Empyrion I: The Search for Fierra by Stephen Lawhead Read Free Book Online

fools who thought they could waltz through a loophole in one of their contracts.
    “I think you'll see that all is in order, Mr. Treet,” Varro said after a suitable time. “Will you sign now?”
    “Yes, it's all in order. You've thought of everything.” Treet handed the contract back. “Fill in the amounts and I'll sign.”
    Varro already had a pen in his hand. “Three million upon signing—” He scratched on the pale yellow paper. “Three million on completion of your assignment, and two million in trust.”
    “That's eight million!” Treet couldn't help shouting. Had Varro lost his senses?
    “Yes, I am aware of that, Mr. Treet,” Varro explained. “I have been instructed by Chairman Neviss to double any figure we agree upon as a demonstration of our goodwill—also, as a token of the Chairman's high regard for your abilities. He is very pleased that you are undertaking this assignment for him.”
    Treet swallowed hard. Eight million dollars! It was a blooming miracle! He stared open-mouthed at Varro, who looked up from his writing. “Was there something you wished to say, Mr. Treet?”
    “N-no,” Treet said, licking his lips. “It's fine. Everything's fine.”
    “Good. Now then, if you will sign here—” Varro slid the contract toward him and placed the pen in his hand.
    After only a brief pause to remember who he was, Treet managed to scrawl his full name. Dazed, he stared at the signature on the document and at the figures Varro had neatly inscribed. Eight million!
    “We're almost finished,” said Varro. He flipped to the last page of the contract and pulled a piece of tape from the paper, revealing two shiny squares of about six centimeters each side by side. Varro pressed his thumb firmly in the middle of one of the squares, and then initialed the box. “Your turn, Mr. Treet.”
    Treet pressed his thumb onto the second shiny box and saw that when he removed it, the film had recorded a precise duplicate of his thumbprint. He looked up at Varro and said, “Now what?”
    Varro folded up the contract and stuffed it back into the envelope. He glanced at his watch and rose quickly. “It is nearly time to go, Mr. Treet. We'll have to hurry, I'm afraid.”
    “What? Hold on!”
    “Please, as I have explained, time is short.”
    “Yes, but I thought… you mean I'm leaving tonight?”
    “Right now. You're boarding within the hour.”
    Treet sat stubbornly. “But—”
    Varro looked at him sharply. “I assumed you understood. That's why I came here this evening.”
    “You don't give a guy much of a chance to enjoy his good fortune. When do I get my money, by the way?”
    “It will be waiting for you at the shuttle. Shall we?” Varro gestured toward the door.
    “I haven't packed or anything. I'll need—”
    “I don't recall that you arrived with any luggage. Did you?”
    “No,” Treet admitted, remembering the way he had been shanghaied in the skyport. Not that it much mattered—he was, after all, wearing his entire wardrobe. “No luggage.”
    “Just as I thought. Therefore, I've taken the liberty of arranging for suitable kit and clothing to be provided. You'll find everything waiting for you aboard the shuttle.” The round-headed man glanced quickly at his watch again. “Now, we really must be going.”
    Treet stood up and looked around the apartment one last time as if he were being evicted from his childhood home. Then he shrugged, picked up the bottle of wine and his glass, and followed Varro out.
SIX
    Treet expected a quick flight back to the skyport and a lengthy preboarding passenger check which would culminate in a seat aboard a commercial shuttle to one of the orbiting transfer stations where he'd join a Cynetics transport heading secretly for Epsilon Eridani.
    Instead, he and Varro took a long elevator ride down—so far down that he imagined the bottom had dropped out of the elevator shaft—eventually arriving at a subterranean tunnel where two men in standard Cynetics