by Berg,Alex P.
I knew the reason. It wasn’t for the money. I earned more than my fair share of that from the farmland lease bequeathed to me by my grandfather, as well as a much smaller share from my Cetie government work stipend. It also wasn’t for the social interaction, even if my last case had resulted in an incredibly short-lived fling with a cute-as-a-button professor of exoneurobiology. It was for the challenge, for the thrill of the hunt, for the mental exercise, and to give my life a sense of purpose in my early-middle age.
I met Chatterjee’s eyes as I took another sip of my coffee. Dang, the stuff was good.
I think he understood my hesitation. “I can offer a healthy per diem for your services, as well as an exceedingly generous bounty should your efforts lead to the capture of the brigands.”
I’d lied a little. Money was part of the reason I did what I did. After all, who wouldn’t like to take a joyride in their very own Class-A, single capsule, thirty megawatt Iridium™ turbo racer?
“Alright,” I said. “If an InterSTELLA rep tells me they’re offering good money, I tend to believe them, You’ve got yourself a detective, Mr. Chatterjee.”
Vijay sighed. “Thank goodness. I couldn’t afford to waste any more time with indecision.”
A message flashed at the corner of my vision, which I immediately saw as originating from V. Chatterjee.
“I’ve sent you an address,” said the man as he rose to his feet. “It’s in the orbital spaceport, delta concourse. Pack your bags and meet me there within four galactic standard hour, tops. I’ll brief you on everything you need to know once you’ve gotten to know the rest of your team.”
He placed his peaked cap on his head and extended his hand again. I clasped it.
“Looking forward to working with you,” he said.
“Likewise.” Though I had to admit—I still wasn’t sure what I’d committed myself to. I guess that was part of the thrill.
2
A metallic clunk sounded as our climber made initial contact with its port on the bottom of the space elevator. I hung there in my restraints, my posterior hovering a centimeter over my seat as the heavy thumps of clamps and the hiss of airlocks attaching to the exterior of the climber reverberated through the walls.
The last fifteen minutes of the climber ride were always the worst. I was far from a physics whiz, but even I understood the general principles at play. The farther up we went, the weaker the force of gravity pulled us down and the stronger the centrifugal force from our rotation around Cetie pulled us up. As far as I was concerned, the last fifteen minutes or so of the climb I felt weightless—‘felt’ being the operative term. At that altitude, Cetie still exerted a substantial gravitational pull on me and everything else aboard the climber, but because of the centrifugal force in the opposite direction, it didn’t feel that way. And the centrifugal force had nothing to do with the cable anchoring the space elevator to Cetie, as anyone who had ever been aboard a shuttle in geosynchronous orbit could attest to.
A deep, almost subaudible hum emanated from the floor. I sank into the plush cushion underneath me, and my lunch abandoned its attempt to escape from whence it had come. The spaceport’s pseudogravity had kicked in—or rather, its power had. The climber had pseudogravity technology onboard, but the energy requirement for the technology was ridiculous. Even if the spaceport operators wanted to appease the stomachs of the folks onboard the climbers, the electrical conductivity of the climber cables couldn’t handle it. They’d melt first.
Carl caught the look of relief on my face as he unbuckled his harness. “You sure you’re ready? If we go through with this, we’ll experience our fair share of stomach-churning microgravity.”
Air hissed, a door opened, and people flocked to the exit.
“Have I ever told you I envy you sometimes?” I said.
“I’m serious,” said Carl.
“I know. I’ll be fine. Honestly, the climber rides are the worst. Fifteen minutes isn’t enough time to adjust to the feeling of weightlessness.”
We pushed our way through the crowd and into an elevator of the regular variety, which deposited us at the base of the alpha concourse. I’d made the trip to the orbital half of the spaceport enough times not to gape, but it was quite a sight.
The entire alpha concourse was a huge donut, three stories tall and ringed on the sides with thick panes of Pseudaglas. The gleaming curvature of Cetie filled the field of view, most of it a brilliant green from the thick forests that kept the surface temperature of the planet at hospitable levels, mixed with wide swaths of ocean blue and wispy white clouds. A dark curve cut across the side of the world, a line of demarcation caused by Tau Ceti’s radiance. Beyond that, I spotted the sparkle of dozens of enormous solar reflectors that mitigated the bleakness of Cetie’s long night. They reminded me of stars, but then again, anything that reflected light in outer space did.
Not that I could see any of the view well, mind you. Churning masses of humanity, droids, and aliens of every size, shape, and smell marred my line of sight. Compact, muscular Cetieans milled about amid tall, thin Martians and Spacers and Gains with their universally-accepted perfect proportions. Tall Diraxi with their hard exoskeletons and flickering antennae stood a head above the others, while the Meertori could only be detected by the clank and wheeze of their respirators. Who knows how they saw anything other than bellies from their vantage points. I even spotted an enormous Portloid, clomping around on its wide two-toed feet, impervious as other travelers bounced off its thick grey hide.
With Carl’s help, I punched my way out of the morass surrounding the climber station and headed toward the delta concourse, although the alien musk we’d acquired there lingered on our skin. Businesses of all kinds lined the sides of the spaceport, from hotels and eateries to bars and memento shops. All of them featured garish flashing signs, mostly holoprojections rather than physical displays.
Only two and a half weeks had passed since my last trip to the spaceport, but already I found myself getting nostalgic. “I hope Valerie’s all right.”
Carl gave me a sideways glance. “Please tell me we’re not going to that arcade again.”
“Arcade?” I asked. “I didn’t mention any arcade.”
“Please,” said Carl. “I know how you think, even when Paige doesn’t pass me tidbits. The spaceport brought on thoughts of the Meeks case, which in turn brought you to that moment outside Keelok’s Funporium, and the next thing you know we’re wasting time and money on that ridiculous overpriced vintage cabinet.”
Not to be a stick in the mud, said Paige, but time is the more important factor here. Rich, you could’ve been more judicious in packing your overnight bag.
“We’ll make it in time,” I said, “mostly because I have no intention of dropping by Keelok’s. Seriously, Carl, that wasn’t what I was thinking. I was…reminiscing.”
He gave me a cheeky smirk. “The one that got away, huh?”
I snorted. “Don’t be like that. You know I never pined after Valerie. Professor Castaneva on the other hand…”
“Yeah, about her,” said Carl. “Sorry that petered out so quickly.”
I shrugged. “She wasn’t interested in me. She was into the thrill of being with a real life private detective.”
At least she helped you end your dry streak, said Paige.
I cringed. “Can we please not call it that? When you use the word ‘streak,’ you make it sound as if I was counting the days.”
Maybe you weren’t, said Paige. Carl and I were.
I glanced at my partner.
He shrugged. “To be fair, it’s not really counting with an AI. We remember everything without giving it conscious thought.”
I shut my yapper, mostly because I didn’t want to go into my sexual escapades with Carl and Paige. Not that I had any choice with Paige. She was always there, even in the heat of the moment, so to speak.
A cylindrical aquarium surrounded the motorized walkway to the d
elta concourse. Fishes of a thousand different colors, eels, jellyfish, manta rays, cuttlefish, and sharks, with schools of lampreys and other opportunists latched to their fins, swam over and under and around us as we walked on the moving carpets. The sheer audacity of transporting so much water—never mind the wildlife—up to the spaceport for a mere visual display boggled the mind. It also explained why climber tickets and docking fees were so danged expensive.
As the walkway spit us into the food court at the base of the delta concourse, I double checked the address Vijay had sent. The text flashed at the lower right of my vision. Concourse delta, second level, C wing, dock 139. When I’d first read it, I’d been surprised Vijay had instructed us to meet at a dock. Rather, I’d expected we’d meet at the InterSTELLA police headquarters aboard the spaceport. Paige, of course, had chided me mercilessly over that assumption, mostly because Vijay had instructed me to pack my bags, to which I’d replied we could’ve met at the spaceport and then left on a longer journey afterwards. We’d gone back and forth for a while, during which I’m sure I’d seemed a maniac to third parties, but I wasn’t the only one who argued with his Brain. Not that anyone cared. Thanks to fully-immersive Brain games and digital experiences, most folks were too introverted to care a whit about anyone else’s goings on. Honestly, the only place where humans and aliens regularly outnumbered droids was at sporting events and the spaceport.
I took a quick glance around the food court, but all I could see were flashing holodisplays for sushi, pizza, and a hay-like Tak delicacy known as Snurl. “Paige…a little help?”
Elevator on your right, she said. Take it to the second floor and hang a left. Even you should be able to figure it out from there.
I followed her instructions, and the elevator doors closed behind me with a puff.
You know, Rich, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.
“Yes?” A rush of acceleration hit me from the elevator.
Well, it’s more of a reminder, really, Paige said. My servenets are located in Pylon Alpha. The further away we travel, the longer it’ll take me to relay information back and forth.
“That pesky speed of light,” I said.
Yeah, physics is a real drag. The point is, you may not be able to count on me quite as much as you normally do during this pirate hunting endeavor.
I blinked as the elevator door reopened. “I thought you stored your digital intelligence imprint locally on my Brain.”
“I think what Paige is getting at,” said Carl, “is she won’t be able to access information quickly.”
Precisely, said Paige. Don’t worry, Rich. I’ll be as present and vivacious as ever. And I’ll remember to flush the toilet for you if you forget how. But if you task me with any complex search queries or statistical analyses, I’ll have to offload them to the main servenet, and that’ll take a bit more time than you’re used to.
“Got it,” I said. “But this could be a good test. Instead of relying solely on you, I’ll get to test my own gray matter. We’ll see how good of an investigator I really am.”
The utter silence Carl and Paige responded with was very reassuring.
I found Vijay sitting outside the airlock for dock one thirty-nine. His eyes had a glassy look to them, and I figured he was busy responding to Brain missives, familiarizing himself with the latest InterSTELLA reports, or watching alien pornography. He must’ve had his Brain set to alert him in the event of external stimuli, as after a moment he blinked, glanced at me, and stood.
“There you are.” He glanced at my lightweight guayabera and slacks. “Is…that what you’re wearing?”
“It’s detective attire,” I said. “It’s traditional.”
Neither of those statements were necessarily true. The inspiration for my wardrobe had come from old PI vid-docs and novels. In those, the protagonists always wore heavy trench coats and hats, but none of them lived on planets where mid-afternoon temperatures routinely exceeded 40°C. I’d compromised.
Vijay shrugged. “I would’ve picked something that doesn’t flair up at the waist in zero gravity, but your call. Are you ready to go?”
“I will be as soon as my bag arrives,” I said.
“I’ll ping the central delivery service,” said Vijay. “In the meantime, we’ll board. That way we can leave as soon as possible.”
The uniformed man crossed to a panel on the wall. He pressed his thumb against the reader at the bottom and his eye to the reader at the top. After confirming his identity, the door to his left hissed.
“So,” I said as the airlock progressed through its cycles. “Care to share any more information about where we’re going and how I’m supposed to tackle this case?”
“Your debriefing will occur on the Snowbell,” said Vijay. “That’s where you’ll meet the last of your team. And before you ask, I’m waiting because I’d rather not have to explain everything twice. Also because some of the information you’ll receive is classified and the Snowbell is secure.”
“The Snowbell?” I asked.
Vijay blinked, his face impassive. “All InterSTELLA ships are named after flowers.”
I pursed my lips. I was getting the impression Vijay wasn’t much of a people person. Then again, perhaps he was under a lot of stress. Pirate attacks could do that to a man—I assumed.
The airlock door opened with a puff. “And I don’t suppose this is the Snowbell?”
Chatterjee shook his head. “This is a small transport vessel. The Snowbell is one of our mobile operations vessels and the host of my current assignment. It’s several hours farther out in orbit.” He held his hand out. “After you.”
A small transport vessel? That meant no pseudogravity. I tried to curb my enthusiasm as I stepped into the airlock.
3
Carl followed me, and Vijay entered last. The doors shut behind him, and the rumbling pump cycle began anew. As the pumps groaned and whirred, the pseudogravity abruptly shut off. I floated lazily toward the ceiling, and my lunch rose toward my throat in a manner I would describe as anything but lazy.
Vijay gave me a sidelong look. “You…travel much?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be—huurgh!—fine. It’s the first fifteen minutes or so that are—hurgh—tough.”
Vijay didn’t respond, but he gave his pristine white uniform a glance. That made it pretty clear where his priorities lay.
The door to the transport vessel slid open with a hiss. I grabbed a handle at its side and pulled myself through, upon which I found myself barreling straight toward the chest of a woman in a deep purple jumpsuit.
I held out my hands and started to mumble apologies. “Sorry. My bad. I—”
Her hand darted out and grabbed me by the wrist. She pivoted and pulled, and my body swung wildly. The vessel’s cabin spun around me in a blur, and a second later I landed lightly on my feet, right-side up—or so I decided given the multi-directional functionality of my surroundings.
I blinked and focused on the woman as she released my wrist. To my eyes, she seemed impossibly tall—almost two meters in height—and slender enough that a pleasant vacation on a Cetie beach would’ve felt to her like being slowly crushed under a boulder. Her skin was as pale as eggshell, and her hair, cut into a sharp inverted bob, gleamed a brilliant, platinum blonde. Though she possessed an undeniable beauty, it was a severe form. Everything about her, from her nose to her cheek bones to her chin, was angular and sharp. Between that, her lithe form, and her quick reflexes, I got the impression she could spear me on her index finger if she so desired.
After looking me over with poorly hidden contempt, she called over her shoulder. “This is the guy?”
Vijay followed me through the hatch. “This is him.”
The woman frowned. “He looks green.”
“Huurgh! I’ll be fine. Promise.” Although I wasn’t so sure anymore. That bit of wrist gymnastics hadn’t helped any.
“I meant green as in raw
. Inexperienced.” She glanced back at Vijay. “He can’t even float properly. He’s supposed to help us track down a pirate boss how exactly?”
Despite my disorientation, it didn’t fly over my head that she’d yet to address me directly. No matter. I could be the bigger man. Heck, I probably had forty kilos on her.
“Thanks for the assist, by the way. The name’s Rich Weed, private investigator at large. That droid over there is my pal Carl.” He’d entered through the hatch. “You are?”
The woman eyed me, snorted, and shook her head. To Vijay: “I’m going back to my ship. See you aboard the Snowbell.”
She clambered through the open hatch, disappearing as the airlock closed behind her.
Well, she seems lovely, said Paige.
I turned to Vijay, my hand gripping a protrusion on the wall to keep myself from spinning. “I hesitate to ask, but who was that?”
“Tarja Olli. Bounty hunter,” he said.
“And let me guess—”
Vijay nodded preemptively. “She’s part of your team. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get along swimmingly. Word on the spaceport is she’s excellent at her job.”
“What does that have to do with us getting along?” I asked.
“Go ahead and get yourself strapped in,” said Vijay. “We’ll be departing soon. Cruising acceleration is just under Cetie’s gravitation pull, so you should feel right at home during the trip.”
Vijay was proving himself a master of the non-answer. He pushed off toward the cockpit, leaving me to figure out where to situate myself.
I took a look around. For a transport shuttle, it wasn’t too shabby. I had room to stretch my arms and wiggle my toes. Two rows of four seats were set into opposing walls, each of them equipped with a four point harness and generous cushions in the event the shuttle needed to crank up the g’s. Each wall also featured a thin, oblong window. Through one I could see nothing more than the spaceport’s shiny bulwark, but through the other I caught another glimpse of Cetie’s earth-toned majesty. Above that second window I found an inscription, brightly lit in iridescent paint:
