by Mark Wandrey
“They’re dangerous,” Rick said and pointed at the support module. “Deadly, untrustworthy. By any definition, psychotic!”
“Only our definition,” Sato said, holding up a hand.
“We’re the ones trying to live with one of them,” Rick snapped. “I wish I knew why Nemo sent his kid with us.”
“Well, Dakkar did help.”
Rick rounded on him. “Help? Jesus, Sato, help? Don’t you have a problem with that?” He jabbed a knife-hand at the still gratefully dead head.
“I admit it was uncomfortable to watch—”
“Uncomfortable?” Rick roared, unknowingly activating the loudspeaker function. Sato took a wide-eyed step back. “He offered to torture the…the…” he struggled for a good word. “What am I talking about, the whole fucking thing was torture.”
“Dakkar doesn’t understand,” Sato said quietly.
“You keep saying that, but I wonder if you believe it yourself.”
Rick walked over to the room’s only recliner and sat in it. The chair made an ominous creaking sound as he settled in, which he ignored. He fished the power cord from the leg mount and plugged into the room’s outlet. “I’m shutting down. Wake me when you have a plan, or when we need to go, or don’t. Whatever.” Then he shut down all external input.
Sato could tap on his helmet or shake him, and he’d know it. However, no matter how loud he yelled, or anything the cursed Wrogul flashed, he would have no clue, and that was fine with him.
In his solitude, he wondered if he should simply kill the Wrogul while Sato was asleep. What could the scientist do about it after the fact? No amount of absentminded ninja skills could even bruise the Æsir. Then what? Maybe he’d return to the Winged Hussars. Of course, from what he was seeing on the Aethernet, there might not be a Winged Hussars anymore. Regardless, there could be plenty of work for someone like him.
Briefly he considered killing the Wrogul, then Sato, and finish off by doing himself. With the helmet open, he could just suck on one of his remaining grenades. Leave a right good mess for the Japanese to sort out afterward. He wasn’t afraid of dying; he had no memory of it. By all accounts, he was already dead anyway.
The armor said he’d be fully charged again within six hours. He set a timer and reduced control of the armor to automatic. With options and scenarios playing through his head, he knew he couldn’t sleep. So he triggered a small dose of a mild soporific and programmed the medical system to counteract it at any danger flags. In seconds, he drifted off.
* * * * *
Part III
For God knows that in the day you eat of it, your eyes will be opened and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.
Chapter One
Sato watched the robot handlers moving Dakkar’s module onto a cart for them. Rick stood aside and observed. He hadn’t said more than a dozen words since they’d awoken and he’d told the former merc they were going off world.
“You coming?” he’d asked.
“Yes,” was the simple answer.
Rick didn’t ask where, so Sato didn’t prod. Whatever thoughts the man had had since their argument the previous night, he was keeping them to himself.
Dakkar was as indifferent about their plans as he was their destination. He ate the last of the crabs and seaweed they’d bought for him, Sato made sure the module had sufficient power and nutrients—running the filter into the sink for an hour to empty wastes—and packed him up for the trip to the starport.
“You sure we won’t have issues going into the starport?” Rick asked as the carrier bot automatically moved the module along next to them.
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Sato said, glancing at the man/armor walking along next to him.
They reached the security checkpoint for leaving the starport, but the entrance was simply an automatic swinging gate. Sato knew the Japanese were more concerned about those coming into Japan than leaving. They might have felt differently if they’d known Rick and he were the ones involved in the fracas at the museum the previous day. When they reached the startown gate, first he and then Rick slid their Yacks into the entry kiosk and were quickly granted access.
“Easier than I expected,” Rick said.
“If you’re trouble, they’d rather you leave Japan. It would be a lot harder to get in.”
Rick gave a noncommittal grunt, and they walked on into the startown.
Japan’s societal calmness transferred to the Tokyo Startown, at least to some small degree. The crime that was all but endemic at Houston Startown was more of a flavoring in Tokyo. Many Japanese who lived on the wild side used the startown as a sort of cathartic exercise in pressure relief. This most often manifested in petty crime or ballroom brawls. The startown managed these small outbursts largely with Lumar and Oogar security. When a seven-foot-tall, four-armed humanoid or an 8-foot-tall purple bear came in, the fighting stopped.
Beyond the small troubles, the startown mainly handled cargo in and out of Japan, or other points in Asia without access to orbital services. Tokyo Starport possessed three launch lasers, same as Houston, and was only outdone by Sao Paulo with four. However, Tokyo lofted more freight. Sao Paulo’s primary traffic was passengers and bureaucrats. As such, Tokyo was a good choice for them to leave from.
Inside the startown, Sato used his pinplants to navigate. The robotic hauler followed along faithfully like a pet, carrying the 150-kilo mass of the support module and their duffel bags without complaint. Once they finished with it, the machine would return to just outside the startown to offer its unceasing services to the next customer.
Even if Rick was curious where they were going, he didn’t ask. Sato was somewhat concerned about his attitude. The man had shown genuine anger the previous night. Sato had wanted to talk to Dakkar at some point, but the opportunity hadn’t presented itself. Shortly they’d have time.
They turned down a street and arrived at his destination. “Tsukuyomi Brokers.” Sato turned to Rick. “Would you wait out here with Dakkar?”
Rick examined the building front, then glanced at the support module. “Is there any danger?”
“No, just going to buy something. I think you and the module might complicate things. Okay?”
Rick nodded, and Sato went inside. There was a small waiting area where Tri-Vs showed alternating images of the shop’s merchandise. He was alone in the room and waited patiently.
A door slid aside, and a middle-aged Japanese man stepped inside. He carefully examined Sato before speaking in Japanese. “Greetings, and welcome to Tsukuyomi Brokers. Can I assist you?”
“I am looking at your inventory item #991,” Sato said.
The man’s eyebrows rose slightly. “That item is not available for lease, unfortunately.” He gave Sato’s dress a quick look once more. Sato had chosen his old uniform again, minus patches. You would come across a thousand people dressed similarly, either because they were between merc companies, or because they didn’t want anyone knowing who they worked for. “If you are interested in something for a wealthy investor…”
“This is for my own uses,” Sato explained, “and #991 is ideal for my uses.”
The man stared blankly for a moment and Sato knew he was accessing pinplants, which made sense in his line of business. “Lot number nine-nine-one is an Efook-class corvette, Izlian by design. The type was retired and mothballed 11,000 years ago. Approximately 3,000 years ago, 122 of them were taken out of storage and converted into armed couriers. Most of their armaments were removed. A hyperspace generator and nodes, also surplus, were installed, making it among the smallest hyperspace capable vessels in the galaxy.
“Unfortunately it was so small it was insufficiently armed and shielded to function as a reasonable courier, so they were again retired and sold on the secondary market. The ship’s heavier-than-normal armor and still noticeable armament made them too expensive to be attractive to private owners, and the hyperspace capability robbed it of the nimbleness it had once possessed as a
corvette. Thus, small principalities were not interested in the Efook as a patrol vessel.” He spread his hands and shook his head. “So, you see, I cannot offer any private sale discounts.”
“How much?” Sato asked.
“Sir, are you sure you wouldn’t be more interested—”
“I asked, how much?”
The starship broker took a step back in surprise at the vehemence of Sato’s question. “Sir, the price is 26 million credits.”
“I see,” Sato said. “How did it end up here?”
“The Earth Republic had contracted to purchase it and four more. This was the first to arrive, the same day the Mercenary Guild invaded. The government was in no position to pay the required fees, so the sale defaulted. I picked up the contract. I assumed with so many mercs in system, somebody would be interested…” he trailed off.
“Condition of the vessel certified?”
“Naturally,” the man said, some of his bravado returning. “The ship was gone over by an Izlian contractor in the Regora system just a month before the sale. It was guaranteed in combat-ready condition.”
Sato made a face. Years of working for the Winged Hussars as their chief space naval architect had taught him what to think about a ship guaranteed as combat ready. That meant it would be able to maneuver, fire its weapons, and jump into hyperspace. That was about it. Still, he was more than confident in his own abilities.
The Tri-V behind the broker was showing the ship slowly rotating in all axes. A pointy affair with retractable delta wings for atmospheric flight and canards by the forward mounted cockpit, he could see it was a scale-up of the Izlian Afoo-class, which was a large cargo shuttle designed to operate in gas giants such as the ones Izlians lived in. That meant the former corvette would have a seriously tough hull.
“I’ll take it,” he said. The broker gawked. “Is there a problem?”
He looked Sato over again. “Sir, 26 million credits!”
“I have an Information Guild account code.” The man blinked. “Yes?”
“As it’s a warship, you must pay the guild registry fee as well. Another million credits, cash.” Sato took out a million-credit chit from his pocket. Another blink.
“Are you ready to get to work? You’re not the only broker in Tokyo Startown, and I’m willing to wager any of them could sell me that ship. Your call.”
Sato stepped out of the broker’s office an hour later, a pair of data chips in his pocket, and a swagger to his step.
“How’d it go?”
“Fine,” Sato said. “I bought a starship.”
“Why am I not surprised? I take it that code paid for it?”
“Correct,” Sato said. “We need to move quickly. I don’t know how long before the transaction will be noted, and more opSha killers show up.”
“They won’t catch me off guard next time,” Rick said. “Do you know who they were working for?” Rick asked as he followed Sato toward the starport.
“No,” Sato said. “But not Adrianne McKenzie.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Sato saw the woman’s face drift across his mind’s eye. She was sitting across from him at a restaurant table. The window outside showed an arid, desert-like tableau. She was smiling at something he’d just said. The image was gone as quickly as it arrived. “I just know. Besides, Humans don’t trust aliens that much, in general. No, this is some guild’s involvement.”
He’d experimented with the items taken from the opSha assassins, as well as the Enigma cube. He hadn’t learned anything more.
“If we’re going into space, why not book passage?”
“The coordinates we got from…from the opSha were for a planet in the Core region. Damned few transports are going through Earth right now, and none of them are scheduled to go anywhere near the Core. It would cost a significant percentage of the cost for a starship to pay one to go wherever we want, so I just bought one. Besides, plans can change, just like a ship captain’s loyalty. If we have killer monkeys chasing us, I don’t know who to trust.”
“And a psychotic squid along for the ride, don’t forget about that,” Rick said mulishly.
Sato stopped and turned to face him. “You’ve gotten me this far. It’s going to be nigh impossible to trace me after I get into space. You don’t have to go any further.”
“You don’t believe that,” Rick said.
“I do. You can go.”
“First, I’m not someone you can just dismiss like Frodo sending Samwise home.”
“Huh?”
“Second, I said I’d get you to the end, and I will. After that, we’ll see.”
“No!” they both answered simultaneously.
Sato nodded. “Okay, but I wanted to make the offer.”
“Fine, you’ve made it. Let’s go.”
They walked through the entrance to the starport, which was nothing more than a narrowing of the road so security could keep a general eye on who was going where. Next came the access to starships, which required a voucher for picking up cargo, a ticket for a passenger, or a coded key for vessel masters. Sato showed the code key to the security guard, who checked and approved it.
“This is Rick Culper, my crew, and cargo.”
Rick handed the guard his Yack, and it was logged. The security guard looked at his screen, hidden from their view. “I see you are armed.” Rick had given Sato his gun back a short time after entering the startown, for obvious reasons. “Were you involved in any incidents while on Earth outside Union territory?”
“No,” Sato said.
“Fine, you may proceed,” the man said, and the heavy security door slid aside.
“Who would admit they had?” Rick asked as they resumed walking.
“The point is, if you’re caught after having lied, they have another charge to hang on you. Silly, I know. But you’d be surprised how many people stumble and get caught in extra scrutiny.”
“They don’t do that in Houston.”
“Different cultures.”
After a bit of walking, Rick asked, “What kind of ship did you get?”
“Good timing,” Sato said. They’d been walking down a covered road toward one of the dozen nexuses of landing cradles. Many had ships in them of all kinds, from bulk cargo transfer shuttles to a MinSha frigate. His new ship had just come into view. He pointed.
“All I see are a couple stabilizers.”
“Hold on, we’re almost there.” They turned down the road leading to the landing cradle and again used the chip the broker had provided to gain access. Once past the heavy blast door, the ship was in full view. “Behold, Vestoon, a heavily-modified, 11,000-year-old, Efook-class corvette.”
“What a piece of junk,” Rick said.
Sato examined the ship in person, since it was his first time, too. There were at least a dozen hull patches he could see. One of the airlocks had been crudely removed and a hull plate laser welded over the hole. The port retractable wing looked like it didn’t fully retract anymore. And to top it off, the port lateral CID laser emitter looked like the array had been stolen. Yeah, it was a piece of junk. Still, all the hyperspace nodes and etchings appeared to be in place, the landing gear was lubed, and he didn’t smell smoke.
“It’ll do,” he said. “We’ll have a few weeks to work on it.”
“Sure, in deep space.”
“Won’t bother you a bit,” Sato said and gave Rick an affectionate pat on the back.
“Great. Maybe I should reconsider my earlier answer.”
The bot carrier wouldn’t go any further, for risk of some starship captain stealing it, so Rick picked up the module and the duffel bags. Relieved of its load, the bot turned and promptly left. Together the two walked up to their new ship. It didn’t get any better the closer they got to it. Yeah, they had a lot of work to do.
* * * * *
Chapter Two
Even though time wa
s their enemy, Sato did his best to be thorough. Nothing could kill you faster in space than your own ship. Well, a bunch of Pushtal when nobody was looking could probably kill you faster.
There was a ton of space on the ship. It had last been fitted out for Maki, which meant most of the quarters were about half the size of normal Human spaces. However, the Izlian built most of their ships with a one-size-fits-all mentality. Everything from a little Maki to a hulking Oogar would at least be able to move about and operate one of their ships. Everything was adjustable, too, though it would take a shipyard crew weeks to reconfigure the living spaces. As the Maki were about half the size of Humans, they would find a lot of the ship roomy, while an Oogar would have spent its time crawling around.
Sato settled himself and Rick in what would have been the captain and XO’s quarters. There was space for a crew of 19, or more like 10 Humans. Using some tools, Sato quickly removed a section of compartment dividers, combining three crew berths into one, checked all the seals, and turned it over to Dakkar. “Your new home.”
The Wrogul looked around dispassionately. “Oily,” he said eventually.
“Cleaning supplies are in a locker one deck down. You can help out by starting cleaning.”
He left the Wrogul to either clean his own environment, or deal with it. He didn’t have time to argue with the cephalopod. He did, however, take the time to program the main airlocks to only work for Rick and himself. He didn’t want Dakkar going on a little adventure. He planned to be in the black within 24 hours.
Rick took the initiative and began cleaning junk out of the ship. Half the waste compressors were stuffed, and the parts bins in engineering had been used by some vermin Sato hoped were now deceased. While Rick worked, Sato found a functional computer interface and set about the job of making the ship functional.
