Overdrive (5 page)

Get to the point
you fucking dickhead. Sharon was stroking his head and making little crooning
noises. The Doctor was obviously engaged in some form of electronic discussion.
One of his eyes was closed and he had the air of someone not quite connected
with reality.

“Now then,"
Dryden went on, “without any further ado, the board has found you guilty of
these charges. This decision has been fully ratified. The Chairman of your club
also agrees with our verdict and has suspended you from Snareball for the next
six months."

“Six fucking
months!." Tarquin was livid. He tried to rise from his stretcher but a
spinning head caused him to lie down again. “What the fuck am I meant to do for
the next six months?."

“That is none of
my concern," Dryden said blankly. “Good day sir." With that he walked
out of the room.

“Oh," said
Sharon.

“Fuck," said
Tarquin. The preoccupied Dr Voltaire didn’t say anything.

“Shazza. Doc. Give
us a hand here," he said, once again trying to rise from his stretcher.
Doctor Voltaire opened his other eye, and he and Sharon succeeded in elevating
Tarquin to a sitting position.

“What are you
going to do Honey?," inquired Sharon.

Tarquin stared
blankly at the far wall. “Fucked if I know."

The Doctor,
feeling awkward, made his excuses. “I’m off. Got other players to treat you
know. Remember, no partying for a few days," he said, eyeing Sharon with a
knowing look before walking out.

Tarquin stood,
towering above the diminutive Sharon, and after a few moments to clear his
head, headed for the exit.

“Where are you
going?," whined Sharon.

Tarquin didn’t
bother looking back to see if she was following.

“Changing room.
Gonna clear out my stuff."

The door slid open
for him and he exited into the corridor. He found himself in a maelstrom of
noise and light. If possible the corridor was brighter than the medical bay. A
multitude of floating camera orbs were directing the light in his direction,
and it was hard to make out, but it looked like all of Snareball’s paparazzi
were gathered in the corridor. An uproar ensued upon his emergence with all of
the paparazzi trying to get as close to Tarquin as possible.

“Is it true that
you’ve been suspended from the game for six months?," asked one. “What
have you got to say in response to the allegations for match fixing”?, inquired
another.

A third chimed in:
“What influenced you to take a bribe? Is it true you had sex with 2 underage
girls”?

How the fuck did
they find out about that? At the time, the girls had told him they were both
18.The rest were drowned out in the general clamor.

“No comment,"
he replied. “Talk to my agent."

He pushed his way
through the crowd and made his way to the changing rooms, ordering the door to
close and hotly pursued by the floating cameras. Sharon hurried after him and
narrowly missed being squashed by the closing door. A camera bounced off the
door and was trampled by the melee developing outside.

Tarquin began
clearing out his locker.

“What are you
doing?," Sharon whined again.

“What does it look
like? Going away," he replied.

Sharon looked like
a kid deprived of her Christmas present.

 “What about me?,"
she said on the verge of tears.

“Look," he
said, turning and grabbing her by the shoulders. “I need a bit of time to
myself at the moment. Gotta sort things out. I’ll be back in a couple of months."
Sharon's bottom lip began to wobble.

The door to the
changing rooms slid open, and Trev, fending off members of the press and the
odd floating camera, squeezed himself through and then closed it again.

“Heard about the
decision Tarq. Hard lines."

“Yeah thanks."
He paused to look first at Trev and then Sharon. “Trev, have you met Sharon?."

Trev grinned
broadly. “No. Hey Sharon."

Sharon, completely
recovered from her distress, smiled back, flicked her hair and battered her
eyelids. “Hi Trev. You’re the Rampant Exterminator aren’t you?”

“Sure am,"
Trev replied, grinning evenly more broadly.

Tarquin finished
packing his gear, and with a quick look back at the oblivious couple, made his
exit through the player’s rear door. Walking towards the underground parking
facility, he received a call. Tarquin had a fair idea who it was. Most of his
calls were screened and only two people had direct access to his AI comms
centre.

His eyelid slid
down and a face appeared. “Hi Tarq. Fancy a holiday?," said Logan.

“Where are you?”

“Coleridge”

“I’ll be there in
20 minutes."

Logan took a cart
the 5kms to the southern spaceport of Coleridge. The walls of the brightly lit
10 meter wide corridors varied between solid rock and a white polycarbonate as
he flashed past them.

On route he
mentally ticked off the items he would potentially need if Felix was in as much
trouble as he thought. He’d purchased tickets for the Hedonist StarCruiser
Dirty
Little Minx -
destination, Revel, the Hedonist’s homeworld, dropped in to
his apartment to pick up a few essential items and accessed the news report on
the massacre at Nebula Inc. It was all the talk on the asteroid.

Blamed variously
on 4 terrorist factions currently known to operate in the Camus system, there
was also a rumor circulating that it had something to do with the Areopagite’s
known to have arrived on Coleridge. Logan thought the last theory was closer to
the mark considering his run in with the Templars. Felix had mentioned that
Nebula Inc was working on a revolutionary new drive system, and although pissed
at the time and swearing Logan to secrecy, had delightedly raved on about how
it was going to fuck up the Areopagite’s monopoly on Shiva controlled space
routes.

Logan knew Felix
wasn’t one to exaggerate and wouldn’t put it past the religious freaks to
murder in order to maintain their dominance.

Despite only
controlling 7 star systems, the Areopagite’s were a powerful force in galactic
colonization since their establishment 600 years ago. Angel pilots were highly
sort after for exploration due to their ability to take any route. In return,
the Areopagite’s received a percentage of the revenue received for any
colonized world. This was massive in the long term scale of things, and the
Angels, with their 300 year plus life span were in no hurry for immediate
profits. This huge amount of revenue enabled the Areopagite’s to develop a
powerful military force and a great deal of economic and political clout.

A breakaway
faction of the Areopagite’s – the Watchers – were the only ones to challenge
the Angels dominance but so far were minor players in comparison. There were
other religious, economic and political groupings amongst the colonized worlds,
some bigger than the Areopagite’s. None could, however, match the revenue
generating ability of the Angels and in fact some were allied to them largely
due to their dependence on the Areopagite’s navigation and exploratory talents.

In the 800 hundred
odd years since the development of the Slipdrive, humankind had colonized
roughly 1,000 star systems (although many others had been earmarked). The
Slipdrive enabled ships to travel 10 light years for every 12 hours spent in
nospace.  From Earth to the centre of the galaxy was 30,000 light years. Many
long range scouts had been sent on the journey taking just over 8 years for the
return trip. Surprisingly, and blamed largely on the Shiva, none had returned.
Instead, humans focused their colonization efforts towards the local, Perseus
and Sagittarius arms of the Milky Way Galaxy. No evidence of highly evolved
life was yet to be found.

Not much has
been found here either
,
thought Logan as he passed two boys enthusiastically hitting each other over
the head with bits of plastic.

Arriving at the
spaceport, Logan stood at the viewing window to watch for Tarquin’s arrival.
The main part of the southern spaceport, carved out of solid rock, was over a kilometer
in diameter. Manmade additions had expanded that sufficiently to allow for up
to 20 ships at a time to dock. The area was filled with breathable air, its
entrance covered by a field sealing off the docking bay from the outside
vacuum.  Five ships were currently present in the port, most surrounded by
maintenance crews or passengers. One of them, a sleek knife like shape 300
meters in length was obviously a Areopagite Galley. The wings painted on its
hull above the name
Divine Retribution
were a bit of a giveaway. Logan
couldn’t see any of the Templar crew or its attendant Angel anywhere near the
ship.

Logan’s scrutiny
of the Areopagite’s ship was interrupted when his AI informed him of the arrival
of Tarquin’s sports yacht. Already cleared for docking, Tarquin’s ship, the
Debacherous
Weekend
, glided in on its AG and settled quietly into a spare dock. Looking
remarkably like a fish, the illusion aided somewhat by the silver finish of the
hull; it had a tapered snout, widening to a bulbous midsection, and tapering
again to the tail. The ion thruster nozzles poked out of the aft section
surrounding the singular tubular exhaust for the Slipdrive. Barrels of ship to
ship and ship to ground Field disruptors and Plasma cannons jutted out from
various parts of the yacht. Despite what Tarquin liked to call it, his yacht
was more of a small assault cruiser than a pleasure craft.

Toting his carry
bag, Logan made his way to the port entrance and walked over to the ship. As he
walked, the ship lowered an access ramp. Tarquin poked his head out of the
hatch, waved at the approaching Logan and ducked his head back in. Walking up
the ramp and entering the hatch, Logan emerged in the ship’s well appointed
lounge. The ramp retracting and hatch hissing shut behind him, Logan walked
over towards a storage locker. A door to his left led to the bridge.

“I’m in here,"
yelled Tarquin from the bridge. “Stow your gear. We’re underway.”

“No worries,"
Logan shouted back. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

Familiar with
Tarquin’s yacht after the last couple of holiday’s together, Logan knew the
lounge led to four large staterooms above which was a bar and kitchen. Lurking
below was the hold which contained Tarquin’s extensive array of weapons and
toys. When not playing Snareball, Tarquin spent much of his time aboard, using
the ship as a mobile home.

Stashing his gear
in a locker, Logan made his way to the bridge and seated himself next to
Tarquin in front of the viewscreen. The ship was already moving towards the
exit field.

“How's it going”?,
he asked.

Tarquin’s left eye
was closed. A sure sign that he was communicating with the ship via his AI.

“Yeah, good,"
a distracted Tarquin replied.

Logan smiled.
Typical understatement from his friend.

“Heard about your
suspension. Obviously some sort of conspiracy to remove you from the game.”

Tarquin laughed.

Logan grinned
back. “You were far too good anyway. Made the other players look like arses."

“A bit like you in
the investigation game, except I wasn’t shagging other players”

“Touché my friend.
Touché."

Chuckling quietly
to himself, Tarquin oversaw the ship’s AI as it guided the vessel through the
exit field and into space. He bought the ion drive on-line. The Ion drive, used
primarily for vacuum maneuvering, took them the 300 kms minimum distance
required from a physical body. The brilliant blue and white sphere of Unamuno
filled most of the right hand side of the view screen. At 14,000 km in
diameter, Unamuno was slightly larger than Earth and as such had a slightly
higher gravity. In all other respects, Unamuno was very much Earthlike. Its
similarity was one of the foremost reasons for its popularity as a tourist and
recreation destination.

The view of
Unamuno slid away as Tarquin pointed his yacht away from the planet’s gravity
field before engaging the slipdrive.

Both men
experience a slight twinge as the ship moved between the dimensions. The
viewscreen showed grey nothingness outside.

Tarquin grinned,
sat back and opened his other eye. “Rendezvous with the
Dirty Little Minx
,
one hour. Just enough time to fill me in on the real reason for this little
holiday.”

◊

The Departure of
the
Debacherous
Weekend
was watched with interest by a group of
figures standing in the viewing area previously occupied by Logan. Knight’s
Captain Tynan stood with five of his fellow Templars, quietly waiting for
instructions. To one side stood an impressive and rather beautiful individual.
The Angel Simbiel was dressed simply in a blue robe emblazoned with a white
sword. Long blond hair cascaded down his back. A face more classically
beautiful than anything designed by nature was dominated by glowing blue eyes.
The sense of power imposed by his 6’8 frame was enhanced by the large white
wings jutting from his back. Simbiel’s hand rested casual on the hilt of a
sword attached to his waist. Although well over 100 years of age, Simbiel looked
no older than 25.

In the triadic
hierarchy of the Areopagite’s, Simbiel was last in the second hierarchy of
Angels. Known as Powers, they were empowered to act as the strong arm of the
Areopagite’s. Simbiel was also an Angel of Destruction and as such was
personally charged by the leader of the Areopagite’s – Metatron - to dish out
punishments, or divine justice as they liked to call it, to transgressors of
God’s laws. In practice, Angels like Simbiel were sent out to protect the
interests of the Areopagites. Simbiel’s success in his previous missions and
the zeal with which he applied himself  were instrumental in his selection.

“Are you sure that
they will lead us to this Felix person?”

Captain Tynan
jumped at the sound of Simbiel’s rich timbre.

“Yes Lord,"
he said turning to face his master and keeping a wary eye on Simbiel’s sword
hand. Simbiel was known to have a vicious temper when one of his Templars
failed him.

“I tracked Captain
Pope personally. He purchased two tickets on the Hedonist ship
Dirty Little
Minx
bound for Revel.”

Simbiel’s face
showed a cross between contempt and disgust. “Hedonists! Dirty heathens. What
do we know of these two?”

“Pardon Lord? Do
you mean the Hedonist’s or Felix’s friends?”

“The friends you
idiot," roared Simbiel at his cringing henchman.

Recovering his
composure, Tynan replied with alacrity. “Captain Alexander Pope, 27, was
formerly with Unamuno’s Military Intelligence division before being dismissed
for unbecoming behavior." Tynan visibly relaxed. He was on safe ground
here.

“Unbecoming behavior?”

“He was having sex
with his CO’s wife."

Simbiel smiled.
Frightening in a beautiful kind of way thought Tynan. “That one should be easy
to deal with. Continue."

“Ah…His current
employer is Big Al, a former Major who now runs his own investigation company.
Captain Logan has just been suspended for fornicating with the clientele."

“Good. And the
other one?”

“That would be
Tarquin Compton-Burnett, 28, also known as the Chocolate Avenger, a Snareball
player for one of Unamuno’s teams. He’s just been found guilty of match fixing."

The smile returned
to Simbiel’s face. This would be simpler than he imagined. These would be
protectors of Felix could be easily turned from their mission. And they would
lead him to the prize.

This was the sort
of opportunity that could lead to promotion. Metatron, the Areopagite’s chief
Angel and Demiurge, had emphasized in the briefing how important the Overdrive
was to their cause. He’d even stated that success would pretty much assure
Simbiel a place in the first hierarchy as a Throne. Failure was not to be
contemplated. Angels that failed Metatron were rarely heard from again.

Tynan, encouraged
by Simbiel’s mood, went on. “They will be heavily armed Lord. Both have combat
experience and access to military grade weapons.”

“Of course. What
of the Watchers and the Shepards?”

“A Watcher Trireme
has been reported arriving in orbit above Unamuno. Even if they do manage to
follow us, I believe our Galley will be more than a match for them. The
Shepherds homeworld, Novelle New Zealand, is currently under surveillance. So
far, no ship has been reported heading for this system ."

Simbiel was hardly
bothering to listen. His attention was already focused on the chase ahead.

“Excellent. I
congratulate you on your work. Baser human nature is very easy to corrupt and
anticipate Captain Tynan. You will discover that upon your elevation to Angel
status."

Tynan felt an
electric thrill run through him at the thought of becoming an Angel. He bowed
slightly.

“Yes Lord. Thank
you Lord. Your insights are truly educational."

“Come," said
Simbiel, gesturing royally. “Its time to capture this wondrous technology I
think."

Simbiel, fingering
his sword hilt in anticipation, headed towards the docking bay. Captain Tynan
and the other Templars trailed in his wake.

“Oh, and Captain
Tynan."

“Yes Lord?”

“Although
sycophantic behavior is to be expected at your rank, when you are elevated that
sort of behavior is not encouraged. It becomes tiresome. In other words, try
not to kiss my arse too much huh”?

Knights Captain
Tynan bowed his head in understanding. “Yes Lord."

◊

Archangel
Gabriella, Ruling Princess of the Cherubim, Divine Herald, Princess of Justice,
Archangel of the Holy Sefiroth, Angel of Vengeance, Angel of Death, ruler of the
Areopagite’s sixth planet, Makon, and object of countless million male wet
dreams, strode imperiously down the corridor of Arabot’s holy palace.