by E. M. Foner
Few of the space gypsies and assorted vagabond families who camped out in Mac’s Bones while making overdue repairs to their ships were flush with cash, but Joe knew that Shaun Crick would have resisted paying for a life preserver even if he was drowning in Stryx creds. Worse yet, the man hated to give fair value in trade. But the dog had already flopped on her back on top of Joe’s shoes and was looking at him expectantly, so he crouched and rubbed her belly while waiting for the inevitable encounter.
“Morning, Joe,” Mary called, having come out to investigate the dog’s euphoric barking. “My hubby just went out looking for you. Said he had some business that would put a real smile on your face.”
“Morning, Mary,” Joe replied, wondering as he did every morning how a man like Shaun had ever landed a woman like Mary. Nearly eight years after his own marriage, Joe was beginning to realize that he had never understood women. He just hadn’t been aware of the deficit when he was single.
A boy with carrot-colored hair came tumbling down the ladder, landing miraculously on his feet, and Borgia popped back onto her legs to run over and plant her forepaws on his thin shoulders. The two rubbed noses like Eskimos, and if Kevin had a tail, it would have been wagging in time with the dog’s.
“Is Dorothy going to school today, sir?” the boy asked Joe politely.
“Nope, it’s Saturday. But Aisha promised to give her dance lessons today, so don’t be surprised if she ignores you,” Joe replied.
Dorothy and Kevin were close to the same age and people who saw them together always took them for twins. Joe and Kelly both liked Kevin and felt that his respectful manner and calm conduct was a good influence on Dorothy. Lately it seemed like the boy was spending more time in the McAllister’s converted ice harvester than in his father’s cobbled together pile of mismatched parts, many of which had belonged to Joe not too long before.
“I’ll just run over and see then, sir,” Kevin replied, but he waited for Joe’s nod before he took off like a rocket, Borgia at his heels.
Joe turned back to Mary, preparing an excuse for having to leave without waiting for her husband, but she had produced a steaming cup of coffee from somewhere, along with a tray of pastry. The older Crick children had knocked together a sort of picnic table where the family took its meals, so Joe accepted his fate and sat down to wait for Shaun’s return.
“He just has a thing about money,” Mary said sympathetically, reading Joe’s mind. “His own father got a hold of this ship somehow when Shaun’s mother passed, and the two of them eked out a living as small traders on the fringes of Stryx space. Shaun would go months at a time without seeing another soul other than his dad, because the old man would never burn a gram of fuel if gravity wells and patience would get them there eventually. I think the main reason Shaun married me was for my cooking. His father raised him on dehydrated rations way past their ‘use by’ dates that they would scavenge from space dumps. Even with the exercise machines, he had bones like a bird when his father took sick and they practically crash-landed on Argus Eight, where my family worked as sharecroppers.”
“I guess he must be doing something right to hold onto you and that passel of kids,” Joe admitted grudgingly. “That’s some life you lead, always on the move, no place to call home other than that sorry collection of scrap.” As soon as he said it, Joe felt guilty about running down the only property the family owned, but Mary just nodded and smiled.
“It’s a much nicer collection of scrap after two months of having new parts welded on, thanks to you,” she replied calmly. “I only hope that you’ve gotten something of value in return.”
“Of course he has!” her husband entered the discussion from ten steps away, his oversize ears pointed in their direction like a bat’s. “Why, the Sharf circulation pump I traded him would cost thousands of creds new, and that’s if you could find one.”
Joe might have mentioned that the obsolete circulation pump needed a complete rebuild, the parts were no longer available and there was no demand for the working item, but he didn’t want to make Mary feel bad. Instead, he rose from the bench and offered Shaun a perfunctory handshake.
“I heard you were looking for me,” Joe said neutrally. “Everything going well with the overhaul?”
“Going well, the man asks,” Shaun replied in amusement, directing his comments to his wife and the two older boys who had just emerged from the ship, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes. The Crick family also included three daughters, but the girls had left early in the morning to hunt for bargains on the Shuk deck. “It’s going so well that it’s finished! That’s how well it’s going.”
Joe looked to Mary, who gave a disappointed smile in return. The Cricks would soon be moving along, and although their custom had certainly cost him more than he earned in return, he would miss Mary, the kids and their friendly dog.
“Well, that’s great, Shaun. So where are you off to next?” he asked politely.
Shaun gave him an exaggerated wink in return and laid a finger along the side of his nose. “We’re off to El Dorado, old boy. Going to fill the ship with gold, precious stones, artifacts of a million years of culture. You’ve dealt with us square so I’m willing to let you in for a share. That’s the best offer you’re ever likely to hear in your life.”
“I’m not a wealthy man,” Joe replied cautiously. “I have to pay the Stryx rent on the hold every cycle, and these camp grounds and equipment rentals don’t always cover the bill. If you’re looking for somebody to finance a treasure hunt, I’m afraid it’s not me.”
“Oh, it’s not money I’ll be wanting from you,” Shaun replied, rubbing his hand over the top of his balding head as he regarded Joe speculatively. “It’s just a little favor from those fine connections of yours. A bit of a boost to get us where we’re going.”
“My fine connections?” Joe repeated in puzzlement. Then the meaning sank in and he corrected Shaun. “You mean my wife’s connections, the Stryx. You know that they’re very generous with Earth vessels when it comes to the tunnel network, so if you convince them that your, uh, treasure hunt is legitimate, they might waive the toll for a piece of the action.”
“Well, there’s just one thing about that,” Shaun said, sounding a little less confident than usual. “The world we’re visiting isn’t exactly on the tunnel network, but it’s not exactly off the tunnel network either. That is to say, the station librarian tells us the exit was closed some thousands of years ago.”
“Sounds like the natives probably aren’t interested in visitors,” Joe replied, dismissing the subject from his mind. “Well, I have to get back to work, but I hope you all stop by and see us before you leave. I’ve got a new batch of beer that should be ready to try, and kids love a picnic.”
“Hold on a minute,” Shaun said, stepping in front of Joe and putting up a hand like an old-world traffic cop. “If I tell you about the gold rush of the century, no, the millennia, can I trust you not to spread it around?”
“You know that my wife is the ambassador, and I don’t keep secrets from her,” Joe answered, though the latter part wasn’t entirely true.
“I know, I know,” Shaun replied and ruminated for a few seconds. “What if I told you that a wealthy old species has taken a vow of poverty and is giving away all of their stuff?”
“Are you serious?” Joe asked, mainly to delay while he examined the angles. For all of his sharp dealings, Shaun struck him as an honest man, and Joe didn’t think Mary would stand by and let her husband tell blatant lies. “If that’s really the case, half of the galaxy must already be on the way there, wherever there is.”
“The way I understand it, there’s something wrong with the local space that prevents jump ships from emerging anywhere near the alien’s home world, and as I said before, the Stryx closed their tunnel exit.” Shaun paused for a long moment and exchanged looks with his wife before continuing. “The thing is, my oldest girl, Becky, went through a religious phase in her early teens, and behind our bac
ks she joined an alien order of nuns while we were on Setti Five. They gave her some sort of potion to drink that made her, well, sensitive, and sometimes she gets these visions, or callings, from the powers-that-be. Last night she received a calling that the time for the final distribution of treasure had arrived, and everybody was welcome to come and claim their share.”
“How does she know where to go?” Joe asked, drawn into the story against his better judgment.
“The poor girl was given detailed instructions,” Mary entered the conversation, drawing a concerned look from her husband, which she ignored. “But the instructions were obviously intended for people with much more advanced ships than ours. Something that could jump in as close as possible and make the remaining journey to the planet under its own propulsion system, not to mention landing or dispatching a shuttle, since the Kasilians dismantled their elevators a long time ago.”
“I don’t know,” Joe said. “Maybe Gryph will be willing to help if it’s legitimate, but somehow I doubt that relieving a doomsday cult of their possessions will meet the Stryx definition of fair play.”
Shaun motioned his wife to hold her peace and looked like he was suffering a thousand deaths as he considered the problem again from every side. But he must have known all along there was no way he could take advantage of the freak of chance that had given his daughter early notice of the greatest give-away in galactic history without the help of the Stryx, because he gave in with a sigh.
“The name of the world is Kasil. The station librarian sounded suspicious when we asked about it so maybe the Stryx already know what’s going on, but I think the information should be worth something. I’m not asking for an exclusive franchise to the place, you know. Just a little help getting there and back so we can help these poor aliens prepare their souls for paradise.”
“I hadn’t realized you were a religious man, Shaun,” Joe replied, allowing a hint of sarcasm to creep into his voice. “But it does sound like something the Stryx will be interested in if they aren’t already aware of it. Why don’t you send Becky by the house when she gets back so she and Kelly can talk it over with Gryph. In fact, I’ll walk over now and invite Dring, since he knows more about all the old species than anybody on the station.”
“I’ll ping Becky and tell her to stop over as soon as she gets back,” Mary answered for her husband. “The girls are stocking up on supplies, since who knows the next time we’ll have a chance to get genuine Earth products in barter. I just hope there’s some value to the craft jewelry they made for trading. Those girls put us to shame with their industry while we’re traveling.”
“Kelly mentioned that she introduced them to friends of hers in the Shuk, so I’m sure they’re in good hands,” Joe reassured her. “Thanks again for the coffee and danish, Mary. I must have let my belt out two notches since you started camping here.”
Shaun insisted on escorting Joe part of the way to the scrap pile that cordoned off Dring’s private docking area from the rest of Mac’s Bones, expanding on his earlier explanation of the Kasilian situation.
“The order of nuns I told you about, they were dying out, see? Becky was acting funny those days, going off by herself in the hills to commune with nature or something, and she came across this old crone who had strayed too far from their convent and was struggling to get home. It turned out that these were the last nuns of the order left on Setti Five, and who knows if they still exist elsewhere? They had been hanging onto the religion since the Kasilians retreated to their home world and asked the Stryx to close the tunnel. I don’t think that the nuns were Kasilians themselves, just local converts.”
“So you’re saying maybe not as many people know about the give-away as the Kasilians who broadcast the invitation might have expected,” Joe concluded.
“That’s exactly my thought,” Shaun replied approvingly. “For all we know, my daughter might be the only one in a position to actually act on it. And don’t think I’m hoping to raid the planet of all its treasures,” he protested, assuming an injured look in response to Joe’s critical expression. “I just want to give my kids a better start in life than what I had. You know my wife is a saint to have ever accepted me.”
The pair stopped at the entrance to the passage through the scrap pile that led to Dring’s ship, and Joe spoke seriously to Shaun. “I’ll do what I can, but in the end, it’s all up to the Stryx. If they agree to help you with this in any way, don’t try to bargain with them. Just accept the terms, and understand that you’re getting the break of a lifetime. They don’t do things slowly, so by the end of the day you’ll know one way or the other.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” Shaun replied, sounding more like his brash self. “Give my best to the dragon.”
Joe entered the tunnel that led through the remaining scrap mound from the days when Mac’s Bones was a working junkyard, and emerged a few steps from Dring’s gravity surfer. To call the shape-shifting vessel a “ship” hardly made sense in its current form. It looked more like the manicured botanical garden of a royal family or a leading university, and only the subtle shimmering of the transparent skin gave witness to the fact that the boundaries weren’t natural.
Dring was working on one of his metal sculptures when Joe arrived, and not having brought a welding helmet with him, the owner of Mac’s Bones quickly looked away from the white hot arc as the chubby dinosaur added a new bit to the current work in progress. Not wanting to interrupt, Joe waited until the hissing arc sound from the borrowed welding equipment cut out before speaking.
“Morning, Dring. Sculpture is coming along nicely,” he ventured, though whether it was an abstract work of the greatest imagination or an exact representation of some creature that the Maker had come across in the course of his seemingly unlimited lifespan, Joe couldn’t have guessed.
“Ah. Good morning, Joe. I hope you aren’t regretting your generous offer of free scrap for my hobby. I begin to feel I’m taking advantage,” Dring apologized, with an inclusive gesture at his rapidly growing sculpture garden. The dinosaur-like creature wore no protective equipment while welding, but he had an extra set of eyelids that functioned like welding helmet filters, and his skin seemed to be proof against all external hazards.
As an ancient shape-shifter with millions of years of experience, Dring had fine control over every molecule of his body, though it took him some minutes to carry out major transformations. His natural form was that of a small dragon, but the awkward wings and vocal chords that couldn’t produce English speech led him to stick with his current manifestation during his extended stay on Union Station.
“You’ve barely dented the pile,” Joe replied with a laugh, pointing at the mound of scrap. Not only was it true, but the rent that Dring happily paid over each month had become the most reliable source of income for Mac’s Bones. While the hobby shipyard and camping business were always busy, payments were irregular and often took the form of barter, leaving Joe stretched at times to pay the lease on the hold. Profits from his micro-brewery business remained elusive. “Do you have a minute to talk about something?”
Catching the serious tone in the human’s voice, Dring set aside his tools and waddled over to Joe. “Of course, Joe. I hope that nothing is wrong?”
“Not wrong exactly,” Joe hesitated, unsure whether to repeat the whole back-story or just dive in with his question. He chose the latter course. “Have you ever come across a world named Kasil? I’m told they were quite an advanced species, but they adopted a sort of doomsday religion and withdrew from the galaxy back before humans started building stone walls.”
“A very interesting case, the Kasilians,” Dring replied thoughtfully. “Their leading scientist-turned-prophet foresaw the end of their home world, and rather than shifting the center of their civilization to one of their colonies, they chose to return home and prepare for the end. They were a race of pessimists, in decline for hundreds of thousands of years before that, and I seem to recall a whole genre of comedy that
depended on a depressed Kasilian straight-man.”
“Well, according to the parents of a teenage girl who joined one of their dying religious orders on Setti Five and has been experiencing visions ever since, the Kasilians are now convinced that the end is near and they want to give away all of their worldly possessions. I promised the girl’s father I would have Kelly bring it up with the Stryx, and he’s in a hurry to get there before the rest of the galaxy finds out and all of the good stuff is taken. As you’re one of the galaxy’s leading historians, I thought you might want to be the one to tell Kelly and the Stryx,” Joe concluded.
“Thank you Joe, I’ll do that right away,” Dring replied, displaying more energy than was his custom. “Would you like to come along?”
“I may not be a religious prophet, but I can see where this one is headed,” Joe replied with a sigh. “I think I’ll just start packing and getting the Nova ready for a trip.”
Three
“You can’t mean a planet full of people is choosing death!” Kelly exclaimed, looking from Dring to Jeeves and back again. Since it was Saturday and they were waiting for the Crick’s eldest girl, the meeting was held in Kelly’s living room rather than at the embassy. Sounds of traditional Hindu dance music wafted through the door from the recently completed front patio area, where Aisha was giving Dorothy and Kevin a beginner’s lesson in classical Indian dancing. “If the Kasilians won’t leave, can’t you just move their world or something?”
“The Kasilians are an old and respected species,” Dring explained patiently. “They were active participants in the galaxy’s economy for millions of years, but around ten thousand years ago, they began abandoning their colonies and returning to their home world. Eventually they asked the Stryx to close their tunnel entrance, and now the Kasilians are forgotten by all but a handful of historians.”
