“Thirty percent,” he managed.
“Fifty, Mr. Sanders. We’re not negotiating here. We’re setting a price. If you want to make it negotiations, though, then our share is seventy percent.”
“Seventy percent! But you said fifty!”
“That was before you said thirty. Now, we can go back and forth and wind up at fifty or we can just settle at fifty. Or, we can thank you for a good meal and a bad offer, leave, and get on with what we were doing before we met you. Your choice.”
Sanders was breathing hard, but the others noted that neither of his attractive assistants seemed the least concerned, so they weren’t, either.
“All right, all right. Fifty percent of the net.”
“Only if the maximum costs are set as part of our contract,” An Li came in. “And no overruns. Anything not listed and priced in the contract is your tough luck.”
Sanders sighed. Finally he said, “All right, all right. Let’s do it.”
“Look on the bright side, sweetie,” Lucky Cross put in. “Odds are we’re all gonna die over there anyway, so why be such a penny pincher?”
“I guess we all are betting on long shots here,” he admitted.
“Yeah, but you’re not one of the targets,” Sark replied.
Still, it was done.
Afterward, well away from their new patron and long into the night, they discussed, hashed, and rehashed both the deal and what was to come.
“He caved too easy. I don’t trust him,” Randi asserted.
“Nobody trusts him,” An Li agreed. “I doubt if his own mother would trust him with her laundry, assuming, that is, that he has a mother and that he didn’t sell her to finance one of his early deals. Still, he’s risking pocket change for a massive payoff. I’m not sure he’d risk real money, from his point of view, on something like this, but I wasn’t kidding. He really is that rich, and our job is to make him richer.”
“Our job is to get as much valuables as we can and somehow get them and us back alive,” Jerry pointed out. “Anybody really feel comfortable that we can do it?”
“Comfortable, no,” Randi said, “but possible, yes. There are eight known ships, three in good condition, the other five derelicts, to have somehow made it back from the Three Kings. All had Three Kings-type stuff like that creepy gem or other equally weird things. Some had bodies, some didn’t. At least two, though, had a number of bodies who died from the effects of riding a wild hole back to our space after having been damaged getting there in the first place. In other words, they did manage to get out, to escape. Their hardware just wasn’t up to the stress of the job. Jerry?”
“Doc’s right,” he agreed. “No matter if this thing is a trap or not, the fact is that people did manage to escape, and the only reason they didn’t get all the way was that their ships couldn’t hack it.”
“None of them were cyberships, which is important,” Randi put in. “The one cybership, the original discovery scout, that did make it there in fact sent back other reports, two others, after its incomplete Three Kings report, so either it was let go or it just went right through the system. Whatever happened to it after that was probably, almost certainly, unrelated to the Three Kings. Only the scout’s report was garbled, in several strategic places, so that everybody in creation couldn’t get there because they didn’t know where. The scout probably never knew his full report didn’t get through. And that first ship, intact but crewless, with all the bait aboard, that didn’t find the Three Kings because of the scout’s report, or at least not because of that report alone. But it did have a highly sophisticated homing logic that triggered only if it was either told to return by crew codes or if it had been abandoned for more than two years in place. While not as sophisticated as a cybership, the system had many things in common with cybership systems makeup. No, it’s possible. We can do this. I’m certain of it.”
“My problem is Sanders,” Lucky Cross put in. “No matter what, I just can’t trust the son of a bitch. He’s got some way to cheat us, I’m sure of it.”
“Well, we’ve let the Guild lawyers do the contract, so that part is solid,” An Li assured her. “And we’re gonna have the valuables under our control, so we’ll have possession. I agree, he’s slimy and he’ll try to pull stuff, but, frankly, considering what we’re about to agree to do, handling him is gonna be the least of our problems, and something I’ll happily worry about when we’re back.”
“Agreed,” Sark said, nodding. “If all else fails, I’ll gladly just shoot the son of a bitch and take my chances. Out here, your word and your contract are the sacred things. Who the hell’s gonna convict me for popping a crooked producer?”
“That’s important,” Queson pointed out.
“What? That I could kill him and get a medal out here?”
“No, no. That he has to come here to settle, or at least we settle here. The contract’s signed and sealed here, we’re hired for the round trip from here, so this is where it ends. We don’t play in his yard.”
“Agreed. Okay, folks, there’s nothing more to do but to do it,” An Li told them.
Maybe, Randi Queson thought, but Norman Sanders isn’t the only slimy crook around here. This time you don’t get to sit high and dry up in orbit while we put our necks in a noose. This time, your neck’s on equal footing with mine. You’re not the boss anymore.
Sanders was all smiles, which made the crew collectively uneasy, but he assured them that he would sign the agreement and that their own attorneys would verify it before they left. He did choke a little at the list of equipment the various members came up with, but he still agreed that he’d provide it all, or at least the closest equivalent he could find on this junkyard planet.
“I’ve transferred the Stanley’s lease to my production company,” he told them, “and a crew is already up there making modifications and repairs to outfit it for the trip. Just out of curiosity—any of you ever ridden through a wild hole before?”
“Not too many people have,” Cross told him. “At least, not too many have and lived to tell the tale. None of us are looking forward to it, but we’re ready to give it a try.”
“Yes, well, that’s not really your job, is it? Your job starts when you arrive. I’ve placed the navigational information in encrypted form in the captain’s navigational computer, by the way. The captain will have access to it, but nobody else, and even she won’t be able to get to it until she needs it, and only during that period. You’ve been making snide remarks about my honesty, so this is my way of insuring yours.”
“That’s not fair!” Cross almost shouted at him. “What if something goes wrong? We won’t have any data at all to be able to use manually!”
He shrugged. “I suggest that if something that bad goes wrong then manual control will be the least of your problems. Manual control brought back mangled ships and dead bodies. The captain’s signed off on this. The rest makes no difference. Oh, and one other thing.”
“Yes?” An Li responded, not liking this a bit.
“You’re going to take along a robotic camera unit. It’s quite intelligent, almost to having a personality of sorts, but it consumes nothing and its sole function is to record this entire expedition. If you get back, this footage alone will be a sensation.”
“I don’t like it,” Sark grumbled. “I don’t like to shower in public.”
“It’s smart enough to know what’s appropriate, and to take criticism and suggestions. It absolutely will not get in the way. That’s not its job. But refuse to take it, and it’s a deal breaker. That’s the one and only condition I place. At the very least, I want to see where my money’s going.”
And whether or not we’re trying to put something over on you, An Li thought. Still, it wasn’t worth arguing over.
“If it’s smart and doesn’t interfere and if it can even help if need be, then we’ll take it. One problem or funny move, though, and it’s history. You understand that?”
“I think we understand each other
perfectly.”
“When will the supplies be aboard and the ship refitted? In other words, how soon can we go?” An Li asked him.
“Two more days. Some of the weaponry you wanted isn’t exactly legal, you know, and many of the sensors and such are also pretty tough to find in good condition. Still, most of it is repairing the damage to the Stanley. Oh—the shipfitter wants to know if you want to take the smelter. Even if you did use it to good effect last trip, it seems rather excessive here, and the object is to streamline the outer hull as much as is possible in a salvage ship.”
“We can send that one back,” Jerry Nagel told him. “It didn’t really do a whole hell of a lot of good for us, and even less for poor Achmed, and I can’t think of anything we’d use it for on this kind of trip. What few of its functions might be useful we can get from the weapons array. A lot of what we asked for isn’t for shooting, it’s alternative tools, you might say. I suspect if we face off against an alien race that’s been running this kind of experiment or scam or whatever all these years, they can probably outgun us anyway. My feeling is they’ll keep hidden, let us hang ourselves, as it were. I’m not itching to fight somebody who actually might be able to use stuff that’s brand new.”
“Fair enough. I’ll stick around long enough to see you off, but then I have to get back home. I’ve put off work far too long now,” Sanders said.
“But we meet here to settle up,” An Li reminded him.
He smiled sweetly. “Of course! You couldn’t keep me away. So, that’s it now.”
“Well, one more thing,” An Li told him.
“Oh?”
“Petty cash. We’re going to need to pick up some personal things here, and we’re gonna have a nice little going-away party as well.”
Norman Sanders sighed. “Oh, very well. How much?”
“Two thousand apiece.”
“What!”
An Li shrugged. “Don’t worry, Normie, Baby. It comes out of our share…”
He wasn’t mollified. “What the hell are you going to do with money like that?”
She smiled sweetly. “That’s none of your damned business.”
VII: THOUGHTS AND HISTORY
“Hello. I am Eyegor,” said the thing floating just in front of Randi Queson. The voice was pleasant enough, but it had that ring of artificiality, of machine, in a clear undertone, and its emotional range was somewhat limited.
The thing itself was about a meter high, and was mostly a stalk filled with folded-up arms and tools, almost like a gigantic utility knife, with a “head” that was a small translucent globe with a thin, reddish-brown band going completely around its equator. It floated in some fashion, keeping the “head” roughly at a height just below parity with whomever it was addressing.
“Let me guess. You’re Sanders’s camera, right?”
“One of many, yes. In this case I am his primary documentary unit. My sole function is to record as much raw footage as possible of whatever happens and then get it back to my company. I am used to making myself as unobtrusive as possible.”
“Well, you better be very unobtrusive when it comes to us,” she warned the robot. “We’re not actors or film people in any way, and we treasure our privacy. There isn’t much on a ship like this, even less on an away team, so whatever privacy we can get we demand. You should understand that.”
“I assure you that I am unobtrusive.”
“You misunderstand Doc,” Jerry Nagel commented, approaching the two of them. “We don’t want unobtrusive. We want nonexistent. In other words, if you get into our space or photograph and record anything we don’t think you should, or if we just think you did that, well, then, just remember that you will be alone and unable to get any additional instructions, and our primary occupation isn’t exploration, it’s salvage. Now, how smart is that dedicated positronic brain of yours, camera? Do you understand your rules among us, or do I have to spell it out?”
“I believe I get your meaning,” Eyegor assured him, sounding a bit uncertain.
“Well, let’s just put it up front. You record anything having to do with us, you ask permission first. And when we’re doing our job, which means any time we’re working aboard ship or at any time down on a planet, you will obey our orders instantaneously no matter what. Either do that, or we will demonstrate how quickly and efficiently a salvage engineer can disassemble a robot of any sort and catalog its parts for later sale. That clear enough?”
“I believe you have made yourself as clear as need be,” the camera responded a bit nervously.
Queson looked the thing over and frowned. “Does the name have some meaning?”
“A show business joke,” the robot told her. “If you do not know it when you hear it, it is not worth explaining, nor is it my choice anyway.”
“Okay, suit yourself. At least I assume you don’t sleep or eat or need any maintenance?”
“I require no maintenance, that is correct, and my redundant dual power supplies are sufficient for centuries to come. I have a small number of spare parts that I carry, and the ship’s own maintenance section can fabricate anything else I might need. As I said, I should not be in your way. You should barely notice my presence unless you wish to.”
“Oh, if you’re a member of our crew then we’ll all want to be aware of your presence,” Nagel assured the robot. “You could come in handy for us as well. If we’d had you last time we’d have saved ourselves a lot of grief.”
“I shall be happy to assist you if I can do so. I am, however, a robot, not an android or a cybernetic device. My programming is not something I can get around, so please remember this. I was designed for a single function, so my initiative is limited. My primary function comes first.”
“Well, so long as we don’t have any surprises, that’s the main thing,” Nagel warned it. “If it appears that your programming requires you to do something against my interest or the interest of my crew, you’re salvage, so please remember that. That, too, is something you will find yourself unable to get around.”
Nagel was already walking away, going towards Sark, who was checking a bill of lading on a hand tablet. One by one, pictures of everything loaded aboard the Stanley came up, along with coding as to which prefabricated cube it was in and just how to get it. A small earpiece told him what each was and any specs he requested. The big man glanced up as Nagel approached.
“Any problems?” the engineer asked.
“Not if that shyster was as good as his word and what’s listed here is actually in those things. This is high-quality stuff. Mostly salvage, of course, but still the best, mostly new or lightly used. Makes you wonder where the salvage barons here got a lot of this stuff.”
Nagel nodded. “Trust nothing from Sanders. Take a container or two at random and check it physically against the bill. Test anything you want in any of them to make sure it works. Let me know if there’s any funny business.”
“Already in the works. So far so good.”
Nagel nodded and turned away. He still didn’t feel good about this. There was too much legend, too much not in control, too much in the way of question marks. He didn’t mind going up against some smart-ass humans or aliens or whatever was there, and he sure didn’t mind the profit potential when it looked like everything was deep down the toilet, but what he’d told the robot was true. They were a salvage team, not explorers. They didn’t go out into the unknown trying to find stuff, they went to places where others had found potential valuables and they took it apart and hauled it back for sale. He hadn’t known about that damned worm, but he’d had all the specs on the last planet they’d gone, all the scouting reports, climate, geology, you name it, and even though they hadn’t been able to get much information on the dead colony he’d had great three-dimensional photos of the complex from orbital surveys, so he knew pretty much what he was going to find and had plenty of time to research just how to get it out of there.
Not here. An ancient legend, some crushed ships and bodi
es, and a spook jewel. That was it. He’d researched the legends, of course, and what little was truly known from the stuff those ships had brought back, but there were more blanks than information.
The Three Kings. What did that mean? That ancient scouting report from that cybermonk said three worlds, but much of the information in the physics of that report suggested that they weren’t planets at all. Planet-sized ships? Moons? What?
Further research suggested that the only kind of setup that could sustain wild holes over such a period of time was powerful gravitational forces caused by massive bodies in a kind of cosmic conflict that were, nonetheless, stable enough to just sustain the stresses and keep reopening the cracks. The original report had suggested some sun-sized gas giants that might do it, but then how would you keep things like moons or even orbiting stations from being pulled apart in the stresses over time?
He didn’t like it. He wanted a picture, he wanted the scout’s complete reports, he wanted every expert opinion cranked through the very best brains organic and inorganic and everything in between. This was riding a wild wormhole into a maelstrom.
Well, at least this grand expedition to Hell wasn’t for some kind of noble reason like scientific research and exploration or shit like that, and it sure wasn’t to keep the repo men off An Li’s back. If you were going to be this dumb and this high risk, you’d better be doing it for money.
Either Sanders really was already richer than Midas or he was pretty damned confident this was going to succeed, though. Sark reported that everything seemed to check out, and now, boarding from a tug, Jerry Nagel was impressed with the repairs on the Stanley. It didn’t even smell anymore.
In fact, it was so comfortable and homey looking that he suspected that the refurbishing had been done less for the crew than for Eyegor’s benefit. You didn’t go to see entertainment, not anymore. You went into the entertainment, interacted with it, became part of the whole thing. Who the hell other than a masochist would want to experience a real salvage environment?
He sat down in his office just off the wardroom, an office he’d never had before, and began going through the routine as best he could.
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