Science Fiction

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The first part of my latest novel, combining science fiction with elements of a spy" novels. I'm currently working on Part Two. What do you think?

           PART I - SUNRISE

1 – Having A Blast in Orbit

Fred Shapiro studied the displays in front of him, coming from external cameras that covered every bit of the station. "Everything looks copasetic, Jim. I would say the security is . . . holy shit!" A blinding flash on one screen interrupted his pronouncement. In an instant, he realized what had happened. "Looks like Module Five! Gotta seal that sunovabitch now!" He hollered to his partner, "Jim get those people into Module Four. If anyone’s left after decompression," he added.

Jim Sullivan grabbed a suit and headed down the passageway. "I’ll stay on the Com. See if you can hold off ‘till you hear from me."

"Go for it." Shapiro’s hands hovered over the buttons that would seal off sections of the station. Two minutes later he heard Sullivan’s voice on the Com.

"Fred?"

"Yeah. What’s happenin’?"

"I’m in Three. We sealed it from here." He sounded subdued.

"But what about - - aw, hell." Shapiro understood. There was nothing left of Modules Four and Five. Or the people in them. He sighed. "How many?"

"Um, I’d say fifty or sixty, at least. Obviously we haven’t taken a head count yet."

Shapiro closed his eyes. Fifty or sixty people, perhaps more. Gone. Just like that. He knew who was responsible, he just knew. Bastards! Then he remembered. Modules Four and Five belonged to the Chinese who had recently come on board.

Shapiro sighed. "Jim?"

"Yes?"

"Is the Emergency Team there?"

"Natch."

"Come on back, let them handle it. We got other problems. Big problems."

"I know. On my way."

A few moments Sullivan was back in the Command Module of Terra Station One or "TS-1," the successor to the International Space Station that had been destroyed a few years before. He studied the craggy, worn face of his colleague. "It was them, wasn’t it?"

Shapiro grunted. "Of course it’s them."

"You think it was Megalor?" He referred to a descendant of C-4, the much-heralded (and much feared) "plastic explosive" of the past. Placed against the outer wall of a space vehicle, it was quite effective. It didn’t take much to let the air out suddenly. Just like a balloon. Pop! End of story. And of lives. It was what everyone assumed was used against TS-1’s predecessor a couple of decades back.

Shapiro shrugged. "Probably."

Sullivan lowered his gaze. Softly, he said "Damned Solarites."

"All good things come from the sun, don’t you know that?"

Sullivan sat in the seat next to his boss. The view from the great curved window in front was fantastic. They were over the Pacific and had just cleared the coast of China. He gazed out for a minute and gulped. "Man, Beijing’s gonna be pissed."

His boss stared at him. "You thinking what I’m thinking?"

"Gotta be. Those were their modules. Might have been some others in there, of course, but the majority of the casualties must have been our latest ‘guests.’"

"Damn. I was afraid of that. The president busted his ass convincing them it was safe up here."

"I know. I guess we’ll be expecting a visit from Castello."

Shapiro nodded. He’s the best. He’s nabbed, what, a dozen of those pricks so far?"

"Yeah, at least. God knows how many he’s capped."

Shapiro looked at his number-two. "Jim, between you and me, he should have capped them all. The hell with putting them in jail."

Sullivan smirked. That’s no shit. All they do in jail is learn how to be bigger and better assholes."

A chime came from the console in front of Shapiro. "Yes?"

"Casualty reports, sir" said a woman’s voice from the speaker overhead.

Hell. "Okay, Lieutenant, how many and who?"

"Sixty-two, Sir. Mostly Chinese."

Shapiro winced. "Shit." He closed his eyes for a minute. "Anybody get out?"

"Two. They had just entered Module Three. They are the only people left from the Chinese delegation. There are two Americans and one Russian missing as well. I guess they were visiting."

Shapiro didn’t ask if there were any bodies. Whatever was left was mixed in the debris in space left behind by the orbiting TS-1. Shapiro glanced down at all the blinking lights on the board in front of him. "I guess Downstairs wants to know what happened. Catch you later, Lieutenant." He touched a button. "Let’s see, who’s first?" At his command, a small plasma screen slid up silently into view, a list of demanding interlocutors blinking at him. He selected one. Northcom - North American Command. "Yes, General Fielder, Shapiro here."

An angry face greeted him on the screen. "What the fuck happened up there?"

"Somebody lit up Modules Four and Five. They’re gone."

"Four and five? The Chinese modules?"

"Yes, sir."

"And?"

"Sixty-two missing as of five minutes ago. Mostly Chinese."

"Shit!"

"Yes sir, that’s what we said."

2 – Roman Castello

"Downstairs," on Earth, a semi-reclining Roman Castello gazed up at the screen "floating" over him, a wireless keyboard on his lap. An image of a dark-haired man looked back at him. "You did it, didn’t you Zraqad, you sun-worshipper, you? You and yours took out those modules up there, didn’t you?"

The image gazed back at him with humorless eyes. Castello’s mind flashed back to their last meeting, when he’d narrowly escaped death at Zraqad’s hands. He fingered the burn on the back of his right wrist, a "souvenir" from Zraqad’s laser pistol. He touched the keyboard and the familiar words appeared. He knew them by heart, but he read them again and again, just to psych himself.

Zraqad Shimshaa, pronounced ZRAH-COD SHIM-SHAH, leader of the "Solarites," worshippers of the sun (or Sol - also known by the ancient Egyptian name "Ra" which is used when referring to the sun as a deity). The Solarites do not believe the sun itself is God; rather it is the representation of God’s power (in essence, a giant cross or Star of David, etc.) and is the medium in which God delivers His warmth and light. Twice a day, at sunrise and sunset, they prostrate themselves and chant "Ra is God, God is Ra. There is no other and HE cannot be touched." They believe that Man does not belong in space because it offends Ra, sunspots, solar flares and violent weather being "proof" that Ra is unhappy. The Solarites act violently as well in their quest to keep Man on Earth. Took "credit" for the destruction of the International Space Station as well as numerous acts of destruction to space-related installations Downstairs. Some analysts believe the destruction of the earlier space shuttles Challenger and Columbia were acts of sabotage committed by people of similar beliefs, perhaps precursors to the Solarites (it should be mentioned that there is no evidence of this). Zraqad emerged around 2055, declaring himself Chief Priest of Ra and a direct descendant of Akhenaten, the Egyptian Pharaoh who worshipped the sun. Little is known of Zraqad’s background except that he was born somewhere in North Africa . . .

An image appeared at the lower right of Castello’s screen and a soft voice announced "incoming communication from Northcom." Gotta be Fielder. He touched another node and the bald-headed, four-star general’s round face filled the screen. Fielder commanded the United States Space Forces, or USSF which, in turn, came operationally under Northcom, military shorthand for North American Command. Heading Northcom was Fielder’s "other hat" – he ran them both. "Good morning. I had a feeling you’d call."

"Get off your ass, Castello. Your friend’s been up to no good again."

"Hell. Don’t call him my friend." He rubbed the back of his hand again.

The general’s smile was thin. "I know. Get on the next flyer and get out here. I’ll upload the brief and you can view it on the way. Roman, this is bad, real bad. The Chinese Premier is on the President’s ass, the President’s on the Secretary’s ass, and he’s on my ass."

"I take it I’ll be going Upstairs?"

"You wanna take a look at the damage, don’t you?"

"I suppose." He started to rise. "You know I just love space travel." He lied.

A day later, Castello sat in the familiar, round briefing room deep in Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado, home of Northcom, charged with the defense of North America which included "Upstairs," the space above it. All the way out to geosynchronous orbit, 22,300 miles above Earth. When the Lunar Base was finished, Northcom’s Area of Responsibility would increase. If the Lunar Base was finished, a touch and go situation, especially with the rather determined opposition of some people.

Like the Solarites he thought as he took in the sight of the Lunar Base model, a holograph perpetually floating in one small alcove of the room.

"Proceed, Captain" said the General to the young officer standing in front of the oblong, black table.

An image floated above the right side of the captain’s head. "Terra Station One, as it looked three days ago. At exactly 0921 Mountain time a day later, the following event took place." Suddenly the room was awash with white light as the image showed one end of the station exploding.

"CIA and her sister agencies as well as the intelligence agencies of the major Earth powers are in agreement that this was a deliberate attack perpetrated by this individual." At that an image of Zraqad replaced that of the ill-fated TS-1. The captain proceeded to give a breakdown of the casualty figures, prompting an audible "Hmmm" from one particular person at the table.

Fielder turned to him. "General Teng, I assure you we will do everything we can to bring these people to justice."

Teng shook his head. "I know, General. It is just that I will have to face Premier Hsiang. As you know, he was not in favor of Chinese participation in this ‘adventure.’"

Fielder held his hands up in a "what can I do?" gesture. Teng merely shrugged in response. Fielder nodded to the captain to continue. After some images of the damage, and some known members of the Solarites for background, the briefer came to the proverbial "bottom line."

"The big question is how are the Solarites gaining access to orbit? Northcom monitors every launch from Downstairs, yet nothing out of the ordinary was detected that day, just as no unauthorized launches were detected twenty-five years ago when TS-1’s predecessor blew up."

Fielder turned to Castello. "How indeed? Ro, among other things, that’s for you to find out."

Castello tried to smile. "Piece of cake." No one laughed.

 

3 – Back "Upstairs"

"Shuttle Conqueror docking at port one," said a husky but bodiless female voice.

Shapiro looked at Sullivan. "He’s here. C’mon, let’s go meet him."

The two walked down the main tube that ran the length of TS-1 heading to the airlock where their visitor would be entering.

"I never met Castello," said Sullivan.

"No? I met him a few times Downstairs. He seems like a regular guy but he’s good at what he does."

A minute later they were at the port. Castello was leaning against the bulkhead. Sullivan frowned. "He looks spacesick."

"I am."

Shapiro smiled. "He’s got good hearing, too.

Hi, Mr. Castello. I’m Fred Shapiro, commander of TS-1. This is Jim Sullivan, my First Officer."

As they shook hands, Sullivan blushed slightly. "Sorry about the remark."

"No sweat. It takes me a bit to get my spacelegs. I’m a cop by trade, not an astronaut. Shapiro, don’t I know you from somewhere?"

"Yeah, sure. Remember when the sunlovers tried to blow up the Intimidator?"

Castello pointed a finger at him. "Oh yeah! At Edwards Air Force Base. You were in training, right?"

"That’s it. I was training for this job."

Castello smirked. "`Sunlovers.’ Gives a whole new meaning to that word, doesn’t it?"

Sullivan chuckled. "We’ve always had nicknames for enemies. `Japs,’ ‘krauts,’ ‘gooks,’ ‘commies,’ ‘ragheads,’ now the ‘sunlovers.’ You’d think we could come with something better than that, though."

"`Assholes’ comes to mind," Shapiro chimed in. Come on, Castello, we’ll go into the conference module."

"Right."

Castello ran the video for the third time. "Hmmm, it was a Megalor blast. No question about it."

"You’re sure?" asked Shapiro.

"Yep. Watch." He froze the picture. "Right here, probably a microsecond into the blast. Shock wave goes in. Next frame, here." The picture changed slightly. "What looks like ice streaks coming out is air immediately freezing on decompression. Just a small, conventional shaped charge."

Sullivan asked the question that was on everyone’s mind. "But how did it get there? If anything as large as a man in a spacesuit came within 20 kilometers of the ship it would have been detected, much less a space vehicle."

Castello sat back. "So what does that tell you?"

Shapiro lowered his head. "Shit. Of course."

Sullivan seemed perplexed. "What?" Then his eyes opened wide. "You mean the person who did it was already on board? Christ!"

"Correct-o. An inside job. That’s the only explanation."

"But why not just place it on the inside, why go out?" asked Sullivan.

"Because someone might see the fucker and try and stop him. You see, Megalor only becomes explosive when its two components are mixed at the right proportion. At that point, it’s extremely unstable, so the bomber would have to mix it prior to placing it."

"Is it a big deal?"

"Not really. Just two pouches but pulling them out and mixing them at a cocktail party or something would probably draw attention."

"And if he mixed them ahead of time?"

"Then he risks premature detonation if he were to bump against a bulkhead or some such." Castello sat forward. "Shapiro, I take it onboard computers record every time a spacelock opens?"
Shapiro was already on his feet. "I’m one step ahead of you. Come on."

Two minutes later the three were in the Command Module. Shapiro indicated something on the plasma screen. "Right there. At 1615 hours last Thursday, spacelock 2 opened for exactly thirty seconds. Just enough time for someone to float outside."

Sullivan’s brow furrowed. "What about return?"

Shapiro shook his head. "No. No more openings until after the explosion when the Catastrophe Team went outside to inspect the damage."

His First Officer rubbed his chin. "But where did he go?"

Castello’s eyes narrowed. "If this were Downstairs, I’d say he went up in smoke."

"You mean –"

"Suicide bomber."

There was a moment of silence. Shapiro thought of his grandfather, killed on a bus in Jerusalem a few decades back. "History repeats, doesn’t it?"

"`Fraid so. It’s what I figured happened to the International Space Station as well. There was no indication of anything or anyone approaching it either."

Shapiro was surprised. "Why didn’t we hear about this before?"

Castello looked directly into his eyes. "Shapiro, unless someone has a cloaking device like the old Star Trek TV show, then someone real nasty was able to come on board the ISS and TS-1 without detection. You think the ‘suits’ Downstairs want to admit their screening process is screwed up?"

"Damn!"

A day later, two things happened: the head count was finished and Castello’s legs were feeling like rubber. "Damn, Shapiro, I’ll never get used to artificial gravity."

"Yeah, it takes a while. Well, that’s it. Sixty-one Chinese, two Germans, and one American missing. And one pressurized suit. The surviving Chinese said they remembered seeing Miller and Steiner inside Module Four before they came out. That leaves the American. I’ve never heard of a Chinese Solarite."

"Well, he might have been an American. Don’t rule out the Chinese. Stranger things have happened. Although suicide’s not their style." Castello studied the file. "Seems innocuous enough. Dunstan Hargrove. Infotech Engineer. MIT, class of ‘65. What do know about him?"

"Not much. Seemed to be a loner. There are over 200 people on TS-1, you know. Or there were," he corrected himself. "Anyway, you can’t get to know everyone well."

"Yeah. I’ll have to take this. How about the Chinese files?"

"I’ll download them to a microdisk. Too many to print out. It’ll just take a minute."

"Good."

From the speaker came the announcement "Shuttle Conqueror approaching."

"There’s your ride. Go get your stuff and I’ll meet you at the spacelock with the disk."

"Okay."

An hour later, the newly loaded shuttle pulled away as the Commander and First Officer watched.

"Look at her," said Sullivan, "sleeker ‘n shit. Nothing like those `space trucks’ we used to use."

"Yeah, she’s pretty alright."

"You think he’ll solve this one?"

Shapiro shrugged. "Who knows? They still haven’t solved the ISS job."

"What do you mean? The ‘sunlovers’ took credit for it."

"So what? Did anybody hang? Or go to jail?"

"I see what you mean. Well, at least we’re out of the woods."

"Don’t be so sure."

Sullivan turned to face his boss. "How do you mean?"

"How do you know there isn’t another one of those assholes on board?"

He turned on one heel and headed to his quarters, leaving his First officer standing there with his mouth open. Wide.

4 – Zraqad Strikes Again

Zraqad sat in the lotus position, eyes closed, arms halfway extended, palms up. He and some of his followers had just finished their chanting and now they were standing, arrayed around their dark-eyed leader, anxiously waiting for him to impart his wisdom. The plain room was silent for a while and then his eyes suddenly snapped open.

"We are one less than before, and that is good."

"That is good," they repeated in unison.

"He is not with us because he has done his duty."

"He has done his duty!"

"He is with Ra."

"He is with Ra!"
"He is a ray of Sunlight."

"A ray of Sunlight!"

"He is with Ra and it is good."

"It is good to be with Ra!"



He lowered his arms and they sat. He shuffled slightly beneath his yellow robe. "Beloved, Icarus has gone to Ra and has set an example for us all. The Defilers have been wounded. But our work is far from done. They still take their evil ships into the Great Beyond and thus they defy the wishes of Ra."

"It is wrong to defy the wishes of Ra!"

"Indeed. So we have more work to do. We successfully managed to get Icarus onboard their ‘space station’ so he could carry out his mission. Beloved, I do not have to tell you how he must have been pained to have to travel to the Great Beyond, but he had to join the sinners to stop their sinning. And he knew the rules. And, yes, he paid for his ‘sin.’ But his heart was pure even as he left the boundaries of our beloved Terra. He knew what he had to do and he did it well. May he be in peace with Ra."

"May he be in peace with Ra!"

He stood and the others did the same. "Soon you will be given our next sacred mission. Prepare yourselves!" He outstretched his arms. "One of you will soon be with Ra!"

"We will be one with Ra! Death to the defilers of the Great Beyond! Death to the enemies of Ra!"

"Now go, my children, and meditate on what we must do."

"Ra is God, God is Ra. There is no other and HE cannot be touched!"

When they left, Zraqad exited through a small door behind the rug on which he had sat. Inside a small room stood a large statue of Akhenaten, lit torches burning on either side of him.

Zraqad bowed and said, "Through my eyes, you see. Through my mouth, you speak. And through my body, you shall rule again."



"Damn!" Castello whizzed through a list of names on his screen, each one with a picture next to it. When he saw one that looked interesting, he pointed the laser "mouse" at it and it expanded. "Damn," he repeated as he continued to scroll. "Not a thing. Over two hundred known Solarites and not one even remotely resembles this guy." He checked Hargrove’s bona fides again. Oddly enough, there were few people on the list who even had the same height, weight, and eye color. He started scrolling again, sorting by hair color. Still nothing.

Castello went back and scanned Hargrove’s file once more. This time he noticed something he had not seen

earlier. A note next to his nationality. He beamed in on it and up popped a text "balloon" – Hargrove had been born in Tunisia and had changed his name. From what? "NFI" - No further information. Castello called up the map of North Africa and was searching for a town called

Sfax when a thought popped into his mind. Wasn’t General Fielder born there as well? He was about to check out Fielder’s bio when a familiar image appeared on the corner of the screen.

"What do they want?" He zapped it with the mouse and it filled the screen:



SECRET HANDLE VIA BRIGHTSIDE CHANNELS ONLY



A FUEL TRUCK EXPLODED AT CAPE CANAVERAL SPACE LANUCH CENTER AT 1900Z TODAY IN THE PROXIMITY OF PAD L39B. THE ONLY CASUALTY WAS THE DRIVER. THE VEHICLE WAS HEADING TOWARD A GROUP OF TECHNICIANS WHEN THE EXPLOSION OCCURRED. AN UNMANNED LAUNCH VEHICLE WAS ON THE PAD BEING PREPARED FOR LAUNCH. IT IS POSTULATED THE DRIVER WAS WEARING AN IMPROVISED EXPLOSIVE DEVICE WHICH DETONATED PREMATURELY ALTHOUGH THIS HAS NOT BEEN CONFIRMED. INVESTIGATION CONTINUES.

SECRET HANDLE VIA BRIGHTSIDE CHANNELS ONLY

Castello immediately deleted the message, in accordance with the security rules of "Brightside," the codeword for intelligence on the Solarites. This limited the distribution only to those who were read in. It also meant the assumption was that the Solarites were involved.

"Well, who else?" he said to himself as waited for the inevitable order to go to Florida. When it came, he was surprised.

"Why aren’t you going? What’s the point? We know who did it," said a very unhappy General Fielder, his face filling the image.

"I quite agree, but how do you know who did it?
"This isn’t public knowledge, but we received a videodisk with Zraqad himself on it telling us they were going to do it."

Castello jumped up. "Why the hell wasn’t I told?"

"Calm down, Ro. We were about to send it to you and then send you down there but he pulled a fast one on us."

"How so?"

"On the disk he claimed it was going to happen tomorrow. Bastards tried it today instead."

"And you believed him. Good thing the suicide bomber was a screw up."

"Not quite. This is ‘Brightside’ access only, but we’ve been experimenting with something the Israelis came up with. It’s a combination of laser beams, extremely high frequency radio signals, and infrared that sets up a sort of ‘force field.’ Any known ignition or detonation system that gets within it is set off. Naturally that poses a lot of restrictions on what can be introduced into the field once it’s set up. We’ve had guys with books of matches go off in their pockets, that sort of thing."

"Wow. And that was around the launch pad? What about the rocket’s ignition system?"

"That works differently. This thing wouldn’t affect it."

Castello remembered something he wanted ask him. "Say, General, weren’t you born in Tunisia?"

"Yeah. My father was a diplomat. So what?"

"Well, I did some checking on Hargrove, one of the guys unaccounted for after the explosion on TS-1. Apparently he was born in a town called Sfax. Changed his name but I can’t find out what it was. Any ideas on the matter?"

Fielder shrugged. "No idea. Listen, Roman, our preliminary analysis indicates this guy may be in Europe, but I don’t want to prejudice your thinking on this. You seem to have a ‘sixth sense’ for these things. I’ll get the contents to the disk to you."

Castello wanted to know more about the "force field." "Yeah, go ahead and upload it. I’m curious though. If this new gizmo of yours works that well, why don’t we use it all over the place, like up in space?"

Fielder shook his head. "No, no. Too many things up in space that could be detonated by it – it would be too much work to shield everything Upstairs. It’s still experimental and besides, it’s completely black world – special access only."

"But it would save lives, for Chrissake. When will it be perfected?"

"Ro, just forget that I told you about it. And don’t mention it to anybody, understand?"

"But . . ."

"Colonel Castello. You will forget that I told you about that and will speak of it to no one, do you understand?"

Ouch. Fielder hardly ever referred to him by his rank, much less in that tone of voice. "Yessir" was all he could muster at the moment.

"Good. Study that recording and when you’re done, get back to me with your analysis, got that?"

"Yes sir."

"Fielder out." With that, he was gone.

Castello stared at the screen for a moment. That he held the rank of full Colonel in the US Space Force Reserve was ironic since he hated space travel. He hardly ever used the title, much less wear the powder blue USSF uniform. Still, it came in handy when one had to deal with underlings, the military mindset being what it was. It also had its disadvantages – like when a general barks an order at you. He tried to sort it all out mentally but was interrupted by a feminine voice. "Audio/video transmission waiting for download."

He "beamed" at one point on the screen and in an instant the recording was ready to play. He lay back, and started the video of his favorite terrorist.

An hour later, he knew little more than he did when he started. Over and over he played back certain portions of the recording, carefully studying the man’s facial expressions, his speech patterns, and most of all, the background. None of this gave him a clue as to where this man was.

Another hour passed. More playback, more studying. More comparison with earlier images called up from the Brightside database. Castello now believed he could pick out this guy from a mile away – if he came across him again. But still no clues. And what the hell had made Fielder think he was in Europe? Only one way to find out.

His boss’s image soon replaced that of his adversary on the screen. "Yeah, what have you got?"

"A question. What makes you think this guy’s in Europe? I don’t see anything that says that to me."

"Some of the people here drew that conclusion from analysis of the appearance of the background and the residual noises. We magnified everything on our computers."

"I tried some of that too, but I didn’t draw the same conclusion."

"Never mind. I just wanted to see if you could pick up on it without all the fancy software."

Castello folded his arms in front of him. "General, in all candor, I’m still wondering why I’m being sent off to Europe when the incident happened in Florida."

"Castello, we’ve also had some agent reporting that indicates he may be in Germany, outside of Munich. It seems credible. So that’s where you’re going."

Sonuvabitch. "And when were you going to share this with me?"

"I’m sharing it with you now. Get the next hop over there and carry your portable datapack. Set it for Level 7. I’ll beam the instructions to it when you’re in flight. Out here."

"General, wait—" But he was gone.

Castello sat back, thoroughly confused. This
dearth of information was most unusual. And Level 7! The highest secure mode – an extremely short, highly encrypted burst of data impossible to break in transmission. Well, it was Zraqad, after all. He thought for a moment, and then started "surfing" the classified databases. Every time he tried to find the agent information report Fielder had referred to, he drew a blank. A moment later, the general himself appeared on the screen.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"What? I – I was . . ."

"Stop playing around and get ready for your trip. I told you this stuff was special access, didn’t I?"

"The agent report too?"

"Especially that. Set your datapack for Level 7 like I said and it’ll come to you in flight. Now get going, dammit."

"Okay!" Castello angrily shut down the screen and then realized he hadn't made his flight arrangements. As he made the connection to the appropriate office, he realized something. Fielder was monitoring his communications. The realization left him stunned. He was momentarily tempted to call him up again but he thought better of it. If the boss was holding info back and monitoring his activities this closely, there was no way any further conversation would shed any light on it.



There was only one thing to do – head to Germany and wait and see what the instructions were. At least the beer will be good. That is, if he got a chance to drink any.

6 – Adventure in Munich

The slim craft pulled into the terminal at the Munich airport and shut its engines down. The whole trip had only taken a couple of hours from takeoff to touchdown thanks to the scramjet technology. Castello recovered his suitcase and made it through Euro customs. Within a half-hour after touching down, he was getting into his rented Mercedes and was soon hearing the whine of the turbo as he got up to cruising speed. The electric motor took over and he was comfortably cruising down the autobahn toward town.

"If only the rest of this trip goes this smoothly,"

he muttered as he sped along. After a bit, the onboard computer announced Diese ausfahrt, bitte, dann links.

He smiled as he punched in the code for English and took the exit.

"At the next traffic signal, please turn left again. Your hotel is on the right. Auf wiedersehn." He had booked himself into a hotel somewhat north of the center of the city.

An hour later, he was ensconced in a smallish but adequate room waiting for room service as he walked the floor. Just for the hell of it, he fired up the datapack and called up the Hargrove file. All he saw were two words:

DATA BLOCKED

The meaning of the words hardly had time to register when he heard a knock on the door. "Shit." Quickly he closed up shop and headed for the door. The word "yes?" was not quite out of his mouth as his eyes took in the sight of a gorgeous, green-eyed blonde in a black mini-dress holding a tray.

After a moment, she spoke in unaccented English. "You did order room service, didn’t you?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. Come in." Wow!

She walked in on long, shapely bare legs terminating in black pumps, a look of disdain on your face. "Where do you want this?"

"On the table. Are all the employees at this hotel like you?"

She ignored the question as she removed the cover from the tray. "Wiener schnitzel, warm potato salad, red cabbage and two bottles of dark beer."

"I thought I ordered dessert as well."

She smiled as she kicked off her shoes and started to unbutton the dress. "You did. You want me now, or after dinner?"

Castello took in the sight. Jesus. What the hell is this? His mouth open, he started to protest. Weakly. "Wait a minute."

By this time the buttons were open on the dress revealing her ample figure, framed by luxurious blonde tresses. "Wait for what?" Her lips were on his before he could say another negative word. "Lover, don’t sweat it. I’m from Mons Olympus."

Mons Olympus. The code word for someone from his organization. Named for a mountain on Mars that was higher than Everest, the odds that anyone would guess it and use it in context were long indeed. She’s one of us. He kissed her back with equal passion . . .

An hour later, Castello lay next to her, loving life. At least for the moment. But who the hell is she? He propped himself up on one elbow. "You know, you haven’t even told me your name."

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it does."

She smiled. "Sure. What name would you like?"

"Come on. What the hell does that mean?"

She shrugged. "It means ‘what name would you like?’"

He sat upright. "You sound like a ‘hired hand.’"

That got her attention. "You mean a hooker? Is that what you think?"

"What the hell am I supposed to think? What is this, a ‘Welcome to Germany’ present from Fielder? Well, thank him for me, ok?"

In one quick movement she was on top of him, pinning him to the bed. "Listen, asshole, I’m an agent just like you, and a damn good one. This is business, you understand that? But not the kind you think."

So that’s how it is. Now it was his turn. A minute later, their roles were reversed. She struggled for a moment but it was useless as he put all his weight on her. "Now, who are you and what the hell is this all about?"

She sighed. "My name is Sigrid, ok? And what this is all about is, one, getting some information to you, and, two, getting you in bed."

"And whose idea was this?"

"The first "idea" is General Fielder’s, the second was all mine. I’ve had the hots for you since I first saw your picture. Now will you please get off me?"

Castello smiled. "Well, in that case . . ."

7- Sigrid’s Secret

It took another thirty minutes before conversation was possible again. Castello took in the sight of her as she sipped some wine. Some agent. "It seems like we’ve taken care of idea number two. Now, as far as number one goes—"

"Back to business, huh. Well, all right. But I’m not totally through with idea number two yet."

"Not a problem, believe me." This could be a fun assignment!

She turned to face him. "Fielder found out that Zraqad might me in this area, possibly staying with some Bavarian sympathists. He sent forward a file for me to give to you." She slipped her naked body out of bed and went to her handbag. "Here you go."

He was somewhat surprised. "A physical file? Why didn’t he just zap it to my datapack?"

"Uh uh. Too risky. Might be intercepted."

"Intercepted? Nobody’s ever been able to intercept Level-7 stuff. No way."

"Whatever. Just read the file."

Castello’s face must have registered his confusion. And his hesitation. "Look, trust me, ok? It’s all in there," she said as she pointed to the seemingly ancient manila folder.

He shrugged as he opened it. A minute later he was even more confused. "Sigrid, this is routine stuff. What the hell is so hot about it?"

"There." She pointed to a photo. "See it?"

"What? It looks likes a picture of a beer garden. Could be anywhere."

A beautifully manicured finger touched the face of a man sitting at one of the tables. "Him. Look closely."

"Who? That supposed to be Zraqad?" He bent over but still couldn’t make anything out. "Sigrid, this is ridiculous. If I had this on the datapack I could zoom in and check it out. Do you have a magnifier or somethi-- hey what the . . .?"

The sight of her arm swinging a blunt object at his head interrupted his question. Rapidly. He brought his arm up to block her. Too late.



Castello’s brown eyes suddenly popped open. It took a few minutes for him to fully regain consciousness and to realize he was still alive. With a head throbbing like a shuttle engine at full thrust, he tried to sit up, only to find his arms were pinned to his sides and his ankles tied together with some kind of cord. It was quite effective. He couldn’t move a muscle. A piece of tape covered his mouth. "Mmmph" was all he could muster under the circumstances.

"Shut up." It was a female voice.

He tried to say "Sigrid" but all he could manage was another grunt behind the tape.

"You want to talk, huh? Okay!" She pulled him up so he sat on the edge of the bed. With a quick pull she yanked off the tape over his mouth causing him to yelp in pain.

"Hey!"

This just got him a slap across the face, which hurt twice as hard due to the already painful condition of his mouth. He got the message. Only his eyes asked the question.

Sigrid stood on front of him, fully dressed, smoking a cigarette. "You want to know what gives? Simple. I am with those who worship Ra, the true god. And you are an infidel."

Castello couldn’t believe his ears. "You’re a fuckin’ Solarite? You gotta be shittin’ me!"

His use of an expletive in front of the word "Solarite" earned him a knee in the face. "You will not blaspheme!"

"Jesus Christ!"

"That you can say all you want." She took a long drag on her cigarette as he tried to regain his composure.

"Sigrid, if that is your name, if you’re not, uh, one of us, than how did you know the code word?"

She smiled. "Again, simple. I used to be `one of us,’ as you say, but then I saw the light. The true light of Ra."

"And when was this?"

"Months ago. And I’ve been working against you ever since. From the inside."

Something about her explanation didn’t "click." He decided not to pursue it. "So what happens now? I presume you’re not going to untie me and screw me to death."

She threw her head back, laughing. "Don’t tempt me. No, you always wanted to meet the Anointed One, haven’t you? Well, you’re going to get your chance."

His eyes were giant saucers. "Zraqad? Meet him?"

His right wrist chafed against the material tied around him, reminding him of his last "meeting."

"That is correct. But not until we make a viddisk of you confessing your sins against Ra."

"Right. And even if I did ‘confess my sins’ as you say, what the hell would you do with that?"

She leaned forward, grinning. "Imagine, if you will, the great Roman Castello, confessing to the world that he’s been wrong all these years about space travel. Wouldn’t that be a great morale booster for your vaunted Space Force?"

Jesus. Castello considered the impact of such a recording. Fielder wouldn’t like that at all. "Then what? You think I’ll really ‘convert?’"

She leaned further forward, almost touching his forehead. "You will kneel at the feet of the Anointed One and pledge your life to Ra."

Their eyes were barely an inch apart. "And if I don’t?"

She grabbed his right wrist, exactly at the burned spot. "Then this time he will not miss."

She knows quite a bit about me. Castello had a thought. He smiled at her. "Sigrid, nice plan, but it won’t work."

"And why is that?"

"Because, to tell you the truth, I really don’t like space travel!"

Her face broke into a wide grin and she threw her head back to laugh, a habit he had counted on. Before a single guffaw left her lips he made his move. Pushing forward as hard as he could, he drove her into the opposite wall with a thud. Her eyes glared as she tried to regain her balance but Castello drove forward again, his head hitting her stomach.

Gasping, she struggled on the floor, trying to reach her purse. He had only one weapon – his body. He hopped into the air and came down on her back with both feet, falling to one side of her as he did so. There was a snapping sound as her ribs gave way and then she moaned. She did not move.

Castello caught his breath and tried to right himself. Finally accomplishing that normally simple feat, he tried to figure out how to free himself from

her makeshift cords. Realizing that women usually carry nail files and the like, he maneuvered himself so that one of his hands could grab her purse. As he shook the contents to the floor, out dropped a small laser pistol.

He picked it up, examining it as best he could from three feet away.

"Adjustable" he said to himself as he manipulated the dial to the lowest setting. Stretching his legs as far as he could, he managed to turn his hand so that the pistol aimed at the few inches of cord between his legs. More or less. He hesitated for a moment, realizing he might cripple himself, and then gently squeezed the trigger. A thin ray of light caught the fabric and his legs flew apart, almost causing him to fall again.

He gazed at the burn spot on the carpet. They can add it to my bill.

Now he could walk. But there was no way he could turn the pistol on the cords holding his arms. As he looked around, something shiny caught his eye. Her lighter! He picked it up and turned so he could see himself in the mirror over the dresser. Again with one hand, and aimed the top toward the cord. And his naked flesh. "Here goes." A long, blue flame shot out, burning the cord and his skin. He yelped in pain as the cord finally snapped and rubbed his side.

"Bitch had that thing turned up high!" Removing the rest of the cords from his naked body, he went over to examine her. Pink froth was oozing from her lips. He felt no air coming from her nostrils. "Rest in peace with Ra, honey." He shook his head. "I guess I should lose some weight."

He was about to get dressed and then open his datapack to talk to Fielder when he hesitated. Something she had said . . . The woman was with his organization – she knew the bona fides. Then she defected – some time ago. Lord knows how much info she compromised! Still, something bothered him. She had mentioned Fielder. But he never dealt directly with field agents, at least at her level. There was always a go-between.

8 – The "Baron"


"Of course that doesn’t mean Fielder’s orders weren’t passed to her," he said aloud as he "dialed" up an address on the datapack. In a minute, a face appeared on the holoscreen.

"Baron."

"Hello, Gunter."

"Roman?"

"In the flesh."

"Why isn’t there a visual?"

"No time to explain. Listen, did Fielder give you some orders for a field agent named Sigrid lately?"

"No. And I don’t know any ‘Sigrid.’ Is that a cover name?"

"Are you sure?" Castello described her.

"She sounds pretty hot. But I still don’t know her. What is this all about?"

Castello thought for a second. "Baron" was the organization’s "man" in southern Germany. And a good friend. He entered a command into the datapack and a small, flexible "wand" appeared. He pulled it out and aimed it at the body. "Gunter, take a look at this."

Gunter whistled. "Looks nice. Nice and dead. Who the hell is she? And where the hell are you?"

Castello sighed. "I’m in Munich. Listen, we’ve got a big problem on our hands. She was supposed to be my contact. She knew the bona fides but then, well, she tried to kill me." He skipped a few things that had taken place in between.

"Roman, I don’t what you’re doing in Munich and who she is. And what’s more, I want to know why I don’t know why. I’m supposed to be apprised of all operations in this sector. So what’s going on?"

"Well, either Fielder didn’t want you to know,
or . . ." He hesitated. "Or I was set up."

"By whom? And what the hell is so deep black that the local guy in charge can’t be read in? I’m going to give Fielder a piece of my mind. Have you talked to him yet?"

"No. Listen, Gunter, whatever you do, don’t call him. Let me handle this. Okay?"

"Okay, but . . ."

"Gunter, trust me on this, please. Now, can you do me a favor and send somebody over to make Sigrid here disappear?"

"Yeah, sure. Where are you?"

"You know, I don’t even remember the name of the hotel." Absentmindedly, he walked into the "wand’s" field of vision as he searched for the information. "Here it is. It’s the Leopold. Nice place."

"Baron" chuckled. "I know where it is. Now, you want to tell me why you’re naked?"

"What? Oh, shit." He moved quickly out of sight. "Uh, I just took a shower before I called you."

"Yeah, okay. And you couldn’t wait long enough to put your clothes on before you called me. What did you do, fuck her to death?"

"No. Gunter, look, I’ll explain it all to you later, okay? Please help me out here." He shut off the outgoing video.

"Okay, but if you don’t clue me in on all this happy horseshit, this video’s going to be good for some laughs at a future Christmas party!"

"Damn it Gunter, you didn’t record this, did you?"

"Roman, all incoming calls are recorded, you know that! You better get some clothes on because I got two guys on their way there. And, Roman, don’t worry. You’re little secret’s safe with me – for now."

"Gunter, you--!" But the connection was already broken. Well, he had other things to worry about. As he started to look for his pants, a "beep" signaled an incoming communication. On his screen was a text message:

ALL KIDDING ASIDE – KEEP ME POSTED – DO NOT LIKE BEING IN THE DARK - BARON

Castello grunted and punched in an acknowledgment.

Then he decided to get dressed before Gunter’s men got here and he had to explain to them why he was naked with a dead girl in his hotel room.



One hour later, all traces of her were gone. He had watched Gunter’s men take her out, coldly and efficiently, and without question. Now it was time to get some answers – and make some decisions. She knew the bona fides but Gunter never heard of her. Castello sat on the bed. How coincidental was it that Fielder would send him to Germany to make a contact, not tell the local station chief, and then the contact ends up working for the other side? Something stank, real bad.

An incessant buzzing from his‘pack interrupted his thoughts. "What the hell?" No sooner did he turn it on when the image loaded and hit him in the face.

FLASH – SHUTTLE CONQUEROR DESTROYED IN EXPLOSION

PRIOR TO LAUNCH – TWENTY-SEVEN ABOARD – NO SURVIVORS - POSSIBLE TERRORIST ATTACK – REPEAT – SHUTTLE CONQUEROR DESTROYED IN EXPLOSION PRIOR TO LAUNCH

The words floated in front of images of wreckage strewn about the California launch pad. Castello sat back on the bed, running his hands through his black hair. "Twenty-seven . . . shit!" Suddenly he bolted forward, grabbing the `pack. In a second, he had tuned in World News Net. A "newsie" sat a desk, holo-image screen behind him showing the wreckage of the ill-fated shuttle. Jesus, I rode in that thing!



"Details are sketchy, but it looks like Conqueror exploded just as her main engines were lit. The blast was so powerful it took out the whole launch pad and broke windows in buildings thousands of yards away."

Another buzz from the datapack, this one a call. Gotta be Fielder. It wasn’t. It was Gunter. "You heard?"

"I heard. I thought you were Fielder."

"He hasn’t called you yet?"

"Nope. And nothing’s incoming."

"Ro, why isn’t he on the line right now? In fact, why on Terra are you here in the first place?"

Good questions. "I don’t know. Gunter, not to be rude, but you got anything for me? Otherwise I gotta go."

"Understood. No, I know as much as you do. Good luck. Out."

"Thanks." Castello switched "channels" and in a moment the none-too-happy face of General Fielder floated above him.

"Castello? Where the hell are you?"

"You know where I am, in Munich where you sent me."

"Well?"

"Well what?"
"What did you find out?"

"Nothing. Your contact turned out to be a double. A Sunlover."

"What? What happened?"

"Simple. She came into my room, she knew the bona fides, and before you know it, she had me tied up."

"And how, pray tell, did you allow that to happen?"

"Let’s just say she caught me off guard. She was very convincing." No point in going into detail. Fielder was known to be a bit of a prude. He frowned on "hanky panky" in the field.
"So, where is she."

"Dead. I called the Baron. His guys cleaned it up."

"Gunter? Why did you get him involved in this? Castello, I told you this was strictly your show. He had no need to know any of this!"

"Boss, you told me nothing of the kind. I was ordered to come here, meet someone who is going to lead me to Zraqad and the next thing you know, she turns out to be working for the other side. And I had to kill her. So now I’m sitting here with no Zraqad, no orders, and a stiff on my floor. What the hell am I supposed to do? And then I hear the Conqueror gets lit up."

Fielder sighed. "Yeah, Goddammit. And you’re cavorting in Munich and disobeying my orders. Why can’t you follow instructions?"

What the hell? "General, I just told you what happened and why. In any case, it seems like my mission here is done, whatever it was. You gonna tell me about the attack or what?"

Fielder looked as though he would chew off his head if he were within reach. He sighed again and seemed to calm down. "What’s to tell? Those bastards blew it up."

"But how? What about that gizmo of yours?"

Fielder was about to say "That’s classified" but he thought better of it. "I guess the cat’s out of the bag now. There was a model on board. Big one. Somehow they overloaded it. Kablooey!"

"Overloaded! How did they even know it existed?"

"Forget it, Castello. Get your ass back here. We’ll see what we’ll do with you."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning you screwed it up over there. I’ll have to review your performance and see if you’re still useful to me."

Castello’s ears heard it. His mind refused to believe it. "Boss, what the hell are you saying? There was no other way to handle this predicament, one you put me in, by the way."

"Castello, you insubordinate son of a bitch, get back here now! When you arrive, come straight to my office immediately, talk to no one, you understand?

Do not, repeat, do not contact Baron again."

Castello started to yell right back at him but caught himself. "Yes, sir. Will do. Castello out."

He cut off the transmission. In spite of Fielder’s orders, he started to contact "Baron" and then stopped.

Fielder had monitored him back in the States but could he do it here?

"Fuck it." He punched "Baron" up."

"Baron."

"Gunter, listen to me. The current bona fides, are they Mons Olympus?"

"Are you nuts? You never say that over the air –"
"Gunter! This is life or death. Are they Mons Olympus or what?"

"Baron" frowned and then turned to something off screen. "No, that’s not it. It’s –"

"Don’t tell me. When were they changed?"
"Hmmm. Three weeks ago. But – Jesus!"
"You got it, pal."

"What the hell are you going to do?"

"First thing is to sign off. He may be listening. I’ll see you in an hour. Out."

He waited. No incoming transmissions. Apparently Fielder’s monitoring capabilities didn’t extend this far from home. Or so he thought.

Castello packed up in a hurry and checked out.



Back in Colorado, General Fielder punched up a number. In Germany.

"Baron."

"Gunter, this is General Fielder. Do you recognize me?"

Surprised, he could only respond, "Yes sir, of course."

"Has Roman Castello contacted you in the last few minutes?"

"Baron" was surprised at the question. "I’ve talked to him today, why?"

"Herr Ziegler. You will answer my specific question. And remember who you work for. Did he or did he not contact within you the last twenty minutes?"

Nobody ever used his last name unless they were mad at him. "Yes sir, he did. I was not ducking the question, I just . . ."

"Never mind that. I know you’re his friend but we have a little problem with Castello. This is what I want you to do so listen carefully."

8 – Fielder’s Orders

Less than one hour later, the subject of their conversation sat in "Baron’s" office, a drink in his hand. "Thanks, Gunter, I needed this."

Gunter looked at him through steel gray eyes. "I’ll bet you did. Roman, we seem to have a problem."

"The hell you say. What I can’t understand is—" Before he could finish, the two men he had seen in the hotel – the "cleaners" – walked in, laser pistols in hand. "What the fuck?"

"Baron" drew himself up to his full six feet, three inches and stood over his "guest." "Fielder called me after you did. Told me the whole story. I’m afraid you’re under arrest."

Castello tried to stand but the two men pushed him back down. He took in the sight of the two pistols aimed at him and then glared at his "host." "Gunter, damn it! What is this? Have you lost it or something?"

"Roman, Fielder gave me direct orders to place you under arrest, and in no uncertain terms."

"For what?"
"He said you went to the other side. You killed his agent." He shook his blond head. "Got to admit, it’s hard to believe."

"Gunter, how long have you known me?"

"I don’t know, ten years I guess."

"You really believe I’m a fuckin’ Sunlover?"
"Baron’s" eyes met his. After a moment, he took a deep breath. "It is a bit hard to swallow."

"Gunter, get rid of your goons and let’s talk. What do you say?"

The "goons" remark got him a laser pistol poked into his ribs, but Gunter waved the fellow off. "What the hell? Can’t hurt. Zoltan, Leo, leave us alone."

Zoltan, the bigger of the two spoke. "You sure?"

"Yes. We’ve got his kit. I’ll be all right."
"We’ll be right outside if you need us." Gunter nodded and the two left. "Baron" picked up a bottle of schnapps. "Refill?"

Castello nodded and Gunter filled his glass then his own and returned to the seat behind his desk. They eyed each other as they sipped their drinks. Finally Gunter said "Well, let’s have it."

Castello contemplated the liquor swirling in his glass for a moment. "Gunter, remember when I asked you about the bona fides? Remember your reaction?"

"Yes. I was surprised. But it stands to reason that you . . . wait a minute."

Castello smiled. "You’re catching on."

"She didn’t know the right one either. That means—"

"That means Fielder didn’t give either one us the new password. Strange, don’t you think?"

"But why in hell—"

"Gunter, consider. He sends me here supposedly because Zraqad was sighted. He doesn’t give me the new bona fides and then some leggy blonde shows up with the old words which, of course, I think are genuine. She screws my brains out, knocks me out, ties me up, and then proceeds to tell me she’s with the other side. And I’m about to meet Zraqad."

He took a sip of his drink. Gunter’s face registered his confusion. "Zraqad? Sighted here? I’ve heard nothing about this."

"Precisely. You were completely out of the loop. Then he gives me hell for talking to you about it. In the meantime, Conqueror goes up in smoke. And that’s not all."

"What?"

Castello told him about Fielder’s "gizmo." How it saved one shuttle. And destroyed another. Gunter’s eyebrows shot up, his mouth opened. "Roman, I never heard of such a thing."

"You weren’t supposed to."
"But what the hell does this all mean?"

"Well, Fielder’s right about one thing. We do have a traitor in our midst. But it’s not me."

Gunter thought for a moment. And then he closed his eyes. Quietly, he mouthed "Fielder."

Castello nodded. "Fielder."

"Gott in Himmel!"

"I have him sir, I’m bringing him in myself."

Fielder contemplated "Baron’s" image as it floated in front of him. "Is that necessary?"

"Yes sir. I think this is too sensitive to trust too many people. My two most best men are with me. We’ll get him there all right."

Fielder frowned but nodded his head in assent. "OK, good work. And Gunter, bring him straight to me when you get here, he speaks to no one else, you understand?"

"Of course. Will do."
"Excellent. Good work, Gunter. Fielder out."



As soon as Fielder’s image disappeared, Castello came out of the shadows. "Speak to no one, eh? Gunter, what do you make of this?"

"I’ve been trying to make sense of it all day. Let’s run through it once more. You investigated the explosion of the module, then there was an attack on one of the shuttles that failed, then he sends you to Germany where his so-called contact turns out to be a double, and while you’re here, Conqueror blows up. Now he orders you to be arrested. Is that about it?"

"Not quite. One of the guys I was checking out, a guy named Hargrove, Dunstan Hargrove – anyway, he was unaccounted for when the TS-1 modules blew up. He was born in Tunisia and changed his name."

"From what?"

"Don’t know. Funny thing is, Fielder was born in Tunisia too. Son of some kind of diplomat. Well, I asked him about it – Fielder, I mean – and he brushed it off. Told me to concentrate of the here and now, or some such. So, I get to Munich and while I’m waiting for ‘room service,’ I try to open the file. I see two words – DATA BLOCKED."

"Hmmm. So our esteemed general has something to hide."

"Now that is an understatement. Gunter, somehow he’s monitoring what I look at."

"What makes you think that, because he blocked the file? You told him, after all . . ."

"No, there’s more." Castello told him about the earlier incident when Fielder interrupted his research.

"Baron" whistled. "Roman, it seems unlikely he could actually monitor your actual transmission. Perhaps he actually checks the files themselves for who is scanning them?"

"Possibly. But how would he know which files I’m looking at?"

"Well, in the first case, he knew you what you were doing research on. In the second, you told him what you were looking at. On top of that, the system monitors who is logged on and, given his position, I would have to assume he has access to that information. So it’s not too hard to ‘see’ what you’re doing."

Castello shook his head. "Son of a bitch. So now we get to the million-dollar question: what the hell is he hiding, and why?"

"That’s two questions. Do I get two million for answering them?"

"Sure. I’ll check my bank balance. Actually, they’re two sides of the same coin."

"True enough. Roman, do you think he’ll be monitoring what I’m doing?"

"Assuming he trusts you, maybe not. But would you make that assumption?"

"No. Not now. Hey, I’ve got it." He walked over to his desk and pulled something out of a drawer. "Remember these?"

"A telephone? They still work?"

"Sure do. This one’s on a landline, just like the old days. And unless he has a physical tap on it, which I doubt, I think we’ll be all right."
"Agreed. But what are you going to do with it?"

"Baron" smiled. "Why Roman -- I’m going to call someone!"

Twenty minutes later, they considered what they had.

Gunter reviewed the notes he had scribbled on a pad of paper – another "old fashioned" innovation – and merely said "Hmmm."

"That’s at least the fifteenth time you’ve said that."

"Said what?"

"`Hmmm.’"

He chuckled. "Habit, old man. Look, according to my contact in Tunis, Hargrove was born as Zubayr Hadrioui, which proves nothing except of course he was of Middle Eastern origin. The question now becomes what, if anything, is the connection with Fielder?"

"Can we get some bio information without him knowing about it?"

"Of course. Don’t you have the latest Biographical Encyclopedia loaded on your datapack?"

"Why, when you can just log in and . . . oh."

"You’re catching on, Roman. Sometimes it pays to have local databases." He scanned a few files. "Here it is. Fielder’s father was a State Department employee named Benjamin. Wife, Ashley, nee Sorensen, two children, males, locally adopted . . ." His eyes met Castello’s. "Adopted. Locally."

"No others? Biological children I mean?"

"None mentioned. Fielder’s complexion is dark, isn’t it?"

"Yeah." Castello stared at the wall. "Gunter, our general is a grown-up Tunisian kid, adopted by an American diplomat. How the hell did he get cleared?"

"Father pulled strings I guess, but that’s not important. The question is, who is his brother."

‘I think we know the answer to that one."

"Hadrioui, aka Hargrove."

"Correct."

"But the age difference." He turned back to the display of the database. "Aha. The two adopted children were several years apart in age. So, Fielder’s younger brother goes to MIT and later becomes a Sunlover."

"Or he was one all along."

"And his brother?"

"Good question."

"Baron" thought for a moment. "Holy fucking Ra."

"Sigrid would have kicked your ass for that one."

"Fuck Sigrid. Let’s get going."

"Where?"

"Colorado Springs, where else?"

"Of course." Castello paused. "You bringing those guys with us like you told Fielder, that Leo and – what’s his name?"

"Zoltan. Why, you going to run away or something?"

"First chance I get. Actually, I wouldn’t miss this for the world."

"Me neither. Let’s go." Gunter fingered something small in his pocket. Just in case.

9 – Back to the Rockies

"Baron" sipped his drink and turned to Castello who was busy checking out the stewardess. "Roman, isn’t this great?"

"Yeah, it sure is."

"Not her ass, I mean this." He gestured with his hand. "Flying first class with a good drink in your hand."

"Well, sure. Especially when it only takes three hours. Christ, a mere fifty years ago, it would take all day to get from Germany to Colorado."

His companion nodded. Spotting the burn mark on Castello’s arm, he asked "Roman, how exactly did that happen?"

Castello looked around to see who could be listening. Satisfied, he spoke in a low voice. "It happened three years ago. We knew even less about that bastard than we do now, in fact we didn’t even know his name."

"Zraqad?"

"Who else? You remember Conqueror’s sister ship, Intimidator?"

"The military version? That was all hush-hush, wasn’t it?"

"Exactly. That’s why there was no public launch ceremony. Anyway Intimidator was about to go on her maiden voyage and security was tight at the Cape. They had me in charge of security just for that particular

episode."

"Why you? You’re an investigator. Besides I thought that colonel, what’s name, Desmond had that job."

"Nominally Phil Desmond was in charge but I was actually running the show behind the scenes. Fielder wanted it that way. In any case, the ‘bird’ had just been rolled out onto the runway when the commotion started. It was a classic ruse. In spite of the secrecy, there was a small crowd on hand, military bigwigs, engineers, and the like. They had been scanned, each and every one of them, believe me. Well, all of a sudden this one asshole jumps over the cordon and heads for the shuttle. He’s hollering something like ‘space travel is an affront to God’ or some such. One of the guards shouts at him to stop when he pulls out something that looks for all the world like a bomb and keeps going. So he gets cut down."

"How in God’s name did he get a bomb in there?"

"Ah. Well, it wasn’t a bomb at all, just a black, inflatable something-or-other that looked like a bomb. Looked enough like one to get him sliced in half by a laser rifle."

"Baron" shook his head. "I don’t get it. An inflatable phony bomb? Why?"

"As I said, a ruse. He gave up his life to distract us. Gunter, to this day I don’t know how the fuck he got there, but on the other side of the shuttle, there was this guy all dressed in black, about to carve a piece of Intimidator’s hide with a laser pistol."

"Who spotted him?"

"I did. By pure luck, I was on the other side of the bird when the first idiot jumped out of the crowd. Naturally the commotion got my attention and I was heading that way when I saw this – apparition out of the corner of my eye. Gunter, for a second I froze. I mean, here was this guy in a black robe, most of face covered by some kind of headdress, his arms raised in the air. Almost like he was in a trance. When he started to lower his arms, I saw the laser pistol and I snapped to. I hollered ‘Hey’ and he immediately turns toward me."

He paused to sip his drink.

"Roman, what did you do? Weren’t you armed? And how in creation did he in there?"

"Hold on. I’ll get to that. Was I armed? Yeah, but all I had in my hand at the time was a radio. Anyway, before I could even go for my own pistol he fires at me. This is where good training comes into play. When he brought up the pistol to shoot, I went into a crouch, so the beam grazed the back of my hand. Singed my clothes too. Hurt like a son-of-a-bitch."
"And?"

"Well, I’m on the ground figuring he’s about to zap me again when two things happened. First a group of security guys run to cover me, pistols drawn, and then another group runs up to the guy in black. My guys are aiming at him when one of the guys in the other group hollers out "Don’t fire, we’ve got him" or some such. Anyway, they disarm him and whisk him away."

"So you caught the son-of-a-bitch?"

"Nope. When I say `whisked him away,’ that’s exactly what I mean."

"I don’t get it."

"Gunter, they were with him. They got him out of there. All we had left was one dead asshole and a lot of egg on our faces."

"Roman, you mean to tell me these guys got in Zraqad and one other guy, plus a team of phony security men, almost took out a new space ship, and got out practically unscathed? That’s a little hard to believe."

"Gunter, guys getting into supposedly secure space stations and blowing them up is hard to believe too. I’ve thought all along these were inside jobs. Now I’m convinced."

Gunter was incredulous. "But that takes some help, doesn’t it? I mean serious, powerful inside help."

"Precisely."

"It all keeps pointing to the same place. But what the hell are we going to do about it?"

Before Castello could answer, a chime sounded followed by a feminine voice announced their imminent landing. Castello pursed his lips. "I don’t know, but we’d better think of something fast."

A few minutes later, the two were on their way to the mountain, having had no problems at customs due to their official status. A car met them at the airport, courtesy of General Fielder. In the back seat, Gunter slipped something halfway out of a pocket and showed it to Castello. It was small, different from the norm, but definitely a laser pistol.

"But how . . ." His question was interrupted by Gunter’s gesture to keep quiet. Eventually the two were walking down the tunnel into the mountain, having declined the ride on the electric car that replaced the bus from years passed.

Castello spoke first. "What the hell is that thing?"

"It’s what you think it is, and I’ll be damned, it actually works!"

"Huh?"

"Roman, this is a very powerful blaster, designed to be totally invisible to security scans, even the newest micro-laser pumped, x-ray technology. I designed it myself. Even the power supply is shielded. And getting it through security at the airport and here proves it!"

"And what if they had detected it?"

"My credentials would have taken of that, but I would have been disappointed, to say the least. Besides, I could always I needed to guard my ‘prisoner.’"

"You mean me?"

Gunter smiled. "I’m guarding you, remember?"

Castello stopped walking, prompting his friend to do the same. "Gunter, you mean to tell me you made this thing? Holy Christ!"

"Well, I designed it anyway. I had several firms in Germany make it, each of them working on a different part so they didn’t know exactly what it was for. I’m a physicist by education, not to mention a bit of a tinkerer. I was going to introduce it into the agency for general use once I proved it’s utility, but I may not."

"Why?"

"Number one, most of us don’t need weapons that fool security scanners, although those undercover may find it useful. But the other possibility is what scares me."

"I take it you mean what would happen if the ‘other side’ were to get hold of it."

"Precisely."

Castello shuddered at the thought of terrorists having access to nearly ‘invisible’ weapons. They started walking again.

"You’ll think we’ll need your new ‘toy?’"

"I hope not. Anyway, here comes the next hurdle."

They had come to the inner security door.

Before the guard had a chance to say anything, a young captain showed up. I’ll take charge of these two, sergeant. General Fielder’s waiting for them."

The sergeant gave a cursory glance at each man’s credentials and said "Yes sir."

Castello glanced at Gunter, knowing he was disappointed they didn’t get the full scan. At the same time, he was glad ‘Baron’ was armed. What they would do with the gun if and when the time came to use it was another question.

The captain said nothing other than ‘this way’ as he led them to the general’s suite. Once inside, they passed by the general’s aide and his secretary without comment and went immediately into his office.

"Here they are, sir."

"Thank you captain, dismissed."

10 – Fielder and Icarus

The officer left, closing the door behind him. Fielder eyed the two for a moment and spoke. "Gunter, thank you for your cooperation in this, uh, messy business and for bringing him here. You may go."

Gunter was stunned. "Sir?"

"I said you may go."

"But . . ."

"Gunter, what’s the problem? You’re dismissed, you understand?"

"But I’ve come a long way. I’d at least like to know what the story is."

"What is there to know? Castello here has been derelict in his duty, and I’m going to ask for his resignation, and if he doesn’t give it, I’m going to fire him, that’s all."

"Just like that?"

"Yes, just like that. And you can get the word out to people in the field that the same fate will happen to them if they fuck up." He sighed. "Look, Gunter, take a few days off. Colorado Springs is a great town. Check into the general officer’s suite at the base quarters. Tell them it’s on my orders and to call my office if they question it. And then, go back to Munich."

"I see." He then turned to Castello who had remained silent during the whole conversation. "Well, Ro, it was nice working with you."

Before he knew what was happening, Castello was being hugged by Gunter who simultaneously was slipping something into his pocket out of sight of Fielder. "It’s ready," whispered Gunter. Castello knew what "it" was.

As the two clapped each other on the back, Fielder spoke up. "Let’s not get too maudlin, gentlemen, I have work to do."

The two broke apart, and Castello finally spoke. "I’ll get in touch with you later and we’ll have dinner. That is, if the general doesn’t have me put in irons or something." He threw a sidelong glance at Fielder who said nothing.

"Great." "Baron" shook his hand one more time and turned to the general. "Goodbye, sir. Thanks for the suite and all that."

"Fine, fine. Goodbye, Gunter." He pressed a button and the door opened. Gunter winked at Castello and left the room. When the door had closed behind him, he took a seat in the outer office.

"Sir?" said the general’s secretary.

"I’m going to wait for Mr. Castello. He won’t be long."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Inside, Castello and Fielder eyed each other for a moment. Castello spoke first. "Can I at least sit down before you give me the axe?"

"Of course." Fielder motioned to a chair and took his own seat behind his desk. "Roman, it pains me to have to say this because you’ve been a real good officer, but I’m afraid you screwed the pooch, as they say."

Castello tried to maintain his cool. "How so, general? I don’t see where I’ve done anything wrong."
"You don’t, huh? Well, let’s see. You completely blew the Munich mission, you disobeyed orders, and you’ve tried to gain access to information you’re not authorized to see. Is that enough, or do you want more?"

"General Fielder, I ‘blew’ no mission. The contact you provide me turned out to be working for Zraqad, which doesn’t say much for you as a leader. Both she and I had the wrong bona fides, a rather strange situation, don’t you think? Besides, since when do you send someone on a mission without letting the locals know?"

"How dare you question my leadership? Did you forget to whom you are speaking?"

Castello leaned forward. "What are you going to do, fire me? That’s already a given, isn’t it?"

Fielder’s eyes were slits. "There’s a lot more I can do, Colonel Castello." He put the emphasis on the "Colonel." "I was going to let you retire with your rank, but I may just have you busted and deny your pension. How’s that for starters?"

Castello frowned. He had a decision to make. He needed time to properly confront this man. And more evidence. "General, just do you whatever you have to do."

"That I will. I will reduce you to the rank of major for insubordination and let you retire at that level. You’ll have to undergo mind alteration of course."

"What?" Castello knew the process. Drugs that had the effect of partially wiping one’s memory, applied under a state of hypnosis. Done carefully, certain memories could be "erased" without major after effects. Done incorrectly, one could be left little more than a lobotomized vegetable.

"Castello, you have been cleared into Brightside, among other things. There is now way I’m turning you loose with that knowledge."

Castello started to sweat. "Why can’t I just sign debriefing papers like everybody else?"

"I’m sorry, that won’t be possible. We have good people doing this, so don’t worry."

Castello fingered the weapon in his pocket. "And when will this take place?"

"Immediately, I’m afraid. Now please give me your credentials."

Decision made. "No fuckin’ way, general." He drew the pistol.

"What did you say?" Then he saw the weapon. "How in blazes did you get that in here?" He reached for a button on his desk.

"I have my own secrets, now get the fuck away from there."

Fielder sat back, showing his palms. "Okay. If you try to shoot me, you’ll never leave the building alive anyway."

"We’ll see about that." He sat down, holding the pistol with his right hand. With his left, he pressed something on his belt. "Now talk."

"About what?"

"About how you’re working for the other side." Might as well go for broke.

"What the hell are you talking about?"
"You know damn well you sent me out of the country on a wild goose chase, setting me up with an agent who was actually a damn Sunlover."

"To what end?"

"To get me out of the country so you could get the Conqueror to blow up, and then say it was my fault because I wasn’t here to do something about it. Because I was getting too close to the truth. Whatever your warped mind could come up with."

Fielder smiled. "Do you really expect anyone to believe that cock and bull story?"

"They will when they realize that you, of all people, are working for the other side. You’re one of them, Fielder, or should I refer to you as Hadrioui?"

Fielder stopped smiling. He stared at Castello for a long moment and spoke slowly, softly. "What are you talking about?"

"Your real last name. The same as the nutcase that blew up part of TS-1. Your fucking brother!"

The general closed his eyes. After a long moment he whispered "Icarus."

"What?"

Fielder’s eyes opened. They were no longer the eyes of an American general officer. They were the eyes of the True Believer, two black daggers pointed at the infidel. "Icarus! My brother. He died for Ra! He is with Him."

"My God," was all Castello could say. Looking into Fielder’s eyes, he wondered for a second. Could it be?

His adversary seemed to calm down. Taking a deep breath, he said "Okay, Roman. You may as well know the truth. Yes, I am a follower of Ra. And in my position, I will see to it that He is not disturbed." His voice rose in pitch and in volume. "And there is nothing you can do about it!"

"I still have the pistol, you fuckin’ traitor!"
"Roman, you see that device on the table?" He gestured toward a small machine sitting on a table next to his desk. It was a small, black cube with rounded corners. "That is a small version of that ‘gizmo’ you were so curious about. It’s been on since you came in. I didn’t tell you it works on laser pistols too."

Castello suddenly felt defenseless. "If that’s so, then why did you confess?"

"I wanted you to know just how much of a damn fool you’ve been all this time. How I’ve -— we’ve -- played you like a fiddle while we slowly took apart your precious space program."

Castello was puzzled. His curiosity got the best of him in spite of his precarious position. "Why slowly? Why not go for broke and blow up the whole space station and the Cape with it?"

"Simple. If that happened, they would have to come to the conclusion that someone on the inside had to be in on it. Someone powerful."

"Like you."

"Like me. Then I would be, uh, removed, and they would start all over again. No, it’s much better this way. I can keep control over the whole stupid enterprise."

"But why? Your really think the fuckin’ sun is God? Are you nuts?"

Fielder’s face was a hot cauldron of anger. "You foolish man. I am truly going to enjoy what I’m about to do."

"And what is that?"

"I am going to have you arrested for threatening the life of a general officer and then I will have your mind erased. All of it. And never again will you mouth – or think – such blasphemy!"

Castello aimed the little pistol between the eyes of his adversary.

"I assure you that won’t work."

"Shall we find out?"

A bead of sweat broke out on the general’s forehead as he stood there. Each man wondered what actually would happen if Castello squeezed the trigger. On a whim, he aimed at the "gizmo" on the table. "Let’s test it out, shall we?"

He fired. To both men’s surprise, a thin beam of bluish light hit the machine and played itself around it, leaving it intact.

Fielder reacted with a thin smile. "At least the shielding works," not realizing the implications of what had just happened.

Castello stopped firing at the "gizmo" and turned the pistol toward Fielder. "Your machine may be shielded, but you’re not."

Fielder’s eyes opened wide. He reached for the button on his desk that would summon help just as Castello’s beam caught him in the face. A hole the size of a number 2 pencil appeared beneath his right eye and he dropped, slumping over the desk.

Castello lowered the pistol, and reached for the door release button just he noticed a humming sound coming from the "gizmo." It was getting louder. He quickly pressed the button and squeezed through the door when it had opened enough to barely let him through.

A startled Gunter looked up at him. "What the –-"

"Get out! No time to explain." He gestured to the equally startled secretary. "You too! Get the hell out of here now!" Grabbing his friend by the arm, he raced to the door. They were barely outside it when the explosion came.

The blast slammed both of them to the floor, knocking them unconscious. The secretary wasn’t so lucky. The flying heavy door caught her standing there, frozen with indecision and fright.

Having attractive women die around Roman Castello was getting to be a nasty habit.

11 - Aftermath


It was over twenty-four hours later when Castello woke up. His eyes blinked a couple of times and he sat up. Turning his head to the left, he saw Gunter lying in a bed next to him, his head bandaged. "Gunter, what the hell happened?"

His friend just moaned in response. "Gunter?"

"Easy, Colonel. You’ve had a concussion. Just lie back and take it easy."

He lay back down. "Who are you?"

"I’m Major Smolenski, your doctor. Lieutenant?"

"Sir?" A nurse answered.

"Call General Leone. He wanted to know when these two woke up."

"Will do."

The major went over to Gunter. "How are you doing, sport?"

He grunted in response. Then, "I feel like I’ve the worst hangover I’ve ever had."

"Hmmm. Explosions will have that effect. You two relax a bit. Major General Leone will be here in a few."

"Nick Leone," asked Castello, "Fielder’s deputy?"

"That’s him. I imagine he’ll have a few questions for you two."

"I imagine he will," Castello murmured as he lay on his pillow.

Thirty minutes later, a grim-faced Nicholas Leone stood between the two beds, arms folded across his chest. He was every bit the general, all six-foot two, square-jawed, short haired inch of him. "I trust you two jokers have an explanation for what the hell happened in General Fielder’s office?"

"Fielder. What happened to him?" was all Castello could muster.

"Ha. What’s left of him was plastered over all of what’s left of his office. And that ain’t much. Ro, what the fuck went on in there?"

"General, did my clothes survive?"

"Your clothes?" He looked at the doctor.

"Yes sir. They’re in the locker."

"Under my belt. A microrecorder. It’ll the tell the story."

The general nodded to the doctor who went to a nearby wall-locker and retrieved Castello’s clothes. A minute later Leone fingered the tine device. "It looks intact. What’s on it?"

"A recording of what happened." He took a deep breath. "You won’t like what you hear."

Leone snickered. "Yeah. No shit. A dead general, a dead secretary, half an office-suite destroyed, and two field agents in the hospital. What’s to like?"

Castello grimaced. "Heather got killed? Shit."

"It’s a shame but that’s the least of your problems,

don’t you think?"

"General, do me a favor?"

"What’s that, Castello? Not that I’m in the mood to grant any favors at the moment."
"Just don’t listen to that until Gunter and I are up and around and have had a chance to talk to you first and we’ll listen to it together, OK?"

Leone turned to the doctor. "Think they’ll be up to it tomorrow?"

"Well, sir, I can’t guarantee it. I’d rather they stayed in bed a couple of more days."

"I don’t have a couple of more days. I can hear the brass screaming all the way from Washington. They want to know what the hell happened. And so do I." He fingered the microrecorder. "Besides, if I don’t like what I hear on this little baby, their health will be the last thing they have to worry about." He faced the two bedmates. "Tomorrow, 12 noon. My office. And unless you’re dead, you’d better be there. Both of you." He glanced at the doctor once more, turned sharply and marched off.

The doc looked after him for a moment and turned back to his two charges. "You guys get some rest. I’ve a feeling you’re going to need it."

"I’ve got a feeling you’re right," answered Castello.

All Gunter could manage was a groan.

Major General Leone switched off the device and at Castello, than at Gunter, then back at Castello. "Jesus H. Christ. If hadn’t heard that myself . . . I know you didn’t have a chance to doctor that . . . damn. We’ll have it voice analyzed of course, but I know that voice, that’s Fielder. Damn," he repeated.

Castello rubbed his head which still hurt. "Yes sir, those recorders have come a long way since microcassettes and the like."

Leone shook his head. "I still can’t get over it. Fielder – one of them. Jesus." He thought for a moment. "It makes sense, though, when you think about what’s happened in the last few months."

Gunter chimed in. "Yeah, it does. I refused to believe it myself at first, but the more you analyze it, the more it fits. I mean, look at the sequence of events. Take what happened to the Intimidator for starters."

Leone’s eyes were question marks. "What do you know about that?"

Castello took over. "General, you remember the day she was christened?" When he got a nod in response, he repeated the story he’d told Gunter. When he finished, he said "Now you tell me how that could’ve happened without some inside help. Big time inside help."

"Like a general. Damn. And being in that position, he could cover things up. I remember thinking about that investigation. It went nowhere, as I recall."

"Precisely," said Castello. "Everything that happened was ascribed to the Sunlovers. Which was true, of course."

"With a little help from their friend," added Gunter.

"Or friends," Leone said. "If they could turn a general officer, Lord knows who else may be in our midst." He put his hands on the table. "As I said, the chip has to be voice analyzed, of course, but I’m sure that will be routine. As far as I’m concerned, you guys are off the hook. Stick around for two or three days. Enough time for me to deal with the big brass and for you two to write a full report. Start with the TS-1 explosion and take it up to now."

"Everything?" asked Castello.

"Everything. Brightside Tier-10, naturally." He referred to the most restricted level of distribution for Brightside which kept it limited to a handful of people.

"What will the official story be?" asked Gunter.

"The official story will be that General Fielder was demonstrating his ignition suppressing device to you when it malfunctioned and exploded. Colonel Castello managed to get out and the general didn’t."

"Sounds weak."

"Fuck it. That’s what they’re getting. I don’t believe we want the American people to find out the man in charge of their defense against terrorism was himself a terrorist, do we?"

Neither man responded.

"I thought not." Something crossed his mind as he stood. "Ro, stay here for a minute. Gunter, you can go."

Gunter didn’t protest this dismissal as he had the last one. He said his good-byes to the general and took his leave. When the door was shut, Leone sat down as did Castello.

"Ro, the recording has Fielder saying something like

‘At least the shielding worked,’ or some such. Then you say something like ‘The machine is shielded but you’re not.’ Am I right?"

Castello knew what he was getting at. "Yes, that’s about right. What of it?"
"What happened between the time you said those words and the explosion, besides you running out of the room screaming at Gunter and Heather?"

He inhaled deeply. "The general apparently realized my weapon was still functional and he reached for something."

"A gun?"

"I didn’t wait to find out. I shot him. Through the face. You know the rest."

Leone stared at him for a moment. Then he stood as did Castello and they shook hands. "Colonel Castello, thank you for your honesty and your service to your country. Now, we’ve all got a job to do. I’ve got to handle the brass, and you’ve got to find the rest of those bastards, so let’s get to it. I’ll be looking forward to your report."

"Yes, sir." Even though he was in "civvies." He threw Leone a crisp salute which was returned, and Castello left.

He found "Baron" waiting for him in the antechamber. The bandage still around his head him look anything but baronial. "What was that all about?"

"He wanted to know how Fielder actually died."

"He died in the explosion, right?"

Castello relayed to him what he had told the general. Gunter let out a low whistle. "How did he react to that?"

"I have a feeling he wished he’d pulled the trigger himself. How about some lunch? There’s a five-star resort just outside this mountain called the Broadmoor. Fantastic place. You game?"

"Sure. I could use a little repast."

Two hours later, the two left the Tavern, the restaurant on the ground floor of the resort’s main building. Castello took in the sight of the place. "Good old Broadmoor. This place has been here for over a century and a half. Thank God something hasn’t changed for the worse."

"An excellent meal, good choice. When do you want to tackle that report?"

"We’ll have to do it in ‘office’ of course. How about tomorrow?"

"Zehr gut," he said in German. "I am very glad all that stuff is over."

Castello looked him in the eye. "Over? My dear ‘Baron,’ it’s anything but over."
Gunter lowered his voice. "We got the head guy, don’t you think?"

"How do you mean?"

"I mean Zraqad. Fielder and he were one and the same. Make sense?"

Castello’s eyes narrowed. He pondered it for a moment, remembering Fielder’s eyes. In his mind he pictured the man on the viddisk and compared the two. Then he remembered. He smiled. "No, I don’t think so.

Gunter, when I saw Zraqad near the Intimidator, Fielder was on the other side of the ship with the other dignitaries."

"Okay. But that leaves us with one hell of a big unanswered question."

"Only one? I can think of dozens."

"Yes, but there’s one big one. Roman, it is strange enough that people believe that the sun is a god in the middle of the twenty-first century. Granted, a few decades ago, we had people blowing themselves up in the belief that they would end up in paradise with dozens of virgins attending to them."

"So this century is no different than any other when it comes to fanatics. What’s the ‘but?’"

"The ‘but’ is, how in hell does a four-star general with a stellar career in the Space Force end up believing in this scheisse?"

"Maybe he was a believer when he signed up and worked his way up the ladder. Maybe he got converted later on. I don’t know. It is, however, one of the things we have to find out. Not to mention whether or not there any other Fielder’s waiting to take his place."

Gunter growled. "Idiots. The sun is a star, not a god that doesn’t want people to go into space. It doesn’t make any sense."

Castello smiled. "Since when do megalomaniacs make any sense?" He glanced up at the late afternoon sun. "Besides, they supposedly believe the sun is the representation of God’s power, or some such."

"Representation or not, it still sounds hokey to me."

"A lot of things in a lot of religions sound hokey but people still believe them. In the meantime, he’s still out there, pondering his next move."

"Zraqad?"

"None other." He put his hand on Gunter’s shoulder. "Come on, Herr Baron, we’ve got work to do."



Some hours later and several thousand miles away, a dark-eyed man in strange robes addressed his followers. He told them they had lost a great friend. How he knew this, he did not say. But know he did. Their friend was powerful and helped them in may ways, but he was gone and he would be missed. He told them not to fret because their cause was just and there were more friends.

When they had said their chants, he took his leave and retreated into his inner sanctum and prostrated himself in prayer before the statue of Akhenaten.



The "friend" he had referred to was Fielder. He was dead.

The dark-eyed man was Zraqad Shimshaa. He was very much alive.

Castello was right.
 

Excerpt
Zraqad Shimshaa, pronounced ZRAH-COD SHIM-SHAH, leader of the “Solarites,” worshippers of the sun (or Sol - also nown by the ancient Egyptian name “Ra” which is used when referring to the sun as a deity). The Solarites do not believe the sun itself is God; rather it is the representation of God’s power (in essence, a giant cross or Star of David, etc.) and is the medium in which God delivers His warmth and light. Twice a day, at sunrise and sunset, they prostrate themselves and chant “Ra is God, God is Ra. There is no other and HE cannot be touched.” They believe that Man does not belong in space because it offends Ra, sunspots, solar flares and violent weather being “proof” that Ra is unhappy. The Solarites act violently as well in their quest to keep Man on Earth. Took “credit” for the destruction of the International Space Station as well as numerous acts of destruction to space-related installations Downstairs. Some analysts believe the destruction of the earlier space shuttles Challenger and Columbia were acts of sabotage committed by people of similar beliefs, perhaps precursors to the Solarites (it should be mentioned that there is no evidence of this). Zraqad emerged around 2055, declaring himself Chief Priest of Ra and a direct descendant of Akhenaten, the Egyptian Pharaoh who worshipped the sun. Little is known of Zraqad’s background except that he was born somewhere in North Africa . . .