Controlled chaos ruled in the hangar. Alarms sounded, some at a distance, one right close. Everything in the air was landing, as tugboatlets shifted vessels to make more room. People and robots cleaned all excess items off to the side. A huge door outside the sphere’s skin looked to be slowly moving to close off the hanger. Could they make it out of the monstrous docking space before it closed?
Pearson touched a bracelet and a door on the side of a nearby freighter opened. Without slowing, he raced toward it and the three of them followed close on his heels.
“Hey!” yelled a stout man at a standing desk near the door they’d barreled through. “Pearson, what the hell do you think you’re doing? I ordered your crew off your freighter.” As the door to their craft closed, Alexa heard his voice ratchet up a notch. “Don’t even think of taking off from here.”
When they entered the bridge, the same man was threatening over the intercom all kinds of bodily harm if Pearson did not come out and explain himself. A bank of screens showed different parts of the ship, including one compartment that contained the Red Arrow!
Another screen showed how the stout man threw his clipboard onto the desk and tugged on a communication line, while ordering his helpers around.
As a whoosh of hydraulics announced their ship cutting loose, Bishop and his bruisers rocketed through the double doors. Pearson’s ship glided away from its position and headed toward the shrinking hole, to open space. Bishop, pictured big and bad on the monitor, was furious in a coldly frightening manner. Alexa fought an urge to search for some safe closet.
A moment later, Bishop’s face changed to confusion. The man glanced right and left, took in the men around him and appeared to have no idea who they were. He shook his head, turned and started toward the door. One of the tough-guys caught his arm. Alexa didn’t see how Bishop responded because the screen was taken over by the face of the stout man.
“Captain Pearson, you are in direct disobedience of my orders to stand down and return to the Dock Captain’s post. Be forewarned, you will be disciplined to the full extent of the law, up to and including being barred from landing at this station.”
“Yes, Dock Captain,” Pearson replied in a calm voice. “We are very sorry to not follow your directive, sir. Nevertheless, we must go to Earth. It is a life and death matter. I assure you, I will pay any fines deemed appropriate.”
“Don’t think your money will get you out of this one, sonny,” the dock captain responded. “I’m on your ass.” Both audio and video went blank. The crew around her called out the freighter’s status as it changed. An engine drive engaged.
One of the beads on her bracelet began its funny ringing sound. As the hole to space got smaller and smaller, Alexa located an ear bud inside a bead and inserted it into her ear. “Hello?”
“Alexa? It’s Edith.”
At the sound of the woman’s voice Alexa remembered her impounded bag, the one containing her computer with all those precious photos of her and Mac. Her heart plummeted to the deck.
“I am so glad I remembered your number,” said Edith. “Where are you?”
“Believe it or not, Pearson is trying to get us to Earth.”
“Thank goodness. Ghengis informed me. A moment, please,” she muffled the phone, then returned. “The person you’re looking for?” She let sink in whom she was talking about.
“Yes, that person,” said Alexa.
“Unfortunately, Ghengis doesn’t know a location at this moment.” Edith stopped, said something to someone else, then began again. “However, you need to know time is short. That person will become unavailable, possibly for decades, in less than twenty-four hours.”
Chapter 35
In a corner office on the 202nd floor of The Herald building in New Delhi, India, the principal newscaster for The India Herald studied the bank of screens at her desk. Varshana Vagwhatar’s gossamer silk sari moved along with the bingle-bangle sound of her gold bracelets as she worked on an article destined, she assumed, to earn another award.
Her work claimed her complete focus, thus Varshana hardly heard the voice claiming her attention.
“It is time,” the voice repeated.
She glanced around, “What?”
“It is time to fulfill your promise,” said the voice.
“Promise?” She pushed back her chair and rotated to view every corner. No source for the voice could be located. “What is this? Who are you?”
“A business partner,” the voice replied.
At this point, she realized the voice was not in the room, but in her head. “How dare you take such liberties!” Varshana searched to verify some trick wasn’t being played. Nothing out of place, as usual.
Out of the blue, it dawned on her. “No. You must be kidding. That agreement was years and years ago. You cannot be serious, after all this time.”
The voice continued. “Years during which I delivered data specifically useful to you. Was it not satisfying when you exposed the dark side of the Prime Minister to all the worlds?”
Varshana continued her part of the conversation out loud. “The people had to know.”
“As with all your other exclusives, was it not also a great boost to your ratings? And of course, your fame.”
For a few moments, Varshana rested her chin on her left thumb and tapped her lips with two fingers. She made a counter-offer, “I have an assistant.”
“Time does not allow, even assuming he would make the same choice as you.” A moment passed. “This is an opportunity to complete your part of the bargain.”
Varshana sat up straight and tossed her head. “Not possible,” she pronounced, using the voice that always cleared her path. “This is not convenient for me. I have a deadline.”
“Convenience was not part of the agreement.”
Without realizing, Varshana switched to thinking her responses. “You can’t do this. You can't get away with it.”
“I do it any time I deem appropriate, for far longer than you could even guess.”
“I will do an exposé on you. Your filthy business will be stopped.”
“How will you explain that you hear a voice in your mind? And even if you convince someone, how will you justify the chip in your brain? I intend to keep all interactions private, but the chip is now known to certain authorities. People that I assume you would want to remain in good standing with.”
Varshana pursed her lips and rapped a stylus on her desk. After a moment she said, “I will have it taken out.”
“And you will lose every byte of data I helped you accumulate.”
“I will find you and destroy you,” she thought back, resisting alarm. “I have many powerful friends.”
“And you have many powerful enemies, who will need little urging on my part to destroy you.”
She reverted to using her voice and declared, “I will not be used in this manner.”
“Do you have secrets?”
The question stopped Varshana. She tried to not picture any one of the actions she always assumed would remain known only to her.
“I will have no problem divulging them to those who would harm you most.” The statement was delivered as fact, with no emotion. “I will not even have to utilize my assets.”
Her agile mind, usually able to find a path around any obstacle, came up against a wall. “What must I do?”
“You have one hour. You may find it useful to be in a private place when I return,” replied the voice.
“I strictly forbid use of my position with The Herald.”
“I will use what I consider appropriate, including the position with The Herald that I created for you,” said the voice.
“You created! How dare you. I have been the one working day and night for years for this position. I demand my standing remain at its high status. I offer no compromise on this.”
“Whether you offer or not is inconsequential to me. If I decide so, you will become a pawn of the Priest, or a bride.” A moment, and the voice beg
an again, “If you cooperate and this exercise is fully successful, you will be released from your contract.”
Varshana’s throat tightened with apprehension, “But the information would continue, surely.”
Before she finished the sentence, Varshana felt emptiness in and around her. Further argument would be with the air. Her mouth settled into a line and she punched the intercom.
Chapter 36
As the nearly silent teardrop-shaped taxi stopped at Mandala House, in a genteel-shabby neighborhood in the far out suburbs of New Delhi, Pearson announced, “This is it.” Alexa brought her attention from the herd of Brahmin cattle ambling by. Protection of sacred animals remained common in India, even this close to a big city. Hence the smell of livestock cascading through her open window. On the other hand, diesel and gasoline fumes were unknown.
Cities had become a mix of architectures, some Alexa recognized and others stretching her imagination. From his front-seat vantage Pearson had assured Alexa one private house they passed would have an energy field to keep its occupants secure, though it appeared to be simply an open pavilion.
The driver produced a receipt for their ride from Jahnsi. “Two hundred thousand rupeani.” Screens in the front and back seat, which had been blaring in various languages, showed 150,000 rupeani. Pearson erupted in Hindi and the driver yelled back at him. A quick back and forth ensued, then they both nodded while Pearson ran his card through the reader.
During the few steps from the curb to the gate, Rachel stretched. “That was one of the most brutal six hours I have ever gone through.”
“Roads were better in the city,” said Donny. “Maybe they try harder to control monsoon runoff here.”
Outside the gate, two policemen brandishing lasers stopped the group. One spoke, first in Hindi then in English, “Do you have an appointment?”
Alexa said, “No appointment, Officer. Detective Holmes-Fong with the League of Planets recommended I come here.” They certainly recognized the name.
“Madam, this is not a good time. Please return next week.”
“I’m sorry, sir. But we won’t be here next week,” said Alexa. “Pearson, would you mind contacting the detective to give these officers the full story?”
Pearson played along brilliantly, bringing out his mobile and probably speaking with someone on his own freighter in space.
The two policemen began to consider whether it was a good idea to continue harassing her and risk attracting the wrong attention from a superior. They used their handsets to speak with a person in the embassy.
“Someone will be here shortly, Madam.”
After a few minutes, out the ornately carved front door strode a young man. Over tan trousers, he wore an unadorned collarless top of a sharply pressed fine white material that fell to the knees. Some women Alexa had seen during the drive wore the silky pajama sets commonly worn by galactics, other women sailed along in saris. Generally, women wore a long tunic over pants with a matching scarf. Also apparent were some headscarves, even covering much of the face, probably used by the female Muslim population.
The young man approached the gate. He did not invite them in, opting instead to speak from the other side. “What do you want?”
Alexa evoked the most charm she could muster. “Is Dr. P.N. Sharma in, please?”
The young man’s demeanor became guarded. “Why do you ask for Dr. Sharma?”
“Detective Holmes-Fong suggested he might help me locate a person.”
“I’m surprised the detective did that. You see, what you ask is not possible.” The young man’s voice broke. “You are an hour too late. Dr. Sharma is dead.”
Alexa’s mouth fell open and she blinked a few times. “I. I’m sorry.”
The young man’s lower lip trembled. “It happened as he left his house after lunch.” He shook his head and switched his gaze to the space in front of him. “It is incomprehensible.”
While leaving the embassy in a new cab, they were almost sideswiped by a vehicle that in their own time would have been the ubiquitous white van. The vehicle, emblazoned with The India Herald on all sides, came to a sharp stop in front of the embassy-in-mourning. Their own driver yelled and gestured at the van’s driver, who completely ignored him.
A couple of minutes later, after their cab turned a second time to evade an indolent cow, Pearson asked, “Where do you want to go?”
Alexa shrugged. “It seemed from my research that Dr. Sharma would be the one person in the organization who could help us.”
Rachel look worried. “Do you think it’s possible his death is related to us?”
“I hope not,” said Alexa. “Not only would that be awful it would mean someone knows, or can guess, where we are going and who we plan to see.”
For a moment, it appeared Pearson might join the conversation. Instead, he glanced out the cab’s window. After the cabby hit the brakes to avoid a scooter with two men cutting through traffic, Donny muttered, “Ow,” and rubbed his head where it had connected with the driver’s seat in front of him.
The screen in the back seat switched at a fast speed from what looked to be advertisements, to news about the current strike by train and airplane employees, to interviews with beautiful people. A graphic came up with flowery letters spelling “Kumbh Mela” and a video began, with a reporter standing on a high ground to show a vast stretch of humanity behind him. The names Allahabad and Prayag scrolled underneath. Alexa watched for a few moments, with eyebrows together. She asked her internal question, could he be there? The answer: Yes.
“Pearson, would you ask the driver if the Kumbh Mela is going on now? In Allahabad?”
Pearson nodded, let forth again with a stream of Hindi, then switched to a different dialect. After a short reply from the driver, Pearson turned around to her. “Yes.”
“What’s the best way to get there?”
He asked, and translated, “Airplane is the fastest, though the driver prefers the train. Neither would be certain because of the strike.” The driver spoke up. “He says he would be willing to drive us there.” Pearson asked him another question. “An eight hour trip, which in this traffic is optimistic, I assume.”
“We have only a little more than nine hours left,” warned Rachel.
Alexa explained. “The Kumbh Mela is a conference of spiritual luminaries similar to the man we are searching for. He could easily be there. In fact, if he is anywhere in India it’s almost for sure he would be there.”
“I’ve heard of those events,” said Donny. He switched to the fake Indian accent he began using when in the spaceport in Jahnsi he bought the red and orange tapestry Nehru cap he now wore. Donny bobbled his head side-to-side and said, “Millions of people will attend.”
Alexa deadpanned a look at him. “I know it’s a stretch but this is the one thing I can think of. Anybody else have an idea?” Everyone’s face was blank. “Okay.” She turned to the driver. “Airport please, sir.”
Fate seemed to be on their side. One last plane for the day would depart at 5:05 that afternoon and four seats were available. It would fly as far as Agra, though that city was in the correct direction and the agent said there was a small chance some pilot would decide to fly to Allahabad and the Kumbh Mela.
Pearson chimed in, “Alexa, I brought your plane in the shuttle. If we go to the spaceport it would take about two hours to fly to Allahabad.”
Rachel closed her eyes and moaned. “More hours of mammoth potholes. I don’t know if I could stand it again.” The vote tipped in favor of the flight.
They had eight hours to travel 300 miles to Allahabad.
* * *
In Agra, city of the Taj Mahal, the robot in the counter delivered the bad news. “I am sorry, Madam. The sole flight leaving this evening is to New Delhi.”
“For this airline?” Alexa asked.
“No Madam, for all airlines.”
Alexa understood the benefit of programming to keep a robot from adding, “because the silly humans
have a problem with how efficient we are.” Although the strike had developed suddenly, more than one person mentioned humans were upset about how robots monopolized many jobs.
“Is there a train to Allahabad?”
“If I may, I should point out I am an airline information specialist,” replied the robot. “However, I am capable of accessing train schedules. A moment, please.” The blue-tinged androgynous face went blank for a moment, then reanimated. “There is one train in that direction, scheduled to arrive here at 2 a.m. and proceed to Varanasi. You might take that train and another to your desired destination. The one other train available is to Jahnsi.”
“When does it leave?”
“In less than hour.”
“Okay,” said Alexa. “We’ll come back here shortly.”
On her way to their agreed meeting place Alexa stopped in front of a store window with gorgeous saris, many covered in intricate embroidery and sparkles. The blues and reds and sunset colors were a feast for the eyes.
Thus she was taken by surprise when a middle-aged Indian man spoke to her. “Excuse me. Are you the woman The India Herald is looking for? Miss Alexa Jane Alden?” He appeared a bit embarrassed to be approaching her. “You look remarkably similar to the photograph they are showing on the news. If you are that woman, would you share your winnings with my family? The station said you might be willing to do so.”
Alexa stared at the man, trying to figure out what he was talking about. She opened her mouth to say yes, her name is Alexa, when Pearson stopped her.
“Hello, sir,” he said to the man. “No, she is not that woman, though I agree there is a strong resemblance. Good luck in finding her. I hope if you do, she will share much of the prize with you.” Pearson turned her around and steered her away. “Good night,” he said to the man. As they walked away, he whispered, “Here, put on this sari.”
“Why? What’s going on? By the way, it seems Jahnsi is our only hope. Can you arrange for train tickets?”
Seeking Sirius Page 21
