The Benevolence Archives, Vol. 1

by Luther M. Siler

  “You might beat the hell out of an end table, I suppose,” Brazel volunteered. There was no one but the two of them in the room.

  “This ain't right,” Grond said. “Hologram? Hard-light? What do you think?”

  “No idea.” Brazel picked up the packages. His name was on the smaller one. He shook it; whatever was inside slid around like it was made of cloth. He locked eyes with Grond for a moment, who shrugged. Brazel tossed Grond the other package and opened his.

  There was a robe inside, made of the softest cloth Brazel had ever laid hands on-- and the gnome had always had very expensive tastes in fabric. He put it on; it was sized perfectly. He tucked the ribbon into a pocket and glanced at Grond; the halfogre's package had included a robe as well.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  As if in answer, a panel slid aside in the ceiling and a 'bot flew into the room. It was a simple model, an oblong-shaped levitator with a couple of manipulator arms and a battery of sensors. The 'bot flew toward the pair, pausing a few meters in front of Grond, hovering at his eye level.

  “Greetings,” it intoned, in a softly feminine human voice. “You are--”

  Grond hurled the table their robes had been on directly at the 'bot. The heavy table knocked the thing out of the air and then landed on it, crushing it to scrap metal. The 'bot squawked once in alarm and then quieted.

  “Did that make you feel better?” Brazel asked.

  “The next one had better have Angela with it,” the halfogre muttered, his eyes still glowing dangerously.

  The next one did not have Angela with it. It did have two impressive-looking projectile cannons on it, however, one trained on Brazel and the other on Grond.

  “Greetings,” it spoke, in the same voice. “You are in no danger. Please follow me.”

  “Those guns don't say in no danger to me,” Brazel muttered. The 'bot made no response, but hovered backward toward the staircase, keeping its guns aimed carefully the entire time. The 'bot led them up the staircase, down a corridor in a far corner of the room and eventually down another stairwell, ignoring a number of other rooms and side paths along the way. This place is huge, Brazel thought. What the hell's going on? How long were we unconscious? It finally stopped outside a set of double doors, which swung open.

  “The mistress will be with you shortly,” the 'bot said. “Please wait inside.”

  Brazel glanced over at Grond. The halfogre had lost all of the red in his eyes, which were wide and staring. They were being led into a library. And, judging from the smell, most of the books were printed on actual paper, and not the thin polymer sheets that most of the physical books still available were created from. The shelves were stuffed full, running from the floor to the ceiling, with a half-dozen or so freestanding shelves scattered around the room as well. There were thousands of books.

  “Uh ... Grond?” Brazel said. “Stay with me, buddy. We still don't actually know what's going on here, right?”

  “Don't care anymore,” Grond said. He picked a book off the shelf and leafed through it, leaning in and inhaling the scent of the pages. “She can kill us both so long as she gives me a couple of hours in here first. She can kill you whenever, actually.” The halfogre looked around, spotting a lounge chair his size on the other side of the room, near yet another fireplace. There was a second chair next to it, this one not sized for bigs.

  How much time did Remember have to customize her furniture for us? Brazel thought. If they were actually in Remember's home, it would make sense for most of her furniture to be sized for humans, or ... well, human-sized people, at least, which Remember supposedly was. Grond's chair barely creaked as he settled his nearly two-and-a-half meter frame into it; the thing had to be reinforced. It wasn't human furniture. Seeing no better alternative, Brazel sat down in his chair and watched the fire.

  “We have a game plan here?” he asked.

  “We don’t,” Grond said. “I assume you’ve tried to contact the ship already. Either our comms are blocked or the ship is destroyed, near as I can tell. We’re unarmed. I wrecked one of her robots and she sent a bigger one with guns. I don’t see that we’ve got much of a choice but to sit here and see what she wants. Meanwhile…”

  He waved the book, which looked positively dainty in his hands. “May as well relax until we find out why we’re here.”

  “You’re here because I have a task for you to perform,” the fire said.

  Grond and Brazel both sat up straight in their seats.

  The fire shaped itself into a person.

  That’s impressive, Brazel thought.

  As he watched, the fire-person’s appearance refined, becoming something more like a holographic projection than a manipulation of the flame. It was a woman; a bit less than two meters tall, slightly above average for a human female, with long hair twisted into a topknot and then flowing down her back to below her waist. She appeared to be dressed in a loose, flowing robe, much like what had been provided for the two of them. Her hands were clasped behind his back.

  Brazel and Grond waited. The fire-woman made no movement.

  “Courtesy dictates that you explain the task. And perhaps introduce yourself,” Brazel said.

  “I am Remember,” the fire-woman said. Her voice was surprisingly low, raspy. “My apologies for not meeting with you more … personally.”

  “And the part where you destroyed all our stuff,” said Grond, his eyes glittering red again. He had the book in his lap, holding it in such a way as to make Brazel think he planned to throw it. The gnome noticed the ribbon from their robe package marking a page. He’s not throwing that book, Brazel thought. The chair would go first. Neither seemed terribly useful against a hologram made of fire, though.

  “Your things are where you left them,” Remember said.

  “You knocked us out dressed and armed and we woke up naked,” Brazel said. “I didn’t leave my clothes anywhere. I rarely meet with business contacts naked. Tends to make me a trifle more difficult to take seriously.”

  “As I said, where you left them,” Remember said. “You are not where you were when you were dressed and armed.” She gestured and the room darkened, a star chart popping into existence in the middle of the library. Two stars glowed green.

  “That’s Queris,” Brazel said, looking at one of the green dots. “And the other?”

  “Is you,” Remember said.

  Brazel and Grond both laughed. The two points were halfway across the galaxy from each other; they had to be fifteen or twenty parsecs apart.

  “That’s a month. In tunnelspace,” Brazel said. “You didn’t have us unconscious for a month.”

  “You were unconscious for twelve seconds,” Remember said.

  Grond actually dropped his book.

  “That’s impossible,” the halfogre said. “Teleportation?”

  “It requires a … moderate expenditure of power,” Remember said. “I chose not to bring your possessions along with you. One of you might have chosen to bring something … unwise.” She stared at Brazel as she said that last word, making it clear that she knew exactly how many unwise somethings Brazel had tried to bring with him. Grond carried all of his tools openly; the halfogre felt that concealing weaponry was pointless. An easy belief, when you were as large as he was.

  “Okay, so, we’re impressed,” Brazel said. And you’re lying, he thought. There was no way Remember had teleported them. “You have access to a technology that as far as we know exists nowhere else in the galaxy and you’ve used it to move the two of us halfway across that galaxy so that you could mysterious at us out of a fireplace. Let’s talk about the job, Remember.”

  Brazel wasn’t sure, but he thought the fire-face grinned. “A relatively simple task, actually; I will be monitoring to see how well you follow your instructions, and there will be more complicated jobs for you in the future if you perform well. There is a certain package; I wish it to be delivered to a certain place. Twenty-five days later, I wish for you to retrieve it.”<
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  “We’re not messing with Benevolence,” Brazel said.

  “The location I wish the package delivered to is not within Benevolence space,” Remember responded.

  “How much?” Grond asked.

  Remember named a figure. An enormous figure.

  “We’re in,” Brazel said. He signaled to Grond, a brief gesture that meant not now— we’ll discuss this later.

  “I am glad to hear it,” Remember said. “Grond may keep the books, as well, if he wishes.”

  The halfogre’s eyes cleared immediately. “B…. books? Plural?”

  Remember’s hologram smiled again, and bowed. The shape dissolved back into the fire.

  * * *

  Grond found a few boxes neatly stacked outside the library and insisted on spending an hour carefully going through everything in Remember's library, an hour during which he was lost in literary bliss and the gnome did his best to avoid going out of his mind from impatience. He refused to help transport the boxes back to the teleporter; Grond laughed at the notion.

  “They're heavier than you,” he said. “I think I can handle it.”

  The 'bot waiting for them when they finally left the library was an identical copy of the one Grond had crushed; Brazel noticed it seemed to be trying to keep its distance. It led them back to the lobby and the door to the teleporter slid open. There was a small table just inside with two glasses of blue liquid on it.

  “Drink,” it said. “And when you get inside, lie down. The fluid and lying prone will help with the teleportation. You will find all of your effects waiting for you when you arrive. We will send the books in ten minutes, along with the lady Remember's package. The package will give you the coordinates for the delivery. And you will find, by the way, that your ship has been refueled.”

  Grond shrugged and downed his drink. Brazel inspected his before drinking; other than the oddly bright color there was nothing unusual looking about it. It tasted like a combination of especially strong tea and finely ground, blueberry-flavored gravel.

  I've paid for worse, he thought as he finished. He'd learned, over the years, to never let his partner pick the drinks.

  * * *

  Teleporting while conscious was somewhat more pleasant than the alternative; the black material holding him still for only a few seconds; the teleportation itself was loud but otherwise painless. Brazel had thought he'd be able to pinpoint the exact moment at which they jumped, but if he really was jumping parsecs across the galaxy he certainly couldn't feel it happening.

  True to the 'bot's word, their gear, Angela included, was waiting for them and the boxes of books came through precisely ten minutes after they arrived. Remember's package was a metallic case, perhaps a meter square by just under two meters long. There was a blank screen in the middle of the top of the case and a single button; handles were built into the side. Grond stacked his books on top of the case and crouched to pick it up.

  And grunted, exhaling explosively. The box didn't move.

  “No way,” the halfogre muttered, and moved the books, trying the case by itself. He couldn't budge it. He moved to one end, gripping the handle and trying to lift from the end. Brazel watched, half-amused, as veins stood out on the halfogre's neck and arms and his legs strained to try and budge the box.

  “You're gonna pull something,” the gnome said. “Or ... well, not, maybe.”

  “You fucking pick it up then,” Grond said, letting go of the handle and straightening up. Brazel looked over the case carefully, then pushed the button. The screen lit up with what were clearly coordinates-- one set indicating their current location in the Queris system, and a second that Brazel didn't immediately recognize. A soft buzz came from inside and it lifted a few feet off the ground. Brazel poked it with a finger and it slid toward the door. He waved a hand underneath the box. There was nothing happening underneath to indicate how it was being lifted.

  He risked making eye contact with his partner, who snorted and made a rude gesture.

  “Teleportation and portable antigrav,” he said. “What the hell's she need us for?” Antigravity rigs weren't uncommon, necessarily; lots of ships used them and certain larger 'bots, but they were generally expensive and much, much bulkier than whatever was inside this box had to be.

  With a brief burst of static, his comm reestablished contact with the Nameless.

  YOU'RE BACK, the ship said.

  “We are,” Brazel said. “How long were we gone?” He pushed the antigrav rig out of the teleportation room, Grond following him with the books.

  I LOST COMMUNICATION WITH YOU ONE HOUR AND FORTY-SEVEN MINUTES AGO, the ship responded. FIFTEEN MINUTES AGO THE SPHERE BEGAN POWERING BACK UP AGAIN. I SURMISED THAT WHATEVER PROCESS HAD CAUSED US TO LOSE CONTACT WAS ABOUT TO BE REVERSED.

  “Teleporter,” Brazel said. “We were on the other side of the galaxy.”

  IMPRESSIVE, Namey responded. THE AMOUNT OF POWER GENERATED BY THE SPHERE IS LIKELY SUFFICIENT TO HAVE TRANSPORTED THE TWO OF YOU, PROVIDED THAT THE TECHNOLOGY TO DO SO WAS AVAILABLE. I WAS NOT AWARE THAT THAT WAS THE CASE.

  “Apparently so,” Brazel said. “Get the cargo hold open; we'll be there in a minute.”

  * * *

  As soon as they had their new cargo safely stowed, Brazel and Grond checked the coordinates that they were to deliver the package to. They identified a planet in a relatively unpopulated area of gnomespace, not far from home and more or less along their way.

  “See what you can find out about that planet,” Brazel told Namey. “And turn the dampers on in this room for the next ten minutes.” The AI signed off noiselessly, and Brazel waited a moment for the communication dampers in the room to kick in.

  “So. What's her game?”

  “The books are bugged, aren't they?” Grond asked.

  “Probably,” Brazel responded. “Although it's not like she doesn't know where we're going, and it's not like the package itself isn't a giant homing beacon screaming HERE WE ARE halfway across the galaxy. But, yeah, I'd bet there's nanotrackers in a bunch of those books. Where'd you put them?”

  “In the cargo hold,” Grond said. “I'll have Namey scan the hell out of them before they go anywhere else in the ship, though. Maybe I accidentally throw them into an EMP field at some point. By accident. And maybe once we land they don't go anywhere else after that.”

  “Probably best,” Brazel said. “What do you think's in the box?”

  “I've been thinking about that,” Grond said. “No idea. I halfway wonder if there's actually anything in there in the first place. This whole thing scans like some sort of elaborate test, and I can't figure her angle. We're small-time; there's no reason for Remember to have noticed us unless we screwed her first. And bringing us to her to talk for ten minutes then send us back and put us on an overpaid courier job makes me think maybe she needs an accountant. We could buy a whole new ship to move that box in for what she's paying us. It's insane.”

  “We're not that small-time,” Brazel complained. Grond shrugged.

  “We can have Namey scan the box, too,” Brazel added, “Remember didn't say anything about not opening it or anything like that; she just said take it here and then go back and get it. She didn't seem too concerned about what we did with it in the meantime.”

  “He won't find anything,” Grond said. “We know this, right?”

  “We do,” Brazel agreed. “I don't like this job, though. I don't like it at all. We're being paid too much to do too simple of a job, and both of those things scream it's a trap to me. And it's not even a good trap; if she'd wanted us dead, I'm sure that 'bot wasn't the only dangerous thing she could have turned loose on us.”

  “Look on the bright side,” Grond said. “Twenty-five days from now we're either dead, which means no more worrying about it, or we're very, very rich. I figure I can live with either of those.”

  “I don't need to tell you to keep your eyes peeled, I assume,” Brazel said.

  “I always do,” the halfogre rumbled
, chuckling. “Unlike you, I can see over the furniture, so I sort of have to be the one looking out for everything.”

  * * *

  A series of scans and a thorough electromagnetic decontamination later, Grond's books were pronounced safe and they were no closer to determining the contents of Remember's case. Brazel and Grond mutually decided to not worry about it. They were three days away from the system, which was called Gallireen, after the largest planet of the system, a jumble of mid-sized terrestrials mostly too close to the star to be terribly hospitable for life and a handful of gas giants. The exact location was on a moon of one of the inner gas planets, which according to Namey's databases, housed a few hardscrabble settlements and some minor green areas but was mostly desert and stone, pulling enough heat and light to survive from the huge planet it orbited. Namey called it Gallireen 12A; the locals no doubt had some other name for it.

  “Looks like ... huh,” Brazel said, paging through the database. Grond raised an eyebrow.

  “Mostly human settlements,” he continued. “Even though the planet's in gnomespace. Not a lot of native humans in gnomespace. That tell you anything?”

  “Smugglers,” Grond responded. “Or outcasts. Or both. Outcasts who became smugglers. Also means I might actually be able to sit at the bar, if we find one.”

  “Don't get your hopes up,” Brazel responded. “I doubt we'll be there long enough for a drink. I want this job over and done with as quick as we can; if we're on this rock for more than an hour it'll mean something's gone wrong.”

  Grond just grinned.

  “Okay, fine, and I refuse to use a booster seat in my own damn neck of the galaxy;” Brazel snapped. “Plus, hell, I'd like to get home sooner or later. That way you can be the wrong size for all the furniture for once.”