Ashkelon Station: In Orbit of GL382

07/21/2183

"Check!" Dasha Zhukova exclaimed slapping her hand on the side table startling Ze'ev Darkon who blinked with the realization he'd been lost in thought. A trend that was growing ever more common in his old age. Dasha on the other hand was youthful, rowdy, energetic and lighthearted. Even more so than most in their early thirties.

"Apologies," Ze'ev stated focusing again on the chess board. Check it was indeed, and worse yet, the outlook of the game looked decidedly grim for him as a result.

"Something must be bothering you. I can't remember the last time I was able to back you into a corner like this," Dasha said with a taunting smirk and a soft Russian accent.

Ze'ev shook his head looking over at the beautiful woman as he spoke with obvious sarcasm, "Nonsense! I don't believe for a second you'd forget something like that."

Dasha glanced up and away with a playful, dismissive air absently swallowing down half her cup of wine. Real spirits did not come cheap out here on the brink of the frontier but Ze'ev obliged her this indulgence whenever they had time for a game. It certainly didn't seem to affect her concentration.

Dasha could drink like a fish and curse like a soldier, qualities that led many to underestimate her. A fact she often used to her advantage. Deals made over drinks were just as lucrative as ones signed in boardrooms. Dasha had a talent for reading people, which when combined with a shrewd intellect and a keen sense of strategy made her one of his most valuable staff members. Ze'ev sacrificed a rook to capture the knight that put him in check.

Dasha raised a brow peering at the board. A rook was more valuable than a knight. Ze'ev was rarely this aggressive, something was off. She decided to press him and find out, "Are you and Eve holding up ok? The fourth anniversary of the tragedy at Hadley's Hope is coming up."

Ze'ev sighed despite himself. She was right, something was bothering him and she sensed exactly what it was. Still, part of him wished she would have been less direct and more tactful. Dasha always went for the jugular, even when meaning well.

"It is difficult," he admitted glancing at one of several portraits of his granddaughter spread around his study. “We decided not to host a memorial this year.”

Dasha held a sympathetic expression, “Eva was a lovely girl. I wish I would have known her better.”

“She liked you Dasha. Her father however…”

Dasha made a pained expression, “She was sixteen! That’s certainly old enough for a makeover and a party where I come from!”

Ze’ev held up his hands, “We are a Jewish family Dasha. Elijah in particular was very strict about traditions, or what we call ‘minhagim’.”

“Eve was not best pleased either I do recall,” Dasha admitted crestfallen.

“Maybe not but Eva had a great time. She told me about it, while she was grounded,” he added pointedly. “It was good for her. I expect she thought of you as a role model. These days that’s no small thing.“

Dasha took another drink of wine looking somewhat sad, “Do you think we’ll ever find out what really happened on LV-426?”

Ze’ev pursed his lips. The truth was he thought about LV-426 every day. What’s more, he put considerable effort and resources into finding answers. Elijah and Eva traveled there to visit Elijah’s sister and planned to depart a few days later.

Weyland Yutani’s claim the Union of Progressive People’s nuked the colony from orbit seemed preposterous. What would be the reason for that? The colonists were, by all accounts, innocent civilians. Nothing about the colony facilities warranted that sort of strike either. The only military presence on LV-426 was a small detachment of Colonial Marines stationed there for security; standard practice on any colony so far out on the frontier.

It seemed far more likely to Ze’ev that there was some sort of industrial accident or malfunction with the colony’s huge atmosphere processor. That explanation also served as motive for The Company to misdirect blame. Weyland Yutani was quite proud of those enormously expensive monuments of technology. It wouldn’t do for their slogan, ‘Building Better Worlds’ if their own terraforming equipment subsequently went nuclear.

His daughter Eve did not have the stomach to think on these questions. Her grief had already convinced her Weyland Yutani murdered Eva and her husband, one way or another. She would never again speak with, or tolerate, a representative of Weyland Yutani in her presence.

This was not much of a problem for her as a scientist and researcher for Technion Interstellar; one of two rival corporations of Weyland Yutani with labs and offices on this very station. Ze’ev however could not afford such an attitude, at least not without proof. His responsibilities as the station administrator required frequent contact with Company reps, subsidiary contractors and spacer crews; few of whom ever had anything to do with LV-426.

That is not to say he was without outrage. Quite the contrary, but he refused to let those feelings jeopardize the safety of his family or Ashkelon Station. Instead he employed private investigators, data-collectors and informants with the utmost discretion.

“That depends on what you’re willing to believe,” Ze’ev answered moving his last knight forward. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors.”

“Some,” Dasha said. “The ICC launched an inquiry.”

Ze’ev nodded, “Which is still ongoing,” …and more of a farce than a real investigation, he didn’t add. “It’ll take time to puzzle that together.”

Dasha moved one of her pawns forwawrd, “Have you tried to call in any favors?”

Ze’ev frowned, “Towards what end?”

“For answers. For closure.”

“I have prayed, ”Ze’ev said simply. “There is no hammer harder on the hearts of men than the honest and bitter truth. Eventually someone will talk. Truth rises to the top like oil upon water.”

Dasha gave him a peculiar look. Either she knew he was spouting bullshit or simply did not know how to react. Religion made her uncomfortable. Ze’ev knew this since he first hired her over five years ago to be his Chief Commerce Officer.

Just then an insistent chime bleeted from Ze’ev’s comm terminal, across the study, on his desk. Whoever was calling had access to his private channel. All other communications went through his personal assistant or the chief station officer, neither of whom would disturb him without good reason at this hour. Most likely they would use the station intercom anyway, not his comm terminal.

“Please excuse me Dasha, we’ll have to finish this game another time,” Ze’ev stated apologetically rising smoothly to his feet.

“No problem. Goodnight Ze’ev,” Dasha said kindly, moving over to press a familiar peck on his wrinkled cheek. An affection that just then reminded him of Eva. Suddenly uncomfortable he stiffened and pushed her back.

Dasha gasped and started to say something.

“Just leave!” Ze’ev snapped turning his back on her mortified expression. He felt bad for hurting her feelings so abruptly, but just now he was more concerned about what message might be coming through on his comm terminal. As he slid into the genuine leather chair before the antique mahogany desk the screen blinked -Priority Private Message-. Unlike a normal message neither the identity of the sender nor the point of origin are displayed until he enters his personal access code, which he does.

The name Ernest Hart and the words Torin Prime: Tartarus Sector appear, as well as the transmission date, 05/29/2183. Ze’ev presses the appropriate key to accept the message and associated long distance charges. A shadowy, grainy image appears of a man leaning close to a public terminal. His face was partially obscured by the high collar of his overcoat and the brim of an old-fashioned tweed cap pulled low over his eyes.

“Hello old friend,” the voice crackles. Behind him shouts of other voices, laughter and the lyrics of Bob Dylan playing on an old jukebox almost overwhelm the poor voice quality. Ze’ev leans in closer straining his ears.

“It’s taken a while but I’ve finally tracked that lead we talked about. Turns out I was right. I found a survivor of Hadley’s Hope, an actual-fucking-eye-witness!” the man says with signs of a grin within old stubble and heavy wrinkles.

Ze’ev's breath caught in his throat. He could hardly believe his ears.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but she has proof in the form of video evidence. She even let me see some of it, not all of it, but enough to back up her claim that she was there.”

Ze’ev’s heartbeat quickened in a rush as his mind raced. At last there was hope, real hope, for answers.

“She’s interested to speak to you and give you the whole story, the video, everything she’s got. But of course it’s gonna cost ya. No surprise there right? We talked about this and I advise you to play it straight with her. This is not someone you want to fuck with. Just sayin.”

Ze’ev released his breath slowly. Yes they had talked about this.

“I know this because she nearly blew my head off just for trying to introduce myself. Lucky for you that she didn’t, but likely there were others not so fortunate. Just sayin, you owe me one!”

Ze’ev nodded his head unconsciously.

“She wants enough money to disappear properly for a long time. She doesn’t trust me, you, or anyone else knowing what planet she’s on so she isn’t gonna stick around here any longer. I told her who you were and where she can find you. I also told her about Eva and Elijah so she’d know you have your reasons for tracking her down. After that I offered to make travel arrangements for her but she was having none of it. That was the extent of our conversation for the most part. The longer we spoke the more nervous she became.”

Ernest pauses quickly to look over his shoulder, one hand sliding under his coat. After a few moments he turns back.

“Fuck me now I’m getting nervous!” he curses. “On a hunch I kept tabs on any departing ships due to stop at Ashkelon Station and it paid off. She’s boarded an old Bison cargo freighter, the USCSS Casimir, registration number 7643039(04) under the alias ‘Marion Shelly’. I’d tell you what her real name is but it wouldn’t do you much good. All information about her has been scrubbed from public records. I think we both know what that means... Besides that, I don’t trust The Network. Certain keywords might alert The Company to intercept my transmissions. This message should reach you before the freighter arrives just under two months from today. Take care old friend.”

-End of Transmission- appears on the screen, along with the itemized charges. Ze’ev leans back and intertwines his fingers before his chin thoughtfully. “Watch your back Ernest,” he whispered.