Dark Space

by Stephen A. Fender

  “Here, of course,” the right head said.

  “Did he say anything?” Melissa asked.

  The left head looked to the ceiling for a moment as it recalled the encounter. “Not much. He hardly ever does.”

  “What’s his business here?” Shawn asked the right head.

  “I think he’s some kind of prospector. When he does talk—which is mostly to himself—he babbles on about digging for things.”

  “What kind of things?” Melissa asked.

  “How in name of the Pillar of Chomar am I supposed to know?” the left side said. “Rocks, dirt, the odd tuber. Things that people dig for, I assume.”

  “What’s he look like?” Shawn asked.

  The right’s eyes rolled. “What am I, a camera? I don’t make it a habit of memorizing every detail of every face I see around here.”

  “Just the basics, please,” Melissa countered.

  “Average height. Average build. Bipedal. Couple of arms and legs.”

  “Helpful,” Shawn muttered.

  “He’s human … I think,” the left side said. “Got that pink skin like the rest of you.”

  “And he’s old,” the right side said. “All wrinkly, like he’s been out in the suns too long.”

  “I keep telling you,” the left said to the right. “That’s why he’s loony. Too much time under the suns.”

  “You got that right,” the right side said.

  “Ha! That never gets old,” the left side remarked, and the right side began to laugh hysterically.

  Melissa quickly reached out and grabbed the chins of the heads and pulled them closer to her. Their laughter abruptly ceased. “I’ll need you boys to focus for a few more seconds.” Both heads nodded in unison, the four eyes wide in surprise.

  “That’s better,” she said soothingly. “Now, can you tell us if he has a ship?”

  “A small one,” the left head said. “Little thing, and older design.”

  “Kind of sad looking, really,” the right side added. “Nothing I’d be proud to fly.”

  “Make and model?” Shawn asked.

  “Hey, we’re not the Department of Interstellar Vehicles here,” the left said, but Melissa still had a firm grip on Grib’s chins. She yanked down, pulling the Thesian off his balance, leaving his chest resting on the bar top.

  “Nothing?” Melissa continued in a sweet voice, her grip tightening slightly.

  “Jidoan, I think,” the left head grunted. “A Jidoan shuttle.”

  “With an extra engine mounted on top,” the right added. “Gray hull, looks like it’s been through hell and back.”

  The eyes in the left head shifted to the right. “And how do you know that?”

  “Information comes my way.”

  “How can it come your way and not make it into my ears?” the left side asked incredulously.

  “Maybe your face isn’t as trusting as mine.”

  The left side looked at the right, aghast. “And I thought we were friends. Here you are, hiding things from me … again! This is just like the last time, when you said—”

  “Boys,” Melissa bellowed, gripping the chins tighter. “Focus!”

  The argument immediately ceased and the two looked at her once more.

  “Where does he park it? Which platform?” she asked.

  “No platform,” the right head answered.

  “But, for a price—” the left side began, but was cut off by Shawn.

  “Yeah, no. I don’t think that’s going to happen. Just be a pal and tell the lady what she wants to know.”

  “What’s the incentive for us?” the heads asked in unison.

  “Ever heard of a guy named Cal Vross?” Shawn asked quietly.

  The heads nodded out of sync. “Small times arms smuggler. Dangerous,” the left said.

  “Word is, someone put him in a box,” added the right.

  Shawn tilted his head toward Melissa. “Meet the lady who put him in that box.”

  The two heads looked to one another, muttering something in the Thesian language. The conversation became louder with each passing syllable as the discussion became a full-fledged argument. Melissa was about to put a stop to it when the left looked at her abruptly. “There’s a dock, down on Rella Street. It’s got a couple of spaces. I’ve heard he parks there from time to time.”

  Melissa released the chins, and Grib reeled back, four hands rubbing the two faces. “Thank you,” she said, then turned to Shawn. “Best we get going.”

  As the two got up from the bar, Melissa grabbed the exotic dancer’s discarded glossy shorts and tossed them at Grib. The garment hit his chest, then fell to the floor.

  “Be a good boss and tell your employee she forgot something. She’s probably cold.”

  %%%

  Stepping outside the bar, Shawn looked around the deserted street. There was the occasional passerby, but it looked as if most of the night life had shut down for the evening. He briefly entertained the idea of returning to their transport and getting a good night’s sleep when he noticed that Melissa had begun walking in the opposite direction.

  “Our ship is this way,” he said, hooking his thumb over his shoulder.

  “But the ship I want to see is in this direction,” she countered.

  “We don’t even know if he’s here. The barkeep said it’d been weeks since he’d seen the old man.”

  Melissa was far from convinced. “We also don’t know if he’s not here, Shawn. It’s worth taking a look.”

  “How do you even know where the landing bays are?”

  She turned and began walking away from him. “Because I have map,” she called over her shoulder.

  He looked to his wrist. In his haste to get out of the transport earlier, he’d forgotten to put his computer on. They’d taken so many twists and turns to get to the bar, he had begun to have doubts that he’d be able to find his way back to the administrative building. Sighing, he rushed to catch up with her.

  Rounding a final turn onto Rella Street ten minutes later, they came to the loading dock that Grib had mentioned. The area was little more than a hollowed-out, long-abandoned space freighter, with the top and one side cut away to allow for access. Some of the former vessel’s innards, namely the lower hatches, had been permanently welded open, with brightly lit signs denoting where the openings led to. One section of a remaining bulkhead had been cut away to reveal a large compartment that was now being used as a repair bay. The half-dozen craft parked inside were laid out haphazardly, giving Shawn every indication that this parking was first come, first serve, with no officials present to see that operations were held in any orderly fashion. Among the small vessels, in a dimly lit corner of the bay, was what looked like the Jidoan ship Grib had earlier described.

  Nodding his head in the direction of it, he indicated for Melissa to look at the craft. It was small, perhaps a dozen feet on each side. Overall, it was a typical Jidoan design—egg-shaped, with pairs of pivoting thrusters on each side, smaller ones placed in front of larger ones. The rounded front of the craft had five windows: a large central one flanked by smaller ones on the sides and even smaller ones placed above the centerline. Behind the upper windows was a third engine, similarly cigar-shaped to the larger ones near the stern. At their current position above and a hundred yards away, any further details were obscured by the darkness.

  “Let’s go down and take a look,” she said, heading off for the far side of the dock.

  Shawn’s eyes followed her projected path and saw a brightly lit sign for a magnetic lift at the opposite side of the dock. The hatch opened, and two turtle-faced Temkorians exited, their leathery scales reflecting what little light they could catch. Not known for their love of humans, Shawn decided that discretion was the better part of curiosity. “Hey, slow down a minute,” he called after Melissa. When she stopped a dozen yards away, he walked slowly to catch up with her. “What’s the rush?” he asked as he stepped up beside her.

  “I’m curious to
see if he’s down there. This could be an important lead in our investigation.”

  It was then that Shawn noticed the Temkorian vessel—a military-style transport that was overtly armed and quite dangerous-looking—parked beside the Jidoan shuttle. Based on the Temkorian’s markings, Shawn guessed it was some type of patrol craft, and the pilots were like militia. “What if, like Santorum, this guy’s been infected? It could be dangerous,” Shawn offered with an unnecessary whisper.

  “Are you suggesting we call in the Marines?” she asked mockingly. “It’s just one man.”

  “Supposedly it’s just one man,” Shawn corrected. Looking at the lift, he could no longer see the Temkorians. “Look, I know you can take care of yourself. Let’s just be smart about this, okay?”

  Melissa’s green eyes scanned Shawn’s skeptically, then nodded. “So, what would you like to do?”

  “Just … let me take the lead when we get down there.”

  “Chivalry?”

  “Let’s just call it caution and leave it at that.” He then scanned her tight-fitting body armor, which drew a puzzled look from her. “Unless you’re hiding something someplace I don’t know about, I’m the only one of us who’s armed.”

  “Would you care to put credits on that?” she asked. The perplexed look he gave her, mouth gaping open, caused her to smile. “Fine. You go first.”

  When they got to the lift, Shawn was silently thankful it was empty. It took only a few seconds to get to the ground level of the port. Heading off to the distant side of the bay, they arrived at their destination a few minutes later. Nearing the craft, Shawn held his left arm back, giving Melissa a wordless instruction to stay put.

  “What are your sensors telling you?” he asked.

  Melissa held her wrist computer up. Tapping at the controls, she aimed the unit’s built-in instruments at the shuttle. “The hull’s been modified to reflect probes,” she said with frustration.

  This bit of news elevated Shawn’s trepidation. Pulling out his pistol with his right hand, Shawn cautiously neared the craft.

  The ship was much like Grib had described. The hull was pitted in a number of places, and the welds and crevices were caked in a fine layer of rust. Given the fact that the air of Torval was too dry for the oxidization process to elicit this much effect on the Jidoan vessel, he knew this craft had seen its share of a very damp atmosphere recently. Below the craft, several umbilical lines had been attached, and they hummed softly as they transferred their respective payloads into the shuttle. Stepping over them, Shawn neared the single, man-sized hatch in the starboard side of the ship. Turning back, he saw that Melissa was still behind him, but at a discreet distance. She nodded at him, and he turned back to the door. Using the butt of his pistol, Shawn rapped at the hatch and stepped back quickly.

  There was no answer. Another series of knocks produced the same response.

  “Looks like no one’s home,” he said, scanning the vessel from fore to aft.

  Melissa stepped around him and looked in the front view ports. They were darkened, shielding the inside from curious onlookers. “It looks like whoever this belongs to, and whatever’s inside, is going to remain a mystery for now.”

  “I don’t like mysteries,” he protested.

  Melissa stepped back around to stand beside Shawn at the hatch. Holding up her computer once more, she began to enter a series of access codes.

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Trying to pick the lock on the door.”

  “Breaking and entering is a serious offense,” Shawn muttered, then looked around quickly to see if their presence had drawn any attention.

  “So is terrorism, subversion, and any other numerous offenses that have been done to the Unified government lately.”

  Shawn’s head bobbed as he considered her words. “True, but we don’t have any evidence that the person who owns this shuttle has anything to do with that.”

  “If I can open this door, maybe we’ll find some.”

  He couldn’t argue with her reasoning, nor would he have if he’d thought of anything. “Just hurry up, okay?”

  “I would,” she began in frustration, “but the lock has a pretty sophisticated cypher code.”

  That’s when Shawn caught sight of something on the upper rim of the docking area. Squinting his eyes, he was sure it was the two Temkorians returning. “We’ve run out of time.”

  “I’ve almost got it, I think—”

  “I think I don’t care. We can come back tomorrow after we visit the mining complex.”

  “This ship and its owner might not be here.”

  Reaching into a pocket on his coat, he withdrew a small disk and affixed it to the craft. “If it goes anywhere, we’ll be able to track it within two parsecs.” He then put a hand on her forearm and lowered her computer. “No time to worry about anything else, honey. We’ve got company.”

  She followed his gaze and saw two heavily armed and armored Temkorians approaching the lift. She cursed in frustration, then flipped the computer off. “Now what?” she asked as the aliens entered the lift.

  Shawn pointed his gun at the open hatch a few dozen yards distant. “We’re going to have to run for it.”

  When she nodded, Shawn grabbed her hand and took off for the doorway. Just as they exited, he could hear the lift doors open and the two slithering aliens make their way into the bay. Running as quickly as they could, neither of them looked back until they were safely nestled into the back of a taxi and bound for the administration building and their own ship.

  %%%

  As the twin suns broke the far mountain ranges, Shawn and Melissa’s transport ship—which he’d decided to christen Nautilus the night before, was bathed in orange light filtered through a dusty haze. On the landing pad, a small army of maintenance droids were fast at work disconnecting the umbilical lines to the ship, setting off a series of alarms in the vessel that woke Shawn from his peaceful slumber. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he experienced a wave of confusion as he awoke in unfamiliar surroundings. The food processor was on the wrong side of the compartment, and there was a door where he’d expected a bookshelf to be. The colors were all wrong, and the bed was far more comfortable than he remembered. All at once it hit him, and a surge of remorse washed over him as he recalled that he was not, in fact, on board Sylvia’s Delight.

  “Computer?” he called groggily into the air.

  “Yes, Commander Kestrel?” the astute, butler-like voice returned.

  “Status report,” Shawn slurred as his head fell back on his pillow. He swung his left arm out to discover that, once again, he’d gone to bed alone. Sighing in regret nonetheless, he took comfort in knowing that Melissa was in the cabin beside his. At least, he hoped she still was. With that woman there was no telling for sure.

  “Mooring and umbilical lines have been retracted, Commander,” the computer said. “Jump core warm-up sequence has been initiated. Atmospheric maneuvering thrusters are on standby. Shall I make you breakfast?”

  “Coffee. Toast.”

  Shawn heard a series of beeps as the computer assimilated the information, which was quickly followed by a buzzing sound of denial. “I’m sorry, Commander. Producing a coffee toast is outside my technical capabilities. Perhaps you would like them separated?”

  Why couldn’t he escape dimwitted computers? He brought his hands to his face and began rubbing slowly. “Of course I want them separated, you mindless hunk of—” he muttered, but was cut off by another beep from the computer.

  “Understood, Commander. Your meal will be ready shortly. External atmospheric sensors have calculated extreme heat conditions will be present today. Might I suggest light clothing and a cranial covering of some sort?”

  “No, you may not,” he snapped. “I can dress myself, thank you very much.”

  “As you wish, Commander,” the computer drawled, seemingly exasperated.

  “Is Agent Graves awake?”

  “Yes, Commander.” Now it
sounded almost bored. “She’s in the forward dining area.”

  “Will you inform her that I’ll be joining her shortly?”

  “Very good, sir.” The words were slowly drawn out. Instead of arguing, Shawn decided it was time to get up. Opening the locker on the far wall, he withdrew a thermal suit and put it on. Strapping his holster around his hip, he reluctantly grabbed a dark gray cap with the words ‘USCS Duchess of York’ emblazoned across it. Placing it on his head, he half expected the computer to say something about his cranial covering. When it remained pleasantly silent, he left his cabin and headed for the dining area.

  “I see you took the cranial covering advice to heart, too,” Melissa said with a smile, looking up from her plate of eggs and bacon. “I am, however, disappointed to not see you in shorts. I was looking forward to seeing those landing struts of yours.”

  “Very funny,” Shawn replied as he pulled his reconstituted breakfast from a slot in the wall. “When will these computers ever learn that we can take care of ourselves?”

  “It’s just trying to be helpful,” she said as she took a bite of her bacon. “That’s what it’s programmed to do.”

  “All I need is a navigational computer that won’t plot a jump right through the center of a star. I don’t need one to talk back at me or tell me how to get dressed.” Taking his tray, he sat beside her. She was wearing a dark gray, short-sleeved utility shirt, shorts, and a hat similar to his own. She looked every bit the part of a Sector Command crewman … and a really cute one at that.

  “The uniform suits you,” he said, smiling at her.

  She shook her head and continued chewing on her bacon. “That’s the same thing you said when you saw me wearing one of Raven’s flight suits. I’m starting to think you have a thing for women in uniform.”

  “Maybe I just have a thing for you in a uniform.”

  “You know, if I didn’t know you as anything more than the rascal you are at heart, I might take offense to that.”

  He leaned in close to her. “But, that’s why you love me, isn’t it?” He gave her a kiss, which she didn’t hesitate to accept.

  “I do love you,” she said quietly. “Very much. Which is all the more reason why I’m concerned about you losing your commission.”