Authors: Shane R. Daley

Tags: #Mystery, #Hard Science Fiction, #High Tech, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Space Exploration, #Technothrillers, #Thriller & Suspense, #Science Fiction, #Thrillers, #Literature & Fiction

Shattered Legacy (38 page)

“No. What I'm saying is that what Jacob did, he did for the good of our venture. I don't condone his actions or ever want him back with the company, but...but Jacob did what he thought was right.”

“There's a saying about the road to hell being paved with good intentions, Sinclair.”

“Have faith.” Dorian favored the younger man with a grim smile. “We still have a few side projects in the works.”

“I don't think a few side projects will save us. Even Jacob's scheme wouldn't have kept us afloat for more than another few quarters.”

“A few quarters would have been all we needed.” Dorian leaned forward in his chair, and the corners of his eyes wrinkled with a crooked smile. “What would you say if I told you that in the next year a congressional bill will come to vote authorizing a twenty billion dollar program for space-based solar energy development, with Templar Enterprises as a primary contractor?”

“Solar energy?” Tyler asked. “I’d say you were joking.”

Dorian’s smile remained. Ramona nodded knowingly.

“You're serious?”

“I've been working on this deal for over a year. The project calls for an experimental series of satellites that we’ll build for the government. When we get the orbiters flying again, we’ll be launching the hardware into space.”

“I thought you were against getting involved in these big government programs.”

“I'm against the government monopolizing the space industry. I have no problems with the government as a customer. Hell, that’s what made me rich in the first place.”

“But why would anyone deal with us after the
Naiad
incident? Odds are we're going to be barred from government contracts for years.”

“I wouldn't lose sleep over that.”

Ramona spread her hands. “Samson, you of all people know that you have to deal with the devil if you want to fly with the angels. No matter what it takes, the mission continues.”

Frowning, Tyler walked over to the window and glanced back. “Was this always part of the plan? To build a civilian company and use lucrative government contracts to gain profitability?”

“The goal was jump-starting private space exploration. The rest just happened.” Dorian cleared his throat. “By the way, folks, I'm going to go public with the cancer. I thought you should know that.”

Ramona lifted her head. Her expression brightened.

“And then I'm going to resume my full-time duties as CEO.”

Her shoulders slumped.

Noting Tyler’s confused expression, Dorian explained. “Three months ago, I had a tumor about the size of a golf ball removed from my pelvis. It’s been a slow recovery, but it now appears that I’m in remission. I’m cancer-free.”

“That’s – that’s wonderful,” Ramona said slowly, fumbling over her words. “But why did you keep your sickness – and your recovery - such a secret?”

“I didn’t want to upset the investors, my dear. But I’m back, and I’m ready to take charge again.” Dorian ran his hands over his thighs, smoothing the quilt over his legs. A familiar grin crossed his face.

Tyler shook his head. He should have known that the old man had one final trick up his sleeve. He looked out at the bright blue sky. A flicker of conflict came over his face as he considered the future. He had walked into this room expecting to lose his job. Now the question was whether he actually wanted to
stay on
with the company. He knew how far they had come. He also saw how far they had to go.

And it scared the hell out of him.

Slowly he shook his head. “I don't know about relying so much on a single government contract…”

Dorian shrugged. “Tell you what, Samson. If you come up with a better idea, we’ll run with it.”

He smiled at that. “I guess in the meantime we’d better look like we’re moving ahead. We don't want disappoint the investors.”

“Now you get it.”

At the sound of a clearing throat, the three looked up. Shannon Kiel was standing at the doorway, staring at Dorian and tapping her wristwatch impatiently. Dorian rolled his eyes as his nurse marched over.

“You kids behave yourselves,” he said as he was wheeled from the room. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“No, you won’t,” Shannon told him as they started down the hallway.

“Yes, I will,” he insisted. “And don’t even try to stop me, young lady. I want my old office reopened.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Ramona and Tyler listened to the exchange with amusement as they left the room together.

When the others were out of earshot, Ramona was the first to speak. “I’ve already set up meetings in Washington,” she said. “We should go over our proposals before we leave.”

“We?”

“I'm going to need you there, Samson. We’re moving in a new direction, and I need your help. Can we discuss this over lunch?”

“Lunch?”

“I know a great little café about a block from here. Why don’t we meet downstairs at noon?”

“That’s fine… I guess.”

This would be the first time that the two ever met for lunch, socially or otherwise. Ramona Vargas had always been an opportunist, but by working together for once, they had both come out ahead. Tyler hoped it signaled the start of a better working relationship.

Still, as they separated and headed toward their respective offices, he wondered who was going to pick up the check.

EPILOUGE

Three levels up in a public parking garage on Worth Street, nearly a block away from the Daniel Patrick Moynihan United States Courthouse, Evelyn Merrick sat on the cement floor between an F150 pickup and the barrier wall overlooking the street. She was assembling her 7.62 x 51mm SR 25 semi-auto sniper rifle with a 20-round magazine.

She chose the SR25 specifically because the rifle was highly adaptable to any body shape or shooting style. The rifle was a 24-inch barrel commercial version. With the suppressor attached, the weapon was fifty inches long, making it excellent for long-range shooting.

Propping the rifle against her inner thigh, she snapped the scope into place with her left hand. Then she carefully lifted the rifle, rested the barrel over the metal railing, and raised herself to a crouching position. The weather was warm and the air was still. Traffic below was light, past the lunch hour rush.

The view through the scope was not optimal, as the corner of the nearest building and some low trees partially obscured her line of sight. Knots of people were gathered at the main entrance of the courthouse. Cameras and reporters were waiting below on the marble steps.

She looked up and peered through the scope again. She shifted left and right and carefully adjusted the scope with her left hand. She could see that the reporters were now moving, their attention on someone who had just stepped outside. It took another moment for Merrick to zero in on the scene.

Samson Tyler. There he stood, proud and sure, addressing the crowd at the top of the steps before one of the large marble pillars. It was impossible to hear what he was saying, but she watched him gesture pointedly for the cameras. He looked confident, as if he were in complete control of the situation.

But Samson Tyler wasn’t in control. He wasn’t in control before, and he wasn’t in control now.

She released a quick breath and shifted her sights to the corner of the block. Several photographers were rushing over to a car that had just pulled up to the curb. A moment later, Jacob Jackson piled out of the vehicle, surrounded by several attorneys. They marched over to the marble steps. The crowd shifted away from Tyler and pressed in on the new arrivals. Jackson raised his hands as microphones were shoved at his face. His lawyers crowded around him and waved people back.

She focused again to see Tyler watch as Jackson started up the steps. The older man paused at the top of the steps. He turned back to look at the assembled crowd. Jackson and Samson Tyler stood only a few feet away from each other. And then, for just an instant, the two men made eye contact.

Merrick nudged the weapon with her shoulder to re-center her sights. She held her breath as the cross hairs centered over her target's chest. Her finger slowly tightened on the trigger. This was the moment where time stood still, the moment where a life was ripe for the taking. This was the payback for a ruined future.

He stood there. Calm. Unmoving.

The perfect shot.

One bullet. One death.

As she pulled the trigger, she knew - absolutely knew - that she would hit her mark.

The suppressor softened the sound of the shot, but there was still a loud clap as the bullet left the barrel.

She watched through the scope as his chest erupted in the bloom of crimson. People were screaming as the nearest spectators dove for cover. A single police officer moved to push him out of the way, but Jacob Jackson was already reeling backwards, dead.

And with him died Templar’s connections to Merrick.

Not lingering on the victim, she shifted her sights and refocused on Samson Tyler, who had backed up against the marble face of the building. His face was a mask of surprise and fear as he looked around, knowing that bullet could have come from anywhere and that it could have been meant for him. Merrick caressed the trigger again as a small, grim smile curled her lips. She made her point. After today, Samson Tyler would provide her courtesy of discretion.

Or else he would die, as well.

More police officers moved in as the crowd scattered. With a satisfied grunt, Merrick slid the gun from the railing and carefully set it down. With her teeth, she pulled her glove free from her left hand and stuffed it into the pocket of her windbreaker as she started limping away from the truck. She heard the scream of sirens. Traffic below would be cordoned off within minutes.

She decided to use the north stairwell to exit onto the opposite end of the block. From there she would head toward Columbus Park, confident that she would slip away undetected.

After all, a woman with a bandaged eye, a knee brace, and a right arm ending at the elbow hardly fit the profile of an assassin.

AFTERWARD

Much of the technology described in
Shattered Legacy
is extrapolated from current aerospace research. The launch and flight operations are based NASA’s shuttle launch procedures. For the sake of storytelling, many details were fictionalized or condensed. Any technical shortcuts, omissions or errors are entirely my own.

The United States’ civilian space program continues to shift toward a private-public partnership. While some argue that a fully government-funded U.S. space exploration program is unaffordable, it's an investment that we cannot afford to ignore. Over the decades, NASA has created thousands of American jobs. Space research has led to innovative technologies that have benefited both our economy and quality of life.

Private industry certainly has its place in space exploration. However, corporations are driven by profit. Space tourism and cargo transport are the low-hanging fruits. Pushing the boundaries of space exploration involves tremendous expense and risk, without a definitive return on investment. Those are not attractive investment conditions for any modern business. It is my hope that governments continue to be the major drivers of space exploration, with the United States leading the way.

About the Author

Shane R. Daley lives in New York.
Shattered Legacy
is his first novel. To find out more, please visit www.shanedaley.com.

Table of Contents

Dedication

MONDAY