The Reticuli Deception (Adventures of Hannibal Carson Book 2)

by Alastair Mayer

  Carson was unlikely to forget it. They’d landed to assess the damage to their own ship—Hopkins men had been firing on them—and had seen what appeared to be a flying pyramid settle behind the mountain where they’d explored the pyramid a few days before. Unfortunately they hadn’t managed to get a closer look at it.

  “I remember. What about it?”

  “We joked about tripping some kind of alarm when we entered the pyramid. If that were so, there’d be some kind of communications system. We never found a room like this there, but could this have been the equivalent of a radio room?”

  “That makes about as much sense as anything else,” Carson allowed.

  Jackie examined the end of the conduit. “I don’t see anything that looks like an antenna feed, but that doesn’t prove much. There are any number of ways to accomplish that, not all of them obvious.”

  “So why make off with an alien radio?” asked Marten. “I mean, yes, it is a high-tech alien artifact, but what are they going to do with it?”

  “Sell it,” said Carson through clenched teeth. The thought disgusted him, but he’d seen that attitude in tomb raiders before. “Last time I was on Verdigris, raiders swiped a mummified body to sell.” He wondered how many high-tech alien artifacts might be in private collectors’ hands. Surely they’d realize the significance? Proof of recent, spacefaring aliens? Something he’d spent the last several years searching for. He clenched his fists in frustration. The significance probably made it that much more valuable, and only the collector would know about it.

  “Come on,” he said, “there’s nothing here. Let’s get back to the ship.”

  “We’re not going to check out the rest of the pyramid?” said Marten.

  “Why? I doubt we’ll find anything, let alone anything we didn’t already see in the Chara pyramid.”

  “But—”

  “No. We’ve established that there’s a Spacefarer pyramid here, which was the main point. If it hadn’t been opened . . . but now we’re wasting time here. Its archeological integrity is gone. We should get on to our next stop.” In fact Carson would have been happy to stay and explore if they had no next stop, and if they hadn’t been abruptly turned away from landing at New Toronto. There wasn’t enough here to risk his team with another run in with the Velkaryans.

  “Jackie,” Carson continued, “when we get back to the ship, send a message to Ducayne letting him know about this room we found, the condition of the pyramid, and the exact coordinates. I’m sure he’s got people on Chara III going over the pyramid there like a crime scene investigation, but we should alert him to the possibility of a hidden room. He may also want to send a team here.”

  “So you don’t want to go back to tell him yourself? Shall I use one of the message torpedoes?”

  “No, it’s not that urgent, let’s save those for when we need them. Just send it by regular message traffic. He should get it by the time we reach Alpha Mensae.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  “Carson, do you think we were denied landing at New Toronto because of Velkaryan influence?” Jackie asked as they hiked back to the Sophie. “The skyweed wasn’t that bad, and the denial seemed rather abrupt once they found out who we were.”

  That had been one of Carson’s concerns. It had seemed too coincidental, and yet . . . “How would they know we were coming?”

  “If someone had left Alpha Centauri within a day or two after us, they could have reached here first. They wouldn’t have come via Epsilon Indi.”

  “But how did they know we’d be coming here? You didn’t file a flight plan, and we departed toward Taprobane.”

  “It’s a similar vector. They might have sent ships to both places.”

  “That seems a bit extravagant; we’re not that important.”

  “You might be, if they held a grudge,” said Jackie. “Me too, for that matter. Is that why you were in such a hurry to leave the pyramid? In case they came looking for us, like that ship Marten heard?”

  Carson didn’t want to worry Jackie any more than necessary, but he didn’t want to lie to her either. He settled on changing the subject. “Could someone have sent a message torpedo from Taprobane after we left?”

  “I thought you said we weren’t that important. In which case they wouldn’t have wasted a message torpedo, either. Assuming they had any.” Such things were only supposed to be available under closely controlled government license, since their compact propulsion system contained antimatter.

  “Who knows what they might have access to?” continued Carson. “But it’s more likely they just had my name on file and turned me away on general principles. Or perhaps there really was a skyweed problem.”

  Jackie shrugged. “I suppose.” By then they had reached the ship. “Well, we’re leaving now anyway.”

  Carson slapped at the mosquito biting his neck. “And not a moment too soon.”

  22: Planning a Visit

  Denver, Earth

  “So what exactly is your plan,” Brown asked. Rico had come back to their room with a bundle of packages from his shopping trip. “What all have you got there?”

  “Tell you what, I’ll show you what I bought,” Rico said, laying packages out on the table, “you see if you can figure it out.” There were several smart-fabric shirts, some electronics tools, a couple of cheap omniphones, scissors, wire, a fabric bonder, tape measure, and other miscellany.

  Brown examined the array of goods. He picked up one of the shirts and examined the fabric and the attached electronics module which controlled the display. “This looks a little higher-end than the display shirts kids are wearing.”

  Rico grinned. He seemed to be enjoying this little game. The fact was, so was Brown. Puzzles were always interesting. “It is,” Rico said. “It will let me load new images. Any ideas?”

  Brown picked up the omnis. They didn’t look morphable, but they had the usual cameras and interface jacks. If Rico had some gadgetry talent—and he’d heard that he did—he could make something rather interesting from this.

  “You don’t have enough sensors or computing power for a full invisibility suit, but you could do pretty fair adaptive camouflage with this.”

  “Bravo,” Rico said, giving a golf clap. “But there’s more than one kind of invisibility. A guy in a uniform looks pretty much like any other guy in a similar uniform, if that’s what you’re expecting.”

  “A projected image of a uniform wouldn’t fool anyone less than a few meters away.”

  “It doesn’t have to. It’s just for the security cameras.”

  Brown thought about it, then nodded. Security cameras, especially when not expected to be needed for forensic use, were typically lower resolution, or poorly adjusted, or improperly focused. “That might work. Why not just steal a uniform?”

  “I’ll need several different outfits depending on where I am. This will let me change faster than Superman in a phone booth.”

  “I’m amazed you know what a phone booth is.” Brown knew, but he’d studied the history of technology.

  “Hey, I’ve seen the classics.”

  “Ah, of course. Can you actually make this thing?”

  “Shouldn’t be too hard. Hell, I could probably find instructions on the net, but I don’t want to call attention.”

  “But, sewing?”

  Rico’s expression grew shadowed. “When I was a kid, I had to mend my own clothes. We couldn’t afford new, and we weren’t allowed to go around in ripped or worn.”

  “Oh.” Rico’s expression didn’t invite further questions along that line. Brown returned to the original subject. “So, I get the camouflage, but I don’t see how that fits into a plan.”

  Rico grinned again. “I’m going to pay a little visit to Steel Mesa, and then I’m going to shuffle the deck a bit.”

  23: Steel Mesa

  Earth, Velkaryan HQ

  “Message from New Toronto, sir. Carson has left Verdigris,” Laquis, one of Hubble’s assistants, said to him.

&nb
sp; “Did they find anything?”

  “They found the pyramid, but of course they wouldn’t have found anything inside it. Even if they found the radio room, we moved the equipment two years ago.”

  “And left nothing behind? Carson’s an archeologist, he wouldn’t overlook a detail. Like that broken talisman he found.”

  “Nothing. Everything that could be moved was.”

  “Okay, do they know where he was headed?”

  “They didn’t file a flight plan. Their heading when the ship went to warp suggests Alpha Mensae.”

  “Alpha Mensae? There’s nothing to find there.”

  “That could be a stop en route to Zeta Reticuli.”

  That gave Hubble pause. They didn’t know if there was anything to find at Zeta Reticuli either, but the one ship the Velkaryans had sent there had never returned. That didn’t prove anything, of course. Any number of things could happen to a ship in or out of warp, and Reticuli was far enough away that something even as stupid as a misaligned jump could leave a ship stranded with no way to refuel. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  On the other hand, he knew that Zeta Reticuli loomed large in the mythology of UFOs and alien contacts. Hubble had heard of the Betty Hill incident, although he discounted it. Still, if Carson was headed in that direction, there was probably good reason—if indeed he intended to go that far.

  “What’s the distance from Alpha Mensae to Zeta Reticuli? And how far off a direct track from Pavonis to Z R is it?”

  Laquis checked his omni. “Pavonis to Reticuli is about twenty-seven light-years; it’s thirteen light-years from Alpha Mensae. That’s to Zeta One Reticuli, it’s actually a widely spaced binary with Zeta Two about a light-month further. From Pavonis to Reticuli by way of Alpha Mensae means a seven-plus light-year detour, so several days, but they’d need to refuel somewhere anyway.”

  “So we could save about five days going direct.” Was it worth sending a ship on what could prove to be a wasted trip? On the other hand, even if Carson didn’t go to the Zeta Reticuli system, the place was worth checking out, and they might find out what had happened to the previous expedition.

  “Does Pavonis have anything with the range to get to Zeta Reticuli in one hop?” A twenty-seven-plus light-year jump was just beyond the range of most ships.

  “I don’t know sir. Certainly they have something which could do it with just one refueling stop. There might be a more direct route than Alpha Mensae, if they don’t care about terraformed planets.”

  That was true enough. Even a red dwarf could have comets or ice moons or a gas giant to refuel at. A navigator would know.

  “Very well. Get on to New Toronto. Tell them to send a ship to Zeta Reticuli by the fastest route, and if Carson shows up, or he’s already there by the time they get there, to see what he does. Grab anything interesting he finds. While they’re waiting, or if he doesn’t show up, they can check the system for anything interesting themselves.” He thought for a moment. “Do we have someone there who can handle a mission like this?”

  Laquis considered the question. “Maynard could have, of course, but we assume he’s dead. How about Vaughan? He did a good job on the Eridani project.”

  “Is he at Pavonis now?”

  “Last I heard, which was a couple of weeks ago.”

  “All right, if he’s available, then him. Otherwise have the section chief make a recommendation.”

  “Yes sir. Anything else?”

  “That’s it for now. Keep me posted.”

  “Of course.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Steel Mesa storage facility, Earth

  “All right gentles, if you’ll just move down this corridor and take a seat on the trolley . . .” The Steel Mesa tour guide’s voice faded as the restroom door swung shut behind Rico. He knew the drill, he’d done the tour several days earlier, strictly playing tourist. Today, though, he had no intention of staying with the tour group. A quick check showed the restroom to be empty. Rico slipped out of the oversize, loud Hawaiian print shirt he wore over the regular cut, smart-fabric shirt. He untucked his collar and straightened the shirt, then touched a sequence on the improvised control panel. The shirt changed to the shade of burgundy that the Steel Mesa records staff wore. He checked his reflection. Not perfect, but then he wasn’t going for a job interview. He stuffed the aloha shirt in his shoulder bag, then stuffed the bag in a corner of a stall and locked its door, slipping out of the stall underneath it. The cleaning crew wouldn’t be in here until after the tour group returned. It should be safe.

  He checked himself in the mirror once more. A pair of cheek pads and a little makeup changed the appearance of his face. Good enough. He opened the restroom door a crack. Yes, the tour group was gone. He pushed open the door and strode out like he owned the place.

  It was a short walk down the corridor to where the tour trolley had been parked. There had been individual golf carts parked in the same area when he’d been part of the tour a few days earlier. With any luck . . . yes, there were two. He checked the forward one. Good, the key was in the switch. Rico climbed in, turned it on, and smoothly cruised away down the cross corridor. Now, let’s see if I remember the way there.

  Fortunately for Rico’s memory, the major routes were indicated by colored lines painted on the walls, and equally fortunately there was almost nobody else in the tunnels on this Saturday. The next challenge was coming up.

  He rounded a corner and in the brief gap between the views of two different cameras, he switched the image on his shirt to match the dark blue tunics of the security staff. His pants wouldn’t match, but they were dark, and hidden as long as he stayed in the cart.

  At the next intersection the way left was blocked by a sliding gate. He turned the cart toward it, then stopped and checked the time on his omni. There was more slop in the timing here than Rico liked. Records retrieval wasn’t on a specific schedule, but if he’d worked it out properly he wouldn’t have to wait here more than a minute. Any longer would look suspicious, and he didn’t want to keep driving around the corridors just to burn time. He might run into someone who noticed something a little odd about his “uniform.”

  A minute passed. Rico strained to hear if one of the nearly silent carts was coming. He examined his omni—it was unfolded to slate format—as though checking some work-related detail, playing his part for the benefit of the cameras. He wasn’t even sure how closely they were monitored. It wasn’t like this place was a casino or a bank. For all he knew the cameras could have been entirely unattended, silently recording away in case someone needed to check something after the fact. But it was safer not to assume that.

  He heard an approaching hum, but with the echoes in these tunnels it was nearly impossible to tell from where. He inched the cart forward toward the gate, and was still a few meters from it when a cart rounded a corner on the far side of it, coming towards him. Finally! The records tech in the other cart pulled up beside the scanner and waved his badge across it. Rico pulled up to the scanner on his side and passed his badge—a plain piece of plastic printed with a picture he’d surreptitiously taken of a security badge on his previous visit—across it just as the gate started to slide open.

  It opened from right to left, so it cleared his side before it was fully open for the oncoming tech. He accelerated through it, nodding to the records tech as he passed. In Rico’s experience most people tended to avoid eye contact with cops or security personnel. Almost everyone had some minor infraction to feel guilty about. This tech was no different, and he just nodded back, oblivious. Step two was complete; he was now in the government archival records section.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Step three would be a little trickier. If he had been able to tap into the security camera system, it would all have been much easier; unfortunately, the cameras used an encrypted wireless signal that he hadn’t managed to crack. The wireless had surprised him, down here in these mine tunnels, but apparently they had repeaters set up so it would work.<
br />
  It was dark in the room he wanted, until he slipped on his IR lenses. As he’d suspected, there was plenty of infrared illumination for the cameras. Not a problem. He erected small smart-fabric screens at strategic locations. They couldn’t transmit in IR, but to the cams watching this room a monochrome image in visible light would look the same. As before, this wasn’t exactly a casino. No company would spend more money than they needed to watching a room where nothing ever happened.

  With the screen in place, the camera saw what it had seen before, a room full of shelves with boxes of files on them. It did not see Rico, hustling from shelf to shelf looking for several particular boxes.

  Found them. They were locked, but with simple mechanical locks that Rico could open just as fast with a pick as their rightful owners could open with a key. There was one other box, more modern, but Rico knew the combination to that one. He began to open each box in turn, skimming through the stacks of paper in each box looking for what he wanted, occasionally checking against a list on his omni, and transferring certain pages to the last box.

  The omni’s time readout caught his eye. Damn, this was taking longer than he’d budgeted for. If he wasn’t back before the tour returned, there would be trouble. He picked up his pace, being less selective about what he grabbed. The danger there was that he’d fill his box before he’d gone through everything, and if he missed something important . . . well, it couldn’t be helped now. He kept skimming the papers.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  With only minutes to spare, Rico fastened up the boxes and returned them to their proper places. There was another tricky bit while he dismantled the screen and slipped out of the room back to his cart. Getting out through the gate was easier than getting in; it usually was, except in a prison, and the motor control was accessible from this side. In his haste he almost forgot to change the image on his camo-shirt, but didn’t encounter anyone before he realized it. Rico was just parking the cart when he heard the sound of the tour trolley returning. He hastened into the restroom where he’d stashed his shirt.