The Golden Way (The Kestrel Chronicles Book 3)

by mikel evins

  The Golden Way

  © 2016 by mikel evins

  http://evins.net/the_golden_way/

  The Golden Way

  The Kestrel Chronicles, Book 3

  mikel evins

  1.

  I woke up in my spare body.

  I’m not used to waking up at all. I don’t sleep. I’m a mech. I’ve only experienced waking up a few times. The last time was after I died in a spacecraft explosion.

  I fumbled at the hatch of the creche until it noticed and let me out. I floated in the creche room and checked my internal clock. It had been a couple of hours since I went into the creche for a scan. I had no memory of what had happened since.

  Uh-oh.

  No memory was a bad sign.

  “Kestrel,” I said.

  “Yes, Lev,” said the ship. Her voice, warm and comforting, came from everywhere around me.

  “I think I’ve been reconstructed.”

  “That’s right, Dear.”

  “I’m floating in front of the wet-chemistry creches. It looks like Jaemon and some others are being reconstructed, too.”

  “Yes. Jaemon and Captain Rayleigh and Spacer Zang. Captain Harris and Chief Spader from the Lucky Strike are queued up next.”

  “Those are the people I was supposed to meet down in Cargo Bay Two,” I said.

  “Correct.”

  “Along with Doctor Harken from the History Office.”

  “Correct.”

  “What happened?”

  “We were attacked,” Kestrel said. She sounded apologetic.

  “Attacked? Kestrel, we’re docked with Solomon.”

  “Yes, Dear.”

  “Solomon is a dreadnought.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “How do we get attacked while we’re docked with a Consortium dreadnought?”

  “I’m not quite sure,” said Kestrel. “I’m just waking up myself.”

  “Waking up? What do you mean?”

  “Apparently something knocked me out.”

  “Knocked you out?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “I think it was an electromagnetic pulse.”

  “An EMP? That’s absurd. You’re shielded! Every ship is shielded. You have to be.”

  “Yes, it would have to be a very large pulse at very close range.”

  I shook my head.

  “Are you sure?” I said.

  “Pretty sure, Dear. I’m repairing extensive circuit damage as we speak.”

  I was silent for a moment, weighing her words.

  Finally, I said “So we’re all being reconstructed because...”

  “...because someone knocked me out, shot their way aboard, and murdered all of you.”

  “Well,” I said. “That explains it.”

  2.

  Chief Officer 17 Actinium Converges came into the infirmary. She looked more or less like a chrome football floating on one end. She seemed annoyed, but perhaps that was just my expectations at work. Chief Verge always seemed annoyed.

  “Report, Doctor,” she said. The Chief always sounded like she was embarrassed to be talking to you.

  “Apparently we were attacked,” I said.

  “I’m well aware of that, Doctor. I expect you to report on your particular area of responsibility.”

  “Ah,” I said. “The Captain, Jaemon, and Zang are in reconstruction. I’ve been down to Cargo Bay Two and deployed forensic fog.”

  “And?”

  “It’s too soon for results. The fog is still quartering the volume.”

  “I see,” said the Chief. “How long before we will have anything we can use?”

  “A few hours.”

  “Do we know anything useful about our attackers?”

  “Not yet. Kestrel was offline when they came aboard.”

  “Yes,” said the Chief. “So was I. So were all the mechs on the crew.”

  “Everyone in Cargo Bay Two was shot to death,” I said. “It looks like we were all finished off with shots to the head.”

  “Hmm,” said the Chief.

  “I imagine that was to keep us from recovering any useful information from our brains.”

  “And our cargo?”

  “It’s missing.”

  Chief Verge floated silently. After a moment she said, “I see.”

  That’s the Chief for you. Stoic. She didn’t like the news—in fact, she didn’t like much of anything—but she didn’t go around complaining about it.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me how long before the Captain and the others are ambulatory?” I said.

  “Forty-one thousand one hundred forty-eight seconds,” said the Chief. “Kestrel informed me. I presume you issued a seal order for the cargo bay?”

  “Of course,” I said. I was mildly offended at her question. Maybe she felt the same way about mine.

  3.

  The status glyph on Zang’s creche turned green. Almost immediately we heard a hard pounding from inside.

  “See what I mean?” Jaemon said. He had come out of his own creche a minute or two before. He was floating next to the bulkhead in a white robe. He was a tall, rangy Jovian wearing a boyish face, watery blue eyes, and ivory skin. His hair was so short as to be almost absent. His face seemed made for smiling, and he smiled now, ruefully.

  “You weren’t kidding,” I said. “Why does she hate creches so much?”

  Jaemon shrugged.

  “It’s a long story,” said Esgar. He was Jaemon’s older brother. He floated next to us in another white robe.

  Esgar Rayleigh was Kestrel’s captain. He looked almost exactly like Jaemon, except that where Jaemon looked cheerful all the time, Esgar looked mournful. Jaemon was taller and heavier. Esgar was a little older and wore a big black mustache.

  The creche took the hint and popped its hatch. It started to hiss open. A strong hand gripped it from inside and pushed. Erszbet Zang muscled her way out of the creche naked and trailing globules of gel. Jaemon handed her a robe. The stray globules wobbled through the air looking for their reservoir.

  “What’s the big idea?” said Zang, shrugging into the robe. She was flushed with emotion. It gave her golden skin a bronzed look. The cool air, or perhaps her depth of feeling, gave her goosebumps all over. Her turquoise hair, which she usually wore in a tall mohawk like the crest of an ancient Greek helmet, was reduced to a fine bluish down lying close to her scalp.

  “Since when do you soak me in gel for a lousy scan?” she said.

  “We don’t,” I said.

  “But—” she began angrily, then stopped. She frowned at Jaemon and Esgar, floating in their robes with arms crossed. She ran a hand over her scalp.

  “Shit,” she said. “What happened?”

  “We were attacked,” I said.

  “Attacked?” she said. “How could we be attacked? We’re way the hell out in the middle of nowhere. Nobody even knows we’re out here.”

  “Zang,” said the Captain, “We’re at Solomon.”

  “Solomon?” she said. “What are you talking about?”

  Jaemon slowly shook his head.

  “I try to get you to take scans more often,” he said.

  “What?” said Zang. She looked confused, gaze flicking back and forth between Jaemon and Esgar. Then she got it.

  “Oh,” she said. “How much did I lose?”

  “Almost two weeks,” I said.

  “God damn it,” she said. “What did I miss?”

  “Short version?” Jaemon said. “We met Lucky Strike. Esgar and Lev scanned their artifact. Esgar said it was a good one. We talked to some buyers. Harken from the History Office on Solo
mon was interested so we brought it here. We set up a meeting. Somebody crashed the meeting, shot us up, and ran off with the artifact.”

  Zang listened with a frown. When Jaemon got done she let her gaze drift and sighed.

  “Now what?” she said.

  “Now we get it back,” said Jaemon.

  “How do we do that?” said Zang.

  Jaemon looked at Esgar.

  “Beats me,” he said.

  4.

  We met Lysander Harris in the Captain’s mess. He wasn’t happy.

  “You promised to keep my cargo safe,” he said angrily. “We were counting on you.”

  Harris was a Lambertan. Lambertans look something like a chambered nautilus, but bigger. Lots of tentacles, big shiny shells, eyes the size of dinner plates.

  Harris floated above the Captain’s table. He’d come out of reconstruction looking shiny and new. His shell’s guild and clan patterns were bright and fresh.

  He was the reason we were weightless. Normally we would have asked Solomon for an equatorial berth so that we could take advantage of the big ship’s spin gravity. With the Lambertans aboard, though, the Captain had opted for an axial berth. Our crew didn’t much like being weightless, but gravity was hard on our guests, so weightless it was.

  “You’re right, Sandy,” said Captain Rayleigh.

  “I know I’m right,” said Harris. “What are you going to do about it?”

  His skin was a hot red color. Lambertan speech is visual. They use chromatophores that make color patterns on their skins. Harris’ strong feelings made the patterns stand out in saturated, high-contrast red and purple. His tentacles were splayed and they twisted with emotion. His huge eyes were open wide, their pupils constricted to tiny points. The voice that translation gave him was angry, with a hard, gravelly edge.

  “We’re going to get it back,” said the Captain quietly.

  Jaemon, who normally grinned at everything, looked somber. Zang sat silent, pressing her lips tight.

  “I’m disappointed in you people,” said Harris.

  “I understand,” said the Captain. “We’ll get it back.”

  “Who’s going to pay for that?” Harris said. “Don’t think you’re going to soak me for a fortune in time and expenses, not when you haven’t delivered on the original contract.”

  “Of course not,” said the Captain. “We’ll make it right. We won’t charge you anything extra.”

  “Because if you think—what’s that?”

  “I said, you’re right. You paid for safe delivery, that’s what you’re going to get.” The Captain spoke softly. He rested in his chair, velcroed there to keep him from drifting. His arms were crossed.

  “How are you going to do that?” said Harris, heating up again. “The artifact is already gone. These people waltzed aboard your ship and then waltzed right off again with my cargo.”

  “But they’re somewhere aboard Solomon,” said the Captain. “And we’re going to find them.”

  “How?”

  The Captain gestured at Jaemon.

  “Jaemon will handle it. He’s an experienced investigator.”

  Harris eyed Jaemon. The Lambertan was still twisting his tentacles into knots.

  “I heard about that,” he said finally. “Diplomatic Guard, right? That’s what I heard.”

  “That’s right,” said Jaemon. “Criminal Investigations Unit on Tharsis.”

  “I heard of them,” said Harris. “Supposed to be top flight. What happened? They kick you out?”

  “No, Sir,” said Jaemon. “I left when our father died.”

  Harris was silent. His skin turned pale.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I should have remembered.”

  Jaemon shook his head and waved dismissal.

  He said, “Lev will work on it with me. We were in the CIU together. Forensic medicine.”

  Harris swiveled in the air to look at me.

  “Your father didn’t die,” he said.

  “No, Sir,” I said. “My contract was up. Jaemon and I were friends.”

  “You went to Rayleigh to be with him?” He pointed a tentacle at Jaemon. I nodded. He studied me.

  “Well,” he said. “We’ll see.”

  He rotated toward Jaemon again.

  “I want to be kept in the loop, you understand? I want to know what you’re up to.”

  “Sure,” Jaemon said.

  “I mean it.”

  “We’ll keep you informed, Sandy,” said the Captain.

  Harris was starting to flush again.

  “Damn, it, Esgar, we trusted you.”

  “I know, Sandy,” said the Captain. “We’re old friends. I value your trust. We’ll get your artifact back. We won’t charge you anything for it. We owe it to you.”

  Harris grunted. He looked from Jaemon to me and back again.

  “All right, then,” he said after a bit.

  5.

  “So much for my savings,” I said.

  We were in Cargo Bay Three looking at our corpses. They were actually in Cargo Bay Two immersed in forensic fog, but that bay was still sealed. Kestrel displayed the scene for us in Bay Three.

  I was contemplating my wrecked body. It floated about halfway up the back wall with its legs sticking out, as if sitting on an invisible high chair. There was a line of bullet holes stitched up the front. A big hole punched right through my face, between the eyes. The shot had broken both camera assemblies and bent them inward a little, so that my dead body looked crosseyed.

  “Lev, we’ll cover your new spare,” said the Captain. He sounded weary.

  “Really?” I said.

  “Sure,” he said. “You lost it on the job.”

  “I appreciate it, Captain.”

  He nodded. He was staring at his own corpse, floating nearby. The mouth and eyes were open wide. The bullet holes in his corpse were splattered red. Beyond him were the two dead Lambertans, Captain Harris and Chief Spader, shells holed and spiderwebbed with ugly cracks.

  “These fellas weren’t fooling around,” Jaemon said.

  “How do you mean?” said the Captain.

  Jaemon gestured at the Lambertans.

  “That’s some heavy ordinance to punch right through their shells like that. Lev’s chassis, too.”

  Jaemon’s body was supine, floating near the ceiling. The back of his head was a ruin. Zang was curled up on her side against the left wall, hanging just above the deck. There were splashes of red on the bulkheads behind the bodies and a faint pink mist around them in the air.

  “Do you get used to this?” said the Captain. There was something in his voice. I turned toward him.

  “Are you all right, Captain?” I said. He had gone a little gray. I touched his arm with one hand. He shook his head.

  “I’ll be all right,” he said. “I think.”

  He closed his eyes and passed a hand over them.

  “No,” said Zang. “You don’t get used to it. But after the first few times the kick in the gut isn’t quite so bad.”

  “What she said,” Jaemon said. He was floating in the middle of the bay looking up at his dead body.

  “What’s that in my hand?” said Zang. She pointed at her body. It was clutching something small and black. I cloned the image, brought it over to float close in front of us, and enlarged it.

  “Looks like a mask,” Jaemon said. “You must have pulled it off one of the attackers.”

  “I should check Kestrel’s record,” I said. “Maybe she was still conscious when it happened. Maybe we can get a look at the guy’s face.”

  Jaemon looked at me.

  “Okay,” I said. “Probably not. But I should check.”

  “At least we got hands on one of them,” said Zang. “That’s something.”

  “There’s something in my hand, too,” the Captain said. He pointed. Sure enough, his left hand was stained red and clutched around a small bundle of black feathers. Some of the feathers had come loose and were stuck to his arm or floating
around in the air.

  “What is that?” he said.

  “Ah,” I said. “That’s Director Harken.”

  6.

  “We have visitors,” said Kestrel. “A Commander Erdos from Solomon Security.”

  Zang looked up sharply. Jaemon and the Captain looked at her and then at each other.

  “You want to get that?” said the Captain.

  “Sure,” said Jaemon. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, Zang.”

  She looked hard at him.

  “Oh, no,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I want to come?”

  Jaemon glanced at the Captain. He shrugged.

  “Why don’t you come along too, Lev?” Jaemon said brightly.

  I looked at the Captain. He nodded.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “I’ll be in my mess,” said the Captain. “Bring them up there.”

  “You got it,” said Jaemon.

  Zang was already on her way out the hatch. Jaemon and I jetted after her.

  “Wait up, Zang,” said Jaemon. She didn’t seem to hear him.

  “Zang!” he said, louder. Then, “Oh, geez.”

  “What’s this all about?” I said. He shook his head.

  Zang zipped around the companionway. Kestrel was using Cargo Bay One as a gangway. Able Spacers Angier and Yarrow were posted at the hatch. They wore sidearms.

  “Visitors,” Zang said.

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Angier. “We heard.”

  He was a beefy man, almost as tall as Jaemon, and heavier. His short hair was reddish blonde. He had pale, speckled skin and tiny green eyes that always seemed to be squinting a little in irritation. With his thick build and round face you might have mistaken him for a Martian or a Downsider, but he had a Jovian’s pointed ears.

  Yarrow was a slim Ionian with golden skin and luminous blue eyes. There was something playful about em, even when e wasn’t saying or doing anything.

  We caught up to Zang just as she hit the hatch release and it slid back. There was a woman on the other side of the hatch. She and Zang floated still, staring at each other. The newcomer looked exactly like Zang.