by Mark Wandrey
The image of a hyperspace capable corvette appeared. The shape of a missile launcher and a pair of laser emitters were clearly visible. While smaller than Pale Rider, it looked quite combat capable. Maybe more capable.
“Okay, I hear you,” he said to her with the external comms muted.
“Commander Cartwright, I am tempted to deny you entrance.”
“Peacemaker, I protest—”
“I said tempted, I didn’t say I was doing it. Your race is only logged as having been here once before, and you are not known as slavers.”
“We detest slavers,” Jim said. “We dealt with slavery on our planet, in my country, a long time ago. Hundreds of thousands died to end it, as a matter of fact.” Again, it was quiet for a moment.
“We have a highguard on the stargate as well, and those ships are not corvettes. You will stop for inspection on the way out. You will abide by the local laws. You will not upset the locals.”
“Yes, Peacemaker.”
“Very well, I will see you again on the way out.” The communication terminated. Splunk floated in space, silently watching her friend.
Jim queried his pinplant translators on what language the Peacemaker used. Equiri. “Huh,” he grunted. He’d never met one of the equine humanoid aliens before in person. They weren’t a merc race, which was a little surprising when you met the large carnivorous horse-like aliens. They were over two meters tall, with big manes of fur but little hair besides. They had lots of sharp teeth, and big black-on-black eyes. His lifetime fascination with ponies, albeit animated ones, didn’t extend to Equiri.
Because he was distracted, Splunk ordered the ship to accelerate slowly toward the system’s principle population center. Although the ship used very little fuel, its low fuel warning was flashing steadily on the main status board.
* * *
Kikai wouldn’t offer them a chance of setting foot on a planet. A blue giant star in the latter phase of its life, it was a rarity in the Galactic Core, even the outer Core. Like most blue-white stars, it was too hungry, too huge, and too hot to have any real planets, although it had enough asteroids for a dozen other star systems. It was once a rich, powerful industrial center.
It was probably inevitable his search for the secrets of the Raknar would lead him to Kikai. He dearly wished his other leads hadn’t run dry so he didn’t have to come here at all. Aside from being the closest you could get to nowhere while being so close to the center of the galaxy, it also had a reputation for being extremely dangerous.
By the time their midcourse flip-over was due, he’d come back to himself. Just as they’d used it to accelerate, they used the ion drive to slow. It was slow but economical. The strange gravitic eddies created by the system’s asteroids meant the locations where hyperspace travel took place could have been anywhere, and it was one of those rare occasions where both the gate and the emergence point were near the population center.
“This is Promethium Control. Unknown ship, identify yourself,” a voice said on the comms system as they came within range.
“ESS Pale Rider is requesting clearance to approach,” Jim transmitted.
“Docking fee is 1,500 credits or comparable trade.”
Jim’s eyes bugged. Some stargates didn’t charge as much to use…although Karma did. It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford the fee; it was the principle of the thing. “I need reaction mass as well.”
“Oooh, big spender,” the voice on the radio replied. Jim looked at it in surprise. “Reaction mass is pricey here, Pale Rider. No gas giant, no water.”
“Then what am I paying the 1,500 credits for?”
“The privilege of visiting the Empire of Machines, of course.”
Of course, he thought. “So, can I buy reaction mass?”
“Only the Sky Knights have reaction mass for sale.”
Did he say Sky Knights? “Okay,” Jim sent. “So, can I talk to the Sky Knights?”
There was a laugh in reply. “You can always try.” He was about to ask what Sky Knights meant when the voice came back on. “You are authorized to park at the Promethium habitat. Payment is in chits or trade only. I’m transmitting the coordinates now.”
“Not safe,” Splunk said, casting him a baleful glare. “
* * *
Despite the reputation, Jim stared at the Promethium habitat in amazement; it had to be several million cubic meters in size. A huge asteroid shaped like a bowl, its opening was enclosed by a metal framework filled with several types of glass. It seemed like anything that could be pressed into service to close the dome had been. He was pretty sure he saw a shuttle canopy in one section.
“How does that thing hold atmosphere?” he wondered aloud. Splunk was examining it with the intense gaze she wore when she wanted to take something apart. “Don’t even think about it.” She looked at him with an innocent gaze, but he wasn’t convinced.
The coordinates they’d sent him turned out to be a side of the asteroid riddled with docking collars. Fitting Pale Rider into the spot proved to be one of the most difficult flight maneuvers he’d ever accomplished. It was made for shuttles, not modified light cruisers. But whoever was controlling docking for the asteroid habitat must have scanned Pale Rider because they were assigned a spot exactly big enough, no more, no less. He could see much bigger places not far away and wondered if he was being toyed with.
In the end, Splunk had to help him get the ship docked. It annoyed him that she was a better pilot, not the least because when he’d found her she’d been living in a cave.
As soon as they floated to the airlock and cycled it, they met their first resident of the Empire of Machines.
“What took so long?” asked the elSha who greeted them. Jim was a little confused, because he’d expected something very different. Then the alien drifted in, and Jim sucked in his breath. The only thing elSha about the being was its head; the rest was robotic.
“You gave me a tight berthing,” he said after regaining his composure.
The elSha started looking around. “I need to see your manifest and do a quick inspection.” The alien/mech looked at him with one eye, then both. “You’ve never seen a disciple before?”
Disciple? “Actually, no,” he said, forcing himself to look away. When he did, he saw Splunk hanging onto a handhold eyeing the alien with undisguised greed. He shot her an intense look, and she glanced at him and smiled. Oh fucking hell, I’ve just brought her to Santa’s workshop. “Is everyone here as modified as you are?”
The elSha laughed. “As modified as me? I barely qualify to live here,” he said. “My name is Aseeth, Empire of Machines Customs.” One of his eyes moved over and looked at Splunk, who was in turn examining the mechanical part of Aseeth. “You going to show me around?”
“Why do I have to show you around?”
“Rules,” Aseeth said. “Look, you can show me around or undock and leave. Your call. If you leave, I’ll tell the Peacemakers you were a problem.”
“Why would you do that?” Jim demanded. The alien grinned. Jim scowled. “Follow me,” Jim said and headed toward the hold.
“You don’t have much,” Aseeth said, some time later.
“I’m not here to trade for goods,” Jim replied. “I’m here to trade for information.”
“Information,” Aseeth said. “Information can be more expensive than goods.” They ended up back at the lock. “There is nothing here I have an issue with. You owe 1,500 credits.”
Jim reached into a pocket of his coveralls and produced a pair of 1,000-credit chits. Aseeth took out a pocket verifier and shot the laser through the chit’s diamond. The machine beeped contentedly, and he pocketed it.
“Hey, what about my 500 credits?”
“What do I look like, a change machine?”
“Tell you what,” Jim said. “Tell me where I can find the Daikichi, and we’re even.”
Both of Aseeth’s eyes went wide. “I can’t tell you that.”
Jim had done some mo
re research after the encounter with the Peacemaker. The Empire of Machines was an enigmatic cult around machinery. It wasn’t the only one, but Jim hadn’t read they were into body modification—a particularly rare aberration among cults. Their leadership was supposedly known as the Daikichi, so he’d name dropped. Apparently, it was a good lead. “Can’t, or won’t tell me?”
“Can’t,” Aseeth said. “I don’t know where it is.”
“But you know someone who does?” Aseeth looked dubious so Jim pulled out a 5,000-credit chit, casually examining the larger red diamond in its center. “How about now?”
* * *
Jim finished putting on his combat gear, cinching the armor as tightly as he could around his corpulent waist, wishing he’d stuck to his workout routine a little more faithfully. The armor fit better than it had when Hargrave had first brought it to him, though, way back on his first trip to Karma. He’d lately been reconsidering nanite treatment to lose the weight. Every time he gave it serious consideration, a little voice in the back of his mind said it would be cheating. Disgusted, he jammed his C-Tech GP-90 into its holster and clipped on a magazine pouch.
As he settled the gun in place, he felt a pang of guilt and anxiety. It had been a month now since he’d ditched his XO and friend back on Karma Upsilon 4. Hargrave was going to be beyond pissed by the time they linked up in another month. Jim hadn’t told the man where he was going because he knew Hargrave would have come after him. Hunted me down and kicked my ass, probably. Worse, Jim hadn’t kept to his initial flight plan. He was way, way off the reservation by visiting the Empire of Machines.
The Valley of Loss on K’o had seemed a minor risk and proved to be exactly the opposite. Kikai was a known risky location. Pirates frequented the system and there were fucking Peacemaker warships guarding it as well, something about them preserving an old religion, or culture, or some shit. The last thing Jim wanted on his conscience was Cavaliers chasing him all over the galaxy and to places like Kikai.
He floated out of the stateroom to find Splunk waiting. She looked the same as when they’d landed on K’o—goggles, crossbody bag full of tools, and her tiny slate in a sleeve on the belt around her tiny waist.
“Ready,
“This is dangerous,” he said, and Splunk gave him such a “no shit” look, he actually laughed. “You have that rifle you made?” She reached over and pulled it off a magnetic lock on the wall. It looked just as small, but just as deadly. She patted the weapon and winked. “Okay, okay, let’s go.” He was sure she probably also had her pistols hidden somewhere. For such a small being, she was a master at concealing things on her person.
The habitat was a honeycomb of corridors, living spaces, shops, and some common areas. It reminded him of the sort of thing burrowing animals on Earth would make. There were tiny hyperlink signs everywhere he could read using his pinplants, and he headed to his destination. The station gave off a vibe of timeless age. The thing had been there for a very long time. He imagined aliens cutting the tunnels back when dinosaurs walked the Earth, then laughed at himself. Nothing was that old. Right?
They started encountering denizens of the Empire almost immediately, and Jim realized what Aseeth had meant by barely qualifying. He saw more than a dozen aliens in the first few minutes where he couldn’t identify their race because there was so little left of them. At every turn, Jim felt the skin crawl on the back of his neck. No matter where he looked, he felt like he would see someone, or something, watching him back. Not safe, he recalled Splunk insisting. Yeah, no shit.
They reached what would loosely be considered a bar—a gathering place where people like him met with the locals to talk, drink, or partake of various intoxicants. It was toward the bottom of the depression where the habitat was built, and they could feel only a fraction of a G. It was enough to sit in place without floating around, but that was about it. When they bounded through the door, dozens of eyes and robotic cameras looked in their direction.
Jim tried to act casual as he glided over to the bar, glad for the hours he’d spent in zero G over the last couple of years, especially the month since they’d left Karma. The creature at the bar might have once been a Jeha…or something else entirely; he couldn’t be sure.
“I have never seen your kind,” the bartender said.
“Human,” Jim replied.
It examined him with one insectile compound eye, and another computerized scanner for a moment, then spoke. “What do you want, Human?”
“I’m looking for someone named Sl’k,” Jim said. “I was told I could find him here.”
The alien set down the apparatus he was holding and examined Jim more closely. “Sl’k does not see everyone who comes here.”
“Maybe he’ll see me.” Jim checked his pinplants to see what language the alien was speaking. It showed as Altok, but there was nothing in his files on them. Of course, there were over 10,000 known species in the galaxy, and his files only listed details on about half. Jim released a 100-credit chit to slowly float down and land on the bar. The Altok bartender made it disappear, then pointed a robotically enhanced tentacle.
The far corner of the bar was almost completely dark. The lighting went from dazzlingly bright in one end to nearly nonexistent in the other. He nodded to the bartender and began to walk-slide toward the corner. As he went, he reached into a pouch and took out a tiny instrument which he attached to one of his pinplants. Instantly, a tiny image appeared in his mind of the room in 360-degree vision, monochrome perfection. The ultra-miniature doppler was a compromise in this kind of environment; he gave up color for being able to see in the darkness. It was also discreet. You’d have to look hard to spot it.
He passed a table with two creatures who might once have been Bakulu. One raised a pseudopod to cover an electronic eye, apparently bothered by the radar emissions of Jim’s sensor. He turned it down by 20%, which was as far as he could go and still maintain good resolution.
“How about giving me some peripheral cover?” he asked Splunk.
“You got it,
Most of the denizens Jim could see clearly were like the bartender and customs agent, either partly or mostly mechanical in one way or another. It seemed the majority leaned toward about 50% mechanical, or a bit more. However, a lot were, for all intents and purposes, 100% robotic. Jim wondered if there was some rule.
Suddenly, he was stopped in his path by a trio of aliens he’d never seen before. Their heads reminded him of the sparrows he used to see on the family property as a kid. Except these sparrows were around a meter tall and had complicated headsets covering one eye with an obvious vision aid. The middle of the three addressed him in a chirping, snapping, harsh-sounding language.
Jim came up short, alarmed when his pinplants didn’t immediately translate the speech. The aliens all narrowed their black-on-black eyes, and the lead spoke again. They’d been standing on relatively long, spindly legs with large wings folded so they nearly covered their bodies. It gave them a vaguely stork-like look. The way the light reflected from the feathers on their wings told him they were anything but simple feathers. Armored?
As his pinplant failed in its search for a language match, the three aliens opened their wings slightly, and he was shocked to see they had arms as well. Six limbs, he mentally gasped. More than four limbs was fairly unique. He was only aware of a few races with six limbs. The Lumar and the Andori were the only two he could recall. Maybe some crazy tiger-thing?
Jim created a special search link with his pinplant translation feature and let it run wild for
a second. Finally, his pinplants informed him Compiling Language. It meant the language was one Humans hadn’t encountered and the algorithms which allowed his translator matrix to work on it were stored in a compressed format.
“What are you doing here?” the first translation finally came in. He waited for their second statement. “You here to recruit, too?’
“Wait,” he said, carefully holding his hands away from his weapon. “My translator is working.” All three aliens cocked their heads in a very bird-like manner. Obviously, they didn’t have English in their translators, either. At long last the little translator status light in the corner of his mind’s eye went to green, and he sighed. He set it for bidirectional, so he’d speak in their language as well. “I am not recruiting.”
“What race you?”
“I am Human,” he said. “Tolo arm, Cresht region.”
“We are NapSha,” the leader said, “from the Core region. You are merc, yes?”
“Yes,” Jim said. His pinplants had nothing on the NapSha, which didn’t mean more than they were rare in Human’s terms. He made a mental note to download all the merc races into his database. “We are new.”
“I am sure,” the alien said. “You bring warship?”
“We’re not here for war. I only have my family yacht.”
“But if you not recruiting, why you here?”
“That is my own business,” Jim said. The three let out a musical chirp which wasn’t translated. “I said I’m not recruiting. Are you going to move or not?”
They seemed to consider him for a moment, and he wondered if they were talking to each other over their own pinplants. He out-massed the three combined, though such a factor seldom mattered in a gun battle. He’d seen under their armored wings; all three were armed.
