… Regardless of all of the power of the Council of Clandestine Operations on Planets (CCOP) and the aid of technologically advanced weapons, cerebral implants, and the ultimate in transportation – Delta Warp, the private investigators and even the CCOP clandestine teams were not beyond the grasp of the big bosses. A few more stars gave way to the relentless dawn that approached the city and the single waiting figure consumed in his thoughts. He looked again at the picture of his late partner. Phillip Trent stood knowing that the plight of this, the first planet contacted by Corporate Earth, would continue possibly long past his lifetime – as it did his partner’s. Still he felt deep hatred toward the big bosses and the traders who dealt in illegal goods, who place no value on life, who work against the councils for their own profit, regardless of the techno-social pollution of the people and the planet. The Military AeroSpace Security’s (MASS) report on his partner’s death only suggested a professional hit, but it was the only explanation. A hit from one of his enemies would make the most sense, but Jonathan Bishop had many enemies and precious few friends. Which one of his enemies, that was the key. The trench coat clad figure’s facial expression changed from one of searching to one of analysis. The pictures and experiences of the past few days flowed across his mind as the cerebral implant re-played them into his cortex.

The inner-city. A dealer of illicit technology owned a small shop. The large windows were hung with all manner of good and gadgets, alien and Foundation alike, to the point of darkening the store inside. Immediately upon entering the store a short heavy man approached and started into his sales-pitch. I stopped him mid-sentence and threw him against one of the cluttered walls. As I grabbed his shirt, beads of perspiration emerged form his bald head and information flowed from his lips the light from the sun on a hot summer day. The man I was looking for was a typical gun, the type the mob hired. A kind which I had seen before, the kind that was to stupid to know when to die. His name was Joey Scarpini, I searched my cerebral implant’s main files and selected a 50% computer/sight overlay. As I walked through the accumulated filth of the inner-city with it’s ghettos, and over crowded populous their hearts and minds corrupted from exposure to techno-pollution, I read the file in my mind. Joey was small time hit man, he was charged three times and release on bail each time with help from the inner-city Don. It made the most sense, Jonathan and I were investigating a TPD ring (Technology, Prostitution, Drugs) run by the Don when he was killed. The sun moved closer to the horizon and all but the three moons were opaqued by the inevitable dawn. The man thought.

The Don had been involved in techno-pollution before, but bosses never did time on mining colonies, one of their men always took the fall. CCOP had tried to stop this Don, but sending some of his men to mining colonies and killing the ones misused their second chance didn’t phase him. Nothing they did stopped him. So, in this instance the target was the Boss himself, not just one of his men. Bosses who break laws aren’t given a second chance. A felling of hatred filled Phillip’s mind when he remembered the morning before, the difficulty of getting licence for this one. He almost didn’t because of his involvement with the case, he had to use-up a lot of favours, but he owed it to Jonathan. The red sun of the solar system Constella B crept closer to meet the horizon. His communicator signalled an incoming message. The perfectly shaped face of a woman appeared, nodded quickly in acknowledgment and then disappeared: he raised his eyes toward the penthouse of the Metro-plex across the street, where the inner-city Don slept in the early morning light, and thought. …for all of the people you have ever hurt, including Jonathan

The giant red sun was just visible over the horizon form the high penthouse over-looking the city. The light filtered through the half open polarizing screens, in-place on the huge round windows, beyond them the balcony. The light from the sun, shifted the colours of the room to a red-orange. Renderings by de Vinci, Titian, Raphael and other artistic masters hung from the fabric covered walls and the floor was covered by a hand made rug. All this framing a mahogany bedstead, than was set against one wall of the room. The bedding was almost pure red, reflecting into the room the colour of the morning sun. A lone figure stirred beneath the sheets and as it moved there was an inaudible whisper of a body sliding between silken covers. The figure’s mind was ablaze with the colour of the sun mixed with the dreams of the night before. Slowly, he opened his eyes only to shut them quickly. Laying there thinking, he imagined the room, the pictures, the furnishings and his body under the sheets in his mind. He thanked this planet, and all of it’s diversity, as it was the essence of his business, success, and power. He rolled over and dropped off to sleep comforted by the fact that he controlled the city awakening beneath him. A tall exquisitely shaped woman walked into the room with the silver platter in one hand. The platter held two objects, the first large and asymmetrical, the second small and triangular both covered by a once white, now orange-red, cloth. She moved to the side of the bed, flanking the sleeping body. From beneath the cloth she pulled the first asymmetrical object, a Sting Ray pistol. She took aim, though it was unnecessary; she wanted to be certain. Slowly, she squeezed the trigger and the bullet left the gun without a whisper. As the shot hit a faint slap rang around the room and was repeated seven more times. She pulled back to covers to be sure, and recognized the now lifeless inner-city Don’s face. She replaced the pistol and pull from the covered platter a small triangular patch. On the body she laid the silver anodized triangle with the letters CCOP emblazoned on it in Galactic script. Phillip Trent pulled form his pocket a small device similar to a calculator. He pressed a few buttons and positioned the device. He hit one last button, and a five second count-down started. A portion of the building behind him shimmered and buckled. The instant the timer reached zero the shimmering coalesced into an alien landscape bounded by the sharp edges of the hole. It opened onto a red meadow of a bright and sunny world. He turned and casually walked toward the hole. He stepped over the threshold and planted one foot on the other side. As he stood, with one half of his body on either side of the galaxy, he turned to face the rising sun. The first photons of light from the rising sun struck his face – he turned and walked to his next assignment.

Kevin D. Clarke & Noel W. Clarke - 1986