The Imperium Chronicles Collection, 2nd Edition - Stories

by W. H. Mitchell

  I felt Devlin press up behind me so he could get a better look.

  “Good,” he said, leaning back.

  “How is this good?” I asked.

  “They’re not expecting us.”

  “True,” I admitted. “They’re definitely not expecting this...”

  Devlin, hidden beneath the white animal skin, charged into the room. Seeing this bear-like creature rushing at them, the two guards glanced at each other momentarily before running in the opposite direction toward one of the lava tubes on the other side of the chamber. Devlin pressed his advantage by chasing after them as he howled like a wild beast.

  Skarlander, astonished by the bizarre spectacle disappearing down the far lava tube, failed to see me dashing towards him. I jumped onto the stone platform and struck him across the head with the piece of stalagmite Devlin had broken off earlier. Skarlander dropped the sapphire and fell to his knees while holding the side of his face.

  “Get the crystal!” I told Henry.

  Turning back toward Skarlander, I half expected to see him cowering on the dirt, but to my surprise, he had already recovered and was looming over me. He tightly grabbed my wrist, sending shafts of pain shooting up my arm. I dropped the stalagmite at my feet.

  He glared at Henry who, somewhat to my surprise, had actually followed my instructions and was holding the crystal in his trembling hands.

  “Give it to me!” Skarlander shouted.

  Henry hesitated. “I’d rather not,” he said.

  “Do it,” Skarlander threatened, “or I’ll dump her into the lava!”

  At this point, I saw Devlin returning at full speed without the animal skin and with the two bodyguards close on his heels. Their weapons drawn, one of them fired, narrowly missing Lord Maycare. I ducked, pulling Skarlander down with me, but heard Henry scream in pain.

  I yanked my wrist away and looked at Henry holding his left shoulder.

  “You idiot!” Skarlander cursed.

  My eyes traveled from Henry to the platform, but I couldn’t see the crystal. I got up and saw a blue glimmer reflecting off the molten magma flowing a few feet away.

  “I dropped it!” Henry admitted.

  Everyone, including Lord Maycare and the two bodyguards, stopped and watched the crystal bobbing along the top of the lava.

  Skarlander quickly pushed me away and knelt beside the running stream of burning rock.

  “Help me!” Skarlander begged, leaning as far out as he dared, straining to reach the sapphire.

  His two men stood by helplessly, unable to do much more than keep their superior from falling in.

  “No, no!” he said, but the crystal, now nearly half submerged, started changing from an icy blue to a pulsing red.

  The near transparent quartz, quickly disappearing in the lava, started to pulse.

  “We need to get out of here, sir,” one of the guards said.

  As the artifact dipped completely below the surface, the viscous magma began bubbling violently.

  Devlin was suddenly at my ear. “Get on the grav sled,” he said. “Quickly!”

  “Henry needs help,” was all I could think to say.

  “I’ve got him, now go!”

  The river, like an incoming tide, erupted from its banks, spewing waves of churning liquid like thick, glowing molasses.

  I climbed onto the back of the grav sled, which was nothing more than a floating platform the size of a mattress. Heat and acrid smoke burned my eyes, filling them with tears, but even with my blurred vision I could see Lord Maycare dragging Henry in my direction. Skarlander’s bodyguards were doing the same with him, although he cursed at them to let him go.

  By now the floor was nearly flooded with lava and the level seemed to rise with each boiling burst of energy from the artifact.

  The grav sled dipped as Henry jumped on beside me. Devlin began pushing the sled until he ran out of clear ground and clambered on with the rest of us. I lost track of Skarlander and his men. I assumed they left through one of the tunnels, but I couldn’t be sure.

  Behind us, a swell of magma sent the grav sled lunging toward a random lava tube. Like a raft shooting the rapids, our little barge jetted into the narrow passage and the darkness within. Although I was blind, I still sensed we were moving incredibly fast. My ears started popping, which either meant we were heading up to safety or down deeper into the volcano. I could never admit this to Devlin, but I was utterly terrified.

  And then I was blinded again, but this time by light.

  Like a cork from a champagne bottle, we burst from a vent in the side of the mountain. I screamed despite myself as the grav sled rose a dozen feet off the ground, the lava spouting below us. Then our weight shifted and the sled veered sharply to one side, spilling the three of us into a snow bank. Our raft crashed on its top close by.

  It took me a moment to realize I was still alive before sitting up. When I did, I saw lava pouring from the vent and continuing down the slope away from us.

  “Is everyone alright?” I said.

  “I think so,” Devlin’s voice came from the other side of the drift.

  “Henry?” I asked, looking around.

  “I think I need a doctor,” he finally spoke, standing up with his arm clearly bleeding from where he was shot.

  “Hold on, buddy,” Devlin said, pulling out his communicator. “Bentley?”

  “Yes, My Lord?” the robot’s welcome voice came from the speaker.

  “We’re on the surface and we need you to pick us up.”

  “Right away, sir,” Bentley replied. “Also, it seems the other vessel has left in rather a hurry.”

  “Did you detect a transmat?” Devlin asked.

  “Indeed.”

  “Alright, then. Just get down to our position as quickly as possible.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  “Did Lord Maycare just call me buddy?” Henry asked, bewildered.

  Utilizing the sick bay aboard the Acaz, we managed to bandage Henry’s injury and give him a heavy sedative, which he seemed to appreciate greatly. Once back home, he spent a few days in the hospital until the wounds had healed enough for his release.

  As for me, I returned to the library on Maycare’s estate and continued my duties at the Xeno Institute. A few days later, Lord Maycare stuck his head in to see how I was doing.

  “Fine,” I said, looking over the table once again covered in papers and data pads.

  “Will your friend be joining you soon? Devlin asked.

  “Henry? Yes I imagine so. I’ve convinced him that we probably won’t be having another adventure like that one for quite a while.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  I glanced at him sideways. “Really?”

  “There’s hundreds of alien artifacts scattered out there,” Devlin said, “and I doubt Skarlander and Warlock Industries are going to just let them go unclaimed.”

  “No, I suppose not,” I said, frowning. “But isn’t there something you can do about Warlock?”

  “Me?”

  “You’re a Lord, aren’t you? Don’t you have clout you can use?”

  Devlin chuckled in a way I found, as usual, insulting.

  “A mega-corp like Warlock Industries is practically a government in itself,” he said. “They also spend lavishly to gain favor with the other royal families and the Imperial Senate. They’re nothing to be trifled with.”

  “So you’re powerless?” I remarked, hoping to hurt his pride.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that,” he said, seeing my intentions and ignoring them. “But what I can do is be a pain in their side with every xeno device I steal out from under them.”

  “I guess that’s better than nothing.”

  He slapped his leg. “Exactly!”

  “By the way,” I went on, “how many researchers does Warlock have looking for artifacts?”

  “Hundreds, I assume.”

  “And how many do you have?”

  “Just you,” he smiled.


  “And Henry.”

  “Well, we’ve doubled the number already!”

  He turned and swept out of the room, leaving me alone in the library until Bentley dropped by a short time later.

  “Can I get you anything, Professor?” he asked helpfully.

  “Coffee, please,” I said. “Lots and lots of coffee.”

  A version of this story appeared in the novel, The Arks of Andromeda (2017)

  Metal Messiah

  On Eudora Prime, Technotown offered everything a tinker could want, whether she was willing to pay for it or not.

  The eight blocks along Emporia Street assaulted a person’s eyes with electronic signs, three stories high, bleeding digital words and images from the roof down to the sidewalk. Pedestrians, predominately humans, wandered along, lost in the avalanche of chaotic advertising. Nobles and commoners alike carried bags from whatever store had successfully sucked them in and spat them out again. A few were unaware exactly what they had bought.

  From a store specializing in starship parts, a girl no more than 122 cm tall popped out of the doorway and melted into the crowd that flowed like liquid metal along the pavement. When the shop owner also appeared, waving his hands and shouting for police, the girl abandoned her casual pace and began sprinting madly, darting in and out between startled consumers.

  A tan satchel was wedged under her slender arm. The girl’s eyes were brown and abnormally large. Pointed ears, rounded slightly at the tips, poked through her dirty blond hair. Clearly not human, she was in fact from a race called the Gnomi. It was a cruel coincidence that the name of her species resembled one from ancient Earth lore, leading to jokes about little red hats and tiny shoes.

  A policeman heard the shopkeeper’s distress and took off after the thief. He shoved people aside as he lumbered down the street with thick legs and a scowl on his broad, meaty face. With muscular hands and sausage-like fingers, he waved a baton that crackled with electricity. Ahead, near the limit of his sweaty vision, he spied the dirty blond hair bobbing among the others, and the satchel she was carrying. The policeman didn’t know what was stolen, but people like these – the Gnomi – had a reputation for snatching machines and devices they could fiddle with. “Filthy tinkers...”

  Turning a corner, the startled face of a woman greeted the policeman, followed by a scream, a torn bag, and oranges rolling across the ground. Between the good Samaritans helping round up the fruit and the woman flailing her fists at the officer’s shoulders and chest, the policeman could only watch as the Gnomi girl receded into the distance. He knew where she was headed, but he had no intention of following her below ground.

  The Underdelve was no place for humans.

  In the damp, concrete tunnels, Gen the General Purpose Robot was trying, with limited success, to keep up with her master Orkney Fugg. The robot and the portly Gordian meandered through the dark, dripping passageways of the Underdelve while strings of LED lights provided the only illumination.

  Fugg insisted he knew where he was going. He was short, 150 cm tall, with a stocky build and no neck. He scowled as he walked, stubby tusks protruding from his lower jaw. Gen was about the same size – although Fugg always said he was taller – with a curved, feminine frame made from plastic and aluminum. Her metallic feet made tapping sounds on the hard tunnel floor.

  “Do you like humans, Master Fugg?” she asked, practicing the art of small talk.

  Fugg didn’t stop or even turn around. Without missing a step, he grunted through his hog-like snout, “Hell no.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re bastards, every one of them,” Fugg said. “They take whatever they want and act like it was theirs to begin with.”

  “Is that why we didn’t shop in Technotown?”

  “That, and the fact that I’m frugal to a fault.”

  “Oh, yes,” Gen remembered. “Captain Ramus said you were cheap.”

  “Frugal!” Fugg protested. “That Dahl bastard should appreciate what I do for him. Lord knows we can’t afford much!”

  The narrow passage opened into a large, dimly-lit chamber. The ceiling was a network of interconnected pipes from which crude lighting hung from loose wires. If Technotown had an ugly stepsister, this place, several stories below ground, was it. Most people just called it the Black Market.

  Fugg and his robotic companion weaved through a steady throng of undesirables dressed in shabby clothing caked with dirt and foul-smelling sludge. The Market used to be a section of the city sewer, but the denizens of the Underdelve turned it into a bazaar for the downtrodden. Individual stalls, each little more than plywood and sheets of plastic, lined the walls, making for a tight fit in between. An assortment of questionable goods acquired by questionable methods covered each table. Fugg didn’t care. He wasn’t bothered by moral ambiguities or the redistribution of wealth. He knew what he needed and knew how to get it. The law be damned.

  He and Gen reached the other side of the chamber, arriving at a rusted door with the words Freck’s Gadgets welded onto the metal. Fugg pushed hard, but the door only opened halfway. He squeezed his girth sideways, passed through the gap with effort, and went inside. Gen had no trouble following.

  Instead of a store, Freck’s workshop was more like a cluttered closet with storage boxes, filled with bits of wire and dusty circuit boards, stacked to the ceiling. At the center of the mess, a small girl hunched over a work table where sparks like burning fairy dust flew from whatever she was working on.

  “Mel,” Fugg said. Receiving no response, he yelled, “Mel!”

  The girl, her hair a disheveled mess from which long, pointed ears protruded, spun around. She pushed a pair of goggles up onto her forehead. She held a plasma welder in her hands, the flame still burning. “What?”

  “Did you get that part for me?” Fugg said.

  Mel switched the welder off and pulled the goggles from her head, dropping them onto the table.

  “Of course.”

  She opened a drawer and brought out a tan satchel. She wiped her arm across the table, knocking several odds and ends to the floor, and slammed the satchel down. Opening it, she removed a silver and blue piece of equipment.

  “Any trouble getting it?” Fugg asked.

  “Do you care?” she replied.

  “Hey, I’m just making friendly conversation, tink.”

  Mel glared at him.

  Touching Fugg lightly on the shoulder, Gen said, “It’s my understanding that words like tink are considered offensive to members of the Gnomi species.”

  “Nonsense,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’m a Gordian. I can’t be racist. You’re the one being racist for even suggesting it.”

  Gen covered her mouth. “Oh, dear! I’m so terribly sorry, Master Fugg!”

  “You’re not offended are you, sparky?” Fugg asked the Gnomi girl.

  “Of course I am, you fat bastard!” Mel shouted.

  Fugg’s mouth opened, closed, and then opened again. “Well, your customer service sucks.”

  “Are you buying this or not?” Mel demanded.

  “How do I know it works?” Fugg asked.

  “You’ve got my money back guarantee. If you’re not 100% satisfied, I’ll steal another one for you.”

  “That sounds fair,” Gen remarked.

  “Fine,” Fugg said, handing Mel a credit stick. “Here’s the amount we talked about.”

  “Need any help installing it?” Mel asked.

  “I think I can manage,” Fugg snorted. “I know the Wanderer like the back of my hand. I doubt there’s an inch of that ship I haven’t fixed or replaced.”

  “I’m surprised it still flies with you as engineer,” Mel said.

  “Stick to your gizmos and whatnots,” Fugg said. “Starships are for men like me.”

  “Yeah, right. What about you, robot?”

  “My name’s Gen.”

  “Has he tried fixing you yet?”

  “Well, Master Fugg attempted to add an attachment at on
e point, but Captain Ramus said it was indecent.”

  Mel’s eyes widened and she stared at the Gordian. “You disgusting pig!”

  “Don’t judge me!” Fugg retorted.

  Mel pointed to the door. “Just get out already.”

  “With pleasure,” Fugg said.

  The gears in an old grandfather clock turned, clicking a hammer that chimed five times in the corner of Mel’s workshop. Miss Freck studied herself in a mirror, cracked in one corner, and straightened her bird’s nest of a hairdo. She did her best to rub away soot from her cheek, but mostly just smeared it in deeper. With a shrug, Mel left the shop and turned left toward one of the many tunnels issuing from the main market into the damp darkness.

  Rodents parted and scuttled away as Mel walked purposely with only a glow stick giving her light. In truth, she hardly needed it; she knew the way even if blindfolded, which, ironically, was precisely how she was led this way the first time. A precious few had ever seen these passageways. They belonged to the wing of the sewer that had fallen into disrepair decades ago and perhaps had been forgotten by whatever maintenance crew might have descended this deep below the surface. Nobody came here now.

  Almost nobody.

  Along the main tunnel, Mel came to a side shaft guarded by a wrought iron gate. She plucked a brass skeleton key from her pocket and inserted it into the lock. It took her a little muscle but she cranked the key a half turn and the lock snapped open. She stepped inside and secured the gate again. Her heart beat faster, as it always did at this point in the journey. Up ahead and around the corner, Mel saw a faint light. She could make out a voice, hallow and distorted as it bounced off the moldy, crumbling brick walls. She put away the glow stick, not needing it anymore, and emerged into a wide chamber with a vaulted ceiling. Between her and the opposite side, forms stood facing the distant wall. Some shapes were human, or at least humanoid, but the rest were something different. The majority in attendance were made from alloys, plastics, and assorted materials. They were androids listening intently to the speaker. He stood on a raised platform on the other end of the room: a man in his early thirties with short, curly black hair and dark, brown skin. He was speaking to the crowd, but his words were directed at the robots.