Prelude
Explanations according to:
RAGNOX INC.
First Across The System
Explore, Exploit, Expand.
Definition of the vast wastes beyond Jupiter:
Outer Circles, potential assets to be claimed. Prime target for exploitation and unrestricted enterprise and profit.
Director of Outer Circles Operations:
Jordan Pascal.
Existing inhabitants of the Outer Circles:
Subhuman mutants. An obstacle to be eliminated.
Aim:
Control. Profit.
Explanations according to:
PAN
All and Everyone
Definition of the vast wastes beyond Jupiter:
Arkadia. Home
Leader? President? Voice?
Benedict Darke
Corporate invaders of Arkadia:
Genocidal murderers
Aim:
Revenge.
Part 1 Projects
Chapter 1
There was something about artificial light in the outer circles of the Solar System that seemed, no matter how bright, to intensify the limitless darkness all around – almost as if it reflected it. Its sheen of darkness visible sucked the colour out of the grey-haired man who was bent over a table strewn with files. He was Jordan Pascal, and for forty years, as Director of Outer Circles Operations for Ragnox Inc, he had been the undisputed dictator of the void beyond civilisation. One snap of his bloodless fingers had been sufficient to instigate war, occupation or obliteration. One cold glance from his pale unblinking eyes had been sufficient to determine the rise or ruin of the greedy and ambitious, and the innocent.
The Ragnox corporation owed its overwhelming dominance in large part to the ruthless genius of Pascal. His position was unassailable; his authority unquestioned.
The man in the impeccable black uniform, standing motionless to one side, was certainly not questioning Pascal’s authority. He valued it. The Director’s authority imposed order, it underpinned the machinery of command, it was the source of power. It was merely a question of assuming control of it.
‘You are looking for something in the files, Director?’
Pascal raised his eyes to the officer, his blank expression slowly morphing into something almost akin to puzzlement. His head turned, his gaze seeking…
Dr Angelou, his personal physician for the last fifteen years, stepped out the shadows, his hand hovering over the fully charged syringe peeking from one pocket. ‘This is your Cyber Security Commandant, Director,’ he prompted.
‘Cyber Security,’ repeated the Director, his gaze turning back. ‘Smith.’
‘No, Smith was killed by Pan in an ambush, Director,’ said Angelou. ‘This is his replacement, Commandant DeWitter.’
Something clicked. ‘DeWitter. Yes.’
DeWitter bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. A man of neat habit and quiet manners, he offered no helpful explanation. He merely observed and calculated, something he had been doing all his life, quite successfully.
‘You will install surveillance on Clinical Research,’ said Pascal, turning back to the files. ‘What is going on there? Berenger is not keeping me updated. I haven’t received his latest report. Bring him to the Tower. I want to see him.’
DeWitter bowed his head again.
‘The research,’ said Pascal. ‘I want to see the research. Yes. Berenger.’ His fists were clenching and unclenching, his breathing growing heavier.
‘He’ll be here very shortly, Director,’ the doctor assured him, wielding the syringe with deft fingers. ‘Come now. This way.’ He guided the old man into the next room, quietly closing the door behind them.
DeWitter remained, studying the files, his expression as inscrutable as ever. He looked up as Angelou re-appeared. ‘What did you give him?’
‘Only the usual cocktail, but with an extra milligram of Enchronazin. It will keep him quiet for a while.’
‘As long as it doesn’t kill him.’
‘It hasn’t in the past,’ said Angelou, complacently. ‘Organs all functioning, if not one hundred percent. Apart from the brain, obviously. He’s quite convinced we’re back on Triton.’
‘Let him believe it.’
‘I don’t argue. I never argue. Our Director is like an acthridium cell, possessed of enormous power if you know how to direct it, but pull the wrong trigger… He has a hair trigger that I am very wary of – this obsession with Berenger and his work on mutants. Do we have any research findings we can show him?’
‘All we have are corrupted files. Virtually all Berenger’s work was destroyed when we lost Triton.’
‘And so was Berenger. Or at least let’s hope so. I’d rather not imagine his fate if the mutants kept him alive.’
‘Let’s hope his end was swift,’ said DeWitter smoothly. ‘Tell the Director that you are assisting Berenger with clinical research. Take him along to see a demonstration.’
‘A demonstration of what?’
‘An experiment. Invent one. We captured some mutants in the last reclamation exercise. Ask Admin if they’re still holding any alive. You might as well take a few as specimens.’
‘If you think it will keep him content. I’m sure I can come up with something.’
‘Good. I’ll leave it to you.’
Heavily armed guards saluted as DeWitter left the Director’s private compound. They locked the gates behind him. No hostile trespasser could get in – and no elderly confused man could get out. Which was as well, since the Director might not have been able to cope with the unpalatable truth.
This was not Triton, the cold and impossibly distant moon of Neptune from which Pascal had governed the Outer Circles for four decades. It was Dione, one of Saturn’s many satellites, serving as a provisional base since the loss of Triton to force, folly and treachery. In place of the 132-storey monolithic Triton Tower, his command base was now a squalid industrial unit, previously dedicated to the manufacture of batteries and adhesives. Production had been moved elsewhere, but the aroma remained…
Thorne Moore 