“Well, but I have a few questions—” This call wasn’t going at all the way Carson had expected.
“Of course you do. You want to know who the Office of Techno-Archeology is, I’m sure—we’re not widely known—and how funding will work, and so on.”
Carson’s ears pricked up a little at the word “funding.” That was always the key to getting academic work done. “Well, yes, but—”
“I’ll clear up any questions you have when you come to the office. Here, I’ll beam you the address information.” There was a soft “beep” in the background of the call, as Ducayne uploaded an address file to Carson’s omni. “That will give you the details on how to find us, the office is a little out of the way in a corner of the spaceport.”
“Um, thanks. When is a good—”
“Anytime tomorrow will work. Say, after lunch?”
“All right.” Carson felt as if he were three moves behind in a chess game.
“Great. See you then. Bye.” The omni clicked off.
Carson sat there a moment, staring at his omni. “What just happened?” he said to the empty office.
Chapter 7: Special Delivery
Sawyer City Spaceport
Jackie Roberts flared the Sophie’s approach, killing her forward velocity, and gently dropped the remaining few meters on vertical thrusters. “Sawyer Ground, this is Sophie, request clearance to a parking area,” she called over the radio.
“Roger Sophie, are you staying long?”
“Just a couple of hours. Some packages to deliver and then I head out for Kakuloa.” Kakuloa was almost a sister planet to Sawyers World, orbiting the second sun, B, of the double star comprising the Alpha Centauri system. They were about twenty seconds apart in warp at this stage of their mutual orbit, although with take-off, landing, and in-system maneuvering the trip would take several hours.
“All right, Sophie.” Ground control assigned her a short-term spot and cleared her to taxi to it.
Her ship parked and the flight systems powered down, Jackie grabbed the packages and walked them over to the port building. She didn’t recognize the female clerk on duty, which didn’t surprise her. Sawyer was big and busy enough that it got a lot of turnover, and she didn’t get here often.
“This package is a rush delivery, Captain Roberts,” the clerk told her when she had logged in the packages. “I can authorize a delivery bonus if you want to walk it over. The address is a building here in the spaceport.”
“Oh?” Normally Jackie might not have bothered, but now she was intrigued, and the bonus, however small, would help pay for the repairs she needed. “All right then, where?”
∞ ∞ ∞
The destination turned out to be an office in an old hangar building. It must have been one of the first built at the spaceport. Jackie found the door, with the building number and a pushbutton beside it. A doorbell? She checked the package. Yes, this was it. She pushed the button. She didn’t hear anything. A moment later she heard a male voice from an unseen source. “Yes, who is it?”
“Courier.” Jackie wasn’t going to give out any more information than she had to. “A rush package just came in on the Sophie, from Epsilon Eridani. It’s for a Q. Ducayne. Is this the right place?”
“Yes, just a moment.”
Jackie looked around, wondering what kind of person would have an office—or perhaps live?—in an old hangar like this. It had a disused look to it, with fading paint and grime accumulating on old oil stains on the main hangar doors.
The smaller door opened and Jackie saw an athletic-looking man, taller than Jackie and perhaps in his forties, holding it.
“Sorry for the delay.” He looked her over, but not in the usual way a man might look at her. It was as though he was assessing her, taking in details of the ship coveralls she was wearing, the way she carried herself, rather than anything overtly sexual. He held out a hand to take the package. “Are you from the Sophie?”
“Yes, she’s my ship. How did you know?”
“Ship coveralls. And they’ve got ‘Sophie’ on them, the name of a ship that just landed. I’m guessing that’s not your name?” He smiled at her.
“Uh, no.” The man was observant. And smooth. “I’m Jackie Roberts, captain of the Sophie.”
“Quentin Ducayne, pleased to meet you. Now, my package?”
“You’ll need to confirm delivery,” she said as she handed it to him.
“Of course.” He waved his arm, with his omni around the wrist, across the package’s label. The label chirped a confirmation. Ducayne looked at Roberts. “If you have a few minutes, I’d like to ask you about this. Would you like coffee?”
Coffee sounded wonderful. Jackie accepted and followed Ducayne into the hangar. The interior space was devoid of aircraft or spacecraft. It felt like there hadn’t been any vehicles in here for a long time, and smelled more of old dust than of fresh hydraulic fluid, ozone, or any of the other odors she associated with a spacecraft repair bay. She followed Ducayne up a metal stairway to the observation mezzanine and an office overlooking the hangar floor.
“What kind of work do you do here, Mr. Ducayne?”
“That’s, ah, that’s in a state of flux at the moment, Captain Roberts.” He gestured at the chair across from his desk. “Have a seat, I’ll just be a moment.” He went to the small autochef in the corner and returned with two cups of coffee. He handed one to her.
Jackie raised the cup and smelled the rich aroma of the coffee. Could it be? She took a sip, and raised an eyebrow. It was smooth with no hint of bitterness. “Tau Cetan?” she asked. “This is great coffee.”
Ducayne smiled. “Actually it’s what Tau Cetan derives from, although the growing conditions are more important than the breeding stock. This is Jamaica Blue Mountain.”
“From Earth? I am impressed.” She took another sip of the coffee, closing her eyes and savoring it.
“All right, Captain, this rush package from Eridani, is there anything you can tell me about it?”
Jackie opened her eyes and sat up straighter. “Not really. I was coming here—well, to Kakuloa—from there and just made a routine check for any cargo to help make the trip worth it. And you can call me Jackie.”
“Ah, I see. Kakuloa? Is that just a vacation or does your ship need work?”
The man was astute. Although when it came down to it, those were about the only things Kakuloa was known for: great beaches and the orbital shipyards. “A bit of both, really. My ship does need some minor work, but I could use some beach time. Right now I’m between charters.”
“Charters? Tell you what, Jackie. If you don’t hear from me before you’re ready to leave the Centauri system, give me a call. I may have something for you.”
“Thank you. I’ll do that.” She would, even if another job came up. One never knew when a casual contact would lead to a charter.
“Good.” He glanced at his wrist omni and stood up. “Sorry to be so abrupt Captain . . . Jackie . . . but I have a meeting that I need to prepare for. I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave.”
Jackie stood, drank down the last of her coffee, and handed the cup back to Ducayne. If he gets Jamaica Blue Mountain flown in from Earth, she thought, he’s definitely worth staying in touch with. “Thank you for the coffee. I hope we can do business sometime.”
“I’m sure we will.”
∞ ∞ ∞
Carson had been right, the Office of Techno-Archeology was little bigger than a closet, in a building that should have been condemned twenty years ago, making it one of the older buildings on Sawyers World. It was a hangar in a corner of the spaceport, which surprised Carson.
He walked up to the building, an immense dirty-gray half-cylinder set sideways, its paint fading. To Carson it resembled a big Quonset hut, or a huge Iroquois longhouse. The large main doors, used for air- and space-craft, were closed, and it took Carson a minute to find the human-sized door nestled in one corner. He checked the address against his omni. Yes, this was the
place, and noticed the small, faded “Astronomical Survey Group” nameplate near a large doorbell pushbutton. He reached over and pushed it.
A voice came from an unnoticed speaker grill. “Yes, who is it?”
“This is Dr. Hannibal Carson. I have an appointment with a Mr. Ducayne.”
“Oh, yes, Dr. Carson. Please come in, follow the painted path to the stairs, my office is on the left at the top of the stairway.” Carson recognized Ducayne’s voice.
As he reached for the handle the door swung open on its own. Carson shrugged and entered. Inside, the hangar looked even bigger—an optical illusion with nothing in here to give a sense of scale. The hangar floor was empty, or nearly so. No ships or aircraft, just a few tool benches and a couple of service vehicles. A painted outline marked a path which followed the outside wall from the doorway where he was standing and around the back wall. To keep people out of the way of operations, no doubt, thought Carson.
At the rear of the hangar was a metal platform, a mezzanine, which looked to have several small offices on it. At least, there was a wall with several doors and windows, probably so the occupants could observe work on the hangar floor without being disturbed by noise, although Carson didn’t understand why they didn’t just use cameras. He scanned overhead, and yes, there were cameras mounted, although the whole place had a rather shabby and unused air about it. There didn’t seem to be anyone working here, either. The hangar was quiet and dim. Most of the overhead lights were turned off. Or burnt out? wondered Carson. His initial doubts about this grew stronger.
He followed the path to the back of the hangar and found the stairs up to the office level. As he reached the top step a door on his left opened. A fit-looking man, of average height, perhaps in his forties, stepped out of the doorway and extended his hand.
“Dr. Carson! Thank you for coming. It’s good to meet you,” he said, taking Carson’s hand in a firm grip. Not bone-crushing, but Carson got the impression that Ducayne could if he’d wanted. Odd for a paper pusher. Carson squeezed back, enough to let Ducayne know that he could do some crushing himself, but without making it an outright challenge. Carson looked Ducayne in the eye, and some indefinable sense of recognition passed between the two.
“Come in, sit down.” said Ducayne. “Can I get you some-thing, coffee perhaps?”
“Thank you, Mr. Ducayne. No, no coffee. You might answer some questions.”
“Whatever I can, Dr. Carson. I imagine you’re wondering about the Office of Techno-Archeology?”
“Frankly, yes. I’ve never heard of it, and, well, it doesn’t look like you have much of a budget.” Carson glanced meaningfully around the office, the cheap paneling, the level of general wear and tear, and by implication the rather shabby hangar the office was housed in.
“Understandable.” Ducayne didn’t seem in the least offended. “We prefer to spend our budget on what counts, not on keeping up appearances.”
“How, uh, unbureaucratic of you.”
“Oh, I’ll think you’ll find we operate a little differently from most bureaucracies. But tell me, Dr. Carson, have you ever done any government work before? Any military service?”
“What? Well yes, I’ve done projects on government grants before, Department of Antiquities, things like that.”
“Not quite what I meant. What about military?”
“I was in the reserves when I was younger. I can take care of myself, if that’s what you mean. How is that relevant?”
“Security clearance?”
“Look—” This is getting ridiculous, Carson thought. Why did this guy—whoever he really was, and Carson was wondering if his earlier thought about a clever scam by an artifact collector was right—why did he care about military experience, let alone a security clearance? He’d had one, of course, a fairly high one. He’d joined the reserves in college to help pay his tuition, and spent summers posted to a couple of rather interesting locations, which he probably still shouldn’t talk about fifteen years later. He certainly wasn’t about to tell this bozo anything more until he got some satisfactory answers.
“I don’t see how that’s relevant to my proposal,” Carson continued. Unless . . . “Wait, was there another site you had in mind? A restricted area?”
Ducayne sat back in his chair. He looked thoughtfully at Carson, steepling his fingers. “Sorry, Doctor,” he answered, still in thought.
Carson got to his feet. This was a waste of his time. “I’m sorry too, Ducayne. I’ve had a enough of this . . . silly game. I have work to do.” He turned to leave just as Ducayne leaned hastily forward.
“Just a moment, Carson. Please.”
Carson paused at something in Ducayne’s tone. “You have something to say? Say it.”
“All right, Dr. Carson.” Ducayne looked at something on his computer screen, back at Carson, and appeared to come to a decision. “That last question was a bit of a test. I’m sorry it got your shorts in a shamble, but you passed.” He moved forward on his chair, leaning on his desk toward Carson. “Are you sure you want answers?”
Carson sat back in the chair at this, the force of the question unexpected. “Damn right, Ducayne. You haven’t told me anything yet. You drag me all the way out here with a vague promise about backing my next research dig . . . it better be good.” Carson leaned forward himself.
“Very well. Dr. Hannibal Carson, under authority of Title 17, Section 201, Paragraph C, subsection 2, I hereby notify you that your obligations under the Official Secrets Act shall be in force from this point forward until you are notified otherwise. Do you understand and agree to be so obligated?”
“I, what?” Whatever Carson had been expecting, it wasn’t this.
“Come on, Carson, I know you’ve held a Top Secret clearance and I also know you were cleared for SCI. If you want answers just say you understand and you agree. Otherwise turn around, leave, and forget you ever heard of this place.”
Carson was tempted to do just that. This smelled too much like he was about to get drafted for something. On the other hand, he was really curious now, and other than teaching at the university, he had no other commitments. “All right, ‘I understand and so agree’. Don’t you need my fingerprint or something?”
“Oh, I got that already from the scanner in the doorbell. If you hadn’t been you, you wouldn’t have gotten in here in the first place.”
“Bloody hell, what have I gotten myself into?”
Ducayne grinned and stood up, gesturing at Carson to do the same. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
Chapter 8: Shipyards
In orbit above Kakuloa, Alpha Centauri B
“Kiahuna Shipyards, this is the Sophie, Sapphire class, requesting docking instructions.”
“Roger Sophie, we have your reservation. Slave your controls to our docking computer, code one-five-seven-alpha.”
“Any chance of letting me dock manually?”
“Sorry, Jackie, company policy. Our facility costs a lot more than your ship. Nothing personal, we just trust our computers more than any pilot, even you.”
“Roger that. One-five-seven-alpha,” she punched in the code and activated slave mode. “You have control.” She’d hadn’t expected to be allowed to do it herself, for the very reasons the controller had mentioned, but it still galled her to be reduced to a passenger in her own ship. She stayed strapped in at her console, watching the viewscreens.
As she neared her assigned dock, she saw riggers working to attach large external tanks to a ship at a berth near hers. Roberts shook her head; she wouldn’t want to try flying a ship with that kind of extra mass crowding close to the warp boundary.
The Sophie glided silently through the big airdock doors, then stopped with a burst of the forward thrusters. A long robotic arm extended from overhead to grapple a docking hardpoint on Sophie’s hull and eased the ship into position. A tunnel extruded itself from the wall of the airdock and pressed against Sophie’s hatch. The docking latches made a loud, rippling clack as they enga
ged, and Jackie saw a green light illuminate on her console.
“Okay, Sophie, you’re docked,” a voice came over the radio. “Secure your systems and come aboard.”
“Thanks, Kiahuna, copy that,” Jackie replied. On the rear viewscreen, the big outer doors of the airdock were already closing. It would take a half-hour to pressurize the dock so that the technicians could work on her hull without suits. In the meantime the pressurized tunnel connecting the Sophie’s hatch to the shipyard gave her direct access to the station.
Jackie unstrapped, collected a few items, and made her way to the spin gravity section of the station and the shipyard office to formally authorize the work.
∞ ∞ ∞
“A Sapphire,” the desk agent said as he reviewed the file. “We don’t see as many of those as we used to, they’re more frontier ships. Is that the three engine configuration or four?” The data was in the file, of course, but apparently the agent wanted to make conversation.
“Just the three. You ever see any fours? That cuts into the range.”
“Oh, a few. Some people prefer speed over range, if they’re not exploring. Not that they were ever that much faster.” He touched the screen and turned it to face her.
“Speaking of speed, will the repairs take long?” Jackie asked as she keyed in the credit transfer.
“Are you in a hurry?”
“Yes and no. I expect to be in the Centauri system for a few days, someone on Sawyers might have a job for me, but I’d rather spend the time down on Kakuloa than up here in space dock.”
“So? Go soak up some sun on the beach. There’s a shuttle, and we’ll take good care of your ship.”
Jackie grinned. “She wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you’d take care of her. But these repairs are costing me enough. I don’t want to pay for a shuttle and hotel on top of that. I figured I’d sleep aboard at the spaceport.”
The agent looked Jackie up and down as though he were thinking about making some suggestion concerning where she could sleep. He apparently thought better of it and just said: “Fair enough. As it happens we’re not super busy right now so I’ll have them expedite the work.”
The Chara Talisman Page 4
