Uranium Fist | Page 5

called. Irksome to be so reminded by the staff. He
casually acknowledged his chauffeur and turned to kiss Sara goodbye.
She murmured her appreciation, while her wandering hands promised
him a warm welcome on his return.
Reluctantly, he broke off and strolled towards the car. Jenkins held the
door for him. He took his usual glance back to his young family before
sliding inside.
"Bye, bye, Daddy!"
"Bye, Darling. See you soon!"
He waved back until the smoked glass window obscured him from his
family's view. He continued to watch them through the glass. Sara took
hold of Rebecca's hand and took her back into the house to get ready
for school. Rebecca hopped and skipped by her mother's side and
Edward felt the smile warm his face.
The smooth interior of the limousine felt cool and refreshing. The faint
scent of leather tantalised his nose, adding nuance to the summer
flavours still lingering in the air from outside. He settled into the seat
and flicked open his briefcase. Rebecca's latest painting from school
greeted him with its childish hues and a six-year-old's strange
perception of the human body. Lifting the picture, he held it up to the
light and gently nodded his head. It would make a good addition to the

gallery developing in his office.
Edward felt the car rock slightly with the chauffeur's weight and he
sighed at the prospect of another day in the office. Perhaps he would
phone home later, and arrange to meet Sara for an extended lunch.
They could take in a gallery or two, or go to the theatre. Edward
reached out to close his briefcase; his movement synchronised with the
driver's motion to touch the ignition stud.
The very last thing Edward saw was the light rushing to engulf him as
an explosion smothered the two human occupants in a ball of fire. The
pressure mingled the two men's remains over the neighbourhood. Only
close forensic examination ensured the right remains ended up in the
right graves.
Rebecca and Sara came running out of the house to find burning debris
scattered on the lawn. The child stared at the dying embers of her
father's life and asked where Daddy had gone. Sara couldn't answer,
only scream as she took in the wreckage of her life.
Days later, they found the charred drawing lodged in the branches of a
tree.
TO this day, nobody knows who planted the bomb that killed Edward
Wilton. Another mystery is how the assassins managed to penetrate the
security that was an ever present and largely invisible shield around
him.
In the aftermath of the bombing, Martial Law was hurriedly declared.
The police and the local militia brutally cracked down on all forms of
opposition. A wave of fear gripped Greyermede, already depressed
share values slumped even further, and the whole planet held its breath
as it pondered what - or who - would be next.
Perpetrators needed to be found. That was the only certainty. Politics
played its part, and an enemy was quickly found and accused. A
hitherto little known political party shot to the front pages. For the first
time, much of Middle Greyermede heard the name of the Greyermede

Communist Party (GCP).
Assassinations were nothing new. There had been a spate of them in
recent years. None of them had involved such high profile figures as
Edward Wilton; the slaying of the President of the Central Bank sent
shockwaves that would inevitably be felt throughout the colonies to
reach the Mother World itself.
So it began, but just then, nobody knew what was about to engulf
humanity.
WHAT erupted on Greyermede and further afield, is merely a chapter
in the age-old human story. It began long ago on a distant world on the
rim of the galaxy we call the Milky Way. Ten millennia of civil war
took humanity to the stars; and to new worlds on which to enact this
Trans-millennial drama.
Too long in the distant past for this book. We must start much later.
The beginning could be said to have arrived before Edward's untimely
demise; emerging from the economic turbulence sweeping the
advanced worlds and the political tremors that followed in its wake.
Even that is far too early for our story to begin.
The end of Edward Wilton must be our beginning. His assassination
was a point of change, a qualitative shift in the pattern of events that
would touch everybody on this world - and many more beyond. The
storm had broken, in an unexpected place, and it was the tempest of an
age-old human dream leaping into flesh.
Tempest Rising

Chapter 1
THEY were waiting for me by the time I arrived. Rob Nidel looked up
as I approached the table. David Carter was deep in conversation