Metal Boxes - At the Edge

by Alan Black

  Her flaming red hair and cold blue eyes made her look like anything other than what she was, but Stone could smell her sociopathic tendencies, the odor of pepperoni pizza with jalapeno, oozing from her in thick waves. Numos, well aware of her killer tendencies, kept Preacher Mary on a tight leash. Her weapons were on lockout until he ordered otherwise, then heaven help anyone or anything on the other end of her guns.

  Ryte said, “Be that as it may, Mary. These folks sound like they don’t go in for the whole chastity thing. Even out here at the edge of human space, they’re getting broadcasts of The Bethy Stone Show, and they’ve heard all about Signore Stone’s escapades. I’ve been monitoring their open news channels. Once the announcement of our arrival hit their airwaves, fans started gathering at the spaceport.”

  Preacher Mary frowned and slapped the console in frustration. “Crap! I can’t shoot a crowd of happy civilians.” She spun a dial on her console and glared at her monitor. “I’ll look for offensive weapons batteries just in case we get the opportunity to shoot at something.”

  Stone nodded, “Not shooting anything might be the best option.”

  Preacher Mary looked at Stone as if he was crazy, but it was clear that everyone else on the bridge agreed with him.

  Ryte said, “Scanning through these broadcasts, it looks like the Prophet’s religion believes in building heaven on this plane of existence. Every other commercial seems to be a state-sponsored slogan about working hard and raising yourself up to be wealthy or win the lottery and live rich.”

  Emmons said, “I can see how Trey and Bethy Stone would be living rich examples.” She waved her arms around as if indicating the ship itself. “This is a floating party barge for the wealthy and idle, a good advertisement for a society that worships wealth, consumption, and conspicuous revelry.”

  Preacher Mary snorted in derision. “All religions offer wealth and power, either in this life or in the next one. They offer streets of gold, seventy virgins, or every man gets his own planet and dozens of wives in the afterlife.” Stone could tell she was biting her tongue to keep from reciting the specified religious texts to back up her statement.

  Ryte said, “Well, it doesn’t look like these folks are waiting for the afterlife. From what I can see, the most popular entertainment vids are the Prophet’s daily broadcasts, the every other day broadcast of the state-run lottery, and coming in a distant third is The Bethy Stone Show. But even in third place, there is such a horde of fans showing up at the spaceport they’re starting a lottery to see who else can get in. Uh oh!”

  Numos’s head swiveled around. “What do you mean uh oh, Comm Tech Ryte?”

  Ryte said, “A special announcement just hit the airwaves. A state-sponsored lottery is offering the winner a chance to meet Trey Stone and tour his ship. It’s only five credits per ticket and the money goes to the state, earmarked for, well, it looks like some nebulous education fund.”

  Stone sputtered. “I didn’t agree to that.”

  Ryte shook her head. “I think we’re in trouble here, Captain. Those tickets are selling like candy at a fat man’s convention, especially since they just added a vid of Bethy offering the winner a guest spot on her next vidcast.”

  Numos chuckled. “I thought we may drum up business by allowing Gonzo’s latest vidcasts to be transmitted. Nice to see it’s working.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Stone glanced at the shuttle’s monitor showing the crowds gathering at the spaceport. He was not experienced with large groups. He was familiar with crowds he had seen on vids and newscasts as people gathered for sporting events or celebrity galas. But not the kind waiting to see him. Unlike any crowd he had seen, velvet ropes and a cordon of security guards were not holding this one back. They all stood quietly behind some invisible line in the plasticrete tarmac that only they could see.

  He tugged at the tight collar of his fancy gold lamé shirt that felt like it was sprayed onto his skin. The knit cloth was gaudy, but only slightly less so than the multi-colored knee-length coat hanging loosely on his shoulders and the weird red Capri pants he wore. Bethy’s costume designer said the clothing was all the rage on the more civilized planets around the empire.

  He complained about the outfit being too gaudy for even Hammermill and his flowered shirts, but Allie explained that the metal woven into the lamé made it projectile and edged-weapon resistant. It was not bulletproof, nothing was, not even a marine combat suit, because the minute someone invented a material or substance that could stop a bullet, someone else designed a better bullet. Still, Stone would rather face a hail of bullets in his custom-built combat suit than dress as a circus clown and face the waiting crowd at the spaceport.

  He and a few well-chosen deckhands were riding down to Holliman’s Rift in the Vance. Bethy and her people were following in the Marvin. Numos’s plan was for a small security force to determine if it was safe for the second shuttle to land.

  Stone was worried about it being safe. Not just because this reception was outside under open sky, but the ever-increasing crowd was eerily quiet and well-behaved. He did not trust the well-behaved crowd any more than he trusted open skies. Even the official planetary welcoming committee was sitting patiently under a small open-sided canopy. He wondered about his decision to leave Jay and Peebee aboard the Platinum Pebble. He doubted their startling presence would cause this crowd to panic.

  Allie put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Easy peasy, lemon squeezy, Stone. We take this nice and straightforward. Just like Captain Numos laid out for us.” Dark glasses and a bizarre blonde wig hid her face, and a fancy makeup job by Tuttle covered up Allie’s distinctive facial scar. The disguise was necessary, or she would not be allowed to go anywhere she might be caught by a camera.

  Tuttle, standing in the open hatch to the pilot’s cabin, said, “Shuttle scanners don’t show any weapons. Not even on the security forces around the government officials. So we’re clear.”

  Stone shook his head. “Not quite, Barb. A crowd that size is a weapon of its own.”

  Allie nodded. “If it comes to that, as a last resort, Preacher Mary is manning the shuttle’s guns. We don’t want to open fire on a crowd of civilians, so that’s why you’re not—repeat—not to let anyone get between you and the shuttle hatch. We all know that you can get back to it before their muscles even twitch.”

  At Stone’s nod, Tuttle hit the shuttle hatch release button and the ramp began to slowly descend toward the spaceport tarmac. The barely creeping powered ramp was still moving much too fast for Stone’s taste. Getting trapped outside on Allie’s World for months on end had helped desensitize him to open spaces, diminishing the affects of agoraphobia. His relapse on Lazzaroni had intensified it again. He did not like open sky above him and standing at the top of the ramp, he realized he did not like huge crowds either.

  The crowd stared at him, silent and unmoving. He expected to smell the planet’s fresh air with all of the attendant aroma of rotting plants, decaying animals, and industrial waste, but the air had a slight floral fragrance. It was not the floral odor he had come to recognize as happiness, but actual flowers, lilacs, if his fragrance studies proved correct.

  He also expected to catch the crowd’s odor of curiosity, like a big pot of boiled cabbage. Curiosity was not driving this crowd. There was no hint of fragrance, they were not curious about him. He wondered if that was because they thought they knew all about him from news broadcasts and the celebrity shows featuring him and his heroic or despicable actions, depending on whose show it was.

  The fragrance washing over him, coming in waves from the crowd, was a thick combination of garlic and sulfur. He had encountered both odors before, as a reference for greed and envy. The crowd was standing quiet and still. It was a cliché, but they were too quiet, too still. The overall odors were baffling, but not causing any tension in the crowd. Allie and two fireteams of Galactic Marshal deputies had his back. He took a deep breath, sucked in a lungful of feeling calm at b
eing inside, braced his shoulders, and marched down the ramp, heading straight toward what looked like a government reception committee under a canopy.

  The tarmac between the shuttle ramp and the VIP canopy was empty except for a lone woman wearing an ankle length, tan duster. She was unarmed but had the look of a competent security professional. She was much shorter than Stone or anyone in his detail, even shorter than Preacher Mary. The height difference did not seem to faze the woman as she stepped into Stone’s line of march. She held up a hand in the universal human gesture for stop.

  Stone stopped, glancing skyward. He felt Allie stop immediately behind him.

  The woman said, “Signore Stone, I’m the head of spaceport security.” Her eyes flicked to Allie and the two Galactic Marshals fireteams. She appeared to dismiss them as a threat with little more than a glance. “I’m sure you’re used to traveling with your own security.”

  Stone asked, “Are my companions an issue, Commander? Signorina?”

  “You may call me Ailette. And no, your entourage is not an issue.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “They are.”

  Stone was not sure whether she was gesturing toward the crowd or the government officials.

  She said, “I’ve been assured by my supervisor that you’re to be given all possible leeway regarding Holliman’s Rift regulations. However—,” her eyes took on a hard glint. “Won’t be no trouble, if you don’t start none.”

  “Ailette, I can assure you that my friends are well disciplined. I—”

  Ailette interrupted, “I can see that, Signore Stone. I’m not worried about your security detail, whether you call them your entourage, your friends, or your lovers.”

  Allie snorted back a laugh at the woman’s comments.

  Tuttle laughed outright. “I wish. He won’t—” Her breath whoofed out as she caught a sharp elbow in the ribs from Allie.

  Ailette’s never took her eyes away from Stone’s face. “It’s your behavior that worries me, sir. I’ve seen the vid reports on you and your exploits. I’ve seen how you like to play loose and fast with the rules.”

  Tuttle laughed again, skipping away from Allie’s quickly jabbed elbow. “She’s got you pegged, Boss.”

  Ailette said, “Yes, I do. Keep it in mind.” She looked at Allie. “You’re in charge of his security.” It was not a question.

  Allie nodded.

  Ailette said, “Keep a tight rein on your charge today. Only the Prophet himself brings out a bigger crowd than we have today. He loves them and they love him. Nothing untoward would happen in his presence. This crowd only thinks they know Blackmon Stone. They’re like a frog on a hot rock. You understand?”

  Allie nodded, “You think they could jump in any direction?”

  Ailette smiled for the first time. “You control your frog, Signorina Vedrian. I’ll try to keep the rock from heating up.” She stepped to the side, letting the detail walk on. Using Allie’s last name was a clear indication the woman was not fooled by Allie’s disguise. It was also a clear warning that she took her job seriously and was not to be trifled with even in the smallest detail.

  Stone marched on toward the open-sided government pavilion. Glancing at Allie, he asked, “So, I’m a frog now?”

  Allie laughed. “Apt description, wouldn’t you say?”

  As soon as he took his first step under the canopy, he was met by a tall woman. “Welcome. Welcome. Welcome to Holliman’s Rift, Signore Stone.”

  He smiled back. A flash of shadow passed nearby. The Marvin was flitting overhead, Gonzo hanging partly out the open hatch filming Stone’s approach and the crowd beyond. The shuttle pilot was ordered not to land until Stone and Allie both signaled it was safe for the civilians. He had also asked the pilot to be as obliging to Bethy and Gonzo as possible. Letting The Bethy Stone Show producer and cinematographer hang out an open hatchway a hundred feet above a plasticrete tarmac seemed a bit over-obliging, but Stone was not worried about Gonzo falling. If he did, it would not be a significant loss.

  Stone looked back at the shuttle behind him. Turning his back to the crowd, he whispered into his P.A., “Weapons safeties on, Preacher Mary. No matter what happens, let’s not get videoed slaughtering a bunch of the emperor’s subjects…loyal or not.”

  Turning back, he smiled at the tall woman. He bowed deeply at the waist, spreading his hands in a wide, palms up gesture. “I’m Blackman Perry Stone of the Stone Freight Company. I thank you for your most welcoming greeting.” Even under the shade of the canopy, his clothing caught rays of light, glittering and twinkling as if the sun itself was shining just for him.

  The woman’s face beamed back as she stuck her hand out to shake. Stone noticed her over whelming fragrance of garlic and sulfur with an underlying hint of the boiled cabbage curiosity and a touch of licorice indicating she was hiding something. Stone had expected the boiled cabbage. The emperor and his grandfather set him up to be a prime object of curiosity. The plan was for everyone to watch him and his cousin Bethy, while EMIS Agent Ryte searched for evidence the Prophet was building ships for the Hyrocanian war machine and investigate the disappearance of three EMIS agents.

  He expected to smell the twinge of licorice. Almost everyone emitted that odor to a certain degree. During his tenure as governor of Allie’s World he met more than his share of politicians and businessmen. People of that ilk predominately smelled of licorice, rarely saying what they meant or revealing all of what they wanted.

  The strong garlic and sulfur smell came from the crowd, but he did catch those complex odors coming from the woman as well as all of the functionaries gathered under the canopy. Stone smiled at everyone, he did detect either a rancid grease fragrance indicating hostility or the citrus odor of fear.

  He patted his P.A. three quick times for “S” in old Morse code indicating “safe.” The Marvin was cleared to land, and more of the Galactic Marshals deckhands were free to exit, where they would move into planned security positions, while appearing to be utterly relaxed.

  While patting his P.A., Stone said. “I’m delighted to visit Holliman’s Rift. I must admit I know only a tiny bit about your marvelous planet and these wonderful people.” He smiled broadly at the dignitaries. “I look forward to learning about your culture.”

  The woman grabbed his hand again, pumping it vigorously. “Signore Stone—”’

  “Please call me Trey,” he interrupted.

  The woman looked as if she was going to swoon. “Oh to the Prophet’s goodness. Why I…well, yes. Trey, the Prophet himself instructed me to greet you and welcome you to Holliman’s Rift.” She pumped his hand enthusiastically, but when she let go, her hand slid over his multi-colored coat sleeve, touching and appearing to analyze.

  A quick pop of garlic followed with a bit of sulfur matched the calculating look in her eye that disappeared quickly as the sudden odors merged into the crowd’s fragrance. Stone had seen the look before but never associated with such strong odors of greed and envy. An unusual scent of sandalwood tickled his nose. He did not know what emotion the slight odor represented.

  Stone asked, “And you are?”

  She blushed. “I’m…well, I’m a nobody. I’m Agnes. Please call me Agnes. These people are—”

  Stone quit listening to the introductions, allowing his P.A. to gather names and facial recognition photos for later study and to remind him of who was who, should it become necessary. They were all mayor this and deputy that; the bureaucratic functionaries that drive all human governments.

  He glanced at the crowd. They were staring at him like land crabs from Allie’s World and he was dinner.

  Stone asked. “I know the Prophet is a busy person, but I was hoping to meet him.”

  Agnes actually gave a little girl dance clapping her hands in excitement. “Oh my, yes. How could you not but hope to meet him? But don’t you worry Trey, he is with us even now. He knows and he sees.”

  Stone smiled. “Of course, how could he not?” He glanced at the gathered dig
nitaries. He could not spot any hidden cameras or microphones. Security cameras had developed to the point that they were no bigger than the head of a pin, but even that was within his range of vision.

  His fireteam spread around like any normal space crew checking out a new spaceport for the first time. He felt a presence at his back. The wet, dark chocolate fragrance was all the announcement he needed, it was Allie, but he looked anyway, comforted in her smile. With the possibility of cameras everywhere, Allie was staying in the background to avoid being recorded. From what he gathered, most Galactic Marshals deputies were camera shy. She was well known as his girlfriend, but thanks to vidcasts, they were pushing the new story about his involvement with Bethy Stone.

  He was certain Allie had been following the conversation. Reaching under her dark glasses, she scratched her marine issue bio-mechanical eye and gave a slight shake of her head. He could not sweep the crowd looking for planted bugs without his combat suit. If he and Allie could not spot how the Prophet was listening in, they would have to assume he was and be extra careful.

  The Marvin settled to the tarmac, dropping its ramp with a thunk. The crowd’s eyes momentarily shifted away from Stone and a collective gasp escaped as Bethy appeared at the top of the ramp. She was no less gaudy in her dress than Stone, but while he was covered from nape to toe, she was barely dressed.

  She waved to the crowd. No one waved back.

  One small child, barely older than a toddler, tentatively raised one hand. The tiny hand dropped quickly back to her side.

  Bethy waved again. Again, no one waved back.

  Stone almost laughed at her reaction. She huffed, harrumphed, and stomped her foot in frustration. Gonzo took that moment to become a showman, chivvying Bethy’s entourage onto the ramp. Dancing around Bethy, they escorted her to the canopy. Stone was less than happy to see Tim Dollish mixed in with her crowd.