by Alan Black
“Pardon me?” Stone asked.
“Heaven is an island the Prophet has set aside far out to sea. It’s a paradise. Perfect weather, warm ocean water, white powder sand beaches, and everything catered to the winners. Cissy sent cards and letters showing us visions of the place.”
Tuttle smiled, “It sounds fantastic. Have you ever been there?”
Ailette nodded, “Once. Cissy flew me out there for a weekend. It was like living in a dream. I hated to leave so much that I doubled the number of lottery tickets I buy every week just so I can go back someday.”
Stone said, “Cissy doesn’t come back to visit?”
Aileen waved a hand around them. “Look at this dump. Would you leave heaven to come visit this? I wouldn’t. Of course, I would like to see Cissy and her young ones again. I haven’t heard from them in a while. They took one of those around the galaxy spaceship tours visiting all of the inner planets. Lot’s of folks who win the lottery take those.”
Stone said, “Must be nice for your sister.”
Ailette said, “It was good for me. I got interviewed by a couple of news outlets about my visit to heaven, got to show them my vacation vids. The notoriety helped me get promoted when my old boss got caught taking free lunches from the snack bar. He was sent to work in the factory. When I leave here, I’m going to heaven.”
Her communications unit beeped. Excusing herself, she walked away talking furiously.
Dollish leaned in and spoke quietly. “Got an itch in my brain, Boss.”
Stone nodded, double checking that his Personal Assistant had its jammer application running on high.
Dollish said, “That list in the business meeting was crap.” At Stone’s raised eyebrow, he continued, “I’ve been in enough kitchens to know what is what. Running a UEN kitchen isn’t all about throwing food and spices in pots. I’ve had to learn how to make pots and how to start a fire with a rock and a stick.”
Tuttle laughed, “We’ve been there, Tim. What are you getting at?”
Dollish glanced at Ailette in the distance and said, “People gotta eat. Just because an oven breaks, doesn’t mean I stop cooking. We learn to fix everything in a navy kitchen from a hot plate to a thermal convection induction module on a microwave replicator. Not everything on that list belongs on kitchen equipment. I may have only been a lowly cook, but I spent time on weapons controls, too.”
Stone nodded, “Hyrocanian weapons systems if I remember correctly.”
Tim shook his head at the memory. “Some of those parts they are looking for exactly match the controls for a Hyrocanian acid cannon. Properly applied, they would stop the acid bulb feed chain from jamming up and dropping sludge on the trigger puller.”
Before anyone could say anything else, an overloaded spaceport cart slid to a stop, scattering dust. The dust cloud brought with it an overwhelming odor of boiled cabbage. Curiosity being their primary emotion, Stone stood up from his lawn chair. He saw Hammermill and Tuttle tense, but they relaxed when they recognized the group as a local media outlet.
Ailette trotted up and said, “I hope you don’t mind. I told the security guard at the gate to send ‘em on through. A little free publicity never hurt anyone, did it?”
A diminutive dark-haired woman practically fell from the cart and raced up to Stone, shoving a directional microphone at his face. “Please excuse the ambush, Signore Stone. Amanda Kilbourn with the Prophet’s Own network. People want to know how your first business meeting went.”
Stone smiled at the woman. He wanted to tell her to go away, to leave him alone, to express his doubt that “the people” were who really wanted to know. But, he could not do that as he was Ryte’s cover. Suppressing a sigh of frustration, he said, “It went marvelously. This was a preliminary meeting only. The folks I met with are smart—probably smarter than I am. They helped me lay out a framework that will, without a doubt, bring profit to Holliman’s Rift. Not only profit for them and their businesses, but we expect to bring luxury goods to all the people of this beautiful planet.”
Kilbourn said, “I have to say that your outfit is stunning.” She reached out and fingered the material. “This cut is so flattering on you and the stitching—why it’s heavenly.”
Ailette gestured toward the drascos. “Have you met these creatures?” She walked over and wrapped an arm around Jay’s head like they were old friends.
Jay sat quietly, not moving. The spaceport security officer’s long tan duster covered her arms, but unless Jay was careful, her rusty pig iron-like hide would shred it past the first few layers of Ailette’s skin. Peebee wonked in laughter as the cameraman rushed over to get vids of her and the drascos from every angle.
Kilbourn shoved the mike closer to Stone’s face. “Are your pets dangerous?”
Stone nodded. “Yes, they are and they aren’t pets. They’re an intelligent sentient species.”
“Are they citizens of the Empire?”
Stone thought that was an excellent question, but he did not have an answer concerning the drascos or the piglets aboard the Platinum Pebble. Before he could respond, Kilbourn gushed out another question, as if the empire was no more than a minor detail leading up to the real topic concerning drascos.
“Are they excited to be meeting the Prophet this evening?”
Stone smiled, “As am I.” With a change of subject, he added, “Say, we were just discussing the lottery. I hear it’s quite exciting this close to the enclave?”
Kilbourn smiled broadly. “Of course. The Prophet’s most generous lotteries are our sponsor, Signore Stone.”
Stone said, “I’ve been told there is an office around the corner. Perhaps you would show me how to buy a ticket?”
The woman gushed, grabbed her cameraman’s elbow and scampered around the corner of the building, dragging Stone along. There were half a dozen men and women in line waiting to buy tickets, but they all politely stepped back, letting the news crew guide Stone to the front.
Buying a lottery ticket was easier than buying rat on a stick, so Stone managed to buy two hundred tickets, splitting them equally between the announcer and the cameraman. “These are gifts from me to you.” He said, “I already have money so you might enjoy your winnings more than I would.”
He hoped the gesture might get them more airtime on the news vidcast. It might not be as exciting news as the riot they caused, but it certainly would add flash to their cover for Agent Ryte. He pointed at the crowd behind him and asked the ticket seller, “May I buy a hundred lottery tickets for each of these good people who allowed me to cut in line in front of them?”
Each person accepted the tickets as if they were receiving manna from on high. Stone smiled at each worker, laughing and yukking it up for the camera. He finished by saying, “I hope you all win and join me in riches in heaven.”
He was about to ask Dollish, Hammermill, and Tuttle if they wanted tickets when Ailette interrupted.
“Your shuttles are on the ground. We best get going to keep your cousin corralled. I got transports on the way to take you to the Prophet’s residence.”
Thirty-Two
Glancing upward, he was more than a little pleased that both shuttle pilots had landed close enough to the spaceport building that he did not have to step out from under cover of the patio awning. A gathering crowd of onlookers clustered nearby but did not press close. Even the workers from the lottery line backed away from him, allowing him room in the shade. Jay and Peebee abandoned their spots in the sun and trotted to his side. Under the protection of the aluminum awning, Stone watched the Vance and Marvin spill their passengers onto the spaceport tarmac in one swirling mass.
Stone hoped no one else noticed the distinctive groupings. Three factions were blended, mixed, separated, and came together again in a roiling mix of humanity. Glancing at Ailette, he could see her scanning the crowd, face passive, not giving any indication she spotted anything unusual nor revealing that what she saw was even routine and mundane. She would be a challenging p
oker opponent.
While the passengers of both shuttles poured forth into one mixed mass, Stone noticed one group flitting around Bethy Stone like she was their sun and they were the rocky planets captured by her orbit. Stone felt somewhat like an outsider passing through her gravity well, as she spun near him, casting light and heat in all directions, then swirling away in a blaze of glory. Her satellites whirled through the crowd. Anyone not in her orbit was little more than vacant space to be bypassed and avoided. Their garments and makeup glittered with finery, always reflecting Bethy’s light; never shining on their own.
A second faction clustered tightly around Agnes, the Prophet’s official greeter. Rather than orbit Agnes, these remnants of the riot seemed to be swallowed up by her gravity. The elderly, women, and young children were dressed in the finest borrowed and ill-fitting clothing the Platinum Pebble could find. They looked like they were afraid to leave her side for fear of incurring her wrath and by extension the anger of the Prophet. They were a cluster of lost asteroids skimming through Agnes’s system, eager to move beyond her orbit into more familiar territory.
The third faction was his. They were military veterans not long separated from their units, moving smoothly, confidently, and alert. They flowed in, out, and around the assembly, surfing the solar winds of Bethy’s and Agnes’s orbits. Their hard eyes were hidden behind false smiles and their weapons were hidden behind fancy party outfits. They were his because their eyes mirrored his. His weapons were as disguised as theirs. These people fought hard and partied harder. Anyone looking closely would realize that his crew was not in the mood to party.
Bethy’s team moved with confidence, sure and certain they ruled their orbits. Stone’s team barely moved, shifting only when necessary, secure in the knowledge that Bethy’s team was delusional, yet willing to allow the delusion to continue.
The media reporter, Mandy Kilbourn and her crew, shot through the crowd like fiery comets on wildly elliptical orbits, blazing through Bethy’s solar system and out the other side, spinning back for another pass. Their speed, attention-deficit behavior, and lack of focus allowed them to avoid capture even by Bethy’s intense gravity well. Their cameras caught everything and nothing. Bethy’s group smiled and posed, poised and confident in front of the cameras, hiding nothing, yet revealing little.
The riot refugees led by Agnes were google-eyed by the cameras. They waved, shouted greetings to Mom, and spun around showing off their second-hand finery.
Hammermill, Tuttle, and Dollish stayed by Stone’s side under the awning, making room for Jay and Peebee only. All of them, drascos included, felt the lines of attraction drawing them into the flow and ebb of the Galactic Marshals deputies masquerading as partygoers. The attraction was a matter of focus and goal, not the cliché about birds of a feather.
Ailette nodded toward the distance with a jutting chin. “That’ll be your rides. We don’t have enough limousines here like they do in heaven. I hope you don’t mind that we grabbed a few buses from the local elementary school for most of your people.”
Stone smiled, “I’m sure that whatever you have will be all right.”
Ailette smiled back, but there was no humor in it. “I can count you know.”
Stone smiled bigger, “I’m sure there’ll be room for all of us.”
“Not what I mean, Signore Stone.” She pointed a finger at the crowds lining up for their rides. “I know who’s here and who isn’t. You’re guests of the Prophet and I’m trying to be gracious, but I have my orders.”
Stone maintained his smile and hoped his loss of humor did not show through. “Why? What do you mean?”
Ailette spat, “Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot, Signore.” She grabbed his elbow and squeezed.
Before anyone moved to protect him, Stone waved everyone away.
Ailette said coldly, “Know this and believe me. Everyone on this planet or in orbit is the Prophet’s. That includes you and yours whether you’ve come to realize it or not. He may allow you to leave us while on His business.”
Stone noticed the emphasis on his. He held his tongue, allowing her to say whatever was bothering her.
“You will not be allowed to take His natural born citizens with you. Those you took with you after the riot will be returned to us before you are authorized to leave our airspace. You call whoever you have to call to get the Prophet’s people back where they belong. Kidnapping the Prophet’s followers is a serious crime.”
“Kidnapping is a harsh word—”
Ailette waved a hand, interrupting him. “That’s not my word, Signore. The Prophet is distressed that His devotees are not back in His fold. He would rather not discuss such an incident on an enclave night. He will speak with you personally if necessary. He is not pleased that you would be so discourteous, and if the Prophet is unhappy, then I’m unhappy. You think on that.” Without another word, she turned and walked away.
Stone had the urge to rub his temples with his fists. He did not need this aggravation. Keeping up his cover was necessary for the safety of Agent Ryte’s mission. He believed in a citizen’s personal rights, one being religious freedom. His personal sense of honor required him to help someone forced to follow this self-proclaimed prophet. The refugees had asked for asylum. Turning them out was a violation of Empire law.
He was confident his people could get off Holliman’s Rift if the Prophet ordered them to stay. Ailette might think she had the men and materials to block his exit, but she would be wrong. He could not force an exit while Ryte and her two assistants were off the ship. Stone hated no-win situations and wondered why no one ever offered him clear black or white choices.
Tuttle grabbed one arm and Dollish grabbed the other. Between them, they practically dragged him from the awning, hustling him into the front cab of the lead truck. Dollish slid onto the bench seat ahead of him, pulling Stone in behind him. They moved him so fast he barely had time to recognize the mounting panic even a short transit under the open sky generated.
The driver grimaced. The truck rocked back and forth when Jay and Peebee climbed into the back. If the shocks were not already bad, they would be after this trip. Tuttle slammed the door, jumped onto an old-style running board and gripped the window frame with her bio-mechanical arm, intending to ride outside the truck. Hammermill hopped onto driver’s side running board. Hammermill gripped the window frame with a fully human hand, but Stone had no doubt it could hold him in place as long as Tuttle’s manufactured hand could hold her.
His stomach churned, not because there was too much clear sky on the other side of the windows, but because this enclave held more mystery than an honest party. He had been to parties before. Rich parties with champagne flowing from three-story waterfalls, chocolate candies from a dozen worlds, and entertainers straight from sell out concerts. He had also attended parties with hard working people dining on whatever was at hand and making music on handmade instruments. He enjoyed both. This upcoming event did not feel like a party. It felt like a trap and he had been in those, too.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The truck eased to the front gate of the Prophet’s residence. Its roof barely scraped the overhead cloth awning. The thick cloth covered the multi-hued, garish partygoers, blocking the evening sun’s orangish rays, as they rushed through the doors into the huge building.
The brakes on the truck gave a metallic screech, bringing them to a halt. The driver had not spoken the whole trip. He pointed at a small cabin off to one side. “That be the Prophet’s residence.”
Bethy was wrong. The Prophet did not live in a palace. He lived in a small building that would not be big enough to house the truck they rode in on. Perfectly appointed and immaculately landscaped, the building was smaller than modesty required.
The driver pointed at the big building. “That there be the meeting hall.” His face beamed with pleasure. The structure looked more like a warehouse than any church edifice. “Course, I never been invited inside. Not for the likes of me,
until I win me the lottery or something. Still, driving folks and deliveries here, lets me get closer than most folks ever get.”
Stone said, “Will you be back to pick us up?”
“I’m happy to wait for you. Y’all take all the time you want. I knows you won’t want to leave the Prophet’s presence, but when you do, I’ll be waiting off there.” He jutted a gnarled finger at a parking lot off to the side.
Stone slid to the ground next to Tuttle. Hammermill, Dollish, and his drascos joined them. The truck glided slowly away, the driver carefully struggling not to rustle anyone’s fancy outfits with the air from his hover fans.
The other Galactic Marshals deputies scattered through the Platinum Pebble crowd. They had their own orders about who to protect and what to watch for. Obviously, they were trying hard to blend in, but with difficulty because everyone from Holliman’s Rift rushed forward like a fat man invited to dine for free at the desert table.
Bethy floated over to Stone. He swore she actually floated and wondered if she had an anti-gravity gizmo in her shoes. Her shoes were thin strappy things that looked like they would not protect her feet from errant gravel.
“Um…nice shoes,” he said.
Bethy beamed, her face looking as ecstatic as the Holliman’s Rift citizens. “We should get inside soon. Agnes said we are so late all of the good seats up front will be gone, but we still have time to get seats close enough to see the Prophet.”
The citizens rushing past Stone emitted waves of garlic and sulfur, the odors of greed and envy. Though a large percentage of the crowd would leave the festivities just as poor as they entered, the smell confirmed to Stone that every one of them expected to win a special enclave lottery and leave their poverty behind.
His family did not live lavishly, but having grown up wealthy he knew what extreme amounts of money could buy. Not only could it buy a gilded cage, it could bring with it distrust and cynicism. Close family members would become suspect. Distant relatives would be kept distant because of suspicion and skepticism. His cousin Bethy was the perfect example. She pretended to like him as a person, but he could tell by her fragrance that her interest in him extended little farther than his controlling interest position in his family’s capital funds.
