Relic Hunted (Crax War Chronicles #2)

by Terry W. Ervin II

  Hybersleep would definitely affect how people viewed interstellar travel. Whichever corporation held the hybersleep drug patents was destined for sizeable profits, at least until some other group managed to discover a comparable drug regimen. Any military contract alone promised that.

  Pilot Dvoracek was in the pilot area performing system maintenance. I was in the common area, on the treadmill, working on my third mile. Axin was next to me working his upper body on the weight machine.

  I asked the engineer, “What got you interested in old-style flat screen programs?”

  After finishing his ten chest press reps, he replied, “Nostalgia, more than anything else, I guess. A reflection of better times. Simpler times.”

  I thought about what Axin said until the treadmill’s angle of incline lowered. “It wasn’t all good,” I said, taking breaths between sentences. “More primitive medicine. Fatal diseases were more common.” I pondered while Axin pressed through another set of ten. “Hundreds of sovereign governments. Adversity and one big war could’ve, or probably would’ve, ended it all for humanity. Wiped out the world.”

  I thought times were better when people didn’t spend most of their time interacting with computers at the expense of interaction with actual people. Implanting microchips. Becoming more and more dependent on technology. At least humanity hadn’t been tempted down the cyborg route, yet.

  “We didn’t have the Crax or their allies to face,” I continued, focusing on the main thrust of what I’d said instead of getting off track. “Only ourselves. But we only had Earth. All our eggs on one big round basket.”

  The treadmill elevated the angle of incline and I couldn’t afford any breath to say any more and hope to keep pace.

  “Not what I expected to hear from a Relic.” Axin got up and tapped in commands, adjusting the weight machine for bicep curls. “Only got interested in flat screen shows during my Intel training. Need something to distract you during interstellar travel. Break up the routine.”

  “Makes sense to me,” I said between breaths. “I used to read a lot.”

  Axin did his first set of ten curls. “Might have a surprise for you after your next hybersleep session.”

  “What?” I asked as the incline flattened out. “Discover a card game Dvoracek can win at?”

  Axin stopped halfway through his rep of ten, trying not to laugh. “I’m an engineer, Keesay, not a miracle man.”

  I sat in the common room using the shuttle’s computer to review information about my cover as Corbin Bleys. Memorize the details. Become fluent with them. For me, going at memorization for thirty minutes at a time as opposed to longer stints proved more effective.

  I could’ve done the studying in the quarters I shared with Vingee, but she was in there. In hybersleep she reminded me of a porcelain statue, unmoving. Not quite like a corpse in a casket but it made me uncomfortable. I’d have felt the same way with someone in a cold sleep capsule with tubes running out of every body orifice. It was just creepy—not so much that I couldn’t sleep. Just too much for me to fully concentrate on the files.

  Axin suggested I pull the cover over Vingee’s head. She wouldn’t notice. I told him it wasn’t necessary, but didn’t tell him I didn’t care to do anything to remind me even more of a funeral corpse.

  After it was all over with, I’d ask Vingee if she pulled the covers over my head while I was in hybersleep. I wondered if she’d tell me the truth. The way Axin shrugged after stating my choice against pulling covers, I already knew the answer.

  Once every day a person’s hybersleep position needed adjustment just like a hospital patient needs to be moved or suffer bed sores. Although I watched once, the job was left to Axin or Dvoracek because they’d been trained in the proper repositioning rotation.

  Several hours before my third session of hybersleep both Pilot Dvoracek and Engineer Axin strode into the common room. I was in the middle of reassembling my duty revolver after cleaning and oiling it.

  Axin held a huge grin and was obviously concealing something behind his back. Dvoracek even had a sparkle in her eye, which I’d never seen before, leading me to believe it had to be quite rare.

  With a tap I closed the computer file playing instrumental hymns. “What’s got the both of you revved up?”

  “Revved up?” Dvoracek asked.

  Before I could reply, Axin said, “Remember that surprise I’d mentioned a while back?”

  I recalled the surprise he’d talked about, but with me being asleep most of the time, seemed like no more than a couple days had passed. I nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

  His grin widening, Axin brought his arm around and presented a shiny side-by-side double-barrel shotgun. “Not exactly like the one in Big Jake. Stainless steel and no external hammers.”

  “You made it?” I asked, knowing long range shuttles carried fabrication equipment in case a critical part failed while in transit.

  He nodded, continuing to grin from ear to ear. “Always looking for something to do. Most of the work was in research and calling up files, and the setup for each piece. Its springs were a bitch, but assembling it? Not close to a challenge for a trained engineer like me.”

  Axin shifted his grip on the shotgun and nodded toward the shuttle’s cabin area. “Guymin told me about your bayonet. Made this from stainless steel as I don’t have access to anything but small cubes and slats of Umbelgarri alloys.

  I thought about Pilot Odthe and the bayonet he’d made for me to replace the one clipped by a Gar Crax’s molecular blade.

  “She’s all yours,” Axin said, breaking it open to show it was empty. He closed it up, extending it toward me. Then he drew it back. “If you do one thing for me.”

  The engineer struck me as someone who wouldn’t ask for something out of line. “Sure,” I said. “Name it.”

  “You have to hold it above your head.” He demonstrated by doing so. “And shout, ‘This, is my boom stick!’”

  The pilot shook her head and laughed.

  He held out the shotgun and I carefully took it. “I’m guessing, Axin, there’s some significance to that statement?”

  “There most certainly is, Keesay,” Axin replied. “We’ll show…” he started. Then, after glancing at Dvoracek who met his eyes with a stone-faced gaze, he continued, “Let me amend that. I’ll show you shortly before your last run at hybersleep.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, looking around at the shuttle’s standard recording camera. Raising the finely crafted shotgun over my head I shouted at the top of my lungs, “This, is my boom stick!”

  Getting used to my cover name, Agent Vingee asked me, “Would that be called a holster, Specialist Bleys?” She was referring to the faux leather strap and sheath holding my new double-barrel coach gun across my back. With a good stretch I could pull it from over my shoulder. I’d asked Axin about the possibility of a lug for my bayonet, but he said it’d interfere with my ability to pull and replace the shotgun in its sheath.

  We were about an hour from dropping out of condensed space on our approach to the 70 Virginis system. Guymin was with the pilot and Axin was monitoring the cascading atomic engine.

  I shrugged. “Sheath is probably more accurate, but I think naming it a holster is better. In some situations it may be better than carrying my pump-action shotgun, even with it slung.”

  It was Vingee’s turn to shake her head. “If you requisition a carbon-based fueled chainsaw,” she said, “I will personally petition a full mental health battery on you.”

  “Axin shared a few of his old films with you too?”

  “He did,” she replied, checking her equipment before placing her computer clip and other gear in a fashionable, authentic leather satchel. Part of her cover as an important up-and-coming Mayfair executive.

  “No concern on the chainsaw front, Ms. Long.”

  Her turquoise bodysuit and emerald green jacket certainly clashed with her orange scarf decorated with black squares, a pattern distributed over forty percent of
the surface area. The jacket’s turquoise pockets with triangular flaps made it worse. I’d have suggested black triangles to match the flaps, but what did I know of fashion. My experience said, where shipboard attire was aimed at ease of identification through conservative conformity, business dress was aimed at standing out. At making a statement.

  I sat in the common area with Agent Vingee, watching our approach on the view screen. Guymin was with the pilot and Axin was monitoring the engines.

  The dock complex orbited the Jupiter-like gas giant, most recently named Bonnisbin. Great swaths of solar panels were arrayed across the dock complex, presumably to supplement its nuclear energy stations. The sun seemed brighter than Earth’s, so that made sense.

  Naming the Virginis dock a complex might have been an understatement as it appeared to have a core rectangular structure, as well as a multitude of additions attached seemingly at random. Some were spherical. Others were boxlike, while a few resembled clusters of crates welded together. Those sections reminded me of the few Chicher interstellar ships I’d seen.

  Metallic braces and conduits formed a spider web connection between the various dock additions. Those appeared both planned and sturdy, obviously necessary to withstand gravitational forces experienced as the dock followed Bonnisbin in its orbit around the sun.

  Studying the exterior, I guessed the solar panels might’ve been installed by inhabitants to avoid paying the dock for power. 70 Virginis wasn’t that far from Earth. Even so, the orbiting colony was a relatively isolated one, even more so now that it had declared independence. What rules and balance of power governed it was probably still in flux.

  The Troh-got vessel stationed nearby, probably a battle frigate based on its size, reinforced the colony’s independence. It resembled two thick horseshoes welded together at right angles along the apex of their arches. Beautiful compared to the hodge-podge space dock it protected.

  Vingee pointed to the shaft lined with spinning disk structures. They reminded me of varying sizes of wagon wheels. Their rate of rotation appeared to decrease as they extended away from the top of the main dock. Of course, ‘up’ or ‘top’ would be relative to where the inhabitants might be in relation to the dock’s main gravity plate. The spinning wheel sections probably used centrifugal force to create artificial gravity as opposed to the energy intensive plates. Actually, the spinning structure was probably there before the main dock section, and the older form of gravity generation had been necessary. Maybe it hadn’t been fitted with grav plates, yet. Except for energy consumption, they weren’t expensive. Most vessels, even shuttles, had them.

  “That would be the Celestial Unicorn Palace,” Vingee said. “The place you accused Falshire Hawks of visiting.” She winked. “But of course you knew that.”

  I did recognize the multi-disked structure. Who didn’t? The Celestial Unicorn Palace’s marketing commercials remained a staple, from appearing in online magazines and journals to holo-cast vids and electronic billboards. Some men, enough men, willingly travel dozens of light years to vacation with seven-foot blondes built like exotic dancers. Frequent advertisements paraded dozens of the enormous, voluptuous blondes chanting the slogan, ‘Come be a stallion on our range.’

  I hadn’t heard of an equivalent exotic establishment to lure women. Maybe that said something about women. It definitely said something about men.

  Agent Vingee knew that my accusation during my pretrial had been aimed at getting under Falshire Hawks’ skin. At the time he was representing the Capital Galactic Investment Group. Initially he was also ‘representing’ me, as CGIG had largely succeeded in wresting control of Negral Corporation’s assets. That included my contract.

  Through divesting myself of Negral Corp and some legal maneuvering with the assistance of an Umbelgarri diplomat and the Criminal Justice Investigatory Squad representative, I managed to have myself hooked up to the experimental Cranaltar IV to prove my innocence. But, at the time, I had no memory of what had happened, no knowledge of the host of crimes of which I’d been accused. The only reason the criminal justice system went along with me being connected to the Cranaltar was that any accomplices I might’ve had would be revealed, if I was guilty.

  I leaned closer and stared at where Vingee pointed. “Really, Ms. Long? Exactly what is the Celestial Unicorn Palace anyway?”

  She rolled her eyes, stifling a laugh. “I hope you’re a better actor than that.”

  “Who’s acting?”

  Chapter 12

  I stepped ahead of Special Agents Vingee and Guymin and submitted myself and my equipment for a security scan to gain access to the Bonnisbin Space Dock. My cover as Ms. Long’s personal guard made it appropriate that I go first. I could then observe and ensure that my ward wasn’t mistreated.

  Having my V-ID scanned in addition to my person and equipment, then inspected by trained security specialists went quickly, but not necessarily effectively. My equipment carried what would be classified as espionage-related contraband. My com-set matched standard model specifications, although a few components had been modified by Intelligence. If they removed the screws to my double-barrel shotgun’s butt plate and examined the stock, they’d find an imbedded cylinder encasing sensitive electronic signal gathering gear. The dura-polymer that Engineer Axin used when building the shotgun appeared solid with no cavities.

  Those were the only ‘questionable’ items I carried.

  A problem the 70 Virginis colony had that would continue to worsen was their V-ID and other records becoming more and more outdated. A price of declaring independence. They could purchase updates. A constant expense, but one they’d eventually find necessary.

  A reflection in the frowning security specialist’s left eye showed my modified V-ID caused a corner of the monitor screen to flash yellow.

  “When was your last vaccination regimen?” she asked.

  Ready with my answer, I replied, “Six months, two days from today.” My identity now occupied a ghost file established years ago.

  “Specialist Bleys, please present your thumb.”

  Knowing they were creating a file on me, I placed it on a desk screen before moving it to a metal panel where a needle prick occurred, taking a drop of my blood for DNA identification.

  “Thank you, Specialist Bleys.” She looked over to her partner, another Class 3 Security Specialist, who nodded. “You and your equipment are clear for entry to the Bonnisbin Orbital Colony.”

  I nodded once and took several strides over to the conveyer that held my equipment. I buckled on my belt before examining my revolver and sliding it into its holster.

  The male security specialist commented as I slid my bayonet into its scabbard, “Fine blade there, Specialist.”

  “That it is,” I said. “Cost this Relic a barrel full of credits.” I then turned my attention to Agent Vingee who was placing her gear on the conveyer belt so that it could be scanned before she walked through the scanning arch. Guymin, in charge of Ms. Long’s dolly cart, would take longer. He’d have to catch up if they didn’t detect the espionage gear both it, and he, carried.

  Axin and Dvoracek would do their part, remaining aboard the Nuclear Pitchfork VII. One of the things we’d do aboard the dock is collect electronic files and communications. It was their job to break the encryptions. The Pitchfork didn’t have all of the advanced or A-Tech equipment the exploration shuttle Bloodhound 3 did, but it did have some, supplemented by state of the art I-Tech software and equipment. At least from what I could determine based upon my limited knowledge.

  After they cleared Vingee, posing as Ms. Long, she pulled out her computer clip and turned back to Guymin. “Mr. Chaney, notify me when you have arranged for our rooms.”

  Without waiting for acknowledgement, she activated her clip and began striding down the sterile corridor. I took my place to her right, following one step behind.

  We made our way through one of the older additions to the Bonnisbin Orbital Colony. Behind were the metallic walls painte
d white and the speckled white laminate floor. Occasionally Vingee and I passed plain, unmarked sliding doors framed by flat strips of polished steel. No conduits. Recessed LED lighting. It was like walking through well-maintained ductwork. Every thirty paces I spotted discrepancies in adjoining panels near the flat ceiling where surveillance cameras and other monitoring devices kept track of those entering the main colony area. The recirculated air was cold and dry, but somehow still managed to feel stuffy. Maybe too much volume pumped into the confined area. My limited experience on space docks suggested it should have been the other way around. Not the cold and dry, but lesser amount of air. Less pressure.

  Using her clip, Agent Vingee switched between downloaded directions for navigating the upcoming corridors and files outlining her meetings and agendas. Whatever she viewed, whatever we did, was being recorded and sifted through artificial intelligence software programs. They’d flag any images or snippets of conversation deemed questionable, threatening, or otherwise of interest.

  Nobody was heading back toward the docking facilities. Vingee’s determined pace enabled us to pass around a pair of men toting metallic briefcases. They could’ve been fraternal twins, both tall and lean with jutting chins and deep set brown eyes. As we passed the pair I placed myself between them and Vingee, observing over my shoulder the yellow-tied lawyers wearing tie pins indicating they worked for Naill and Trapp Environmental Systems. They ignored me and Vingee, caught up in their own quiet conversations, speaking into collar mics and listening through the micro receivers implanted in their ear canals.

  After ten minutes and several turns we reached an entrance to the main colony facility. A holographic image depicting a cursive-lettered, pink neon sign read: Welcome to the Bonnisbin Orbital Colony. In smaller letters just below it read: Follow all regulations and enjoy your visit.

  As we walked through the holographic welcome sign, the security-glass double doors slid aside. I followed Vingee into an open area that reminded me of an old-style mall with speckled tile floors polished to a sheen, pastel walls and gray posts, potted trees, bench seats, small shops with window displays, and several restaurants, each with their own holographic sign.