by Welch, David
He continued on, passing Lucius during the middle of one of his regular games of “Flying Quintus.” Second followed obediently as he moved down through the cargo bay to the pick-up.
“Open her up!” Rex ordered.
The left door began to descend. The right did not. Its hydraulics had taken some hits from the frigate. It made a grinding sound, squeaked a few times, and remained sealed shut. Didn’t matter much, though; one door was more than enough to fit the truck through.
They got in, and Rex brought the vehicle to life. The familiar hum of the fuel cells brought him some comfort. When he’d first come out, he’d wondered if fuel cells were something he wouldn’t be seeing. Heck, enough of the nations in the Quarter still used gun powder to make it a valuable commodity. They very well could have used whatever people had used before fuel cells. He vaguely remembered from school that it had something to do with oil. He wasn’t sure what, though. Far as he knew, oil was used in plastics and grease and kinky lubricants, not to power vehicles.
Letting his curiosity drift away, he drove. On his wrist the small watch-console, barely an inch in diameter, kept in contact with his ship’s computer. It was probably connecting with this world’s servers now, running through its internet for locations on surgeons.
They drove on a thin access road between two lines of pads, toward an exit a mile distant. When they reached the gate out, Rex found himself handing over two bits silver for docking fees.
“Quite the racket you got,” he said cynically.
“It’s…big city…man,” the toll-booth guy replied in broken English.
As they pulled into the city, the watch-console sprung to life.
“Five neurosurgeons listed in the greater Nea Sofia area,” it announced.
“I need somebody who takes coin and doesn’t ask questions,” Rex spoke.
They drove, aimlessly at the moment, waiting for the computer to reply. A minute passed.
“Doctor Manuel Tzimikes works for gold and silver only. His advertisements guarantee prompt and expert service. He offers expedited service for ‘space travelers on a schedule’.”
“Is he qualified?” Rex asked.
“According to official Byzantine Medical Association records, he has a 97 percent return rate amongst patients and is rated—”
“Fine,” Rex grumbled, “Guide me to his location.”
A few moments passed and then the computer replied, “In two miles, turn left on Odos Khalkide…”
* * *
Chakrika had never seen anything like Nea Sofia. Her homeworld, Maratha, was dominated by cave-like, subterranean clan homes. Igbo and Cordelia, what she had seen of them, had been fairly similar: plain concrete, squarish construction.
This was something entirely different. The Byzantines built grand, put a dome or a hemisphere wherever they could, and seemed to coat every available wall with lavish frescos. Some were men and women with strange balls of light around their heads. Others were of banquets, or battles. A good many showed men and women in chaste, yet clearly romantic, situations. Was hand-holding how people flirted here? Some showed hunts and triumphant returns. Over and over again, she saw a family painted, their features similar throughout, despite the styles of the artist. She figured it had to be the local royalty. Were she a more cultured person, she probably would have dismissed it as “loud” or “gauche,” but luckily she didn’t suffer from such afflictions.
The market, like most, wasn’t a far walk from the spaceport. Trucks shuttled back and forth, hauling goods directly off the ships to vendors eagerly awaiting delivery. She simply followed the lines of vehicles and people to find the place.
The marketplace consumed a wide piazza. Four-story homes, studded with balconies, surrounded most of it. The side opposite her was dominated by a massive basilica. It rose up dramatically, at least ten stories or so, to a shallow dome. Atop it sat a large gold cross. If she remembered correctly, that was what the Christians always wore around their necks.
On the front of the building a man had been painted, from the torso up. He had to stretch at least forty feet in height. He held a book in his hand. She couldn’t read the title though; it wasn’t in any alphabet she’d ever seen. The man’s face was bearded and seemed serenely calm. He, too, had a strange ball of light encircling his head. Above the ball of light was another letter she didn’t recognize, but it kind of looked like a P and an X smashed together.
A woman said something to her in a language she didn’t understand.
“I’m sorry?” she asked.
“I say painted woman like the painting, yes?” the woman spoke in passable English.
“It’s very…big,” Chakrika replied.
She took a good look at the woman. She appeared to be in her forties and rather plain-looking. Her dress was strange, though. She wore a huge black robe with a large hood that rose up several inches from her forehead. The only visible skin was on her face.
“I work there; I can show you,” the woman spoke, giving her a genuine smile.
“I have to get some things…” Chakrika spoke, motioning toward the markets.
“Ah, OK. Watch your pockets. Thieves,” she said with a dismissive wave, spitting on the ground to curse them.
The strange woman disappeared into the crowd. Chakrika shrugged and moved off into the market. Two hours later she emerged with a sack full of diapers, pacifiers, and a tiny little outfit with a picture of a duck on it. She’d picked up a shirt for herself and a little necklace with that strange P/X symbol that she’d seen on the building. She didn’t have the foggiest as to what it meant, but it looked neat. The thought of the symbol caused her to look up, taking stock of where she was.
She’d worked her way across the market. The basilica and its looming, peaceful-looking fellow were only a few yards behind her. You’ve got time, she said to herself as she headed for its massive doors.
Her breath caught in her throat as she walked into the open center of the church. Beams of light, gold and blue and green and red, filtered down to the altar. Behind it a screen of paintings, framed in gold, held pictures of men and women in long robes. The images were photo-realistic; only that strange ball of light around their heads seemed out of place. The floor was a mosaic of glittering tiles, with swirling patterns of gold and red tracing their way to the altar.
She glanced up. Tiers of seats flanked three sides of the altar, at least four decks of them. Each was steeper than the last, providing a view of the church floor. Her head reached its zenith, facing straight up, finding the source of the light.
It was that man again, looming above her. He held his book and looked peaceable as ever. It took her a moment to realize that the various colors weren’t lights projecting down onto her. The entire dome was stained glass, tinting the sunlight with a glorious pallet of colors.
“You come?” a familiar voice asked.
It was the woman in the strange black robe again. She rushed forward, grabbing Chakrika’s shoulder affectionately. She followed her stare to the ceiling.
“He watches us, protects,” she explained.
“Uh…who is he?” Chakrika asked.
“Kristos!” the woman said joyfully. “Stay. I will come back.”
The woman bustled off to an aisle along the side of the building, disappearing into a chamber. She re-emerged a second later with a book in her hand and dashed back to the center of the church.
“Here. His words. He forgives, will make you new person,” she explained.
She thrust the book into Chakrika’s hands. She looked at it curiously. Letters she could not recognize graced its cover, the same letters she’d seen all over this planet.
“Ah!” the woman cried, taking the book back suddenly. ”Angloi!”
She disappeared, coming back with another book. This one was in English, with the word “Bible” printed clearly.
“You can keep it,” she said. “For your travels, yes?”
Chakrika smiled, not entirely sure
what was going on. She thanked the woman and reluctantly backed out of the church. As she walked the daylight streamed through the windows, casting patterns of shadow and brightness.
New person? Chakrika thought as she left the church. She looked down at the book, seeing nothing particularly fascinating about it.
Strange, she thought, taking one look back at the massive fresco on the front of the building. Without further delay, she made her way back to the ship.
* * *
Doctor Manuel Tzimikes turned out to be a short bald man with a hawk-like face. He scurried about his office with an air of quiet menace, which seemed odd to Rex given that the man was a doctor. Hopefully bedside manner wasn’t his selling point.
“I have not seen a tumor like this,” he spoke, lightly accented, yet clearly comfortable with English.
“Can you remove it?” Rex asked.
The man tilted back in his chair, a large, shabby desk separating him from Rex. Second sat next to him, motionless.
“It appears an easy fix. Half the nerves are severed already, and there are only small capillaries supplying blood to it,” he spoke, confidence pouring off him. “Not that it will be cheap.”
“Never is,” Rex replied.
“And you want it done by tomorrow,” the doctor asked.
“I have a hot tip of a world in need of the cargo I’m carrying; every day that passes gives somebody else a chance to beat me to it and get rich,” Rex explained.
Manuel chortled, saying, “How compassionate of you to take any time off for your crew.”
“Well, as you can see, she’s not much use to me like this. She sits and stares all day long, won’t do a thing unless you order her to,” said Rex, trying not to let the truth of the issue out.
Manuel nodded, staring inquisitively at Second.
“There could be psychological issues—” the doctor began.
“We’ll deal with them. We’re a very close-knit bunch,” Rex asserted.
“I’ll bet,” Manuel replied, clearly not convinced. “You want it done by tomorrow, I’ll need one hundred sixty bits, gold.”
Rex sighed, running numbers in his head. That would drain most of his expense account, which didn’t matter all that much because he was running for home anyway. Then he cursed himself for giving pause over a sack-full of gold when he was putting the entire crew in danger just by coming here. Who knew when his pursuers would pick up the trail?
He reached for his pack, sitting next to the chair. From it he withdrew a large sack, which clinked with coins as he removed it. He dumped the contents onto the desk, the falling gold making one hell of a racket.
Manuel did not react like most men. He gave the gold a cursory glance and returned his eyes to Rex.
“That’s only half,” he said simply.
“You’ll get the rest when you’re done,” Rex replied.
“I hope so,” the doctor spoke. “Or I will not release her to you.”
“You’ll get it,” Rex said, getting to his feet.
“Then we’ll get her started,” Manuel replied.
Rex turned to Second.
“Go with this man, do as he says,” he spoke.
Second nodded simply and got to her feet. Rex turned back to the doctor.
“How long until I can get her?” he asked.
“Ten o’clock tomorrow,” the doctor replied. “Come then, with my gold, and she’ll be ready.”
* * *
A blast of hot air hit Lucius square in the face as he pulled the trigger. The patchsteel gun, this particular model at least, vented the heat from its melting chamber straight back into the face of whoever was using it. His face dripped sweat profusely.
The damn gun was heavy enough to need a tripod, but didn’t come with one. So he used his body to brace the four-foot cylinder over each hole, hence the repeated bursts of heated air.
He moved to the next hole, about a foot across, scorched down to the structural steel of the main hull. The burn marks left could only have been made by a pulsed blast of accelerated particles, so the frigate must have landed this shot. He retrieved a cartridge from a box of thirty he had purchased and slapped the foot-long tube into the gun.
He really had no idea why they called it patchsteel. It wasn’t steel. Each cartridge was 90 percent composite resin, a carbon mix nearly as strong as steel, but not as resistant to blunt force. The other 10 percent, which formed sandwich layers between the carbon, was a non-Newtonian liquid that hardened when force was applied. It was only a temporary solution though, not nearly as strong as the original armor it replaced. At some point Rex would have to get the plates around the damaged regions removed and rebuilt.
If he ever gets back to the Commonwealth, Lucius thought darkly.
He fired the gun and moved to the next hole. It was the last. He reloaded and fired the gun, then stepped back to watch the resin spread through the hollow and solidify. Its excess pushed about an inch past the top of the hole, spilling over a bit. Lucius shrugged at the sight, figuring a little extra protection never hurt anybody.
“Hey, Lu!” a familiar voice cried.
He moved to the edge of the ship, standing just above its rear auto-turret. Eighty feet below was the small form of Chakrika, carrying a sack full of stuff. He waved.
“Where’s Quintus?” she yelled.
He pointed behind him and shouted, “He’s enjoying the view!”
True enough, Quintus sat in his makeshift crib, next to the observation blister. The blister was open. It led to a ladder that extended down into the main hallway, just before the common room. From his perch, Quintus, if his eyes were focusing yet, had a magnificent view of Nea Sofia. Lucius moved over to him, stopping to take in the vista once again. Domes sprouted from roofs, reminding him of a field of mushrooms. Rocky, orange-red mountains loomed above the city, their rusty façade broken by patches of green scrub. Thin lines of forest clung to nearby mountain valleys, along what must have been creeks or small rivers.
He smiled, picked up Quintus, and made his way down the ladder. Chakrika had already boarded. She dropped her sack and moved to take the boy from him.
“You’re lucky I wasn’t here,” she said, smiling nonetheless as she turned her attention to the little one. “Taking a baby on the roof. That’s not safe now, is it?”
Lucius smiled and then went to retrieve the crib. When they got Quintus settled again in the common room, they began to unpack. It was a cramped fit in the small kitchen, but Lucius had the distinct feeling that Chakrika didn’t mind the proximity. He sure didn’t.
“I got something for you,” she said.
“Oh? What’s that?”
She handed him the bible.
“This strange lady in a black robe inside one of those Christian churches said that this book can forgive your sins,” Chakrika explained. “Says you can be a new man. I figured, you know…”
“That it could lift my past from me?” he said.
“Maybe, you know. If not, you’re no worse off,” she said.
He nodded, uneasy at the thought. How did you erase a lifetime of evil, even if done in ignorance? All the same, he was thankful for her concern and her innocence. He turned the book in his hand. It was a hefty read. If forgiveness didn’t wait inside, he could always use it as a weapon.
“Holy Bible,” he said, staring at the cover. “Does that title mean anything to you?”
She shook her head.
“Well, perhaps we can puzzle this tome out together,” he said, flipping through the tissue-thin pages. They seemed to go on and on.
When he glanced back up, Chakrika’s expression had changed. Her mouth still smiled, but her eyes sat lifeless, staring toward the ground.
“Something wrong? If you don’t want—” Lucius began.
“No, no, it’s not you. It’s just…well, I don’t really believe…”
“In God?” Lucius spoke.
She nodded, saying, “My people used to think the tiger had a celestia
l spirit and protected us. That’s why we look like we do. But…after what happened to me…I-I can’t…”
“It’s OK,” he said, rubbing her arm. “It was only a suggestion.”
“I just figured with you talking about the ‘Divine Order’ to Rex…” she said, still not meeting his eyes.
“The ‘Divine Order,’” he said with a laugh. “Probably as much foolishness as everything else my people believed.”
“Ex-people,” she said, the smile growing as she met his gaze. “We’re going to be Terrans, remember?”
“Well you surely will be,” Lucius spoke.
“That’s why I’ve been telling you to come up with a fake back-story,” Rex spoke, entering the room from the port rear corridor.
“Is Second all right?” Chakrika asked.
“Doctor says she’ll be ready tomorrow,” Rex spoke. “Don’t know who exactly she’ll be tomorrow, but I guess that’s the point of this whole crazy trip.”
“So we’ll be here overnight?” Lucius asked.
“Yes sir,” Rex said, stopping to make faces at Quintus.
“Then can I ask you a favor?” Lucius spoke.
“Uh…depends on what it is,” Rex replied.
“Can you watch Quintus for a few hours tonight?”
“Got a hot date?” Rex said with a vicious smile.
Lucius flushed, turning back to Chakrika.
“Don’t cook tonight,” he said with a wink.
“What are you up to?” she said.
“Trust me on this,” he said and kissed her cheek. “I gotta go return the patch gun.”
He moved from the room, heading toward the cargo bay. Butterflies rushed through his stomach.
“Computer,” he spoke, “Connect me with that restaurant we found earlier…”
* * *
“Where did you find this?” Chakrika asked, motioning to the chaise lounge. Lucius lay atop it, and she lay atop him, though their clothes remained on. They stretched out on top of the ship. A city full of light lay before them, and a sky filled with stars sprawled overhead.
Lucius finished swallowing a stuffed grape leaf and then said, “Rex had it in the cargo bay.”
