Part 15 (1/2)

'Wow. He's one master criminal.'

Keri shook her head. 'Not really. Mostly petty thieving by Pakha standards.

Obviously a hired hand who gets dropped in the guano too often by his employers. Let's find out where he is now.'

Kort nodded and said, 'Locate subject.'

Another brief pause, then: 'Hyn't'n deceased. Body found twenty-four dash 14 dash 9-fed. Mutilated. Coroner's report suggests murder by persons unknown. Do you require more?'

Keri shook her head. 'Yesterday! He was killed yesterday! Why?' The door behind them slid open and an angry hiss alerted them. They both swung round to be faced by the Martian pilot. Without hesitation he brought up his right arm with its sonic disrupter primed and ready.

Keri gulped. Oh cruk, yeah!' Aboard the Bruk, Marshal Hissel regarded the information racing across his computer screens with interest. Why had the security codes on the shuttle computer been tripped? Why was information about some gutted Pakha being investigated? He reached out for the communications console to alert High Lord Savaar when a steady bleeping alerted him. He turned to look at a small black box fitted to the sensor equipment on the comm section. The red light on top was flas.h.i.+ng in time with the irregular bleeps.

On Peladon a similar box was flas.h.i.+ng and bleeping.

It was secreted in the living quarters of the man who had once been Alexander Charles Roberts.

The man who had been searching for the Diadem and had sent his mercenaries to retrieve it.

The man who had pretended to love and then ruthlessly slaughtered Jina on Pakha.

The man who had murdered Fabon and stolen the Lance of Aggedor.

Holding the box in his paws and grinning was holocameraman Jav.

Down in the refinery, deep and forgotten in the abandoned trisilicate mines of Peladon, the shadowy shapes still moved about.

All except one.

That one sat at a console. On top was a black box with flas.h.i.+ng red lights on top. Attached to the box was a comm-link and data-pad. This figure was sending the bleeps.

In his quarters, the Doctor sat back on his bed and grimaced. Beside him was a travelling chess set. He lazily reached out and picked up a white rook and moved it forward, taking a black p.a.w.n. He spun the set around and moved a black knight forward which not only took the white rook but placed the white king in check.

'Not quite mate, Doctor, but it's getting there,' he said to himself.

Interlude 2 'The Galactic Federation grew into existence during the first third of the thirty-second century, Earth time. After the complete failure of the old thirty-second century, Earth time. After the complete failure of the old alliances and the even bigger disaster of Earth's outrageous empire, it alliances and the even bigger disaster of Earth's outrageous empire, it seemed only natural that the planet should join forces with its nearest seemed only natural that the planet should join forces with its nearest neighbour.- Previous empirical races such as the Draconians and the New neighbour.- Previous empirical races such as the Draconians and the New Martians were as quick to see the merits in such a scheme. Martians were as quick to see the merits in such a scheme.

From those first tentative sub-.s.p.a.ce messages to each other to the final grand ceremony at the purpose built Galactic Federation. headquarters on grand ceremony at the purpose built Galactic Federation. headquarters on the terraformed moon of Jupiter, Io, lay a period of nearly three hundred the terraformed moon of Jupiter, Io, lay a period of nearly three hundred years. Those who originally conceived such peaceful co-existence were years. Those who originally conceived such peaceful co-existence were long dead before fruit was borne. Nevertheless the Federation did happen. long dead before fruit was borne. Nevertheless the Federation did happen.

And today it still stands, a monument to the erasure of greed, malice and selfishness that had nearly doomed each of the contributing planets selfishness that had nearly doomed each of the contributing planets beforehand.' beforehand.'

Extract from 'Federation History' by Grith Robtts (DAD 3698 Bowketts Universal Publications 'The trouble with the glorious idea of a Galactic Federation is that while the highbrows and top-n.o.bs confer, consolidate and collaborate, the smaller highbrows and top-n.o.bs confer, consolidate and collaborate, the smaller individual gets lost and forgotten. In such cases it is far easier for the less individual gets lost and forgotten. In such cases it is far easier for the less law-abiding merchant to flourish. law-abiding merchant to flourish.

The least scrupulous of these can be found almost on top of the to base - around the moons of Saturn and Ura.n.u.s. There, almost delightfully flouting regulations under the nose of bureaucracy, the ever-present ”bad-guy” not regulations under the nose of bureaucracy, the ever-present ”bad-guy” not only makes a living but usually with a profit higher than most legitimate only makes a living but usually with a profit higher than most legitimate companies can dream of.' companies can dream of.'

Extract from A Rough Guide to Federation Tourist Traps' by Krymson LePlante (DAD 3948 Hearn Pamphlets Inc One of those less-than-legitimate businessmen was entering his office at the start of another business day on j.a.petus. Kaldor was a city on the edge of a vast sandy desert, one of three man-made cities on Saturn's second moon.

Most of Kaldor's richer businessmen made their money by sifting through the desert sands, searching for rare minerals to be s.h.i.+pped back to Io for distribution within the Federation. The Founding Families (as the initial terraformers called themselves) were well established now as j.a.petus's governing body.

lain Martyn was neither a particularly rich businessman nor related to one of the founding families. He had arrived in Kaldor City five years ago, leaving his original colony on Earth's moon with the little money he possessed, and had set up a surgery in the city. The Founding Families would have nothing to do with him - they had their own medical pract.i.tioners, but the common or garden Federation workers used him because they could just about afford to.

Martyn also worked on the black market - it was, to be frank, the only way he could support himself in a good lifestyle. Unmarried and with no offspring, he was. .h.i.t by high taxes and received no state subsidies. He also had to keep his employee, a dizzy blonde called Krau Gillatt (he a.s.sumed she had a first name, but he didn't know it - she was always Krau Gillatt to him) in work and support his ever-growing holovid collection. 1t was said by those who visited his apartment that he probably had more discs in his living room than the GFI had in their entire archives.

'Good morning, Doktor Martyn,' chirped Krau Gillatt as he entered his office. He nodded a greeting back and ran his microfilamented finger down a strip on her desk. In front of him hovered pages from the appointments book. A quick flick told him that business was down this week. He shrugged and with a second slice of his finger made it vanish.

'Well?' he asked.

Krau Gillatt shook her head. 'Nothing in the other book, either I'm afraid.'

The ther book' was a genuine paper and ink one in which Martyn kept records of his meetings, appointments and invoices for those clients who did not wish to appear on any official Federation statistics. The high-paying clients who usually requested surrept.i.tious help. This could range from construction workers who injured themselves in bar-room brawls and didn't want their wives to know, to top Kaldor City businessmen and Founding Family men whose dalliances with the rent girlz and boyz had resulted in a case of s.e.xually transmitted diseases and also didn't want the wife to know.

Occasionally, he'd have to use laser technology to remove birthmarks or prison tattoos. Once in a while someone would come for complete physical recreation technique, usually those on the run from Federation officials, tax men or their now-s.e.xually-transmitted-disease-infected wives.

lain Martyn was not a specialist in any particular field of medicine or surgery, but he was a bit of a jack of all trades. He could turn his hand to most things and physical recreation was a favourite hobby. Especially if he could slightly base the new face on a holovid star of the past. That was when work became a pleasure.

'There is one thing,' Krau Gillatt jolted him out of his reverie. 'Your last PRT client - one Alexander C Roberts? His bill hasn't been paid.'

'But I gave you the credit check.'

Krau Gillatt shrugged. I'm sorry, Doktor, but that came up blank. I ran a basic check with KalBank Inc., and they tried it through the major Federation credit systems. No luck.'

Martyn pondered for a moment. He remembered Roberts coming to him. It had been a busy week but nevertheless he could clearly remember fitting the man into his schedule. He'd had an accident of some sort. Claimed he worked in the Balos City furnaces, slagging down the non-precious minerals for the Federation troops.h.i.+ps. A fight with a colleague had severely burnt his face and he'd been fired.

'But if you can rebuild my face, in fact give me a new one, then I can be someone else. With my experience, I'd actually get my old job back, but they'd think I was someone new.'

Martyn considered this easy enough - in fact it had been made easier because Roberts had provided a holo of the face he wanted. It wasn't in Martyn's interest to ask who the original face had belonged to: he just took the credit slip and did the job.

Normally that would be all there was to it. Bank the credits in a couple of accounts and make it untraceable too small to interest the tax man. A bit on the side.

That was fine if the credit actually went through, but in this case it hadn't.

'Run a check on this Roberts. See if we can find out where he was before he came to j.a.petus.' Martyn entered his inner office and dug out the scant notes he had on his first of only three patients today.

By lunchtime, he was bored. He stuck his head out of the office door. 'Krau Gillatt, what time is the man with the hair recedence problem due in?' Krau Gillatt was as efficient as always. Without even consulting the appointments book she said, 'Trau Briggs is due at four thirty-five, Doktor Martyn.'

It was only twelve forty-five now. Martyn smiled over to her. 'Fancy a long lunch? We could grab a bite and a drink at the s.p.a.ceport bar and then you could do some shopping.'

Krau Gillatt was out of her chair in a second, brus.h.i.+ng back her hair and adding a brighter shade of lipstick before he'd turned to get his wallet and credit card. I'm all yours, Doktor.'

The s.p.a.ceport was a seven-minute walk and after a few morsels of smalltalk about her husband and young son (if she had a husband and son, how come she was 'Krau' Gillatt, he wondered), Martyn asked her if she'd had any luck tracing Alexander Charles Roberts.

Krau Gillatt shook her head. 'Nothing much. He certainly lied to you about working at BF. The furnace boss had never heard of him, nor had they fired or hired anyone in the last four months. I holofaxed over the image of his new face, but it meant nothing to him.' She opened the doorway of the s.p.a.ceport bar and followed her boss in. Anyway,' she continued after Martyn had bought a couple of drinks I did find out that a Alexander Charles Roberts was briefly registered with the Second Norvegica Bank, on Pakha of all places, a few months back. There's a lovely young man at to Info-Tech who just gushed the information to me. Apparently this Roberts disappeared off Pakha without settling his rather large overdraft. The bank has issued a credit warrant.'

lain Martyn considered this for a moment. 'Seems a bit of a coincidence.

Pakha's a long way from here. Besides, if he was going to run, far better to move out to another frontier world than back to the heart of Federation s.p.a.ce.'