by J. N. Chaney
Then, before my brain could try and stop me, I said, “I’m in. Again. But more.”
“Thank you, Mr. Reed.”
“And so am I,” Rachel said. “Someone’s got to watch out for Mr. Save the Universe here.”
“Thank you, Miss Fontaine.”
“And I’m in too,” said Lars. “Someone has got to watch out for Miss I’m a Pissed Off Bitch and I Don’t Care Who Gets In My Way.”
Rachel covered her mouth in an attempt to contain her laughter but failed. “I’ve been accused of worse.”
“And yet strikingly accurate,” I said. “Bravo, Lars.”
7
When the call with Oragga ended, I ordered Lars to take us to the nearest slip gap point that would start us toward Meldorn. The two-day journey would require using a total of three tunnels, all well within Union territory. Given the lengths Oragga had undertaken to ensure the Horizon’s anonymity—despite being a retrofitted light corvette—I doubted any Union patrols would give us any trouble. And if they did, I suspected Oragga would be able to pull some strings.
That said, Oragga had ordered us to keep his name out of any dealings with the Union or anyone else. In fact, were we to be captured or killed, Oragga and all of his vast enterprises would disavow us. How comforting, I mused to myself.
Sarcasm aside, however, the whole idea of working for Oragga was pretty great. One in a billion, you might say. It was made even better now that I had some semblance of what we were doing with a one-of-a-kind starship and a vast fortune at our disposal. While I didn’t exactly relish the thought of being chased and shot at more than we already had, knowing it was to keep nefarious characters from getting their hands on an ancient super weapon went a long way to making the risks more tolerable. In fact, on some deep level, I felt like Rachel, Lars, Tiny, and I were saving the galaxy. Not that I would ever say as much to anyone. But I thought it.
If Oragga was to be trusted, and I believed he could be, then we were the best hope civilization had from being wiped out at the hands of ruthless terrorists. All of this was speculation, of course. No one actually knew if the weapon existed. And if it did, where was it? That question was made even more clear by a question Rachel had asked Oragga before we terminated the call.
“Have you been able to discern anything from the artifacts already in your possession?” Rachel asked.
Oragga frowned. “I’m afraid not, Miss Fontaine. It seems that the devices are coded beyond our ability to decipher them.”
“Coded?” I asked. “As in, software Lars couldn’t break? I find that a little hard to believe.”
“Not software,” Oragga said. “Hardware.”
“How do you mean?” I asked.
Oragga swiped his hand. A second later, a three-dimensional image of a peculiar looking object spun slowly in our holo feed. It was dark gray and appeared to be a little larger than my hand. It had an oblong shape, interrupted by various protrusions—some angular, some rounded. The design almost seemed random and nonsensical, save for the intricate lines and characters that covered the entire surface.
“Is that one of the artifacts?” Rachel asked, stepping forward to get a closer look.
“It is,” Oragga replied. “All three in my possession look nothing alike, except for the gray patina and the carved characters.”
“Do you think it’s writing of some kind?” I asked.
He nodded. “I do, but then again, we’re talking about a creation that predates our civilization by thousands of years. It could be anything.”
“And none of your analysts or AIs have deciphered it?” asked Rachel.
“Unfortunately, no. Not only does it not match any known language, but it also does not follow any known patterns—naturally occurring or invented.”
“Then you’re saying it’s completely foreign, completely alien to us,” I said.
“That’s correct. And I fear that without the rest of the artifacts, we will remain in the dark. They are, not to be too obtuse, the keys that unlock the key. Find them all and we are one step closer to deciphering what they mean.”
The keys that unlock the key. The phrase lingered in my head as Lars brought us closer to our first slip gap point.
“Sir,” the AI said. “Awaiting your command.”
“Let’s do it, pal,” I replied. “Open it up.”
I watched on the main holo display as a tear in space opened. No matter how many times I’d seen this, I still marveled at it. Tendrils of lightning danced around the newly formed seam, racing up and down the edges as if searching for something to strike. The gap grew wider and wider, revealing a dazzling sea of swirling green light.
Despite our ability to take advantage of this other-worldly technology, slip space was still beyond human comprehension in terms of how it worked or how the tunnels got here. Some argued it was a fluke of physics while others claimed it was a gift from the gods. For my part, I never had much of an opinion on the phenomena. I was just grateful it reduced journeys between star systems from millions of light years to a few days.
That said, I couldn’t help but wonder if Oragga’s strange artifacts had something to do with it—as if maybe the ancient civilization that created keys to a super weapon was the same that populated the galaxy with faster than light travel tunnels. Either way, I was beginning to feel that the galaxy was getting bigger and more mysterious than I’d ever thought. And I already thought it was plenty big and more than mysterious.
The Horizon moved forward, her bow crossing the slip space threshold and moving into the tunnel. Rachel brought up several more camera feeds that showed the ship in the context of the massive tube. Our hull shimmered with the green and yellow light as we moved fully into the tube. Then, an aft-facing camera showed the slip gap start to close behind us. The blackness of space turned into a narrow slit that grew thinner by the second until it was nothing more than a thin line erased by a surging tide of green energy.
“Slip space entry successful,” Lars announced. “Time to next slip gap point, sixteen hours, thirty-seven minutes, twenty seconds. Estimated time to final destination, forty-three hours, ten minutes, twenty-one seconds.”
“Well… that’s a wrap, folks,” I said, sitting up from my captain’s chair.
“Where are you headed?” Rachel asked.
“To take a nap.”
“Oh?” Rachel looked at me in surprise.
“Or read a trashy romance novel. I haven’t decided which yet.”
“Didn’t peg you for that sort.” Rachel placed her hands on her hips.
“I’m not. But I figure I’d better read up on these knights since it seems like I have some pretty big shoes to fill. That”—I winked at her—“and I’m a sucker for a good kiss.”
The next two days passed without incident. I slept mostly, perhaps more than I intended to, and I was grateful for the time to rest. While Lars’s magical med bay had worked wonders on my body, there were still certain things that only nature could do. That required downtime. Not that I minded the occasional visit from Rachel, of course. I categorized those under “leisure activity”—some visits more active than others.
By the time we exited the third slip space tunnel, I felt like a new man. I no longer limped through the Horizon’s corridors, and I felt fit enough to get through an entire workout session with Lars’s careful oversight. The AI was more like an obnoxious spouse than a technological assistant. Still, I knew he was just looking out for my own good.
We’d been in-system about an hour, approaching the planet of Meldorn, when Rachel and I convened in the Horizon’s tactical room. In true Union fashion, the space had holo-emitters on the conference room table and along every wall so that, if the occupants wanted to, they could transform the entire room into a virtual environment. This meant battle strategies could be played out in real time with no distractions. That was far from our purpose today, but it was still nice to know that we had access to such forward-leaning military tools should we ever need the
m.
“You’re going in as my employer this time,” Rachel said, sliding me a data pad across the table.
“Can I still call myself the Hammer?” I asked.
She raised an eyebrow—a scary one. “Your alias is Samuel Landry.”
I glanced down at the profile picture. It was my face alright, but I was standing on the summit of a snow peaked ridge wearing a heavy coat and expensive looking climbing gear.
“You’re a reclusive mineral rights tycoon,” Rachel continued.
“Who happens to be a professional mountaineer?” I asked.
“It’s your hobby. You’ve peaked over a hundred of the quadrant’s tallest mountains.”
“Not bad.” I rubbed my stubble, comparing my jawline to the man’s in the picture. “He looks a little leaner than me.”
“I had Lars take a few kilos off.”
“Are you saying I’m fat?”
“I’m saying that when you’re training for an expedition, you tend to run a bit lighter.”
“So… I’m between conquests then.” I placed a hand on my abdomen and pushed my stomach out a bit.
“I’m saying you’re bored and looking to take over a new mining operation. It’s the pattern we’ve established for you.”
“Damn, you’re not playing around.”
“No, we aren’t, sir,” Lars added. “To ensure maximum buy-in from our target, we must meet it with equal immersion.”
“Immersion?” I asked.
“Immersion in the backstory of Samuel Landry.”
“Got it. It’s like detective work and building a backstory for one of our undercover agents.”
Rachel started to nod but transitioned to shaking her head. “Yeah… no. Not even close.” She swiped a file off the glossy tabletop and it appeared on a holo display. “Lars has populated the gal-net with over fifteen million instances of your family name going back six generations. Marriage licenses, death certificates, business investments both legal and illegal, press releases, hostile takeovers—we even have your medical records from when you had the pox at six years old.”
“I had the pox?”
“Sammy did, yes.”
“Damn.”
“Indeed, sir,” Lars noted. “I have ensured the authenticity of every occurrence with superior metadata encoding. Only the most sophisticated AI would ever be able to detect the fraud—”
“But what if they have a you, Lars?” I asked.
“If you would allow me to finish, sir.”
I rocked back in mock offense. “Snippy, snippy.”
“Only the most sophisticated AI would ever be able to detect the fraud if given enough time.”
“And how much time are we talking?” Rachel asked, looking at me like she already knew the answer.
“One million, three hundred twenty-eight thousand, six hundred four years, approximately.”
“Smarty pants,” I said to her.
“That is,” Lars added, “assuming that the present encryption levels remain as they are. However, the statistical likelihood of that is—”
“So,” I said, interrupting the AI, “it’s basically bulletproof.”
“So long as the actor can play the part,” Rachel said. “Yes.”
“Oh, the actor can play. My arrest record can attest to that.”
“Mr. Reed does make a valid point, Miss Fontaine,” Lars said.
“See?” I said to her.
Rachel modified her previous statement. “So long as he stays away from nicknames like the Hammer.”
“You’re just jealous.” I looked back at the data pad. “So Falco got us the meeting and I buy a fifty-year myst lease for exclusive distribution from this particular mine on Meldorn because…”
“Because you’ve been diversifying in recent years,” Rachel said.
“Have I now…”
“Into illegal substances,” Lars added.
“They pay more,” Rachel said. “And they connect you with the types of people you have always wanted to be connected with.”
“Psychopaths and warlords?” I asked with one eyebrow raised.
“Among other things,” Rachel said. “You’ve tired of inheritance babies, longing instead for the lure of the underworld.”
“Have you seen those guys?” I asked. “’Cause I have.”
“Stick to the story, Flint.”
“I am. I’m just saying Samuel is going to be disappointed when he finds out their hobbies involve wholesale slaughter, human trafficking, and extortion.”
“Maybe he has a dark side,” Rachel replied. “Everyone does.”
“Regardless of how you find Mr. Landry’s motives,” Lars said, “he is looking into this particular mine because of its off the books psychedelic production.”
Rachel nodded. “On the record, this is an iron mine. And it does fairly well. But a second look at the planet’s largest facility shows that it’s way too nice to be benefiting from iron commodities.”
“Off the books, it’s pedaling myst,” I said. “We’ve established that.”
“Among many other things, sir,” Lars said.
“And quite a bit of it.” Rachel swiped another file onto the holo. “The last ten years of iron profits are in blue.”
“Not too shabby,” I said, noting the graph that showed an average gross income of twenty-five million credits. “That wasn’t enough to keep everyone happy?”
“Apparently not,” Rachel said, overlaying the graph with a second data set.
I whistled. “Seven hundred fifty-three million?”
“And up another eight percent this quarter,” Rachel added.
“Saying nothing of the ethics of this kind of operation, what makes you think the owners are gonna want to sell me exclusive rights for fifty years? Seems like they’re doing just fine as it is.”
“They’re about to get some troubling news,” Rachel said.
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Lars spoke up. “Miss Fontaine has had me populate the gal-net with several convincing stories of embezzlement, fraud, and conspiracy among the companies presently holding the mine’s distribution rights.”
“Has she now.” I looked at Rachel. “And they’re not going to think that’s suspicious, what with a new buyer showing up right on the heels of those stories?”
“This is the underworld, Flint, not a card game with your grandma.”
“Hey, I’ll have you know my grandma was ruthless at cards.”
“I’m sure she was.” Rachel shot me a smile. “If there’s blood in the water, then everyone’s going to start circling. We’ll just happen to be the first.”
“Plausible,” I said. “But I still don’t understand why my original plan of sneaking in at night isn’t going to work. Seems like you’ve gone to a lot of work to pitch a story that we don’t need to carry past Falco back there.” I didn’t like that Rachel and Lars had changed the plan while I slept.
“Statistically speaking,” Lars said, “your original plan for infiltrating this mine and looking for artifacts, well, it—”
“It sucked,” Rachel interjected.
“Given the various derogatory connotations of the term, I am inclined to agree with Miss Fontaine,” added Lars.
“It sucked?” I looked around the room to see no one looking for non-existent support.
Rachel folded her arms. “It turns out this operation has a lot more going on than we initially thought, Flint. The above-board activities are big. But there’s something else happening in those mines… They run much deeper than we thought. Which means we’re going to need a lot more time to run the scans.”
“So we need to keep pitching the transaction to justify our extended presence on site,” I concluded.
“Right. By the time the owner figures out what’s happened, we’ll be long gone.”
“I’m not sure I like this,” I said, scratching under my ear. “Feels like it’s an oversell if you ask me. I don’t understand why we need that much
more time to sneak down there, make our scans, do a little digging, and then get out?”
“Sir,” said Lars, “if you will allow me to explain.”
“Go ahead, pal.”
“According to Mr. Oragga’s original intelligence, you and Miss Fontaine will need several hours to complete the deep scans of the mine.”
“Got that… still not seeing the rub, buddy.”
“My revised scans, since entering the system, indicate a significantly larger area to be scanned than previously believed.”
“How much larger are we talking?”
“Where you and Miss Fontaine would have needed to be on site for no more than three hours under our initial estimates, my minimum projections now put you at plus four days before full sweeps can be completed.”
“Four days?” I asked, feeling as though my brain might explode. “But we’d need…”
“To buy ourselves a lot more time?” Rachel asked, looking as though she’d already asked and answered this question herself.
“Sir,” Lars continued, “Miss Fontaine’s idea of perpetuating the story does allow for a lengthy transaction process. While the verbal agreement could be made in a matter of hours, the finer points could take a week to ten days. Since you will almost certainly be hosted onsite for a transaction of this magnitude, it will provide you both plenty of time to scan the mine section in question, recover the artifacts, and escape the system.”
“Why didn’t you both consult me on this?”
“You were snoring, Mr. Reed. And you do love your sleep.”
I stewed for a few seconds. Oragga had given me responsibility of this enterprise, and I’d never been one to take people’s trust in me lightly. Where some leaders may have felt the freedom to sidestep accountability, I somehow felt like the universe was always watching… that it would make amends in the end. And now, on our very first mission together, I was being left out of the loop on crucial decisions, all because I was recovering from surgery on a damned stab wound.
That said, I also knew that part of good leadership was trusting your team… even when you didn’t like the suggestions or how they arrived at them. I realized that Rachel and Lars’s plan to keep the distribution ploy going—while slightly outlandish—was plausible. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized I had nothing better. The only other ways I could think of to secure so much time underground were to either land on the opposite side of the planet and sneak in—which would take weeks of execution—or try and get hired as miners, which was far too tedious and didn’t guarantee access to the part of the mine we needed to search.
