Synthesis:Weave: Synthesis:Weave, #1

By Rexx Deane

A tsunami on a space station.

An explosion with no trace of the bomber.

 

Cyber-security expert Sebastian knows evidence doesn't magically disappear, yet when he and his colleague Aryx, a disabled ex-marine, travel the galaxy to find the cause, there seems to be no other explanation.

 

Can they unravel the mystery before his family, home, and an entire race succumbs to an ancient foe?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rexx Deane
• Release date: Aug 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9780993177330

Book preview

Chapter 1

Sebastian had never seen sand of such a deep crimson and, as he stood on the beach, he couldn’t even guess where in the galaxy it could be found. He looked up to locate a familiar constellation.

Even though the intense purple sky hadn’t seemed that bright, he shielded his eyes as he scanned the horizon. The silky, golden glow of the larger of the two suns reflected off the oily black sea that slopped silently at the shore, but aside from that the skyline was featureless. A gentle breeze brought with it an unfamiliar tang, and as he ran a hand over his close-cropped hair it came away sticky.

‘How did I get here?’ It was like a dream; he couldn’t remember arriving, landing a shuttle, or being dropped off by a ship. He looked at his wristcom. The time showed 2264-09-01-03.08. There was no way he’d got there in a ship unless he’d somehow missed half the night, and he must have been prepared for the trip – why else would he have his old canvas backpack slung over his shoulder?

As he stared at the contours in the sand around his booted feet, he traced the shadows cast by the low suns, and the question of how he’d arrived was soon forgotten.

He turned to look inland where large, smooth slabs of red sea-worn stone formed a high cliff. About two hundred yards along to the right stood an opening, outlined with long, upright blocks that tapered towards the heavy lintel above – it wasn’t natural. Curiosity overtook him and he made his way towards it.

The low angle of the suns cast his shadow through the opening and did little to illuminate the space beyond. The suns were almost submerged in the dark waters and a dense mist had begun to form. The horizon’s shadow crept up the beach, drawing the mist with it.

Overcome by the need to satisfy his curiosity, he took the antique oil lamp from his rucksack and searched his pockets for something with which to light it. He reached into his station uniform’s jacket and found a solitary match – odd that something like that would be in his pocket, rather than a multi-tool, given that open flames were banned on the station.

He struck the match against a stone and lit the lamp. Holding it above his head, he made his way into the darkness and, as he followed the smooth steps downward, a damp draught made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. After several metres, the stairway ended in a space that extended off into darkness beyond the lamp’s reach. The chill had made him feel uneasy and he looked back again.

Sea mist flowed down the steps and gathered around his feet. The lamp sputtered and the flame dwindled to a tiny blue glow. Something crunched in the darkness – footfall on the sandy floor behind him.

With a final, guttering pop, the flame went out.

He held his breath. There was no sound except for his pulse pounding in his ears – had he imagined it? His eyes became accustomed to the dark and the sea mist around his feet glowed. He must be hallucinating.

Another crunch – this was no hallucination!

He should run, escape, get away from whatever it was behind him. He tried to turn, but the mist dragged at his feet and legs as though made of molasses. The thrum of blood through the veins in his neck filled his ears. He had to calm down, slow down, stop struggling so he could hear.

From the darkness came a grunt of a breath, not his own.

His hand went to the small bronze Mjölnir necklace at his throat and he froze. Oh Gods, was there something there, something lurking behind him?

Warm air whuffed on his neck, accompanied by a deep snort and touch of something sharp, claw-like, on his shoulder.

He whirled around to face it.

And screamed.

***

‘Lights!’ Sebastian sat bolt upright and flung the bed covers off. His forehead was slick with sweat and his heart hammered in his ribcage.

The bedside lamp lit dimly, doing little to drive away the terror that clung in the corners of his mind. The shadowy, brushed-metal walls of the single-room apartment did nothing to comfort him. It was the fifth time he’d had a nightmare in the last few weeks and, like all the other occasions, he couldn’t remember exactly what had caused him to wake up. He swung his feet to the floor and sat for a moment before getting a glass of water from the kitchen.

‘I have to find out what’s causing these nightmares,’ he said, more to reassure himself than anything else.

A shrill beep sounded from the other end of the room and he nearly dropped the glass. It was only the terminal opposite the bed. He walked over to investigate.

Incoming call.

The time on the console read 03.10. Why would it let a call in at that time of the morning? ‘Who is it?’

‘Janyce Hafsteinsdóttir,’ the computer said.

He sighed. For a sister-in-law, she was wonderful, but Gods, she could be so inconsiderate at times. ‘Accept.’

A pale face with straight auburn hair appeared. ‘Hello Seb.’

‘Hi Jan.’ Sebastian rubbed his forehead and blinked in the brightness of the screen. ‘You always forget about the time difference.’

Her face went slack. ‘Sorry – I can call back later if you like.’

‘No, it’s fine. I just got up. Can’t sleep.’ He sat on the bed and gulped down a mouthful of water. ‘What do you need?’

‘A favour. Erik’s stuck with his homework and has a presentation to do tomorrow. He – well, I – wondered if you’d be able to help.’

He yawned. ‘Sure.’

‘Oh, thank you!’ She gestured off to one side. ‘Erik!’ A boy, little more than eleven years old, appeared and Janyce moved out of view. Even though he had black hair, he clearly had his mother’s features.

‘Hi Erik, not seen you for a while. You’re growing.’

‘I’ve just got some bigger shoes. I’m nearly in adult sizes!’

‘Good for you. Now, what’s this homework?’

‘My teacher said we have to find out what a computer TI is, and why it’s not the same as AI.’ The boy pouted. ‘The school’s locked the computers down on the subject.’

‘I could hack in and unlock them for you, but that would be cheating, not to mention against the law … If they don’t want you using the computer to find out, it shows they want you to learn about it yourself. I’ll point you in the right direction.’

The boy’s expression brightened.

‘TI stands for Turing Intelligence, although it’s more of an interface.’

‘But what does that mean?’

Sebastian yawned again. ‘I’m too tired to explain it all now, but you should have time to read up on it before tomorrow. Go to the Old Library and look up Alan Turing in the History section. There might be information on AI there, too. They gave up on that research hundreds of years ago. It was complex, and the public were scared AI might go rogue and become dangerous if it were ever developed.’

‘Mamma said you used to program things like it. I want to be a programmer like you one day. It sounds exciting … I hope I get a good grade!’

Sebastian smiled. ‘As long as you put it in your own words, I’m sure you’ll do fine.’

It made a change for someone to want to be like him. His own father had been disappointed that Sebastian hadn’t wanted to follow him into police work like his brother, Mikkael, had. If he’d still been around, maybe he would have been satisfied that Sebastian was working in security. Then again, nothing Sebastian ever did had seemed to make his father happy.

‘Thanks,’ Erik said, dragging Sebastian’s thoughts back to the present. He turned away and immediately looked back. ‘Did you get any pictures of you with an alien?’

‘No, not yet. I don’t get a chance to speak to any, but I’ll be sure to forward some to your mother if I do. And it’s "yourself with an alien".’

Erik laughed. ‘You’re so funny. I’ll put Mamma back on.’

He disappeared and Janyce came back. ‘Thanks for that, Seb. I really appreciate it.’ She stared at the floor for several seconds. ‘I wish I could help him as much as his father used to.’

‘You’re doing fine. If you need anything, let me know.’

‘Now you mention it, we could do with some more money towards Erik’s school fees. They’re up for renewal soon and things are a bit tight. Mikkael’s pension doesn’t quite cover it.’

Sebastian rubbed his forehead. Just what he needed. ‘Things are a bit tight here, too, with station cutbacks, but I’ll send you some. Not having to pay for this apartment has its advantages. Just do me one favour. Don’t call at three in the morning in future.’

She laughed. ‘I am sorry about that. I’ll put an automatic block on my terminal, that’ll stop me!’

‘It was good to hear from you, Jan. Stay well.’ He smiled.

‘You too. Speak again soon. Give my love to Aryx.’ She signed off.

More money. Not the best of news, but at least it had taken his mind off the nightmare. He finished the glass of water and tried to get back to sleep.

He later woke to the dream-intrusion of a giant gong, struck in an ancient temple, his alarm going off for the third time. The clock now read 06.30; he’d be late for work if he didn’t get moving.

‘By the Gods!’ He’d forgotten to cancel yesterday’s early alarm. There didn’t seem to be much point in going back to bed – at least not with his system full of adrenaline – so he got up and popped the ultrasonic tooth cleaner into his mouth while he washed. After a light breakfast of mycobacon and toast, he got dressed, pulling on his brown uniform with disdain; it always reminded him of a 21st-century courier’s outfit rather than that of a security officer. He made his way to the lift terminal, and with nearly two hours to spare before work, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to take the scenic route; he needed the change of pace to clear his fuzzy, sleep-deprived head.

***

He stepped out of the lift onto the polished white walkway of the atrium’s lower terrace and made his way to the jetty. The faint rushing splash of the nearby weir momentarily broke as the riverride skimmed over the lip and came to rest at the platform. The gondola dipped as he boarded, and he pressed his thumb against the infoslate mounted by the seating and flopped down on the cushions.

‘Three-quarter circuit.’

The craft moved off, purring quietly to itself. High terraced walls and tumbling grassy banks rolled by. Sunlight streamed in through the filters in the glass ceiling; they displayed a deep blue sky with bright-edged clouds. He squinted and sat back, glad of the warmth on his face – the atrium was one of the few places on the station where you could get genuine sunshine, after all.

The small boat drifted past the crisp, white architecture of riverside shops and cafés, where Humans and other races congregated amidst the gaggle and chatter of daily business and the clink of cutlery on plates. The aroma of hot, fresh coffee mingled with the mossy cool of the river and warm caress of spice-flowers on the banks, reminding him of his mother’s baking. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It certainly tasted better than the recycled atmosphere elsewhere on the station.

A man dashed along a terrace where the trees were being watered, his jacket pulled up over his head in a vain attempt to save himself from getting wet. Sebastian laughed – it was like a scene from an old Earth movie. A tall, slender woman with blonde hair held back by a bright headband jogged past beneath the raining spray. She ran with her eyes closed and her head tipped back, apparently with no regard to how wet her Lycra running-suit had become.

‘Karan!’ Sebastian shouted.

She continued jogging.

‘Karan Tallin!’

She stopped under a large birch tree and opened her eyes. ‘Seb! What are you doing out so early?’

‘I couldn’t sleep. I’ll see you down there.’ The riverride passed the acceptable distance for conversation, and he pointed at the next jetty. ‘I’m getting off!’

She waved and ran after him. Sebastian looked back as the gondola made its way up the curve of the river; she looked like she was running downhill – he’d never get used to that perspective.

Two minutes later, the craft came to a halt at the jetty near the lift and let him off. A lone figure sat on one of the benches in the small parkland terrace a short distance from the terminal. Drawing closer, it was obvious the figure wasn’t Human; its shoulders were far too narrow and its hair irregular chunks of dense, brown sponge intertwined with a leafy wreath. Several small, orange fruits arranged between the waxy foliage caught Sebastian’s attention. As he stared, the being turned.

His heart stopped. The face was of a type he recognised from security briefings; the light ochre skin; the flat, almost non-existent, nose with thin nostrils; the large, golden almond-shaped eyes that slanted up at the outer corners; the small ears and the slim arms that showed little in the way of muscularity – a Folian. It wore a long, shimmering black robe with threads in the fabric that complimented the colour of its hair; the satiny tapestry of gold, bronze and black drew the eye in, like staring into a distant galaxy, its complexity so deep, so soothing.

‘Greetings,’ the Folian said softly, its voice soft and genderless. ‘Can we help you in some way?’

‘I—’ He had to find an excuse to speak to the creature. ‘Forgive me, I’ve not seen one of your kind before.’

Its piercing eyes scanned him up and down and a faint smile played across its thin lips. ‘You are forgiven.’

‘My name is Sebastian Thorsson. I work in the security office … I don’t think we have received security protocols for your ships.’ It was a terrible excuse, but enough to break the ice.

‘Greetings, Sebastian Thorsson,’ the Folian said with the slightest of nods. ‘We are Ambassador Tolinar, and in answer to your question, our ships do not integrate with your systems.’ Its eyes smiled. ‘The protocols are … unnecessary.’

‘Oh, I’ll make a note of that in our records, thank you.’ He slowly turned to leave.

‘Is there anything else we can help you with?’

‘Actually, I know this may seem inappropriate, but … may I have my photograph taken with you?’

The Folian tilted its head to one side. ‘Photograph?’

‘A static image recording.’

The alien’s features smoothed. ‘Of course you may.’ It smiled again.

He looked around. Who could take the picture for him? A glistening Karan came jogging along the walkway. Perfect timing. He beckoned to her.

‘Greetings,’ she said with a bow as she tried to catch her breath.

The ambassador nodded.

‘Can you take a picture of the ambassador and me?’ Sebastian held out his wristcom.

She stepped back and held it up. ‘Say cheese.’

He grinned.

A moment later she handed it back. ‘I’ll meet you at the lift,’ she said, and headed off.

‘Thank you, Ambassador. My nephew will be very happy. It’s the first time I’ve had the opportunity to speak directly to someone of another race in the three years I’ve worked here.’

‘We are glad to have given you the opportunity for a new experience,’ Tolinar said, nodding slowly. ‘We hope that your nephew enjoys the image.’

Sebastian bowed his head in mimicry, hoping it was the correct etiquette, and bid the alien farewell. He turned to continue his journey to the lift and glanced back at the fruits in the Folian’s wreath. Were they bigger than when he’d first set eyes on them? No, they couldn’t be. It must have been his eyes playing tricks.

Karan stood at the lift with one hand on her hip. ‘So, why are you having trouble sleeping?’

‘I’ve been having bad dreams lately and this morning’s episode woke me up.’

‘I’ve had some weird dreams, too, but nothing that’s disturbed my sleep. Hey, have you heard the news?’

‘Security, level three,’ Sebastian said, addressing the lift. ‘It depends on what news you’ve heard.’

‘There’s a SpecOps agent on the station.’ Her eyes were wide.

‘Really?’ He’d dreamt of getting an exciting job like that, but Special Security Projects and Operations was well out of his league. It would be a dream come true just to meet an agent!

‘Apparently, he’s here interviewing … Something to do with redundancies.’ She folded her arms. ‘As much as I can’t stand her, I hope Bannik doesn’t get the sack. She gets the job done.’

‘Oh, Gods! Do you know who they’re firing?’ If SpecOps had sent out an agent to issue redundancies, something big had to be going on.

‘Not a clue, I just heard the rumour going around that they’d selected someone based on their psych test.’

‘Oh.’ He swallowed hard.

Karan grinned. ‘Don’t be such a depresso, you’re awful.’ She leaned against the wall of the lift in mimicry of ‘I’m a little teapot’ with one hand on her hip. ‘I’m a mechanical depressive, here’s my handle, here’s my support mechanism.’ She laughed at her own joke.

He laughed. She was so stupid sometimes.

‘Look, you’re good at your job,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you’ll be here for a long time to come.’ The lift stopped and they both stepped out. ‘I’m off to the changing room. See you around – and cheer up!’ She headed off down the corridor.

It was fine for her; she was bright and bubbly all the time. If SpecOps was making redundancies based on psych tests, he was for the chop. He was only a security programmer after all, and they’d surely think him too prone to panic and idle daydreaming to even consider keeping him on.

***

As he entered the security department his supervisor, Eleanor Bannik, stepped out of her office, directly into his path.

‘I need to have a word with you, Thorsson,’ she said, her stony glare boring deep into his skull.

‘Can I ask what about?’

‘Just be in my office at 09.00 tomorrow.’ The Ice Queen spun around and slammed the glass door behind her. What on Earth had he done wrong? Was it – he swallowed – the redundancies?

He sat at his desk to begin the day’s tasks and, before he had time to dwell on his situation, an alert sounded from his workstation.

‘Security breach detected,’ the computer said.

‘What kind of breach?’

‘A systems breach in the maintenance subsystem.’

‘What effect has the breach had?’

‘Code has been inserted and is redirecting funds from the core banking system.’

‘Where did it originate?’

‘The maintenance terminal in bay thirty-five, on level three of the habitation ring.’

‘Is anyone in that bay?’

‘No.’

‘So, how did a hack originate there? Do you mean nobody is actually in the bay, or nobody is registered to it?’

‘Nobody is registered as currently occupying the bay.’ It was so unhelpful; whoever wrote the main security TI needed to be shot.

‘Scan the bay. Is anyone present?’

‘Sensors are not functioning.’

‘Gods! Turing Unintelligence.’ Sebastian ground his teeth. Obviously it was going to be one of those days where the interface’s intelligence simulation wasn’t even going to try. ‘Check the terminal – is it being accessed via the screen, keyboard, plug-in module, or what? If it’s a manual intervention, send someone down there to catch them!’

Karan ran past seconds later, heading out of the office, stun-stick and handcuffs hanging from her belt. Sebastian hunched over the screen, nibbling his nails, watching the dot – her dot – move down the corridors to the bay.

Ten minutes later, she burst into the office pushing a bald, purple-robed figure – an Antari – in front of her, its hands cuffed behind its back. Sebastian stared at them as they walked past on the way to the brig. ‘Gotcha,’ he said under his breath.

The Antari drifted by, almost as though pushed on a trolley, and turned to look at him. The tops of its ears folded into points, and its lips curled, turning the ordinarily serene Antari expression into a fanged snarl. Hacking was forgivable if it wasn’t malicious, and helped to make the system better, but not when it was like this; this scumbag had been leeching off the system like a vampire. At least that was another out of the way.

Karan filled out the arrest log at the desk and prodded the Antari through the door as Bannik came by. Her stare was as flat as ever, with not even a hint of recognition or gratitude on her face. This was it. He was toast. He’d never get a promotion or a better job – and he was going to lose this one.

By 17.00 he’d completed the day’s tasks; all the required security fixes had been put in and new protocols written. It was good to finally get out of the office – even though it brought tomorrow closer.

That night, sleep came in short passages punctuated with a jumble of work-related images that drifted through his mind, snagging on his consciousness. Tiny problems magnified a thousand times consumed all of his attention while meaning little.

The images eventually stopped, leaving him hanging weightless in the dark. How had he come to be in that predicament? It was like zero G. What a strange feeling. Almost like falling.

As the wind whistled in his ears, it didn’t occur to him it might be dangerous. He caught a dry, dusty odour and the darkness peeled back to reveal the walls of a grey rocky shaft hurtling past. Something trailed down through the centre of the tunnel close to him – a rope? He reached out and grasped it. The rope bit into his hands, cutting deep. His fingers stung at first, then burnt, and the sensation erupted in a roar of pain that consumed his arms. He gripped tighter and tighter, but fought against the reflex to hold on, and let go. The bones of his fingers were exposed and etched with deep striations. He held his hands away from himself in disgust … and screamed as the floor of the shaft rushed up to meet him.

Chapter 2

As Sebastian hit the bottom of the shaft, he jerked awake. He could do without nightmares, especially before being dragged in front of his supervisor. According to the bedside clock, it was 03.10. He lay on his side watching the minutes roll by until he lost consciousness.

Somehow, he woke before his alarm and got ready for work on time, but the disturbed night’s sleep had left him more tired than before he’d gone to bed and, with Bannik wanting to speak to him about something, the morning didn’t look promising.

The office was unusually quiet when he arrived. His co-workers looked away from him when he met their stares – it was the sort of expression he’d expect to see on people’s faces at a family funeral. He hoped he wasn’t about to walk into his own.

He approached his supervisor’s receptionist. ‘I’m here to see Bannik.’

The woman tapped away at her keyboard. ‘Please, take a seat.’

He sat on the low box-seat opposite the desk, picked up an infoslate from a nearby table, and scanned the day’s headlines to distract himself from whatever lay ahead. More terrorist bombings on the outlying colonies. He sighed.

‘What’s that?’ the receptionist asked, looking up from her work.

‘Those idiotic ITF bastards again. They’ve bombed one of the far colonies, trying to get rid of alien influence.’

‘I don’t know what their problem is … My great-great-grandparents were on one of the Gliese expeditions.’

‘Which one?’

‘682b, the one they found the first node on. Bronadi first contact.’

Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat. ‘The Fluorescent Lightingale? You never told me that.’

Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. ‘You never asked. Anyway, if it wasn’t for us finding that node after the exodus, we wouldn’t be out here now, and none of us would have jobs. And that’s down to aliens.’

He grimaced; if he still had a job.

‘Did you read the Flying Dutchman article?’ she asked.

He scrolled down the page, but before he could begin reading, she chirped up again. ‘Something’s been spotted in the Pegasus constellation, travelling at near lightspeed. Nobody’s got scans of it, but it’s been seen on and off over the last sixty years heading towards a group of uninhabited systems.’

‘What do they think it is?’

‘A ghost ship. Seriously, people would be mad travelling that fast in this day and age. I wouldn’t want to do it. Not for a long trip.’

‘Me neither.’ He shuddered at the thought of losing family to the ravages of time and put the slate down. He didn’t want a head full of depressing terrorism or paranormal nonsense, not if he was about to fight for his job.

‘She’s ready to see you now.’

His stomach fluttered, and to calm himself he imagined the receptionist had done her make-up without a mirror; her wonky lipstick made her look like an inadequate clown. Suitably distracted, he smiled, but as he walked into the office his face fell.

Bannik sat at the long, black glass desk. To her left sat a man Sebastian had never seen before; he was severe and gaunt, with wide, narrow eyes, high cheekbones and a thin mouth to match. His short, black hair was oiled or gelled and stuck to his scalp, giving his fringe a serrated look. His uniform was a prominent combination of charcoal grey and white: SpecOps. The man attempted a smile – it would have looked warmer on a crocodile.

Bannik gestured to the solitary chair opposite.

Sebastian sat down and folded his hands in his lap, trying to hide their trembling while his stomach quietly knotted itself.

Bannik leaned forwards on the desk and laced her fingers together. ‘Let’s get down to business, shall we, Mr Thorsson? This is Agent Marcus Gladrin, of SpecOps,’ she said, gesturing to the man. ‘Firstly, I have to inform you that your duties have been allocated to several other members of the security department.’

‘Mr Thorsson,’ the agent said, ‘your time working here as a security programmer has come to an end.’

Sebastian’s mouth fell open. ‘I—’ He tried to speak, but the knot in his stomach got tighter and his throat dried, choking him off. How was he going to pay for Erik’s education without a job? What was he going to do instead? How was he going to live?

The agent put his hand up. ‘Please, let me continue.’

It was hard to stop shaking, but Sebastian forced his mouth to close. He fixed his gaze on Agent Gladrin’s piercing black eyes and nodded.

‘The other team members will now take over your non-specialised duties.’ Agent Gladrin paused to take a drink from the glass in front of him. ‘And you, Mr Thorsson, have been chosen, based on your psychological profile, for a new security position on the station. It should not interfere too much with your day-to-day duties, although they will take a lesser priority. You will still report to Bannnik for your station duties when required, but for others, to me. Think of SpecOps as an expansion to your scope of work.’

The statement hit Sebastian like a brick to the face. They were offering him a SpecOps job? ‘I-I’m pleased to meet you, Agent Gladrin. But I don’t understand. Why my psychological profile? I thought my test results were awful. I thought I was here to be made redundant!’

‘Quite the contrary. We always look for those with a specific mindset. An ability to readily pick up new skills and think outside the box. The test you took when you applied for your current post indicated that you would have these traits, and we have been watching you for the last few weeks to see if this was indeed the case. I apologise for causing you any undue stress. We don’t publicise when we’re about to recruit. People would intentionally tailor their behaviour if they knew.’

A wave of relief washed over him, but it was short-lived. How had he not known that someone had been watching over his shoulder?

‘I put your name forward to SpecOps after some of your most recent projects impressed the security board.’ Bannik grinned. It had been her watching him. No wonder he hadn’t suspected a thing.

‘Yes, quite.’ Gladrin cast a fiery glance in her direction. ‘Rather than interviewing potential recruits in the traditional manner and putting them on probation, we give them an introductory task to complete. A uniform and other equipment will be deposited in your locker shortly and Bannik will forward the details of your allocated shuttle to your terminal. You will also be given your own office for privacy purposes. I suggest wearing your uniform at all times during official business – it has a certain weight behind it.’

Sebastian reeled. It was a lot to take in. ‘A shuttle?’

‘All Special Projects and Operations employees get their own personal shuttle for use on assignment.’ Gladrin waved his hand in the air. ‘It saves on red tape and is more efficient if they have their own vessels, given the dynamic nature of the work they do.’

‘I see …’ He still hadn’t caught up with the bit about the uniform.

Gladrin dismissed Bannik with a wave of his hand. She pursed her lips, grating the chair backwards as she rose. He returned the expression with an unflinching stare and waited until she’d gone before speaking again.

‘Your task is to analyse a new technology for us, recently acquired from a terrorist cell that was developing it secretly back on Earth. We don’t know whether the item is functional or not, nor do we know what its purpose is, but the technicians tell me it doesn’t contain explosives, so you’re cleared to work on it. The item will be delivered to your locker along with the other equipment. The box is print-locked to your thumb print for security.’

Sebastian nodded.

‘We usually pair up agents with those of complementing skills. It’s often more effective to allow agents to select others to work with, but given the distinct lack of other SpecOps agents on this station, I will allow you to choose another station employee to bring in on the project instead. Remember, this is a test of your resourcefulness, not specific knowledge, and a large part of resourcefulness is in knowing who to trust and how to get the most out of those whom you do.’

He went to ask a question but the agent spoke first.

‘Do not speak to your co-workers about this assignment. It is for you and your chosen partner only.’ He craned his neck to look past Sebastian. ‘This includes your supervisor and higher ranking staff. Now, do you have any questions?’

‘No … I think that about covered it, although I don’t understand why this task doesn’t go through normal research channels.’

‘We fear terrorists may be using this technology in their attacks. SpecOps often has a need for discretion, and on this occasion we cannot afford the potential security leaks associated with using third party research companies, especially when insurgents could be anywhere.’

‘I understand.’ It was the reason Sebastian was employed to develop the station’s security software in the first place.

‘So, who would you like to have work with you?’

He shrugged. ‘Who should I choose?’

Gladrin tapped the desk with a finger. ‘As SpecOps assignments often involve a lot of travel, sometimes to dangerous places, I suggest you choose someone with whom you could trust your life. Someone adaptable, and whose skills complement your own.’

‘I know just the person.’

He held out an infoslate. ‘Put the name there,’ he said, pointing to a box on the presented form.

Sebastian typed in the name and handed it back.

‘Born 2228, ex-marine with honourable discharge. Oh.’ The agent read the form and raised an eyebrow. ‘An interesting choice. I’m not sure how that’ll work out, but EarthSec says the records are clean. Very well.’ He stood and held out his hand. ‘I very much look forward to working with you in future and seeing your results.’

‘As do I, and thank you for the opportunity. It’s been nice meeting you, Agent Gladrin.’ Sebastian rose and they shook hands.

He turned to leave and Gladrin caught his arm. ‘As I said, your normal work duties take a lower priority. Any time you spend on work in relation to your assignment will be paid for. The same goes for your partner. This is effectively a research assignment, and research takes time, effort, and, often, legwork. I imagine your partner might need a little help, so focus on those needs first. Feel free to use any resources necessary. I need you to be an effective team.’

Sebastian smiled and thanked Gladrin again, and as he left the office his palms began to sweat. To work under his own steam again, without boundaries, freedom. But what a responsibility!

He made his way out of the office and Bannik appeared from nowhere, arms folded, her stony expression giving nothing away. ‘The equipment has been delivered to your locker. I imagine you have a lot of work to do, Thorsson, so you’d better get to it. I expect everything finished before you start working for SpecOps.’

He nodded and stepped around her on his way to his desk. His own office! It was surprise enough to still have a job.

He worked fervently, putting the finishing touches to several long-standing projects – one thing he didn’t want was her breathing down his neck – and by mid-afternoon the jobs were complete. He couldn’t wait to see what was in his locker and finally be out from under her thumb.

***

He walked through the open archway of the changing room and passed the aisles of benches. The blue brushed-metal walls watched his every move on the way to his locker. If only Gladrin hadn’t told him about the terrorists, and had just given him the box with no information. He touched his palm to the lock and his bladder tightened. The locker door swung open.

His casual clothes hung at the front; nothing seemed out of place. His old canvas rucksack, slumped in the corner triggered a vague memory, something recent, but he couldn’t place it. He’d had the thing since his eighth birthday.

He’d sat playing in the sun on the terrace outside his small family home, pushing a toy shuttle along the grass. He looked up at the trees in the recovering forest on the edge of the urban zone as a car silently pulled up at the gate. A tall, elderly man with white hair climbed out and hobbled up the path on his walking stick.

Sebastian ran down the steps, arms outstretched. ‘Afi!’

‘Shh. Don’t let your mother hear you speak Icelandic. Speak Galac.’

‘Sorry. Hello, Grandfather.’

Frímann bent down and squeezed him tight. ‘Happy birthday, Sebastian.’ He turned Sebastian around and nudged him back towards the house. ‘Go on, I’ll be up in a minute.’

Sebastian ran up the steps and sat cross-legged in front of the white wicker chairs.

Dishes clattered in the kitchen, and Sebastian’s mother ran down the steps past him, her white dress shining. ‘Frímann! It’s good to see you.’ She gripped the old man’s arms and pulled herself up to kiss him on the cheek.

‘Sigrid, my dear! How are you keeping?’ Frímann’s white grin glinted in the sunlight as he turned towards the house. ‘I assume Thor’s at work again?’

She sighed. ‘He takes all hours the Gods send lately. Mikkael was playing up so he took him to work after the party.’

Frímann shuffled up the steps and took the seat next to Sebastian.

‘I’ll get a drink,’ Sigrid said, patting Frímann on the shoulder, and made her way into the house.

‘I have a present for you, Sebastian,’ Frímann said. ‘I want you to look after this. Take it with you wherever you go.’ He leaned forwards and unhooked a beaten-up canvas backpack with leather straps from his shoulder and handed it over.

Sebastian’s eyes widened. ‘What is it?’

‘My great-grandfather’s pack. He used to take it with him when he went exploring. Open it.’

He fumbled with the heavy buckles on the top flap, loosened the rope that drew the neck shut, and put his hand in. Something cold met his touch and he snatched it back.

‘It’s okay. Take it out – it won’t bite.’

He reached in again and pulled the object out. It was enormously heavy in his small hands. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s an antique miner’s lamp. A Davy lamp. Let me show you.’ Sebastian handed the lamp back and the old man turned it in his hands. The light caught on the shiny brass base and fixtures. ‘This is nearly four hundred years old, so I want you to look after it carefully.’ His knotty finger pointed to a dent on the side of the black cowl at the top. ‘The badge has fallen off, and you can see where the lettering has worn away. It says eighteen-something. That’s when it was made.’

‘Wow! How does it make light? Does it have a battery?’

Frímann laughed. ‘No, it uses liquid hydrocarbon fuel. Do you know what that is?’

Sebastian scratched his head. ‘The fuel old cars used to run on?’

‘Good lad.’ Frímann rubbed the boy’s head. ‘At least you’re paying attention at school. You’ll probably never see it lit in your lifetime.’ The gnarled fingers turned the lamp over and pushed a lever on its base.

Sebastian watched as Frímann demonstrated opening the glass. He imagined clambering through dark tunnels, shining the light ahead of him like his great-great-grandfather might have done; like his heroes from the movies, or the characters in his grandfather’s stories.

‘Can I go and play with it now?’

‘I don’t see why not. Go on.’

He put the lamp and toy shuttle in the pack and slung it over his shoulders. It almost came down to his backside. He giggled with excitement, ran down the steps around the back of the house, and crawled under the terrace to watch his grandfather through a split in the floorboards.

Frímann grinned and sat back to write in his worn leather journal as Sigrid came out of the house carrying a tray of glasses and pitcher of lemonade.

‘Where has he gone off to now? You didn’t let him go into the wilderness, did you? I wish you wouldn’t keep telling him those stories about giants and magic. You’ll have him thinking the Gods are looking out for him.’

Frímann looked up from his notes. ‘Oh, let the boy play, my dear. He’ll be fine.’ His wrinkles deepened and he shook the book in her direction. ‘There are much worse things in the universe to worry about than wild boar and rutting deer …’

The pack and lamp had stayed with Sebastian after that, and he still felt bad that his grandfather got the blame for letting him run off. The childhood desire for adventure rose in his veins, and this time, rather than stifle it, he allowed the urge to wash over him; now that he was SpecOps his desire to travel might finally become a reality. He put the rucksack back in its place and caught the silvery glint of metal at the back. He slid his clothes to one side on the rail to reveal a SpecOps uniform hanging behind them.

His eyes followed the uniform down to the bottom, where a small metal box sat along with several other items. He picked up the box, a cube of approximately three inches with a print-lock on the front, and it weighed heavily in his hand. The other objects consisted of a ruggedised infoslate, a medical kit and nanobot injector, a pair of AR glasses and a handgun.

A gun! He’d only used one a few times. Once as a child, when his father had shown him his service pistol, and later, when he took the basic security training in weapons, armour tech and tactics. He’d proven to be less than confident with them. It would probably be wise to book in for a few hours on the practice range if he was to carry one. Resourcefulness is part of the test, he reminded himself.

The uniform on the rail wasn’t particularly colourful; charcoal grey with a white panel that ran across the top of the chest and down the arms. White panels also ran down the sides of the abdomen and legs. The outer skin was rubbery and segmented into soft hexagonal cells that bulged in the centres. He draped a leg of the suit over his palm and punched it with the other hand, and the area around the impact immediately became rigid and a fraction of a second later returned to its previously flexible state. A non-Newtonian N-suit. He’d never seen one up close before. He grinned and turned it around to inspect the design. It was stylish despite the lack of colour – still a vast improvement over his regular uniform – and at least a fraction of the weight of traditional ballistic armour.

He pulled the suit on.

Its stretchy fabric fitted well and was immediately comfortable. Within the collar of its porous inner lining was a small cap. He flipped it open and out popped the end of a plastic tube. A drinking tube? He smoothed the uniform down, fastened the unilok seal and slid his hand down his thigh. No pockets. How was he supposed to carry anything?

On the rail next to where the suit had hung was a belt with several small pouches and a holster. The equipment, with exception of the infoslate, might all fit in those pouches. Evidently he was to keep the sidearm on show, but how much of a target would that make him?

He finished fastening the suit and stuffed his clothes into the rucksack along with the gun – his scalp itched at the thought of wearing it immediately, given he hadn’t had any practice – and slung the bag over his shoulder. Should he take the box with him? The idea of carrying some unidentified terrorist technology back to his apartment made his stomach churn. Better to leave it here for safekeeping, for now at least.

He turned to the mirror at the end of the row of lockers. It was surprising how much more athletic he looked now everything was held in place properly. The horrible courier-outfit he wore made him feel the wrong shape. Aryx would be so jealous. Speaking of which, he should probably give him a call before he finished his shift.

He called up the security TI on his wristcom. ‘Computer, locate Aryx Trevarian.’

‘Aryx Trevarian is in shuttle maintenance hangar, bay two.’ Of course he would be. He said he had to get a shuttle finished, and the Antari didn’t have the nicest of tempers at the best of times.

***

Aryx lay on a trolley underneath a shuttle – a position he hated, especially since the accident.

The stabiliser access hatch hung open, exposing a maze of cables, conduits and wires. A crack ran the length of the main housing of the stabiliser – it would need to be replaced. He picked up a spanner and reached in as far as his elbows. Turning his hands in the space, the tool collided with something.

‘Ouch!’ He pulled his hand out and sucked his grazed knuckle. Time to use the CFD tools – there simply wasn’t space, not with his hands. He picked up a nearby six-inch metal rod and turned it on. A glowing orange screwdriver head appeared two inches from the end.

‘Set to spanner.’ The tool changed shape and the screwdriver became a small C-shaped wrench. ‘Off.’

Now there was space, he reached up inside the stabiliser.

‘On, and enlarge by three millimetres.’

The spanner-head reappeared, larger this time, and he unfastened a pipe coupling. A small amount of thick gunk dribbled out and covered the glowing end of the tool. He pulled it from the workspace and grabbed a rag, but rather than wipe it he held it over the cloth and switched off the head. It vanished. The tacky film fell onto the fabric and he reached inside the machinery to unfasten another coupling.

‘Incoming call from Sebastian Thorsson,’ the nearby computer terminal said.

He jerked forwards and bashed his head on the underside of the shuttle. ‘Ow! What now?’ He slid out on the trolley from beneath the ship. ‘Accept call.’

‘Aryx? I can’t see you,’ came Sebastian’s voice.

‘I’m on the floor, still working on this damned shuttle!’

‘I thought you’d finished it?’

‘Just a couple more tweaks then I’m done. It’s got to be perfect. I don’t want the Antari bringing it back and complaining – you know how they are.’ He pulled himself fully out from under the ship, sat up and wheeled the trolley over to the screen. ‘What can I do for