Void Contract (Gigaparsec Book 1)

by Scott Rhine

  “At that range, didn’t the dart hurt like hell?”

  “Yes. I deserved it.”

  “Who was the looker in the holo?” asked Reuben.

  “The reason I deserved it.” Max closed the door behind him as he walked away.

  Chapter 6 – Survival Lessons

  Max ate in silence—brown nutrient paste with a side of fresh turnips and berries from the gardens. The food was on par with what he normally ate in the field. Max made toast, which was the only way heavy, Saurian brown bread could be considered edible. He took vitamins to supplement and passed a few to his companion. When Reuben wrinkled up his nose at the paste, the other Goat loaned him some spices to shake on top. “Thanks,” Reuben said. “When we get to the next station, I’ll buy some more flavoring, as well as some real food.”

  Hans nodded. “I’ll split the cost of the case with you for now.”

  “On my first mission to the planet Machu Picchu, all we had was rice full of weevils,” Max said. The place had been named for the eerie ziggurats in the jungles, but no one had found evidence of any natives. “You could tell the newbies from the old timers because the new guys would eat around the bugs.”

  Reuben asked, “When’s the first stop?”

  The copilot, Jubalasch, answered between heaping spoonfuls. “For the next week, we accelerate to the jump point between the binary stars. We should spend about five weeks in subspace. Docking and trading at Jotunheim station on the other side should take another couple weeks.” The second Earth colony was named for the legendary land of the Norse giants. The mineral wealth of this cold and rocky world made it the premier shipyard of the region. The founders had wanted a colony the opposite direction of Anodyne, along the Alpha Centauri route. As such, the world was the Human gateway to anything in the direction of the galaxy’s rim. The hardy, higher-gravity residents lived in domes heated by focused sunlight, core taps, and storm-grade wind turbines.

  Max shook his head. “You’ll pay an arm and a leg for any food product there, especially luxuries.”

  “Any recommendations?” asked Hans.

  “Save your manure. Goat droppings make premium fertilizer, and you can sell it.”

  “Now you tell me,” Reuben complained. “After that buffet, I just flushed a fortune.”

  The copilot stared down at his brown paste. “I’m eating.”

  “Sorry.” Reuben paused. “What kind of cargo are we hauling?”

  Max grabbed his apprentice by the scruff of the neck and pulled him out of the cafeteria. “Hans, you can have the food he didn’t finish.”

  As Reuben flailed, he muttered objections. “Hey, I wasn’t finished. What are you doing?”

  Once “outside,” Max set a gentle jogging pace down the silvery sidewalk. “I’m going to start your training with running. Given your blunt technique at questioning and poor combat skills, you’re going to need to resort to sprinting. Later, when they’re no longer paying attention, you can investigate what’s in the cargo.”

  “Why can’t I ask?”

  “What do the labels say?” Max hinted in English.

  Reuben puffed as he followed. “None of them appear to have paperwork or brand names except the food crates.” He stewed about that fact for a moment. “Why?”

  “Who do they work for?” Max turned right and led his apprentice around the docking ring. With their acceleration, the gravity was closer to planetary norms.

  “Parro … oh!” Reuben blushed. “Thanks for not letting me ask the smugglers too many dumb questions.”

  “The questions were good, but you have to be aware of Saurian psychology. Let me tell you their favorite Earth fable. In ancient Sparta, a boy stole a fox. He was interrogated about the theft and police held him for many hours, but he still said nothing. All the while, the fox was eating his entrails. Still, the clever boy died before confessing. Because of his silence, they made him a hero.”

  Queasy, Reuben put a hand over his stomach. “So Saurians don’t crack under torture?”

  “No. They tolerate crimes like theft if the perpetrator doesn’t get caught. This rule works for us as well. As long as you’re sneaky and indirect, we can find the information. The puzzle should keep you from going stir crazy and provide several opportunities for you to practice new skills over the coming months. In the meantime, when you deduce something, tell me, not our dubious hosts.”

  “Why couldn’t I finish my lousy meal?”

  “I don’t want you to throw up after the first training session.”

  Reuben bleated in distress.

  ****

  That week, the pair fell into a regular rhythm. They jogged five kilometers, followed by calisthenics, breakfast, spy class, lunch, Eden preparation, and then dinner. Evenings were for both free time and gathering clues about the cargo. A geek at heart, Reuben hated pushups. Max made him carry the bags of sports equipment out to the tree-dotted lawn regardless of the lesson topic, “In case someone jumps out of the trees and attacks us.”

  Reuben’s only joy came from the jerky ration sticks Hans “accidentally” delivered with the camping supplies. They smelled like pepperoni to Max and left oily stains on the equipment in the tent.

  The first several spy lessons were designed to gauge the skills Reuben did have: languages, schmoozing, memorization, dancing, multitasking while on the comm, electronic security, programming, making friends with the unlovable, and running. Max maintained the morning run to build up endurance. During their combat scenarios, Reuben had a fair kick against an unmoving target and a mean head butt. Swimming and noticing ninjas about to drop on him were decided weaknesses.

  That afternoon, Max displayed an ad for luxury beach condos on his computer pad. “Eden has been dubbed ‘the Great Mistake’ by terraformers. Initial reports showed almost complete Human compatibility. The capital Conception had been developed as the ultimate resort, until tectonic instability classified the planet as unfit for permanent sentient life. The volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, and tsunamis made it too chaotic and dangerous for colonization.”

  “But you’re from there.”

  “There are three loopholes in the compromise. First, someone could be declared non-sentient. Earth people who have not adopted the Union charter and the Collective Unconscious trait, for whatever reason, could opt out of the Union and live there. However, Union technology and transportation would be forbidden them once they signed.”

  “An entire world without electricity or computers? Sounds like prison,” Reuben said.

  “Their children could petition to join the Union, and by necessity, a small region of modern convenience is allowed immediately around the spaceport.”

  Reuben nodded. “Otherwise, no one could land on the planet.”

  “So the resort town of Conception wasn’t a total waste. The second loophole revolves around the word ‘permanent.’ Tourists who visit for less than a planetary year, or retirees who gift their property to the state, can visit the preserve as long as they don’t carry technology to the natives. A lot of people retire early there. Of course, the workers at the space station usually rotate to the resort when they’re off duty, just to keep in shape.”

  “Anyone could live there indefinitely if they visited the space station once in a while.”

  Max nodded. “Yeah. That’s why the preserve charter also enforces an upper limit to the population and defines a neutral third party to monitor compliance.”

  “The Turtle Embassy,” guessed Reuben. “The third exception.”

  Basics covered, Max changed slides to a jungle scene and lectured about the Jurassic nature of Eden. “Most of the trees are bromeliads, like palms or pineapples. There are plenty of insects, reptiles, and amphibians, but no native birds or mammals.”

  “Then how did you hunt a lion?”

  “Several of the islands hold endangered animals from Earth. When they made Eden a preserve, the oligarchs allowed Earth inhabitants to wipe out the last true habitats for hundreds of species
. The conservationists are a major faction on Eden, beginning with their leader—” Already his assistant’s eyes glazed over. “You learn better by reading. Let’s start with that.”

  Max gave Reuben e-books about the planet, including a firsthand history of the settlers written by a missionary sent to evangelize the savages. Reuben didn’t want to open the last until Max explained, “It includes maps and a fair guide to the cultural zones. What I want you to capture most from this work is the mindset of the people. No one outside the spaceport is connected to the Collective Unconscious like the rest of the Union of Souls. They’re all aborigines, racial purists, or religious zealots of some kind.”

  “They’re all alone inside, like solitary confinement,” Reuben said with genuine sadness.

  “Right, and no one from the Union wants to go there. This helps you see the world from their perspective. If you pay attention, I can promise you a reward.”

  “What are you doing while I slog through all this?”

  “Wading through years of medical journals to keep current. Believe me, I’d trade places in a heartbeat.”

  While reading the historical piece, Reuben laughed. “What narrow-minded yahoo wrote this drivel? I’d rather study wild theories about the cryptid skeletons they found on Eden.”

  “Listen closely to the songs he recorded. Songs are life to a people,” Max said.

  Only when Reuben completed the book did Max explain, “That bigoted yahoo was my grandfather. If you read closely, you’ll find the story of my conception in those pages.”

  Reuben scanned the piece a second time that night. “His daughter, Theodora, was kidnapped by savages. Years later, she fought her way free and returned with a half-savage child.”

  “Quarter actually,” Max replied. “Remember the native guide who rescued his church community from the desert and guided them to their settlement? That was my father, Nkrumah. My people help missionaries because we believe in the same creator God. In this case, Grandfather’s sect even believes in a similar healing by laying on of hands. During the journey, his daughter Theodora developed a crush on Nkrumah. When they arrived at Epiphany, Grandfather refused to pay the guide. Bush people are very strict about honoring deals, so Nkrumah decided he would take something of equal value—the daughter. She was willing in spirit but ill-suited for the life of a desert wife. Nkrumah made a name for himself as a tracker for big game hunters, supporting most of the tribe with his safaris, but he was rarely home. A few years later, Nkrumah’s mother told Theodora she could go home without shame. These things happen. Thus, I joined the Reverend’s flock when I was about five. He treated me worse than a redheaded stepchild. He took every opportunity to correct me with the rod, and I vowed to leave that place as soon as I could.”

  Reuben flipped through the story. “She married a farmer and had a girl child who God called home at the age of ten. What’s that mean?”

  “My sister, Alice, had a treatable disease. Rather than call for the doctor, the community prayed for her healing. When she developed a fever, I went on foot to the spaceport for the doctor myself.”

  “That’s a long trip for a child alone.”

  “Bushmen mature early. Nature doesn’t tolerate the unready. Alice died during my return trip.”

  The Goat shut off his computer pad. “I’m sorry.”

  “I lived with the doctor after that, making the rounds with him and studying so my people could have real medicine. During the rainy seasons, I took a job with a pharmaceutical company gathering plants and then collecting toxins from the poison-arrow frogs.”

  Reuben’s face lit up. “That’s why you shoot those darts!”

  Max nodded. “Enough about me. What have you learned about the cargo?”

  “The containers are padlocked. I’m no good at physical locks.”

  “Have you examined the area for trace?” Sometimes powder or dust leaked as they were stacked.

  “That’s just it. Unlike the rest of the ship, those crates are spotless.”

  “Interesting. So we assume the exact contents are extremely valuable or would provide evidence against them. Are the Saurians armed?”

  “No.”

  “So probably not recreational drugs or weapons. Did Hans load these crates?”

  “No, only the provisions from Vegas,” Reuben replied. “The rest was already here when he arrived, and the other crew members have kept the contents a secret from him, too.”

  “How can you solve this with skills you possess?” Max asked.

  “I could hack the manifests to find the mass, measure the volume, and determine the rough density.”

  “It might not be a homogeneous material. Given the price of fuel and food, you could guess the value per kilogram.”

  Reuben shook his head. “You Humans are so fixated on base ten. Why don’t you switch to the hydrogen standards and base two like the rest of civilization?”

  “And yet you all come running to us when you want flexible thinking,” Max said. “I brought special goggles from the pod that can enable you to lurk out here in the dark. If you can drill into the side or find a hole in a vacuum seal, maybe you can sneak a sample. There are gaps where you could tamper with a container door near the garden ceiling along the curve of the sphere.”

  “Maybe I can chat with the crew and find out more about them. They’re certainly not professional traders. I speak a little Saurian, and they don’t know that. You could drop a few hints and leave the room during one of their card games. Then they’d open up.” Technically, the Saurians played with mahjong-like tiles, but the social principle was the same. However, these tiles formed structures called “power bases” that could battle other players’ tiles. The game was so warlike that Human planets closest to Saurian space had names like Attila, Caesar, and Genghis as a deterrent against attack.

  Max nodded. “Good plan. I’ll try that before I visit the captain’s table, but only if you can tap me with that baton. You have to be able to defend yourself before I can leave you alone.”

  “Why?”

  “When Saurians play cards, players have the right to tail-smack anyone caught cheating.”

  Reuben shrugged. “So I won’t cheat.”

  “Ah. But if the others know you can’t hit hard, they take that as an excuse to rob you blind. We work out until you can smack me hard enough to hurt.”

  Chapter 7 – Under Einstein’s Rubber Sheet

  When the elevator opened onto the officers’ living quarters, Max saw the viewing bubble on the outer hull. Instead of stars, the bubble was filled with a white reverse image and bursts of pseudo color that resembled nebulae. In normal space, ships were limited to the speed of light. In this realm, they could travel along gravity stress lines from one star to the next over a hundred times faster. He was fuzzy on the details, but the exact velocity depended on the relative weights of the stars and their distance. The porthole illuminated the crew common area, doors to three rooms, and an opening up to the bridge. The central, round table had been set for three. He had done well to wear his suit. “How long ago did we enter subspace?”

  Greeting him at the door, the captain clasped his shoulders. “What are you, brain deaf? Didn’t you sense the transition like everyone else?” Anyone from a civilized planet could feel the immersion through the Collective Unconscious talent. Discovering through their physical contact that Max had no trace of mental aura, Zrulkesh took a step back from the insult. Without access to the Collective Unconscious, Max might not be aware of a vast amount of information others took for granted, but neither could he be detected. “Of course you are, sir. As an assassin, such anonymity would be a valuable asset.”

  Max noted the ceremonial sword at the captain’s waist, leaving him practically unarmed by Saurian standards. However, he knew that, like a katana, the blade was sharp enough to cut though bone. Max limped off the elevator. “Forgive my slowness. I was teaching my apprentice to play cards. After I knocked the staff from his hands, he kicked me in the bac
k.” Aggravating my previous injury.

  “Ha!” Zrulkesh guided him the short distance to the table. “There is no shame in being a good teacher.”

  Discordant Human music played in the background accompanied by screams, which did nothing to soothe Max’s nerves. Saurians enjoyed the Electronic Age composers. “Yoko Ono?” he guessed.

  “The harmonies remind me of the death songs of meal mammals. One simply cannot listen to one of her arias without salivating.”

  Max sighed as he eased onto the cushioned seat with a ceramic back, definitely Magi-designed. The other chairs around the room were more like inflated balls, allowing the Saurian to face any direction and have their tails hang comfortably off. “Who else will be joining us?”

  “I invited the astrogator, but she never leaves her chamber in the flesh. She may grace us with her telepresence.”

  So the astrogator is a Magi—an odd match. No Human knew what Magi looked like due to their secrecy, although speculation was they resembled the tall, thin Grays from UFO mythology. “I didn’t think they ever traveled alone, always in threes.”

  “She’s a criminal in my charge, working off her indenture.” The captain signaled a servant standing in the wings to bring the first course.

  Max, sensing the captain’s reluctance to discuss the astrogator, complimented the ship. “The Inner Eye is the quickest vessel I’ve ever flown on. The acceleration is so smooth.”

  Zrulkesh sprinkled oils and cactus buttons on his salad. “The excess engines can be used as a buffer. We’re more of a large courier than a small merchant ship.”

  Max sampled the pine nuts before sprinkling some liberally on his own greens. “Thank you for your wonderful hospitality.”

  The captain grunted. “Work for Mr. Sageworthy permanently, and you can eat like this any time.”

  “I’ve been at war for sixty years. Yes, I’m good at it, but I’m not certain I want to continue.” Always leave the door open, or they’ll nail it shut. Better to be wooed than threatened.