Shadows Bear No Names (The Blackened Prophecy Book 1) Read online

  “Why?” Revan asked.

  “Because I wanted it to be so. You will be sent to Bunari to handle the accident of the freighter Canaar. I want you to confirm if any of Canaar’s crew survived and deal with them as you did with Ms. Zane. Your priority, however, is to make certain the artifact is destroyed.”

  “What about the other ones?”

  “I will deal with them myself. I took the liberty of changing your crew with people I know. They will serve you without question.”

  Revan nodded and the man at the other end cut the connection. At the apartment door he activated his sub-dermal camouflage, rendering himself invisible and disappearing into the night.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DEUS EST MORTUUS

  Revan was called back to Consortium headquarters as his mysterious employer suggested and now he was on the top floor of the huge tower sitting in the middle of Berlin. The corridors were dark but for the weak light of the halo lamps inside the ceiling. The building itself was designed to be gloomy. Synthetic plants decorated the corridors, with four or five meters between each. Black marble floors with very little reflection, dark gray paint, statues of ancient philosophers and scientists like a parade of faces chosen to show human history before the time of space travel. Pieces of art, mainly composed of shapes entangled with each other, abstracted both a theme of chaos and a presence of control; pieces from de stijl movement.

  Revan remembered some of the paintings. “Piet Mondrian,” he mumbled. An artist? No, he thought, a compulsive neurotic who cannot bear to see anything in disorder. It was a perfect fit to describe the men behind the picture. Control, change and dominate.

  Revan walked with a pace hard to keep up for an ordinary man. His augmentations empowered his muscle activity, providing him additional efficiency. He glanced back at the bronze statue of Eberhardt he’d just passed and thought on the Chairman’s words.

  The God is dead, long live the new God.

  It was a fitting quote for the new age of capitalism. Consortium was in charge of everything in the core systems; Sol, Tau Ceti, Alpha Centauri, Altair, Vega and other in vicinity, and the board of directors was like a club of gods, interfering with other people’s lives. Eberhardt was on top of that tier, the God of Gods as the Chairman.

  Revan snorted. Fools. Such arrogance; putting oneself as a bust next to human history’s brightest minds.

  The big doors at the end of the hallway opened. A well-dressed, shapely woman approached.

  “Mr. Caius, the board is ready to have you now.” She turned back without awaiting Revan’s response. Not that he had anything to say to the assistant, but her snobbish attitude irritated him nonetheless. Respect was an important part of his code. No matter how dirty his hands were.

  They passed through the assistant’s anteroom. He’d wanted to stay outside the Chairman’s Office—the idea of sitting on a black couch, awaiting the leisure of fat, rich men disgusted Revan. The statues exhibited back in the main corridor were much more interesting to him. They were important people who’d tried to improve the way of human life; Tesla, Da Vinci, Faraday, Shakespeare, Clarke, Ibn al-Haytham, Turing and more. These men, however, were simply wringing profit from other people’s efforts. It disgusted him.

  The assistant opened the doors to the meeting room. “Ah, Agent Caius, please come in,” a tall, plump man said from inside.

  Revan gave a nod. “Mr. Vice President.”

  “Come on Revan, Mr. Otto is enough.” The Vice President smiled and made his way back to his seat. “How long now, twenty years?”

  “Twenty three, Mr. Otto,” Revan replied. How he’d endured the lack of deference from these men for so long was still a mystery to him. Stupid pride and meaningless sense of devotion probably.

  “Time flies by,” Director Evans said from the far end of the table, and sipped what Revan knew was, as always, bourbon.

  They have no respect. They never had.

  “Revan, how is Marianna doing?” It was the chairman, Thomas Arne Eberhardt himself, as irritating as his statue suggested.

  “Still in medical care, sir.”

  “It is a tragedy,” the chairman said, “but you know our hearts are with you. Anything you need, just name it.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Eberhardt.” Hearts, right.

  Five years now, Marianna had been under constant observation. The board was paying for her care but it wasn’t from courtesy. They needed Revan’s services. When Revan had said he would no longer do the dirty work of Consortium, these men threatened to silence him and when he didn’t budge, they said they would cut Marianna’s care. He’d had to accept the augmentations, altering his body forever, and now he was nothing but a high-tech assassin. No longer the proud commander of Special Forces but a murderer, a torturer, a weapon for the vultures. The facility they’d put Marianna in was mediocre at best, probably picked by the company’s accountant to cut expenses. When he’d faced the directors with the low quality of their choice, they tied it to his wife’s delusional state of mind, but more than once she’d spoken of misconduct: wardens harassing the patients; nurses beating the ill and pissing in their food for fun. What she told him had brought him to the brink of activating his augmentations and killing everything that moved inside the institute (except for the ill-fated), only to be stopped by his own doubts about Marianna’s perception of her surroundings. Now, he had a chance to change things. Soon, it will all change.

  “You know why we asked you to come,” Eberhardt continued.

  “Yes, I read the memo.”

  “We need you to go to Bunari and make a damage assessment,” he said, taking a puff of his Henian cigar. “Heed the demands of the local government, but focus on our own assets. I want to know how much we lost in the crash.” His clerk handed Eberhardt a data pad. “I want you to make certain the dialogue with the Bunarians continues.”

  “As you wish, sir,” was all Revan said. He knew about the crash only too well. He’d been a part of the plan and he was aware of the consequences, but that didn’t mean he didn’t mourn for Canaar’s dead. Their sacrifice was necessary, not pleasant. Even though he was partly responsible for what had happened to the Bunarians, Revan was dead certain he cared more about the victims than these sly, three-piece-suited penguins.

  “We had military installations on the moon Tarra, orbiting Bunari,” Eberhardt continued, “and the ancient ruins on Bunari may become valuable in the light of recent discoveries we made in Samara’s Star. Our probes show markings on the alien artifact similar to the temples on Bunari, Pendar and a few more. We will know more when The Novosibirsk reports back.”

  “You sent Captain Eriksson?” Revan asked. “A good man.” A dead man.

  “Yes, Johann Eriksson. He will be at Samara’s Star within three days. A friend of yours, I believe.”

  “Yes, from the academy.”

  Eberhardt nodded. “Good, good. Director Evans will take care of that situation. About Tarra…”

  “Losing access to Tarra wouldn’t be good for our strategic planning,” Vice President Otto added.

  “You mean the experiments on Tarra,” Revan said, trying not to sound too disgusted. He knew the Consortium had secretly tested biological weapons on the local population for years, only to abandon the installations after a fatal incident. Now, the place was nothing but a dead, desolate place for scum of the local cluster to hide. Mostly smugglers inhabited the moon and ran their operations in that sector from Tarra.

  “I am not too concerned about Tarra, but the ruins on Bunari may yet prove useful,” the chairman repeated, puffing his cigar. “You will be leaving within the hour. Keep me posted personally,” Eberhardt concluded behind the smoke screen his cigar had created.

  “The emergency broadcast suggested a survivor. What do you want me to do with him?” Revan knew only too well what to do with Raymond Harris.

  “The captain, yes.” Eberhardt poured himself some whiskey. “Find out why the ship crashed and if he is responsible. In any
case, I am positive you will protect the interests of our corporation, Mr. Caius.” You mean ‘let the poor man take the fall’.

  Revan gave a curt nod and exited the room, leaving the board in their ignorance. He could hear the board move to another subject by the time he was in the hallway, whether or not to close a factory in the company’s fourth quarter, not caring about the thousands of people who would be fired. Just like that.

  A small beep echoed in his ear when he arrived at the landing pad elevator. “Have you got your orders?”

  “Eberhardt is sending me to Bunari as you said,” Revan replied.

  “Good.”

  “I will be there in thirty hours. The board still has no idea about the artifact. Their hope is to keep the dialogue intact with Bunari for future research purposes. They are aware of some connection between the temples and the ring.” The elevator reached the roof and Revan didn’t waste time boarding the waiting shuttle. He signaled the pilot to take off, still listening to the voice in his ear.

  “I want to you take your time before contacting the Bunarian authority and Consortium. First, search for any other survivors and the fate of the stone.”

  “I will tell the Grandmaster and Eberhardt we had a jump drive malfunction and had to use the jump gates.”

  “Do as you see fit.”

  “They are sending a dreadnought to Samara’s Star to investigate the artifact. The Novosibirsk. She will be there in three days.”

  “I know. You have performed admirably, Mr. Caius.”

  “The captain of Novosibirsk is a friend.”

  “A sad but unavoidable loss.”

  “What about Marianna?”

  “She is being transferred to Kyoto as we speak.” He sounded as if several people were talking at the same time. “She will have the best medical care on the planet, as I promised.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Revan was truly thankful. All these years, the board had simply paid an average insurance plan for his wife’s treatment. He was their top agent when asked, which still didn’t mean much in the eyes of capitalism. When his new boss contacted him first, his promise to help Marianna was vague but the man kept his word. Each mission Revan conducted for this man returned as a favor for Marianna’s medical care. If there was a chance to cure Marianna’s delusional state, her dementia, it was with this man.

  “Your detailed orders will be delivered to your ship.” The man on the other side ended the call. He didn’t need to tell the agent anything else. Revan had never met the man or heard his real voice but his real identity didn’t matter.

  Revan knew was the boss.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE CHANGE ITSELF

  “How’s the arm, girl?”

  “I’m all right thanks, Lucas. What time is it?”

  “Mid-day.”

  “Good gods,” Sarah yawned. “I feel like a train wreck.”

  Lucas grinned, showing his decayed teeth. Two of them had been replaced by metal stoppings, putting an awful look to the man’s face. His off, dirty accent wasn’t helping either. The man was simply not pretty. “That crash of yours, it was fierce. Good thing old Lucas found you.”

  “Yeah, pods do that.”

  “You were on a ship then, girl?”

  “You didn’t expect me to fly around in a pod, right Lucas?”

  Lucas’ eyes shone. “Maybe you can take the old Lucas away?”

  Sarah sighed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry good fella, my ship crashed. Hence, the pod.”

  “Oh.” Lucas’ face changed color, his hopes dying.

  “You really want to be off this rock?”

  “Humph,” Lucas pursed his lips. “Everyone here wants to leave this piss hole. The folk simply can’t.”

  “Why’s that?” Sarah straightened up in her bed, which felt more like a bag of rocks, and hoped she didn’t get lice.

  “Look around ye’” Lucas raised his head. “This place rots and old Lucas has no credits to book passage.”

  Sarah wandered her eyes inside the cabin they were staying. It was made of scrap metal from old ship husks and other structures. The place was cramped and full of dirt. “It’s a wonder you don’t die of disease here, Lucas.”

  Lucas grinned. “Old Lucas’s strong.”

  “It shows.” Sarah looked at her injury. She had some bruises and her left ankle was swollen but she was good. No open wounds was a good thing considering the dirt around her. Her first night on Tarra had been tough with all her pain from the pod’s crash but on her third, she was feeling fine. “So, Lucas, how do I leave this place?”

  “You can’t.”

  “Come on now, buddy, don’t be hard. My ship crashed on that green sphere hanging in the sky. I need to find the rest of the crew and go back home.”

  “Where’s your home, girl?”

  “Well, my real home is probably buried somewhere inside a forest on that thing.” She pointed at the sky. “I’m originally from a mining colony way outside the busy trade routes.”

  Lucas nodded. “Home’s where hearth is.”

  “Yours isn’t here?”

  Lucas’ face tensed. “No sane soul would call this rock home.”

  “How did you end up here?”

  “Old Lucas was a farmer. Slavers found him and the family. They sold them to Joe.”

  “All right, enough gloom for one day!” Sarah stood up and stretched, puffing with every aching muscle. “Now, what to do?”

  “Now Lucas takes you to Joe.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “No girl, not really,” Lucas shook his head with genuine sadness. “He owns all. You’re on his turf and he owns you too.”

  “I don’t think I like that part.”

  “Well, you’re lucky Lucas saw you crash before one of his scavengers did. Else, you would already be tending the bar or worse, working down in the caves for his pleasure hole.”

  “Pleasure hole?”

  “A brothel.”

  “Oh,” Sarah grimaced. “I don’t think I thanked you properly.”

  “No need, girl.”

  Sarah smiled. “You helped me get out of that pod. You opened me your home and your friendship. I’m grateful.”

  The old man blushed, his eyes wandering anywhere but Sarah’s face. “Anyone would do that.”

  “Not on Tarra from what you say.”

  Lucas stood up from his crooked chair, an old seat from a cargo ship, and took his cane. “You good with a gun?”

  “I’m a security officer.”

  “So? You good?”

  Sarah rolled her eyes, “Yes, Lucas.”

  “Good. That slime Joe will try to make you a serving girl. If you can prove your worth with your arm, maybe you’ll end up as a scavenger for him.”

  “Why would I want to do that? I just want to leave!” She took the communications bracelet she’d grabbed from the pod out of her pocket. “Maybe I’ll reach Ray or Alec this time.”

  Lucas stood in silence, respectfully waiting Sarah but his eyes told her it was in vain.

  “Nothing but static,” she announced after a minute of fiddling with the interface. This was the seventh time she tried to reach the rest of Canaar’s crew without luck. “Perhaps I’m out of reach.” She knew it wasn’t that. These devices were meant to work within a tremendous range. Some delay in signal was understandable without the boosters of a relay terminal but she should have heard something by now.

  “Joe knows you’re here. He always knows. Better to go to him, fast.”

  “Maybe he can help me reach my friends.”

  “Maybe,” Lucas shrugged. “It’s better this way, girl. He can give you food and shelter. Just prove your worth and watch your back.”

  “Well,” she sighed, “to Joe’s then.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  FIRST CONTACT

  “Captain Eriksson, sir, we will have visual in less than two minutes.”

  “Good. Prepare to launch a class one probe. Open a channel to headquarter
s.”

  The officer nodded and signaled the captain his connection was ready a moment later.

  “Eriksson here.”

  “Captain Eriksson, this is Director Evans. What is your situation?”

  “We have arrived at the coordinates in Samara’s Star. Beginning our analysis now.”

  “Good to hear that. I will be expecting your initial report in two hours.”

  “Yes sir, Eriksson out,” he made a gesture to cut the signal.

  “Probe is ready,” a tactical officer announced.

  “Launch the probe.”

  Johann read the briefing notes from his holographic interface one more time and tried to find the underlying meaning, the hidden reality between the lines. The Novosibirsk, a Consortium dreadnought, wasn’t a ship to be sent to investigate a solar anomaly unless you expected trouble. Ion storms in Lexan Nebula, sure. The kilometer-long battleship had an Avenger space superiority fighter wing to assist in system patrols and marine squads ready to infiltrate hostile ships and pirate bases. He’d had no idea what they expected of him to do in Samara’s Star with a combat vessel of this caliber when they’d assigned him to the task and not a science frigate. Eriksson was sure he’d hear the sound of the other shoe before long.

  This wasn’t the first time they’d had readings off the charts back on Earth. Most of the time, the readings ended up being ion storms creating false data, or patrols bumping into hidden smuggler bases deep in Lexan. At other times, it was even less interesting. The nebula covered most of Samara’s Star system, providing a good cloak for the less-than-legal traders. The stern-faced captain had a sour taste in his mouth he couldn’t dismiss. You don’t send a dreadnought to chase pirates. The firepower of a dreadnought was overkill for such a petty task.

  “Sir, we have visual.”

  Johann took a deep breath and straightened his uniform before he gave the order. “On screen.”

  His eyes scanned the view. For someone who didn’t know the captain well, he would seem unaffected. A huge, artificial structure hovered in front of the Novosibirsk; an octagonal ring dwarfing the dreadnought. The ring had glowing signs on it with a pale whitish color and it looked as if it was spinning slowly. He had no idea what he was looking at, but Johann didn’t like surprises.