Relic Hunted (Crax War Chronicles #2)

by Terry W. Ervin II

  What followed was a long wait. I tracked shuttles being exchanged. I could only guess at the communications. Turrets didn’t receive many, and I didn’t have the skills to intercept anything not directed to my station.

  My assigned duty time passed. I notified the warrant officer that I was going to get a meal, a couple energy bars and a vitamin-enriched drink, and a shower, and would return to my turret. The seat there wasn’t as comfortable as a bed, but it’d do. After months of captivity, I was anxious to be away from the double-star Capella system.

  Agent Vingee’s voice startled me to wakefulness after only ninety minute’s sleep. “Agent Keesay,” came over my com-set, relayed through the Ashkelon’s bridge. Her voice held a ring of urgency. “Report.”

  “Agent Vingee,” I replied, “I’m off duty but remain on station in Tri-Beam Turret One.”

  “Notify Warrant Officer Tron to expect company. Two shuttles will arrive within thirty minutes. You, and only you, are to meet them in the Ashkelon’s main shuttle bay.

  “Acknowledged,” I said. “Any special arrangements?”

  “Negative, Keesay. Out.”

  An old model military shuttle was the first to land in the main bay. Probably from the Reef Shark, since its patched hull showed signs of having been warped and scarred. Evidence it’d seen combat against the Shards. That wasn’t surprising.

  Agent Guymin was on board, if not piloting. It was his voice that requested permission from Warrant Officer Tron to land, including permission for the follow-on shuttle. That one happened to be teardrop-shaped, sleek and silvery. Twice as large as the military shuttle, it looked fast…and dangerous with its two side-mounted energy beam cannons. Umbelgarri. What did they want on the Ashkelon? With no one else invited, what did they want with me?

  Standing next to the bank of computer screens in the observation room, adjacent to the control room, I ran my hands over my ill-fitting Fleet uniform. I checked the holstered MP pistol on my right hip and my bayonet hanging in a makeshift scabbard on my left. I didn’t have a comb, so I ran my fingers through my short hair.

  What was making me so nervous?

  Agent Guymin was the first to disembark from the military shuttle. He strode down the ramp, flanked by Agent Vingee on his right and a Chicher commando scampering behind on his left. Vingee was taller than Guymin, and towered over the furry alien as they stopped and stood to face the Umbelgarri shuttle.

  A circular section in the Phib shuttle’s nose depressed and then rolled upward. A ramp, black to the point of absorbing color, rolled out like a lizard’s tongue.

  My com-set was on, with normal frequencies open to receive. My headset was connected and functioning. Maybe they wanted me here for security. If so, Guymin would’ve let me know. But, with the secretive Umbelgarri, humans were always on the outside, looking in…that was, when the Phibs allowed.

  A crab-like Umbelgarri thrall with a black synthetic harness holding various electronic gadgets in its loops and pouches skittered sideways down the black ramp and up to Agent Guymin. Its eyestalks swiveled about as it moved, its lesser claw hovering near a dangling energy beam baton. Everyone looked at ease except the Chicher. He stood on his hind legs, bobbing his head from side to side, his nose twitching as he sniffed.

  Guymin said something to the Bahklack, and then they must’ve exchanged words. With a nod of agreement, Guymin spoke into his collar mic. “Keesay, the Umbelgarri have recently contacted me with a proposal that involves you.” He glanced behind him to the Chicher commando and then back to the Bahklack. “Thus, they have invited you to join us here in the shuttle bay.”

  “Understood,” I replied into my mic and tapped the controls to unlock the shuttle bay entrance. The way Guymin said ‘invited’ suggested something other than that, but I wasn’t sure what.

  The Bahklack spun, its chitinous feet clicking on the metal floor. The alien raised its large claw, angling its genetically manipulated surface and began to speak through the colors that swirled and formed, and reformed across its surface.

  My ability to comprehend the alien form of communication certainly was a factor in the upcoming proposal.

  “The Masters transmitted a request for your superior to bind you to the Masters’ desires. The superior receiving the request before me has deferred the request to his subordinate’s verdict, which is you, Subclass Warrior Human of Lowly Relic Aspiration.”

  Again, the way this Bahklack spoke was different from others I’d communicated with. A dialect? Maybe they spoke different languages. Although humanity had mainly a single language, pockets of nationalistic languages yet remained, mainly among Relics. I wasn’t knowledgeable enough to blame it on non-standardization of translation software.

  I glanced over at Agent Guymin. “He means the Umbelgarri desire to pick up my contract?”

  Guymin nodded. “They want you to provide security for their diplomatic representative to the Chicher.”

  That was unexpected. Umbelgarri rarely intermingled with humans. Their immune systems weren’t effective against many of the microbes humans carried. My only experience with an ‘Umbelgarri diplomat’ had been Diplomat Silvre, a brilliant woman—which is the only type of human they deign to accept. Of course, many races avoided the Chicher for much the same concern, leaving both of our races as intragalactic pariahs.

  They’d worked directly with McAllister, at least temporarily, in their secret subterranean breeding ground on Tallavaster. They’d masked me and kept their distance while I was in their underground warren. They managed with her, and I never asked why. Not like she would’ve told me. But the McAllister situation took place under desperate circumstances. At the time Crax forces were in the process of overrunning the third of Tallavaster’s three human colony cities. And similar to Diplomat Silvre, Senior Engineer McAllister is a genius. Unlike me.

  “Do I have an option?”

  Guymin tilted his head with a raised eyebrow. “An option? To modify the contract?”

  “The option to say, no,” I said. The Umbelgarri thrall was right in front of me and the Umbelgarri diplomat might be observing from the shuttle not ten yards away. “My reading and experience suggest they’re not used to us humans saying no.”

  Agent Guymin glanced at the Bahklack and then beyond it to the alien shuttle. “The Umbelgarri made assumptions with respect to Intelligence’s command structure. Their normal points of contact are diplomats, followed by military representatives, and government officials. Often using intermediaries.” With an expressionless look he added, “I chose to defer to you rather than exert my authority.”

  I grinned. “In other words, you said, ‘No.’”

  Vingee’s eyebrows pinched together, and she tilted forward a little, like she wanted to say something.

  Guymin probably didn’t notice. The Bahklack wouldn’t have missed it. But it probably wasn’t good at reading human body language. The question was, what did she want to say?

  Guymin shook his head. “Not exactly, Agent Keesay.”

  “Do I get to read and review the contract?”

  “The Umbelgarri prefer you get it from the thrall.” He pointed at the Bahklack. “You are aware, they prefer verbal contracts.”

  I’d read historic treaties and a few corporate-Umbelgarri contracts released to news sources, and pointed it out to Guymin. He responded, “Litigious as we humans are, we write them out for our reference and benefit. Theirs is a more conceptual framework for an agreement.”

  It made a sort of sense. Alien brains functioned differently from humans. How they perceived and interpreted the world around them was often radically different. I was basing that not only on what I’d read, but my interactions with a few Chicher and Bahklack. The Chicher were a pack animal and formed communities not all that different from humans. The Bahklack were servants, rigid in their service to their Umbelgarri masters that created them, but seemingly flexible in rare instances, and too aloof to care, when interacting with humans.

  The Umbel
garri? Just from what I knew of their language, the colors and patterns, and physiology…low slung quadruped amphibian creatures, like a cross between a giant salamander and an alligator, eighty percent salamander...

  They had manipulative appendages, spindly arms and hands, able to jut out from beneath their broad chins. I’d never seen one up close, except several young ones in an underground pool. Those resembled mudpuppies in both shape and size. I hadn’t been close enough to spot anything more than basic size and shape, including if they had the arms under their chins. In truth, I didn’t recognize what they were and the purpose of the pool—a breeding nursery—until after I’d left the underground area. Left to face the Crax, setting off detonations to appear like I was trying to kill them and their Stegmar warrior allies. The real objective, beyond killing a few more Crax before they brought me down, had been to collapse the hidden entry. While trying to evade the pursuing Crax after splitting up with O’Vorley, I discovered the entrance within a fenced off area of a gravel quarry. I’d entered the dilapidated tool shed screened by rusted parts and broken-down equipment. The Phibs logically figured the Crax would eventually stumble across the entrance too.

  I looked over at the Bahklack, then stepped directly in front of him. “So you want me to negotiate a possible contract agreement, right here and right now?”

  The thrall stood as straight as its crab-like legs allowed. “The Masters require your service. Accompany. Protect. Consult, when requested.” Although he wore a translation device strapped to his dominant claw, the thrall spoke through the patterns formed on his claw. The device was also a transmitter, and had the ability to receive and direct a communication light beam into one of its stalk eyes.

  It was odd discussing this in a shuttle bay. It might’ve even been more odd for those standing and listening only to my end of the conversation. It’d be even harder for the Chicher commando, whose translation device surely lacked the ability to transform optical language into its native auditory form.

  I thought a moment before saying, “Should a contract be agreed upon, the Umbelgarri diplomat I’d work for understands the difference between a contracted employee and a thrall? That would include all Umbelgarri, not just those in the diplomatic corps. I would require that I retain a similar measure of autonomy that any standard bodyguard would while serving within human society.”

  “The Masters recognize humans were not created and are not spawned to serve their needs and desires.” The crab-like alien’s stalk eyes angled a fraction toward me. “Negative. Human among the Masters, access to habitation and destinations are set by the Masters. Not for humans to decide.”

  “The situation sounds like, other than when I am performing a specified task, I would be confined to quarters. I understand the disease vector concerns, but humans have moved among the Umbelgarri before.”

  “Subclass Warrior Human of Lowly Relic Aspiration, confined harboring was caused by humans who desire retribution against you. The Masters believe it will occur again, or your span of existence will be truncated. That is not preferred compared to what serving the Masters will provide?”

  For a moment the Bahklack’s phrasing had been more smooth and conversational in content. That it changed, or reverted, meant something. Maybe reflexive when its masters are challenged. Or the previous words had been part of a prepared statement? What Ensign Ciriegio had said about the difficulty of guarding against friends came back to me. I’d been captured because Colonial Marines turned on me. Delivered me to the enemy in exchange for credits. An exorbitant amount. Nevertheless, I owed them some payback. Them and Capital Galactic loyalists, along with the Crax.

  I crossed my arms. “The Umbelgarri don’t desire my service as a protector because of any training or extensive expertise in that field. The Umbelgarri want to contract for my service because, among the Chicher, I am a Pollinated Pack Member. Not only that, but I am a Relic Tech, like the Chicher. Because of the Cranaltar IV, I can understand Umbelgarri language, and through my experience under the device, they are confident in my loyalty to them and their secrets. That is of value.”

  The thrall’s eye stalks returned to a more vertical positioning. “The Masters will grant credit remuneration three fold accumulation superior to what your current masters grant.”

  It was my turn to lean forward. “I have no masters. And if I work for the Umbelgarri, they will be employers, not masters.” I held up a finger to forestall the Bahklack’s reply. “In confinement, what will I be able to spend my earned credits on? What value are they to me in Umbelgarri society?”

  The thrall’s eyestalks spun at the top, like a straw in a stirred drink. Was that a sign of annoyance, or of frustration?

  “The Masters will provide for all physical needs. Nourishment, health, body coverings, tools.”

  “What’s in it for me?” I asked, gesturing with my hands, palms up. “I’d rather fight the Crax, or Capital Galactic, until they take me down rather than follow an Umbelgarri diplomat around.” I glanced over my shoulder at the commando standing on his hind legs. “Diplomats aren’t known for front line duty and the odds of the Chicher trying to assassinate one of their A-Tech allies is as close to nil as you can get.”

  The alien thrall paused. “After Superior Class Warriors exchanged you, Subclass Warrior Human of Lowly Relic Aspiration, and the exertion and death of fellow humans and Relic Rodent Segregated by Hordes, and the Advanced Thinking Terrestrial Avians whom the Masters have allied with for centuries to secure your unexchangement, the Masters do not believe your masters will permit you to mingle among humans.”

  The thrall had a point, but I wasn’t going to concede that. What I decided to say might ruffle some feathers if Vingee or Guymin reported it. There might even be truth to the words. I never fully trusted Intelligence. Like the government and the military and the various corporations, Intelligence had its own methods and hidden agenda.

  “What makes the Umbelgarri think that my superiors in Intelligence didn’t allow my capture to aid in their locating of this outpost? The rescue attempt wasn’t mounted for me. Your Umbelgarri leaders know that.”

  Even as I said it, the remote possibility of its truth struck me as being less than remote.

  McAllister and I had played many games of chess. She routinely beat me, although on rare occasion I managed a stalemate. She said I didn’t think or plan enough moves ahead. Maybe that was true, but I knew enough about the game to know no matter how many moves ahead I planned, pawns were always on the line to be sacrificed. That Intelligence okayed my contract to be taken up by the Umbelgarri indicated they saw benefit to my working for the Phibs. I didn’t think Guymin would have the authority. Deputy Director Simms might have onsite authority, but hadn’t been in the loop for a long time. The Umbelgarri probably initiated this once they got word from the Reef Shark or their returning heavy cruiser.

  While I’d been talking and thinking, one of the thrall’s eyestalks tipped toward the communication device on his claw. He was receiving information from an Umbelgarri.

  I wasn’t familiar with Bahklack body language, but the way his legs flexed and then became rigid, and his smaller claw and two manipulative appendages dipped, something positive wasn’t being relayed to him.

  His problems weren’t my problems. Mine was my future. The Bahklack had a point. Intelligence might shovel me off somewhere dark and isolated—for my own safety. After my involvement in the Colonization Riots, I ended up doing warehouse security on Pluto. Out of the way. I was lucky to escape that fate, one which Intel shipped me off to. No need to think ahead, like McAllister recommended. I had one move. One available that might offer more future opportunities and not a dead end. It wasn’t a reliable one, more like a wild card. I smiled, thinking of McAllister fuming at me for mixing chess and cards, games that allowed room for luck in the strategy.

  But just because there wasn’t much in the cards for me, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t play to benefit others.

  Guymin raised his
eyebrows when I turned and he saw my smile. I gave him a wink. His eyes shifted to focus beyond my shoulder. Vingee’s did too. Looking back, I saw what caught their attention. An actual Umbelgarri was lumbering its way down the ramp.

  I’d seen one from a distance before, after it exited one of their battle tanks, surrounded by Bahklacks. It died, killed by the Crax bearing down on our defensive line on Tallavaster.

  This one wasn’t burdened with a back-mounted beam cannon or a bunch of other gear. Narrow harness straps, one that ran along the spine, and three along its sides, and anchored at its legs. The straps were clear, like plastic, and allowed the shifting colors of its smooth skin, much like a squid’s. The Umbelgarri was about twelve-feet long, including its tail. It looked like a salamander but walked like an alligator. Its snout was caught somewhere between rounded and blunt like a salamander’s and long and narrow, like an alligator’s. It didn’t have any teeth that I could see, or claws, and its eyes were red, like an albino rabbit’s. Its head was marginally oversized compared to its body, but not abnormally so. The arms under its chin were tucked back and held close. They appeared to have three fingers and an opposable thumb. Rather than an alien with a highly functional brain and creators of advanced technology, the Umbelgarri appeared more like a prehistoric throwback. Something hailing from Earth’s Paleozoic Era.

  If I agreed with my contract’s transfer, this was probably the Umbelgarri I’d be protecting. Its glistening skin flowed from a coral pink to pastels of blue and purple, with streaks of sharp green. It was telling the Bahklack in front of me to move aside.

  What caught my attention, more than the Phib, rare as it was to meet one face-to-face, was the occasional pinprick flashes, like ethereal sparks, whose appearance offered a rough outline of an oval shield or barrier surrounding it. That, and the object floating and keeping pace about eight feet above the A-Tech alien. No larger than a watermelon, I sensed it was there, not really seeing it. Whatever it was caused a distortion when I looked through it to the Umbelgarri shuttle and the dull metallic shuttle bay wall as the quadrupedal alien advanced. Either light waves bent around the object, or a holographic image formed to mimic what I, and others, would normally see if it weren’t there. My credits would be wagered on the latter. I also guessed that the Phib wanted us to see the screen and notice the hovering object, probably a weapon.