Darke Universe: Section1: Ch1, Ch2, Ch3

DARKE UNIVERSE
SECTION ONE—CHAPTER ONE

“I found it.”
  “Found what?”
  “IT.”
  “Are you being vague because you want me to come see you, or because of the sensitivity of the subject?”
  “Yes.”
  Darke paused.  “Cute.  Which is it?”
  “Well,” Brista said bashfully, “I guess it’s a little of both.  When can I expect you?”
  “That depends.  How big is it?”
  “It’s big.  It’s been missing for about three hundred years and I finally found it.”
  Seated back in an old comm-troller’s chair with his feet up on the console, Darke looked from the portable IU—interface-unit—on his lap to the screen in the communications locus.  He was going over the engine upgrades for his ship the Fabled Storm when Brista called.  Suddenly more interested in the conversation, Darke stopped scrolling and his eyes narrowed at the locus’s blank screen.  Communication between them was always severely encoded and there was never a visual feed, only audio.  Though looking into the blank screen, Darke could imagine the playful smile twisted across Brista’s face.
  “By your silence I assume you know what I am referring to?” she said after a moment.
  “I have a good idea.”
  “Well, I want you to go get it for me, so when can I expect you?”
  Darke sighed and his fingers thrummed the IU’s base.  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he told her.
  Brista laughed.  “Good,” she said and disconnected.
  The asteroid groaned somewhere deep within and sent the sound up through the Coring Room at the heart of the facility like a belch.
  Hidkin 2 was an old abandoned mining facility.  It was the only survivor of the Hidkin Mining Group, an ore mining company established over a century ago in the asteroid belt of the Hidkin solar planetary system.  The facilities were disposable, and once the host asteroids were depleted of their useful ores, they were left like fruits burrowed out by worms to rot in space, eventually collapsing in on themselves.  As the last remaining operating facility, Hidkin 2 was shut down due to the cost of running only one mine in such a remote area of space.
  Now, distant, lonely, and forgotten, Hidkin 2 was a place where no one would ever think to search for Darke.
  But slowly and surely his hideaway was succumbing to its inevitable collapse, and Darke frowned as the noise spread like a wave from the Coring Room through the rest of the facility.  He thrummed his fingers, annoyed, until the sounds finally dissipated.  It had taken two years to find the perfect base.  He was not looking forward to searching for a new one.
  When the sounds were gone, Darke reached out to the communications locus to close the channel, then dropped his feet to the floor and folded his IU in half.  He turned his chair to get up and paused.  A short figure was standing in the doorway.
  Darke scowled.  “Bavadet?”
  The figure hesitated before stepping into the light.
  “S-sir,” replied the nervous little man rubbing his hands in front of his chest. 
  Bavadet was an Oloan, a race of servants, very Human-like in appearance, though smaller and much simpler of mind—naïve even.  The Oloan stood no taller than Darke’s chest, had pale age-lined skin and wiry tinned hair.  At thirty-eight, the Oloan was on the stoop of his elder years and would be lucky to see ten more.
  “How long have you been standing there?” Darke demanded.
  “Not long, sir,” Bavadet said quickly.  Darke eyed him for a moment and the Oloan added, “I-I wanted to ask you, sir, if you would be wanting a Gailin beverage with your meal?”
  Darke stood and the timid little man backed half a step.  The chef’s smock Bavadet wore over his clothes had a small greenish stain. 
  “Not tonight,” Darke said as he walked past the little man, IU under his arm.  “A crisper is fine.”
  The little man followed him out of the command center into the facility’s main corridor.  The corridor was dim, lit with minimal lighting, as was every space in the facility.  The facility’s power core was nearly depleted and in energy conservation mode.
  “And get the Storm ready when you’re done,” Darke added.
  Behind him the Oloan’s feet shuffled over the corridor’s exfoliated flooring like the quick strokes of a broom.  “Yes, sir.  Are we leaving so soon, sir?”
  “We are,” Darke said, his own steps steady, barely audible bumps.  “We’re going to Calyph Dallereon.  Then I have some business to take care of elsewhere alone.”  He added over his shoulder, “Call it a treasure hunt.”
  “A treasure hunt, sir?”
  The corners of Darke’s mouth pulled in a little smile.  “Yes.  A treasure hunt.”


SECTION ONE—CHAPTER TWO

Upon gaining clearance, the yacht Blue Shaw descended gracefully through the humid atmosphere of Faunust and dropped as daintily as a Millonian dancer onto her landing struts in Bay 23.  When the Blue Shaw’s pilot descended the boarding ramp, the superintendent of the Worij City Spaceport was waiting with an anxious sway in his hips. 
  “Dolin De?  It is nice so nice to finally meet you, sir!  Nice so nice!” the superintendent greeted.  He was a Honeesian—a chubbier than usual Honeesian—and his waxy skin was beaded with sweat.  “Dolin De—”
  “Mr. De,” the pilot corrected as his eyes scrolled the bay.  “And you may close the baydoors any time now.  Your salty atmosphere is tormenting my ship’s finish.”
  The obese humanoid nodded fervidly.  “Oh, yes, sir, Mr. De!” he said, then barked into his wrist comm for the overhead doors to be shut.  Dolin turned toward the exitway, but the Honeesian quickly stepped in front of him.  “Mr. De, please let me introduce myself.  It’d be nice so nice if I could introduce myself.”
  Dolin huffed and straightened the cowl about his shoulders with an impatient tug.  “Yes, yes,” he said quickly as the bay began to iris shut above.  He looked into the other’s waxy face.  “But do it with haste.  I have an appointment.”
  “Yes, well,” the Honeesian started, clearing his throat, “Mr. De, I am Superintendent Chenner, and I want to thank you for your faith in the Worij City Spaceport to meet all of your ship’s storing, supplying, and repairing needs.  Um…Proud of our record of excellence, we strive to serve—”
  Dolin rolled his eyes and stepped around him.
  “Yes, well, we strive to serve all of our paying customers with…with top-rate service, Mr. De,” the superintendent called after him.  “And if you need anything, anything at all, Mr. De, please let me know and I will personally see to it that it is done correctly and to your satisfaction…”
  Dolin De walked down the gangway from the landing bay into the terminal.


///


The fares of high-speed planetary travel were considerable, but a tycoon such as Dolin De would concern himself little, if ever, with any sort of expenditures, no matter how great and superfluous. 
  And that was how Darke played him.
  In his line of work, Darke had to be safe.  Safe meant never touching down on a planet in the same city where he had business; safe meant encrypted communications with no video, no names, and no exchange of specific information; safe meant always having an escape plan. 
  Safe meant alternate identities.
  “Mr. De, would you care for a refreshment?”
  “A Gailin,” Darke said with a single nod. 
  The stewardess mixed the drink at the stateroom’s small bar then handed him the chilled glass.  “Will there be anything else, sir?” she asked as she laid a napkin in his lap.
  “No.”
  “Very well, sir.  The train will be docking at the Alsideu station in approximately three hours.  If you need anything, sir, please touch the chime.  It’s good to have you aboard again, Mr. De.”  She bowed her head slightly, offered a smile, and left.
  Darke crossed his legs and turned his gaze to the window.  Ninety-eight percent of Faunust was water, its cities like great rafts floating on its surface, and he sipped his drink, looking out into nothing but rich blue ocean as the v-train zipped though its underwater vacuum tube. 
  He did not recognize the young stewardess; it was obvious she knew who he was.  He did not know how much attention the wealthy drew until after he had used the Dolin De identity in four or five planetary systems.  Too late, he realized the rich are remembered, the rich are respected—almost to a fault. 
  He sipped his drink and sighed, and as his silvery reflection did the same, it only reminded Darke that being a Verian, one of the galaxy’s rarer races, did not help in his desire for anonymity.  Though any of the galaxy’s educated circles considered Verians to be Humans—Verians had the same body structure and emotional capacity as Humans, the same organ configuration, the same visual and vocal capabilities—their differences were at the cellular level.  Where Humans were carbon-base, Verians were nickel-based, giving them an appearance like a Human dipped in quicksilver, an image that attracted many awed stares.
  So being Verian and wealthy was not a subtle combination.  But by the time Darke realized the mistake, it was too late.  Faunust already knew him as Dolin De, which was where Brista lived, and as long as she did, Dolin De would visit the planet regularly.  He had to; Brista had Darke around her wrist.  She knew everything about him, and if Dolin De—Darke—did not call on her regularly, selling that information to the highest bidder would make her a handsome profit. 
  She loved him.
  He hated her.
  But what was he to do?
  She had made Faunust a regular stop for him, and as long as he was to come to the planet, Dolin De would exist.


///


The Spiamler Cri Tower was one of the greatest architectural achievements.  Galaxy renowned, it was a living sculpture of coral literally raised from the depths of Faunust’s ocean to a peak of five hundred thirty meters.  To keep the coral and its marine life alive the tower was encased in a shell of sculpted transparium that maintained a constant flow of water by pumping it up from the ocean beneath the city.  From the air it was like an ancient marine spike in the middle of the city, reaching up from a nest of sleek modern daggers that was Alsideu’s business district.  From the street it was a bony finger scratching the clouds.
  Darke paid the fare and, as the taxi drove off, took a moment to take in the Tower’s beauty.  He watched a school of red and yellow marble dancers waltz in and out of the coral skeleton a few levels up before he crossed the plaza to the entrance.  He entered the building, passed through security, and rode the hyperlift to the top suite.  Brista knew he was there because the hyperlift took him straight up.  Darke stepped out into a grand office suite and the hyperlift doors glided shut behind him. 
  He took a moment to refamiliarize himself with his surroundings.  The suite’s great transparium walls tapered upwards and he could see the coral encased on the other side.  There was not much marine life; marine life typically could not get any higher than the Tower’s mid levels. 
  The suite’s interior décor was as sculturesque as the building itself.  The tables, chairs, couches, and the dark stained washwood desk were all original works of art from the far corners of the Trinity Regions.  Other than himself, the bank of video monitors on the side wall displaying business and news feeds from around the galaxy was the only life in the suite and Darke took a seat on one of the couches to wait for Brista.
  After a minute two men appeared from the door to Brista’s private chamber.
  “May we help you?” the older man demanded.
  Both men could have been related, father and son perhaps.  They were both Humans, dressed in casual business togs, and Darke knew they were armed by the way their arms moved around the weapons under their jackets when they walked.  They looked at him like he had just interrupted something.
  “I’m Dolin De,” Darke told them.  “I have an appointment with Brista.”
  They came toward him and Darke slowly got to his feet.  Brista had never had others in her suite when he visited before.
  “Not anymore, Mr. Dolin De,” the older man said.  “She’s busy at the moment.  You’re meeting is going to have to be with us.”
  Darke eyed each of them as they stepped down the two steps to the seating area.  They parted and stood at either end of the couch where Darke had been sitting.
  “Our business is private, Sir,” Darke told the older man, playing up the Dolin De snobbery.  “And I am a very busy man.  So inform Brista that when she schedules a meeting with me I expect her to either keep it, or inform me in advance that she needs to reschedule.”
  The two men glared at him a moment before the older one said, “Well, I’m telling you now you need to reschedule.”  He motioned Darke to the hyperlift.  “So say goodbye.”
  Darke nodded and headed for the hyperlift doors, pushing by the younger man standing at the end of the couch.  Both men followed him.  Darke reached for the call button and in the panel’s hazy reflection saw the two men draw their weapons. 
  Darke sighed.  He flipped open his cowl, drew the pistol from under his right arm, spun and put a blast bolt into the older one’s face.  His partner’s weapon popped up but not before Darke’s second pistol was out.  The older man dropped to the floor and both of Darke’s pistols locked on the younger.  The younger man held his weapon on Darke, his eyes wide, his face ashen.
  “You are him, aren’t you?” the man said finally.  The end of his pistol was quivering.  “You’re Darke.”
  “What if I am?” Darke said.
  The man licked his lips.  “I get a bonus if I kill you.”
  Darke winced.  “Really.  How much?”
  “A hundred thousand.”
  Darke nodded thoughtfully.  “How much do I get for killing you?”
  The man blinked, then slowly lowered his weapon.  Darke did the same.  Then suddenly the man’s pistol popped back up and Darke shot him in the face from hip level.
  Darke looked up from the two bodies at his feet to Brista coming out of her private chamber.  She had a big smile on her face and she was clapping.
  “Very good,” she cooed and leaned against her desk.  She motioned to the bar.  “Make yourself a drink.”
  Darke returned his pistols to their holsters.  “I’m not thirsty.”  He stepped over the two men.  “What was this about?”
  “A little housecleaning,” she said, her eyes playful. 
  “You put a hundred thousand on my head?”
  She shrugged.  “I just told them that to see what they’d do.  I knew you could handle them.”
  Darke snorted.  “So what about the IT?  Where is it?”
  She paced toward him.  “Before we talk about that, there’s a problem.”  Her brow lifted sympathetically, though the playfulness was still in her eyes.  “Someone else found it first, and taking it from them isn’t going to be easy.”
  “It never is.”
  “Well,” she said as she came up and put her arms about his neck, “That’s why I pay you what I pay you.  You get all the fun jobs.”
  “It’s the Quantus Forge, isn’t it?”
  She put on a pout.  “Do you want to talk business already?  You just got here.  We need to catch up.”
  “Who has it, Brista?”
  She ignored the question and kissed him.  “Pleasure,” she said, pulling the cowl from his shoulders, “before business.”
  She pulled him against her and kissed him again, deeper.

SECTION ONE—CHAPTER THREE

Superintendent Chenner waved as the Blue Shaw lifted out of Bay 23, turned a few degrees starboard, and headed for high orbit.  A few minutes later Faunust was a massive blue and white sphere in the yacht’s viewscreen.  Darke entered his destination coordinates into the ship’s navigation computer, requested clearance to leave orbit, and a minute later when clearance was granted, jumped the Blue Shaw to absolute velocity.  Fifteen hours later the shiny blue yacht was touching down on the planet Calyph Dallereon.
  When Darke disembarked the spaceport’s central computer greeted him.  “Welcome to Irenton Station.  Please state your name and passcode.”
  “Dolin De.  ‘I don’t have a passcode.’”
  “Confirmed.”  The motors kicked in to close the overhead doors and the access to the spaceport opened.  “Welcome back to private storage, Mr. De.”
  “Thank you.”
  Irenton Station was the largest spaceport in the sector, and the city of Irenton itself was the capitol of the Dallereon Planetary System.  With fifty-seven planets in the Dallereon System, it was one of the largest systems in the Trinity Regions, and, despite the fact only two of its planets were naturally inhabitable, was one of the wealthiest.  Millennia ago it was nothing more than a remote ore mining colony.  Now it was a major hub in the galaxy’s commerce where money and important beings abound.
  Even a tycoon such as Dolin De could be anonymous in such a system.
Darke entered the spaceport and made his way through the dense herds of patrons as one of their own; he was just another wealthy man returned from business or vacation slipping through the crowd.  He exited the private storage wing’s south entrance and was immediately picked up by a hovertaxi.  The taxi dropped him at the garden entrance of an upscale apartment building.
  “Good evening, Mr. De,” greeted the lobby attendant.  “How was your trip?”
  “The usual.”
  The attendant nodded and touched the call panel beside the hyperlift.  “If you don’t mind me saying, sir,” he said as the doors slid open and Darke stepped inside, “it’s good to see you get out from time to time, even if it isn’t for very long.”
  Darke eyed him.  “I have just about everything I need up there.  I only go out when I have to.”
  The lobby attendant tipped his hat as the lift doors closed.  “Yes, sir.”
  The furniture in the top suite was the best money could buy, though the suite might as well have been unfurnished for the amount of use it got.  Darke exited the hyperlift and marched through the sun’s evening rays pouring in though the suite’s great windows, dust dancing up from the unused furniture in a thin wake behind him.  He entered the apartment’s master chamber, twisted the cowl off of his shoulders onto the bed, and went to the large painting above the bedside table.  He tapped a code into the keypad behind the painting.  Four hydraulic struts raised the bed to the ceiling and Darke descended the hidden stair to the apartment below.
  The apartment below was only half the size of Dolin De’s suite, but being completely unfurnished the apartment seemed twice the size.  Darke paced down the gallery of windows from the sleeping chambers to the front room.  Beside the hyperlift doors was another keypad, he tapped in a code, and the far living room wall retracted in six sections.  Inside was a small closet of clothes, a communications station, and a modest armory of weapons.  Darke undressed, shedding the Dolin De identity as he shed the fine clothes, and from the closet pulled on a set of black and gray pirate fatigues, a helmsman jacket, and crew-boots.  He reloaded the two rounds he used in Brista’s office, returned his pistols to the holster harness under his jacket, then paused to check his image in the full mirror.
  “I am Roth Stacks,” he told himself.  He cleared his throat and let the natural gruffness he hid while being Dolin De enter his voice.  “I am Roth Stacks, of Biin in the Praetor System.  What work do you have for me?”
  He stared at himself a moment longer, the Verian man in the mirror staring back with flat silvery unblinking eyes—Roth Stack’s eyes.
  Darke turned, satisfied Dolin De was gone.  The sun dipped behind the city skyline as Darke returned to the hyperlift and used the keypad to close the wall again.  Then he entered another code and the hyperlift doors opened to the vacant shaft.  He climbed out onto the ladder beside the opening, descended to the maintenance tunnel below the building, and Darke exited from the basement of another of Dolin De’s buildings two blocks away.
  He hailed a hovertaxi at the corner of the next block and public transportation would take him to Chanpi City to meet back up with Bavadet.
  That is where things would start to go wrong.


///


“I’m sorry, Mr. Stacks, but we…we can’t access your car’s, um…your car’s storage cell.”
  Darke’s eyes narrowed on the Human boy behind the counter.  “Why not?”
  “We can’t access any of the storage cells in the long-term sub-level.”
  “Why not?”
  The boy pointed outside.  Two construction units on clawed treads were on the far side of the parking pad with a dozen or so construction workers gathered around.  Commanding the workers was a tall Croman with a holograph harness and the tired, aggravated expression of someone stuck babysitting a dozen attention-deficit adolescents.
  “One of the cars in long-term blew up,” the boys said.  “Unstable core or something.”
  “When did this happen?” 
  The boy grimaced.  “Three nights ago.  It took out seven storage cells and the extraction arm.”
  “Seven cells.  Which ones?  Mine?”
  “Oh, no.  No, sir.  LT-31—that’s the cell number—was the one that blew up.  Yours…”  The boy studied the display in front of him a moment.  “LT-107 is on the other end.  It’s just that, well, I can’t…”  The boy shrugged.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Stacks.  I was told it’d be at least five more days until the extraction arm is working again.”  He tapped the display and his face brightened.  “But, Mr. Stacks, you are flagged to get a temporary car at our expense.”
  Darke thrummed his fingers on the counter.  “A temporary is fine, but there are items in my car that I need.”
  The brightness in the boy’s face faded.  “I’m sorry, sir.  No one is allowed into any of the, um…into any of the storage levels, especially that one.”
  Darke’s glare turned to the construction workers while he considered the situation.  The one in the holograph harness led his team around one of the construction units, patted its tread, and shook his head.  Most of the workers were Cromans, thick, burly beings with blocky features and a bumbling saunter.  Cromans were humanoid, like most of the galaxy’s intelligent races, as well as one of the more dominant races—if not the dominant race.  Cromans were in every inhabited system in every region, as common as water.
  When the leader finished laying down whatever it was he was telling his crew, Darke sighed and turned back to the boy.
  “Let’s see this temporary car.  I don’t want anything flashy or slow.”


///


Outside Chanpi City’s limits, Darke exited the main trafficway and skimmed the top of the forest of marcollony trees.  He unstowed the car’s wheels when he reached the first clearing, dropped to the surfaceway, and pulled into the parking pad of Roth Stack’s house a few minutes later.
  Bavadet was not there.
  Darke watched the message Bavadet left for him as he prepared himself a Gailin beverage.
  “Sir, I-I sincerely apologize, but-but my sister is worsening.  She…”  The little man’s image swallowed and his nervous eyes looked away a moment.  “She was taken to the hospital a couple days ago and she…is in a coma.  I-I know you need me, sir, but I have to go see her.  I-I have to see my sister.  Please don’t be angry.  Please.  I will be back as soon as I can…”  The little man hesitated then leaned forward, reached out, and the image went blank.
  Darke sighed, sipped his drink, and gazed out the window wall into the forest of double-trunk marcollony trees.  It appeared he would be visiting the Quantus Forge by himself.
  He finished his drink, set the glass on the dining table, and drove back into the city.


///


She stepped out onto the stage when the music started and slinked to the altar.  She danced in the lights, around the altar, bending her body into positions that made the crowd moan.  Her blonde hair gleamed like a halo in the lights, and piece-by-piece she shed her clothing.  In a fantastic nude finale the music ended and she exited the stage in an ovation of whistles and applause.
  The corners of Darke’s mouth curled into a slight smile.  Her name was Kellin, and she was the most beautiful Human he had ever seen.  He downed the last of his drink, greeted the bouncer at the backstage hall with fifty credits, and moved through the other dancers to Kellin’s dressing room door.  He took a deep breath and knocked.
  “It’s open.” came a muffled reply and he stepped inside.  “How was that, Marone?” she said with her back to him.
  “It was great,” Darke replied.  “Do you do private dances?”
  She gasped and spun from her beauty table.  “Roth?”
  “I told you I’d be back.”
  “Roth!”  She leaped from her chair and embraced him.  “Roth!  Oh, Roth!” she cooed between kisses.  “You know I would private dance for you anytime.  Anytime you wanted.  Oh, I’m so glad to see you!  I miss you so much every time you leave me!”
  “Not more than I miss you.”  He lifted her face in his hands and gave her a long kiss.
  “Oh, I missed you,” she whispered.
  “I saw you dance.  It looks like you changed up your routine.  A little more…dangerous, I think.”
  She shied away from his gaze.  “I know.  Marone hired a new coordinator.  He’s young and likes it dirty.  But ever since that new club opened—”
  Darke lifted her chin.  “Hey.  I liked it.”
She smiled.  “You did?”
  He nodded and kissed her again.
  “Do you really want a private dance?”
  “From you…always.”
  She moved closer and whispered, “You know, Roth, I only give private dances at my apartment.”
  He grinned.  “I’ll race you there.”


///


“You have to leave already?”
  He nodded.
  “But, Roth, usually you’re here for a few days.  Why so soon?”
  “Work, Kellin.  Work keeps me busy.  Some times more than others.”
  He was sitting on the edge of the bed and she slid over and laid her head on his leg.  “Where do you go when you leave for a month at a time?”
  “Around.”
  She smiled.  “Around?”  She rubbed her fingers lightly over his chest, combing his silvery hair in her fingernails.  “‘Around’ like places on Calyph Dallereon?  Or like other planets in this system?  Or ‘around’ like all the other systems in the galaxy?”
  “Yes.”
  She pinched him.  “Funny, Roth.  Why can’t you ever give me a straight answer?”  She sat up and her bare breasts were as demurring as her eyes.  “You carry guns.  You disappear and suddenly reappear a month or two later.  It makes me think you’re into something illegal, and some day the Galactic Marshals are going to show up and ask me questions about you.”  Her voice quieted, “And I’ll never see you again.”
  He brushed a lock of blonde hair from her face.  “Well, in that case, if I was into illegal activity, wouldn’t it be more appropriate for both of us if I didn’t tell you anything?”
  She said nothing and looked away.
  “But this time I won’t be gone long,” he told her.  “I promise.  I’ll be back well inside a month.”
  “You promise?”
  He leaned in and kissed her forehead.  “I promise.”  He stood.  “And I’ll even bring you something from off-world this time,” he told her as he pulled on his fatigues.  “Something exotic.”
  “And expensive?” she said with a smile.
  “And expensive.”  He turned to leave the room, hesitated, then said over his shoulder, “And if you like, I’ll even take you somewhere nice.  Any system.  For as long as you want.”
  She came up and squeezed him from behind.  “I’d like that, Roth.”
  His eyes rolled to the double pistol harness over the back the chair beside the bedchamber door.  When he was with Kellin the rest of the galaxy disappeared; there was no Bavadet, no Brista, no secret abandoned asteroid mine, and no legendary lost ship named the Quantus Forge.  There was no tycoon named Dolin De or any other identity.  There was only Roth Stacks and Kellin.  But Darke’s pistols reminded him otherwise, and as his eyes moved over the two weapons in their holsters, the rest of the galaxy returned to him.
  The Quantus Forge was out there waiting, and he was being paid to retrieve it. 
  He squeezed Kellin’s hands.  “I have to go.  I have to meet with someone off-world.”
  “I don’t want you to go.”
  “I know.”  He pulled himself away, gathered the rest of his clothes, slung the weapon harness over his shoulder, and left.
  He thought he heard her whisper, as the door slid shut, “I love you…”