by Yunker, Todd
Alec and Dancer entered the exhibition hall, the central vault, which stored the planet’s most precious artifacts of a race now thousands of years gone. “Dancer, document everything — it’s this world’s treasure trove of the best of the best in culture,” said Alec with awe.
Dancer pulled what looked to be five-dozen ornamental disks from his abdomen and tossed them into the air. The sensory disks came to life and darted away in all directions, scanning artifacts and their descriptions, recording everything possible for posterity and reproduction. They flew over row upon row of glass and metal display cases. Alec looked at a fantastic aboriginal mask in one case. The oversized face and spiked rows of teeth, in the right lighting, would invoke nightmares in even the boldest of creatures.
Dancer said impudently, “I knew a guy who looked like that on a good day.”
Alec rolled his eyes and directed Dancer intently: “Dancer, bring it out. Let’s see if our luck holds.”
A compartment popped open in Dancer’s lower back. He reached in and gently removed a triangular-shaped object wrapped in a rich, royal-blue velvet. Dancer opened the cloth to reveal a slab of material five centimeters thick; the triangle’s hypotenuse measured 40 centimeters along a flat, polished edging. The adjoining edges were both rough and showed kerf marks. He handed it respectfully to Alec. “It’s here, see!” Alec said with satisfaction. He brushed lint off one surface of the triangle. Only one side contained any markings, and these were incomplete. The glyph etchings ran along the length above the finished edge, with characters at each end being cut off at the break.
Alec held the artifact before him and slowly turned in a circle. The glow grew brighter and then returned to the lower state. Alec stopped and turned slowly back. The illumination grew as he pointed it down one row of cases.
“This way.” He walked down the aisle, and Dancer paralleled him down another row of cases — the cultural wealth of a race, saved for millennia, now at their disposal. The radiance of the material intensified. Dancer was attracted to an instrument in one of the cases. It was an elaborate set of drums; one could see that the design was that of a master musician and lovingly cared for. Dancer scanned the drum set into his datapad for reproduction at a later time.
Alec stopped in front of a display with another triangle of glowing material. “We found it!” he said with excitement. “That makes two pieces of the inscription we have found.”
Dancer scanned the display with a modicum of concern. “I can’t find any sensors or mechanical security systems on this case.” He looked up from the display and said, with a touch of amazement, “Seems they think that, if you got this far, then you’re entitled to handle the artifacts.”
Dancer put his datapad down and opened the glass countertop slowly and with care. He took the piece from the case and held it up next to Alec’s. The two pieces glowed even brighter as the distance diminished between them. Dancer tried to fit them together like pieces of a puzzle; though they didn’t fit, the proximity caused a three-dimensional image to appear a quarter meter above them. The projection was a buckyball made up of polygons and hexagons slowly rotating.
“It’s real this time,” Alec stated with delight as he looked intently at the object that floated in front of him. “We’ll figure out what that projection is when we get back to the Quest.” Alec wrapped the piece back up in the velvet cloth Dancer handed him. Dancer took a second piece of velvet from his compartment and wrapped up the new piece.
“What do you think they’re trying to show us?” Dancer asked curiously, as he fit the triangles into his lower-back compartment.
“Together, the inscription pieces should have created a galactic map that would lead us to the home world of the lost tribe.” Alec hesitated. “I’m not sure what this is yet, but maybe the third piece gives the details. The original archaeological field work was done by my father.”
He began walking through the rows of display cases again. The flying squadron of disks had transmitted terabytes of data to Dancer. Alec scanned the rest of the room with his datapad and stopped at a case with delicate crystal figures. “I can’t remember a time when he wasn’t either talking or thinking about finding a place to keep us safe from the races hunting humans as sport. All the while, the rest of the older races were otherwise occupied.” Bittersweet memories bubbled up in Alec. “My dad said the map would lead us to a place where humans lived in peace.”
Dancer watched the disks in the distance darting about and capturing data on the other relics. “I honored his wishes. I did know him well; his quest was a worthy one. I… envy his ability to expect a desired outcome from the future.”
“Hope. Those souls will yet have a world to walk upon,” Alec replied with sorrow in his voice. His attitude changed as he patted the piece under his arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
Dancer looked about inquiringly. “What about all this?”
“We lock the doors behind us when we leave and destroy the parabolic reflectors,” he said smartly. Alec gestured to the cases all around them. “I have what I need, and that’s enough. The rest of these artifacts stay here in the museum.” He motioned for Dancer to follow. “Let’s get out of here.” They made their way to the doors of the exhibition hall. The flying disks hurried to catch up with them, taking full scans of cases as they darted back and forth. Dancer opened the compartment again as the disks arrived, and they flew into place. Dancer called out, “Come on, we have to go.” One straggler disk scooted over after one last case scan and buzzed by Alec, flying into the last spot on Dancer’s abdomen. Alec glanced over at Dancer. Dancer responded, “They are a very curious group of drones, as you well know, constantly exploring their environment if left to it.” He checked himself then. “You are practically a professional student — you should understand knowledge for knowledge’s sake.”
Alec stood outside the ornate doors. Dancer took down the crystals and put them away. The sunlight was no longer on the rotating crystal; the doors closed so tightly that it looked like it was a solid wall again. Dancer took the stand with them as they left the planetarium. They moved quickly through the corridors and retraced their path back to the pyramid’s entrance. Alec destroyed the stands and reflectors as they passed. He wasn’t going to make it easy for anyone who might follow them to find the heart of the museum. They soon reached the foyer, where the fleet of autonomous robots had already left to return to the Quest.
Dancer ran across to the greenway and clambered up the bronze sculpture. He retrieved the parabolic reflector, causing the beam of sunlight to vanish from the building.
Alec had stopped a few meters outside the entrance to the pyramid. The transparent wall slammed shut, causing a shockwave of displaced air that tousled his hair.
Dancer replaced the parabolic reflector inside the bag. He slung the bag over his shoulder and leapt to the ground.
Alec nodded at the bag. “Souvenir?”
They started back to the Quest as Dancer replied, “I developed it based on the damaged reflector we found. Not really a souvenir; I was just picking up our mess.” He looked back at the pyramid, with its transparent wall back in place. “Anyway, we may need to get back in there again.”
A noise ahead caught their attention, though not because it was unfamiliar: It was the bolt action of a Reever Assault Rifle. Alec subtly nodded to Dancer and shifted his weight. Dancer indicated he had heard the weapon, too. Alec projected his voice better to get the attention of those listening to them. “Dancer, check in with the guys onboard the ship.” Alec and Dancer moved in unison. Dancer anchored himself and bent his upper body at a 45-degree angle. Alec leapt up and used Dancer’s torso as a springboard. Each launched himself in a different direction and hit the ground running. With the sound of exploding pavement from high-speed projectiles behind him, Alec ran down the city block, away from Dancer, who moved quickly in a different direction.
Six alien looters came out from their hiding places into the street. The group’s leader orde
red some to follow Dancer, as the rest of the group came after Alec. It was all even — three went one way, three the other.
Alec sprinted through the underbrush-filled streets; periodically finding a hiding place and checking to see if his pursuers had given up. Each time he thought he had lost them, they came into view. He cursed to himself and left quickly before being spotted.
Alec was determined to end this hunt on his terms. He turned the corner at the end of the block and saw an open entryway three doors down. Alec bolted down the block and threw himself into the empty storefront. He scrambled behind the counter and sat listening for the sounds of his pursuers. Alec’s attention suddenly zeroed in on what appeared to be a still, used to make alcoholic beverages. He had stumbled into a micro-distillery. Alec remained low as he got up and examined the still. He estimated about a two-hundred-liter capacity. It was not the first time Alec had grabbed an upgrade for the Quest while he was being hunted. This had the advantage of being portable. It would be useful, and Alec would have another story to tell at the next bar they went to. Alec set challenges for himself far above the situational need. He needed to escape. He needed the additional risk.
He didn’t need the whole thing — just a new coil for his own still’s condenser. Alec looked over his shoulder and then reached up to the copper coil and removed it quietly. He pulled off the hoses, leaving just the coil. He put it down gently on the counter.
He took the wrist bracer from his left forearm, and it curled in on itself, the memory metal forming a tube. He squeezed the tube hard, and it responded to the pressure and exploded into a two-meter staff, just as the three looters who were chasing him came down the street.
The looters fanned out, weapons at the ready. “He must be around here somewhere. They got into the pyramid — we need him to tell us how,” snorted the short warthog-like creature as it waddled down the middle of the street. The other passed the store’s front door and continued down the street. But a tall, dark-green reptilian, who brought up the rear with a large energy cannon, looked into the storefront. Alec froze, but the click of his commlink broke the stillness of the moment. The reptilian quickly turned his gaze in Alec’s direction while raising the cannon.
“What is it, Dancer?” Alec said evenly as he leapt to his feet, his staff a blur as he came down with a cross-body strike on the reptilian claws holding the firing mechanism, dislodging the weapon. Alec spun himself and the staff to take a second strike at the back of the reptilian’s leg joints. He continued his attack with a finishing strike and crack to the side of the alien’s head.
Dancer’s voice on the commlink was laced with excitement. “I lost them and returned to the ship. Where are you?”
“I wasn’t as lucky as you. My pursuers were smarter than yours, and they found me when you called,” Alec said intently.
The reptile fell to the floor, crashing into display cases. His companions, a few doors down the block, were alerted by the noise. Alec grabbed the coil in one hand and his staff in the other; he ran from the building and down the block. He took the next right turn and stopped at a street corner; looking over his shoulder, he saw his pursuers coming. One came to a halt and looked for their missing comrade; the other came toward him arming its weapon.
“I could use a lift,” Alec said most directly.
“Don’t blame me because you forgot to set the commlink for vibrate. I never understood why you set it to do anything but that,” Dancer’s voice said in exasperation.
Alec spotted his pursuers coming toward him from different directions, their ranks now swollen by the group of looters that Dancer had lost and who had called for reinforcements. Alec was becoming a bit irritable. “Dancer, I could use some assistance.” The now-20 alien thugs fanned out, not giving Alec a single good target. He put down the coil and spun his staff to keep them at bay. “Dancer?” Alec was doubtful his signal had gotten through.
The deafening sound of cracking tree limbs, falling debris, and engines from above startled everyone but Alec. He swung the staff; it smashed the face of a looter as more debris rained down. Alec bent over, picked up the coil, and made a break for a clearing in the roadway down the street. He sprinted in the direction of the Quest as it landed hard in front of him, making imprints in the pavement and straining the landing gear to near breaking.
Alec and his pursuers ran toward the Quest’s open hatch. Alec threw himself, his staff, and coil inside just as the alien closest behind him lit up as it smacked into the force field. Alec got up and hit the “Close Hatch” button as the ground dropped away. He picked up his prized coil and made his way to the command deck. When he passed through the galley, he stopped long enough to stow the copper coil in a closet for safety’s sake. He arrived at the command deck and strapped himself into the pilot’s seat.
“We have a problem. The Quest is tracking a battleship… no, two,” the alarmed Dancer informed Alec.
“Let’s get out of here!” Alec took command, punched in instructions, and rubbed the worn spot on the bulkhead for luck. “The Quest can outrun anything they can launch against us,” he said assuredly. Alec had spent a lot of time on the refit of the Quest, a customization to a technical level of sophistication her builders never envisioned. The idea was simple: A fast ship was hard to fire on. The Quest could easily outrun all standard civilian craft and most of the small world navies. Alec lavishly upgraded systems for speed and defense. But there was always a first time.
The Quest lifted off, smashing through the jungle canopy. The ship flew above the city in a widening circle, came around over the central pyramid, and gave a wag to each side in a salute to the world’s long-gone inhabitants on its way to the heavens.
CHAPTER THREE
The bayonet-like main-line battleships Illia and Saleen, of the Koty Union, hung in space like enormous predatory birds, challenging any opponent craft to come to them. They maintained a static position in space relative to the battlefield and Daltron-6. They kept the high ground, with the opposition forces of the Metalunan pinned down in the planet’s gravity well.
A third force fought both the Koty and Metalunans for salvage rights to the world. A formation of marauders reentered normal space from out of the star shine above and behind the battleships and fired upon the sensor arrays and command-and-control sections of the Saleen. The offensive intensity of the attack was repelled by two dozen weapons batteries firing a hailstorm of energy beams and kinetic penetrators — or “needles,” as the gunnery crews called them. The railgun weapons created lethal clouds of death, firing hundreds of thousands of needles. The needles fired at extremely high velocities; their computer-calculated formations were invisible against the darkness of space until an unwary fighter was struck by the cloud of sheer destructive mass. The fighter’s shields, in all too short a time — measured in millionths of a second — were simply overwhelmed by the needles, and the craft was torn to shreds. The needles passed through the ship — five thousand in less than a second. The fleeing marauders that survived the run on the Saleen had eight of their number explode in blazes of light. Only torn and shredded metal was left after the horrific collision.
The battleships Illia and Saleen watched as their combined fighter squadrons flew by in tight military formation and obliterated all opposition. The marauder forces reformed at a relatively safe distance from the planetary forces and the Koty. Elements of the blockading fleet had decelerated from hyperspace into the area that was to have been empty but now was filled with marauders regrouping. Energy weapons lanced through the darkness as the two groups of fighters fought for planetary control.
The front line of the struggle moved closer to the planet, as reinforcements from the blockading Metalunan fleet rose from low orbit, taking on all who sought claim to the abandoned world.
Scores of blockade fighters paid a heavy price as they were damaged and destroyed — first by the well-worn fighters that made up the marauders’ fleet and then from the latest generation of tactical Koty weapon sys
tems. The valiant fighter pilots gave their lives protecting the capital ships, attaining a glorious death.
The ship-to-ship dogfight was forgotten as their remaining atmosphere vented into the blackness, thus marking the end for both ship and pilot. The softened blockading fleet returned its attention to the Koty battleships.
The battleships Illia and Saleen advanced slowly in tandem. Their fighter squadrons picked off any stray marauder ships reckless enough to come their way. Highly trained and battle-hardened gunnery crews atomized opposition targets at will.
*
The bridge of the Illia was precision itself. Koty Union technicians hurried from station to station trying not to attract any attention from Captain K’Dhoplon. Their amphibian forms widened as they sat in the stations’ chairs, their pillowed grey-green skin seeming to max out on the upholstery cushion. The Captain’s chair was on a raised platform and gave him the highest ground physically and psychologically on the bridge. The self-indulgent Captain K’Dhoplon, a Koty willing to gamble for wealth, power, and advancement, scanned a datapad he was holding. The Captain’s upper body was encased in armor — to thwart any wayward ideas about mutiny from his own crew. His focus ventured away from the datapad, and he scanned his command deck. His eyes fell upon the only human ever to live after reaching the bridge of a Koty ship, Wolfgang Gray, who paced the floor.
“Captain, I know he’s going to be here any moment. We must reach it first.” Gray stopped at a tactical readout, where he scanned the screen. He was 43 years old, but he looked 50, his body showing signs of the stress he was putting it through. Gray ran his fingers through his more-salt-than-pepper hair, trying to rake back the sweat.
*
It had all started when Gray had ventured into an area of space that had been newly annexed by the Koty Union — so recently, in fact, that the Captain of the ship he had hired for the trip had not known of the invasion — and it was his home world. His ship was boarded, and Wolfgang Gray had been captured as a human spy. He tried to point out that the notion that he was a spy was ridiculous, as his world was gone, and his people were nothing more than refugees. Who would he spy for?
