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Far removed from Massimo’s misery, a man settled into the soft mycelium leather seats of his droid chauffeured Sable flyer as it cruised the capital city of Rhesia. He stared at the bright, neon-strobed strips of shops, buildings, casinos and levelled dwellings shining with sparkling lights.
Little did the people strolling under them realise that it took over three million klicks of neon lights to illuminate Enia, giving it its distinctive characteristic of being visible from space.
In addition to the glow that flooded the streets, there were also lights galore inside the hotels, casinos, bars and dance halls, perpetually illuminated to prevent patrons from perceiving the difference between day and night. This ensured they stayed all night, all week and in many cases for months on end, spending big in the bauble of the System.
For millennia, the energy needs of Enia had been met by mining orhial, which powered the lights of the giant metropolis.
In recent eras, however, the depletion of orhial from Rhesian mines, the exponential demographic growth of the capital and the development of larger and more brightly lit establishments made it essential to find new energy sources to feed the needs of this city and the planet itself. They were running out of time. Orhial deposits had slowed to a trickle. They only had a few million terratons of it left in storage.
If Rhesus - the throne and the government - didn’t act soon, they were five years away from all lights being turned off.
A soft trill broke through the man’s dark thoughts. He glanced at the screen on his flyer’s dash. It showed a hidden contact trying to get through. No one he knew had an anonymous ID, yet he sensed he’d need to take this call.
He flicked his wrist comm irritably, unamused at his after-hours ride being interrupted.
‘Who is this?’ he barked.
‘You sound displeased. And here we thought you’d be delighted to hear from us,’ a mechanical voice said.
The man grimaced. ‘I had no idea it would be you. You cloaked the call.’
‘How else would we comm you? By announcing it to the entire System? Are you that naive about the art of being clandestine?’
The man bristled at the put-down. ‘Speaking of clandestine, what happened on Dunia, Eminence? The fact that the lowly citizens of the planet drove your not-so-clandestine operation out of there is not a fact I’m naive or uninformed about!’ the man snapped. ‘We also discussed keeping your nose out of the affair and letting Massimo be the face of the operation. All you were meant to do was fund his coup, not lend your rattlers and weapons to him. How did it spectacularly fall apart?’
‘We suffered a small setback.’
‘A small setback?’ The man hissed. ‘You lost a war. Against a tiny force that’s barely organised. Let alone armoured well enough.’
‘I’d not go so far as to say that. Like you, we underestimated their strength and ability to purchase mercenary help. But we have a plan, thanks to Massimo.’
‘And what might that be? I need to know now, so I’ve something positive to tell my people. So we can enact our plans.’
The tinny laugh echoed through the line. ‘Patience, my friend. The less you know, the better. Remember what I just taught you about the art of being clandestine? This is another similar lesson. We’ll be in touch.’
The line dropped. The Rhesian man sneered at the darkened screen of his flyer’s comm. The holo screen lit up once more. This time the caller’s name was displayed.
‘Fokk me!’ the Rhesian hissed. ‘When it storms, it floods!’
He reluctantly tapped his wrist comm to take the call.
‘This is The Klatsch calling,’ a voice informed him. ‘Will you take the call from your handler?’
The man sighed. ‘Of course. One never refuses The Klatsch.’
‘Brace yourself. They have many questions about the recent mess on Dunia.’
‘I bet they do.’
‘To the Triumv.’
‘True and sure.’
The man sat back in the flyer and resigned himself to his fate.
III
If the full moon loves you, why worry about the stars?
