by R. A. Nargi
Ro Sainecourt sat at a projector at one end of the table. He looked up as I entered the room.
“There he is. Man of the hour.”
Sainecourt headed up our missions planning department and had been with the company forever. One of my dad’s trusted lieutenants. He must have been close to a hundred years old, and like Piettow, eschewed all but the most necessary bio mods. Every time I saw Sainecourt he looked older, and I wondered how much longer he’d be around. Still, he was as sharp as anyone. Sharper, really, because he had the unique ability to synthesize all the data his team collected into a straightforward, concise mission briefing.
“Let’s get into it,” he said, as he fiddled with the datapad that controlled his projector. “Executive briefing. Your eyes and ears only.”
Before I could even sit down, Sainecourt started in, peppering me with bits of information. Starting with the Kryrk.
It was a five-thousand-year-old religious artifact from Sekhbet, supposedly used by a Shimese prophet to smite an enemy kingdom by summoning a falling star that destroyed an entire continent. The word Kryrk roughly translates to “crescent” and in some of the Shimese religious texts the Kryrk is also referred to as “the crescent of the stars.” The object itself was indeed shaped like a crescent, either made of gold or a golden-colored crystal, and was “three hands long.” Shimese hands are longer than human hands, so Sainecourt’s team estimated the artifact’s size to be between 70 and 80 centimeters long.
For millennia, the Kryrk was stored in a temple on an island populated by the Shima’s caste of warrior-priests. Not much is recorded about the Kryrk until the year 1094 of the common calendar. That was the year of the Yueldian invasion.
The race is extinct today, but a thousand years ago Yueldian “Sky Reavers” terrorized the galaxy. They were an avaricious humanoid species of pirates and thieves who plundered art, valuables, and artifacts from thousands of systems. They hoarded these artifacts on their home world of Yueld somewhere in the Hodierna galaxy three billion light years from Sekhbet. Until a half century ago, the Shima had given up all hope of ever recovering the Kryrk—for the simple reason that the planet Yueld was in a solar system that had been lost among forty billion stars. But in 2306, the Fountain was discovered and everything changed for the Shima.
I had a fair amount of knowledge about the Fountain and the Rhya who guarded and controlled access to it.
Ever since the first exploratory mission through the Fountain returned and reported that the Fountain connected to the Nymorean system and the planet Yueld, the Shima have been petitioning the Rhya for access. But the Shima weren’t the only ones who wanted the opportunity to hunt through the ruins of Yueldian cities to recover stolen artifacts. Nearly a dozen other extant species also demanded access in order to repatriate items of cultural significance that had been stolen by the Yueldian Sky Reavers.
So the Rhya instituted a lottery system, and permitted three different factions limited access to Yueld, its moons, and its space stations. But there were conditions.
First, there were strict rules about what type of craft and technology were allowed through the Fountain. The Rhya had discovered that a low-technology scavenger race—the Obaswoon—were eking out an existence on Yueld. And, for whatever reason, the Rhya wardens did not want these natives interfered with. Granted expeditions would not be allowed contact with the Obaswoon under any circumstances.
Secondly, there would be no colonization of Yueld or its moons. Each expedition was limited to no more than seven individuals—and no sims.
And perhaps the most significant limitation was the temporal nature of the Fountain itself. The anomaly that created the spatial passage between galaxies was inherently unstable. Even with their advanced technology, the Rhya could only keep the Fountain open for a hundred hours or so. And once it closed, it remained closed for a period of between seven and twelve years.
That meant that there was a limited window to get out. If an expedition missed it, they were stuck there. For years. It hadn’t happened yet, but I could see how it might.
Since its discovery, there had been five missions through the Fountain. And Beck Salvage had been in there twice. Once on behalf of the Ly’uth and most recently for the Dodelan Alliance. That last mission—seven years ago—was the one that claimed my father’s life.
4
Most of the actual meeting with the Shimese representatives was anticlimactic. We exchanged pleasantries, I told stories of my exploits, and then I spent a good part of the time listening to Nehenutet and Khebu-Ka reiterate how critical this mission was to their people.
They asked a number of operational questions regarding our ship and crew, the Beck Salvage strategy, performance guarantees, and security. They also wanted to know how familiar we were with the Ambit, the planetary data system the ancient Yueldians used to catalog their plunder. Previous successful missions, including our own for the Dodelan Alliance, depended on deciphering this ancient catalog.
Wallace fielded most of those questions, and he trotted out Virgil Yates, a field data scientist who was a part of Beck Salvage’s last mission through the Fountain. Yates was a grey-haired, soft-spoken man and a friend of my father’s—and the last person to see him alive. I was frankly surprised that Yates was in the meeting because I had thought he had retired shortly after the Dodelan job, but Wallace assured the Shimese representatives that Yates was the foremost expert on the Yueldian Ambit and their best chance at locating the Kryrk.
I wrapped up with an exciting anecdote about one of “my” past missions involving an intraplanetary jumpgate that had been sabotaged by a rival salvage company. I didn’t mention Allegro by name, but everyone knew who I was talking about. Of course, Beck Salvage prevailed in the end, and the Iluuseg got their graven makara stones back—safe and sound. Another successful mission.
At the end of the meeting, the Shimese seemed pleased, although their mottled gray faces lacked eyes or what we would consider a mouth, so they were tough to read based on human standards.
“Well, sirs,” Wallace said, rising and bowing. “We know that time is short, so we eagerly await your decision. The full resources of Beck Salvage remain at your disposal and we are one hundred percent ready to deploy. On behalf of our entire operation, let me express how grateful we are for your consideration and—”
Khebu-Ka, the more senior of the two Shimese representatives, held up one long-fingered gray hand in a universal gesture of interruption.
“You have misunderstood us, friend Wallace,” he said. “We desire to award Beck Salvage the contract. Your firm shall recover the Kryrk for us.”
Wallace’s face lit up in surprise. Mine too, I imagined. It appeared that Allegro was out of the picture.
“Well, that’s superb,” Wallace said. “Simply superb!”
“We have transmitted the amended contract to your legal department as per your previous instruction,” Khebu-Ka said.
Wallace paused for a moment. “Amended?”
“Ah, yes, some minor changes to the terms. And we thought it would be fair to increase the fee given that the eminent Sean Beck will be captaining the mission himself.”
I felt like the wind had just been knocked out of me. “What?”
Wallace was much quicker than me. He smiled politely and said, “Sean doesn’t do much field work himself—since the shoulder injury. He’s much more valuable directing the mission from our control center—”
As my uncle was speaking, I noticed a flash of movement in my peripheral vision. The second Shimese representative lunged right at me as if he wanted to rip me limb from limb, which—given his two-and-a-quarter meter height and four sinewy arms—might be entirely possible.
As Nehenutet plowed into me, my ornate wormcloth chair tipped backwards and I somersaulted back. Acting purely on instinct, I rolled into a combat crouch, my heart threatening to pound right out of my chest.
My would-be assailant untangled himself from my chair and stepped away.
His shoulders were heaving and he was making a labored huffing sound. It took me a moment to figure out that Nehenutet was laughing. At me.
“Esteemed Captain Beck,” he wheezed. “I am impressed. If you perform such effortless acrobatics with an injured kafat, you must be truly formidable when you are healthy.”
“Forgive the dramatics,” Khebu-Ka said, turning to Wallace. “But it is clear that your leader is more than capable. He will captain our expedition. A condition that is non-negotiable. We want only the best. This is too important for us to settle for anything less.”
“No,” I said, five minutes later in my uncle’s stateroom. “A big, unequivocal no.”
“They won’t accept ‘no’ from us,” Wallace said. “You were there. You heard it with your own ears.”
“Then we don’t do it. They can hire Allegro for all I care.”
“That’s the problem, Jannigan. You don’t care.”
I took a step back. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Ever since your father died, I’ve tried to look out for you. I gave you a job. I made sure that you never had to compromise your lifestyle—since obviously that’s what’s most important to you.”
Whoah. Where was this coming from?
“That’s not fair,” I growled. “I played ball from day one. I’ve been to countless meetings. Learned all sorts of meaningless shit. And basically have lived one big gigantic lie for the past seven years. All for you and this company. There is no way I’m going to go into dark space—where my father fucking died by the way. Do you even know what you’re asking?”
“Yes, I do know what I’m asking! I know it very well!” He turned his back on me and stormed to the window, fuming in anger.
The room was quiet for a good amount of time. I sat down on the bed and tried to figure out how I could get off this liner and get back to my normal life on New Torino.
But when Wallace turned to look at me again, all the fight had left him.
“Jannigan, listen to me. There’s a reason we need this contract.”
“Yeah, so you can buy another villa on the Southern Ocaro.”
“Will you stop for a second? Just stop for a second, please.”
I didn’t say anything.
He took a deep breath and sat down. “Remember when I first told you about this opportunity? I said that this could be the company’s final job.”
I nodded.
“Well, we’re done. Either way. Beck Salvage is shutting down in thirty days. We can either go out on top, set for life. Us, our kids, our grandkids, probably for five generations. No one has to worry about anything.”
“Yeah?”
“Or we go out on the bottom. The company declares bankruptcy. Mashigino liquidates our assets. The office. This liner. The other ships in the fleet. Our equipment. You and I walk away with nothing. And that goes double for all the hundred or so folks who work for us.”
I shook my head. “Bankrupt? That doesn’t make sense. The company’s doing great. Just this year, we won half a dozen contracts. I was in the room, so I know—”
He cut me off. “That was us treading water. Small stuff. Didn’t really make a dent.”
“Dent? A dent in what?”
My uncle slumped down in his seat and he cupped his face in his hands. I expected him to burst into tears. But he didn’t. He took another deep breath and pulled his sorry ass together. Then he launched into a long explanation of how my father had made a very poor business decision before he died. And no one really recognized the significance of that decision at the time. It seemed like minor thing. An attempt to diversify by getting in bed with the Maltheusii. It started out as a small stake in Dessidia.
I knew what Wallace was talking about—partially thanks to Piettow’s mental force-feeding and partially because everyone knew about Dessidia. It was a major terraforming project on the moon of Harpallene. And it had been going on since I was a little kid. When it was done, Dessidia was supposed to be the most incredible resort in the entire galaxy. But they had encountered a lot of problems—including messing up the moon’s orbit. The latest news was that the whole moon might need to be destroyed before it crashed into Harpallene. The government was getting involved.
“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Why would my dad invest in a resort? That’s not his style at all.”
“He got some bad advice,” Wallace said quietly. “From me.”
A surge of anger coursed through me. “You messed up, you fix it.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do, Jannigan. Don’t you understand? I’m trying to fix it for all of us. For you. Gemma. Condy. All the Becks. And everyone else who has been loyal to this company. They shouldn’t suffer because of my stupid mistake. I just need your help.” He moved towards me and sat down on the bed next to me.
“Jannigan, it’s one job. A hundred hours. You wouldn’t even have to leave the ship. We get paid whether we find the thing or not. Larrow has run the numbers. With the Shima’s money we can be out of Dessidia free and clear.” He put his hand on my shoulder and I looked into his haunted eyes. Either Wallace Beck was the best actor in the world, or he was a man on the edge of losing it all.
“Jannigan, will you do it?”
An hour later I was in my own stateroom, all alone, cursing myself for being such an idiot.
I needed to talk to someone, but I knew I couldn’t tell Kane about what was going on. Ditto for Lir. Especially Lir. She was not the most empathetic person in the world. When it came to having fun, gossiping, and living on the edge, Lir was your girl. But any hint of anything negative or not going well, or Dynark forbid any sort of misfortune you had to deal with, and Lady Lirala Windsing would absolutely and unapologetically not be there for you. Her brutal honesty was refreshing on the one hand, but sad on the other. But it was what it was.
I shut my eyes and asked for the room’s lights to be dimmed and the temperature knocked down a few degrees. I was so wired from my conversation with Wallace, I didn’t think I could fall asleep—even with pharmaceutical assistance and even though I had not slept since the night of my birthday. But after a while I began to fall into that no man’s land between being awake and being asleep. And I felt myself thinking of Preity Kapoor.
I figured that it was around noon standard galactic time. Even if she and Lir had hit it hard last night, there was a chance that she might be conscious.
What the hell. I activated my overlay and focused on Preity, trying to make a comm-connect. As I interfaced with the room’s AV system, I almost chickened out and aborted the video call, but before I could, Preity’s face appeared in the overlay. At least I hoped it was Preity. She looked different. Her hair was shorter and blonde, twisted into the current style of Terpsichore curls. And all her jewelry was gone.
“Preity?”
“Jannigan, hey. We missed you last night.”
“Yeah, sorry. I got called in for work.”
“So, what do you think?” She fluffed her hair and pouted for me.
“I recognize Lir’s handiwork for sure.”
“Do you like it?”
“Absolutely.” I tried to sound enthusiastic. “You look really nice.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not sure I like it, but we’ll see. It’s new, at least. And change is good, isn’t it?”
“Yes, definitely. I’m all for change. I have been steadfastly for change all my life.” I smiled.
She rolled her eyes at my attempt at humor. “Well, you want to talk to Lir? I can go see if she’s awake.”
“Uh, no. That’s okay.”
I was kind of caught off guard by the fact that Preity was over at the Windsing estate and I felt a surprising pang of jealousy—although I couldn’t really tell you who exactly I was jealous of. Things got kind of strange around Lir, that was for sure.
“I was actually calling for you,” I said. “To apologize,”
“Apologize? For what?”
“I was being weird when you asked me abo
ut my dad.”
“What? No.” She made a face. “I was the one who was being weird. I should have respected your privacy.”
“Privacy is overrated. Anyway, sorry.” I tried to change the subject. “So did you guys end up at Cavershams last night?”
“Yeah, it was pretty wild.”
“Did you go in the mausoleum? With the tingle vines?” Cavershams was an ancient monastery that had been turned into a private club a few years ago. It had all sorts of crypts and secret rooms filled with various pleasures of the flesh. Lir was the unofficial Dark Princess of Cavershams and liked to lord it over all her friends there—especially the new ones.
“Not something I’ve ever experienced before, I have to say.”
Even on the overlay I could see Preity blush a bit.
“Definitely some acquired tastes.”
“That is for sure.”
“But, hey, change is good. New is good.”
“Dwarves and bots are good.” She smiled.
“And dwarf bots. Don’t forget the dwarf bots.”
“How could I?”
We ended up talking for over two hours. Joking around. Telling each other about our lives. I heard about Preity’s childhood on Amravadi and her six older sisters, who she was very close with. All except for the middle one, Sarika, who sounded like a bitch. It was definitely a different culture than ours. Much more traditional and family-oriented. Their society was even more rigid than ours on Anglad. And the Amravadians were definitely more connected to traditions and the past. Even the way past back on Earth.
I told her about my own childhood. Being the only kid in the house. Living on six different worlds before I was fourteen. My mom passing away during my first year at Highton.
Preity was a good listener; a skill not shared by any of my friends—even Kane. But even still I glossed over the past seven years. I didn’t mention my dad’s death at all. Just told her that we had kind of a strained relationship and that I didn’t see him much.
