will suspect the real cause for some of these events is industrial espionage.'

  Lord Steel put his tumbler down on the glass table in front of him and looked agitatedly at Miss Smith. 'That's all very well,' he told her, 'but the purpose behind this whole scheme is to move public opinion against the new power source. It is vital that Point-Zero becomes perceived as a form of power production at least as dangerous as the old nuclear fast-breed reactors. The public is supposed to fear another Fukushima or Chernobyl, not another alien invasion!

  With the new reserves of gas and petroleum discovered on Dyason and Heligsion, North Atlantic Petroleum is in a position to become the dominant fuel supplier, in the greatest expansion in automobile construction, since the time of Henry Ford!'

  'But not if fossil fuels are replaced with plentiful, virtually cost-free, supplies of water?' Miss Smith interjected with a cynical look. She tilted her head to one side, stared hard at him and said, 'I know all this already Steel. Tell me, I'm curious—what's your motivation for depriving the human race of limitless, cheap, environmentally friendly electricity? Is it pure greed, or power?'

  The chairman of Earth's largest fossil fuel corporation tilted his head back, barked once loudly, and then stared back at the woman. 'Power, Miss Smith,' he hissed, 'It's all about Power! Until the discovery of the Point-Zero reaction, those who controlled the oil and gas reserves controlled the planet—which as you know was NAP, or more specifically me!

  It's a privileged position I'm not about to give up without a fight Miss Smith. Not when there are such vast new markets to dominate! As you well know!'

  'A man after my own heart!' she responded huskily, carefully putting her tumbler on the table and slowly undoing the buttons on her blouse. 'Just checking…'

  Lord Steel tried to control the shaking in his hand as he also put down his drink. Swallowing hard, he got up and moved toward Miss Smith, nearly overwhelmed by his mixed emotions of lust and dread.

  Presidential Mansion, Wellington, New Zealand.

  14.34Hrs local time, May 22nd 2057.

  United Nations President, James Gafton switched off the holo-screen as the credits to the streamed CNK broadcast began to role. He got up, walked to the patio windows and stared out at the sheet rain—the southern winter had arrived. Hands clasped behind his back, he stared thoughtfully into the middle-distance.

  'So what, exactly, was your thinking behind leaking the information CNK used to make that programme,' a voice said from an armchair sitting on the other side of the study.

  Gafton paused, turned to face his inquisitor, a stocky white-haired man casually dressed in a pair of faded dungarees and worn lace-up boots. He was of middle to senior years, with a worn-leathery face and a short, but well kept beard. Even slouched in an armchair, he managed to portray a casual confidence boosted by a lean, muscular physique.

  'Well, there were several reasons for leaking the documents Myrddin,' the president told his old friend with a sigh. 'I guess the main aim is to provoke whoever is behind these incidents into making a mistake that will expose them and their organisation.'

  'Do you actually believe the Starweb is somehow involved?' the older man probed, casually studying the United Nations President.

  Gafton shrugged expansively then moved toward the glowing open fire. 'I'm not sure,' he answered honestly. 'Half the intelligence community believes the Starweb is attempting to undermine our new interplanetary alliance as a prelude to an attack. The other half believes the old fossil fuel suppliers are attempting to undermine confidence in the new power source. After all, they have the most to lose.'

  'And what do you think?' Myrddin asked.

  'I'm open-minded. We simply don't have enough intelligence currently to arrive at any sensible conclusion. Whoever is behind all the current activity has been very careful to cover their tracks,' the president replied earnestly.

  'What was the other reason for leaking the information? Your intelligence services are going to be swamped by spurious claims, made by every half-wit on the planet, who thinks they're a true patriot!' Myrddin pointed out honestly, lifting his legs off the side of the armchair and turning to face the relatively young and fresh-faced Gafton.

  'Politics,' was the blunt reply. 'I'm under severe pressure to cut military spending, particularly as we haven't heard or seen anything more of the Starweb, since the fleets collided above Dyason nearly five years ago. Congress is demanding t
hat the fleet's expansion be cut so that money and materials can be redirected to creating more consumer products. As you and I both know, we can't afford to let that happen! The Starweb may not be back next month, or even next year, but they will eventually return. When they do, we'll need every single ship and more, to defend ourselves!'

  'So you decided to remind everybody that there's still a mortal enemy out there, somewhere among the stars?' Myrddin asked without a hint of sarcasm.

  'You got it in one..'

  'Well, I can understand all that my friend,' the older man said getting up and stretching his limbs with a sigh. 'And I sympathise with your predicament, I really do… However, I'm unsure where I fit in with all this. You’re the politician James, not me. Why did you call me back from my sabbatical?'

  'Myrddin, you've been on your latest sabbatical for over eighteen months now. How many new types of flora can there be in the Himalayas?' the president gently chided with a grin.

  'It's a big area!' the ancient shrugged, 'Besides I'm nearing retirement age. Now, answer my question!'

  Gafton raised his hands in a placating motion and said, 'Okay, okay, old friend. I'm not really having a go you know. In fact, I feel guilty as sin at having to drag you back here. God knows, you've done enough for the world to deserve a comfortable retirement.'

  'So why did you, drag me back here that is?'

  Gafton looked thoughtfully into the flames coming from the logs, which hissed and crackled in the grate. After considering his reply he answered, 'You were right when you said the intelligence services would be flooded by spurious and useless information. Our resources are already stretched to the limit, even with the help of the Dyason intelligence service, Masorack. There have been thousands of calls reporting suspicious people in the short time since that CNK programme went out. For a while at least, our intelligence is going to be hampered by yesterday's broadcast. But that doesn't change the fact that we're desperately short of hard information.'

  'So where do I come in?' Myrddin demanded.

  'You have first-hand experience of the Starweb and its methods,' came the blunt reply as the president turned and faced Myrddin. 'If anybody can sniff out a conspiracy orchestrated by the Guardians of God, you can. You encountered one of the Guardians at Extremity Station and you're blessed with certain advantageous “talents”'. Which is why I want you, with the full backing and resources of the TDWF and Masorack, of course—to became an operative and get to the bottom of this spate of bizarre incidents. It's my belief you can personally achieve far more than any other agent we have!'

  Myrddin stared long and hard into the glowing log fire before responding. 'I could refuse of course. After all, I've already done enough for the human species.'

  'You could…and nobody would blame you for doing that,' the president replied.

  'But you know I wouldn't do that..'

  'I was rather hoping you wouldn't.'

  The older man sighed once more, then with an expansive shrug said, 'Well I guess it is about time I got back to some real work. However, you realise that there's no guarantee that I'll be able to find out any more than any other operative?'

  The president stared hard at the white-haired veteran of so many wars and combats. 'I have every faith in you old friend,' he told Myrddin in no uncertain terms.

  'Humph…' was the uncommitted reply. 'Just remember the real reason for me helping out again.'

  'And what is that exactly?'

  'I'm doing it for my great-grandchild and the little rug-rat’s parents!'

  James Gafton laughed out loud and for a moment his whole face brightened.

  'By God I'd almost forgotten Myrddin!' he exclaimed with a grin. 'How is Jennifer? She must surely, be nearly ready to give birth?'

  A gentle smile cracked the older man's gruff face, showing a myriad of wrinkles and laughter lines.

  'Well, she ignored my advice to stay at home and give birth here on Earth. Instead, she insisted on staying with Excalibur and Moss while they build the early warning sites on Heligsion.'

  'Well, I wouldn't worry too much about that; Excalibur is equipped with the finest medical facilities imaginable.'

  'Yeah, I suppose so,' was the grudging response. 'It's just that it all seems so unnatural to give birth in space. Anyway, I'm told she's fine and the baby is due any time now.'

  Myrddin sat back down opposite the president, a serious expression returning to his face. As the flames of the fire reflected in his eyes he said, 'Now, back to business James. You'd better tell me everything you know about all these incidents.'

  Ground Station 37.

  Southern Hemisphere, Heligsion

  'No, no…it's still out of line!' Moss heard Josh Brabazon yell at the engineer. 'How the hell do you expect the system to work properly, if you can't even bolt the bloody antenna in the correct position? Now get a fix on the geo-stat and realign the dish, before I come up there and use your head as a hammer!'

  Moss grinned to himself as he walked away from his shuttle, toward the nearly completed ground station. To listen to Josh Brabazon harangue his engineers, you could be mistaken for believing they were all incompetent fools. In fact, every member of Excalibur's science and engineering team were the intellectual cream of Earth, Dyason and Heligsion—a fact that Brabazon was only too keen to point out at every opportunity. There was only one person allowed to abuse his elite team and that was Josh Brabazon.

  As he strolled up the path from the landing pad, past lush green ferns and plants, which covered much of this part of Heligsion, Moss mopped the beads of sweat from his brow. The twin suns were high in the sky and the heat was undoubtedly the cause of Josh Brabazon's bad mood.

  'Moss!' the thin, wiry scientist called out, noticing his presence for the first time. 'This is a pleasant surprise. What brings you down to the sweltering jungles?'

  Brabazon grabbed the hand of his old friend and looked him over. Moss had filled-out in the years since Brabazon had first met him as an awkward teenager. That had been back in the war of liberation and much had happened since then. Now in his mid-twenties, Moss Pendragon was tall and well built, with a handsome face and incredibly intense green eyes. The long greasy hair he'd worn as a ghetto-dweller had gone, to be replaced with a clean-cut short back and sides, which highlighted his chiseled features.

  Moss carried himself with a confident ease and was the youngest Group Captain in the Three World Defence Force. If it wasn't for the fact that they'd been friends for so many years, Josh was sure, he'd hate Moss for being so damned good-looking.

  'I got fed-up with battle-exercises and Flyship training,' Moss began to explain with a shrug. 'I've been doing nothing but licking the new squadrons into shape for weeks now. So I figured a fact-finding mission planet-side was called for.'

  'Oh yes?' Brabazon said in a disbelieving tone.

  A slight flush rose up the young officer's cheeks. 'Well, that and Jennifer demanding I get out of her hair for a few days,' he admitted.

  'That sounds a bit more like it. I guess she's due any time now?'

  Moss nodded.

  'Well, let's get the nervous father-to-be out of the sun.'

  Brabazon led him into the cool interior of the satellite tracking station, which was thankfully blessed with air conditioning. Inside the darkened surveillance centre, more of Brabazon's team were attempting to fine tune banks of holo-viewers and interlinked computers. Moss wandered over to a sub-ether transmitter and briefly watched the display, whilst Brabazon spoke quietly to one of the technicians.

  'So, how is it all going?' Moss asked once Brabazon had finished his conversation.

  'Well, at least that piece of kit is working,' the Terran scientist replied, pointing at the small sub-ether unit. 'We're now connected to the early warning centres on Earth and Dyason. Information is updated and downloaded every few nanoseconds, despite the light years between each world.'

  'That's good to know. I presume you can also transmit data in return?' Moss asked.


  'Almost,' was the reply.

  'What's almost mean?'

  'Well, we're having a few teething problems at the moment,' Brabazon told him apologetically. 'You see, this is just one of several ground-stations sited in different hemispheres around Heligsion. Each site analyses data downloaded from the satellites and sends them to a central mainframe to be collated. The problem is ensuring all the data-links are aligned and working properly, otherwise you end up with an incomplete picture that can give an erroneous interpretation of what's out there.'

  'You mean the dish on the roof needs to be moved?' Moss asked innocently.

  'Something like that,' Josh Brabazon reluctantly admitted.

  The young officer laughed and slapped the wiry scientist on the back. 'It's okay,' Moss laughed, 'I won't tell anybody you can't align a satellite dish!'

  'Thanks,' Brabazon muttered dryly.

  'I'm only kidding, I know you'll get it sorted,' Moss said in a placating tone. 'You've done a fantastic job of setting up this interplanetary warning system. If it wasn't for the sub-ether detection system you invented, we'd be running standing patrols with cruisers and fighters, constantly ploughing between the three worlds.'

  'Well, I have to admit a certain pride,' Josh grinned, a flush rising up his cheeks. Praise from the legendary hero always had the same effect. 'It's basically a very simple principal. Any object traveling through the fourth dimension causes ripples in the sub-ether. An ether-transponder and a line taken on the origin of the interference, can easily detect these. By placing detection units on Dyason, Earth and here on Heligsion, we can get a fix on where the interference is coming from, and where it's likely to appear in normal space.'

  'It's a bit like the radar Home Defence Chain of 1940 which was used to give warning of approaching Luftwaffe raids. It gave the RAF a fighting chance in the Battle of Britain and it might just do the same for us,' Moss added.