by James Palmer
Rebani Kalba inserted his I-card – officially an Identificard, which held all the pertinent information about a being – into the communications console in the cockpit of the ship. In a steely voice, he said into the holotronic transmitter of the console, “This ship is under the direction of Rebani Kalba, a Sabour. I am transmitting my credentials now.”
Beside him, Bal Tabarin remained silent. He knew he didn’t have the clout to get permission to land.
As they waited for a response, Bal eyed the instrumentation on the astrogational console, a cornucopia of lights and displays, in front of him. One display caught his attention.
The ship’s perceptors registered an unusual reading, some sort of field surrounding the planet. It seemed to be a shield like the ones used by starships to deflect astrogational hazards such as stray bits of matter, which, at near-light velocities, could rupture and destroy a vessel. He was unaware that such planetary shields were in use. The cost, he knew, must have been enormous.
The Sabour watched as the communications console signaled the transmission was complete, then he added, “My mission is peaceful. I seek information which may be important to the Brotherhood of Sabours.”
Bal observed no hint of doubt in Rebani’s tone, but he wondered if the information Rebani sought was important to his Brotherhood, or only to himself. The Monitor was a cipher, hard to understand.
The Sabour’s confidence was rewarded moments later when the shield de-polarized, allowing passage into Narbossa’s clear atmosphere, accompanied by a transmission stating their landing co-ordinates.
Bal “hmf-ed” to himself, and directed The Vagabond Lady planetward, following the beam of Narbossa’s astrogational beacon to the planet’s spaceport. The ship landed without incident, and Bal and Rebani disembarked. Unsurprisingly, Josef elected to remain behind with the ship.
The terminal was a quiet, tidy place, the kind that made you wonder if it was ever used. Security guards were conspicuously positioned, as if to give residents a feeling of safety, more than safety itself; the guards were not tactically placed, Bal Tabarin noted.
The security guards were big, and well-dressed. They looked as though they could do their job, but in the back of his mind, Bal wondered if the beefy men were the ounce of prevention, rather than the pound of cure, more for show than action. They were too heavily-muscled and bulky to be quick, and, flat-faced with brow ridges – Bal recognized them as Hyroids, known for their strength – they didn’t look intelligent enough to be any kind of cure.
Bal turned to find Rebani Kalba on his holophone, undoubtedly trying to contact Dr. Pyx. The Sabour returned the device to its place beneath his greatcoat, his attempt having failed.
In the main concourse of the spaceport, which was done in a tasteful combination of stone and wood – undoubtedly the real stuff, and not the cheap fake materials used in many public places – a planetary directory stood, wide and tall, on the shiny tiled floor. The two crossed the lobby and approached the artificial pylon, and Rebani said to it, simply, “Dr. Jardin Fackler Pyx.”
A three-dimensional holographic map appeared on one face of the device, showing the location of Pyx’s home in relation to the spaceport. It was multi-colored, each component a different ghastly bright color to make the map easier to read.
“Contact same,” instructed Rebani. Moments later, a pink bulbish head, with large, upturned nose and chin covered in coarse whiskers, appeared on the holovisor display. It was the size of a small melon. Pyx was a Riorlan, shorter than most, judging by the size of his head. Dark eyes, set deep into pits, squinted at the sight of Rebani Kalba. Two small flaps of ears, high up atop the oblong head, twitched. The being snorted once, then said in a nasal voice, “Yes?”
“I am Rebani Kalba of the Brotherhood of Sabours, and I desire an audience with you.”
Dr. Jardin Fackler Pyx blinked twice, throat gobbling as if trying to swallow a particularly difficult bit of food, snorted once, and said, “I don’t have time. I really don’t have time.”
As if an afterthought, Dr. Pyx added, “I’m sorry. I really am.”
The screen went dark.
Rebani turned to Bal Tabarin, and said: “I need the use of your skimmer.”
Bal recognized the set of the Sabour’s jaw, and the gleam in his eyes. “There are ways of going about this,” he offered.
“Waiting for a change of heart? Asserting pressure through diplomatic channels?” Rebani said dryly. “Those are not my ways.”
The Sabour turned and retreated from the lobby, moving toward Bal’s ship, where the skimmer was located in the cargo hold. Bal followed, wondering how he was going to keep this Sabour bull from destroying the china shop.
The night sky was clear, and the air, rushing past the open canopy of the skimmer, was pleasant with just a trace of coolness to it, a dry coolness, the kind Bal liked. Dr. Pyx’s estate was only a few hours’ travel away from the spaceport, and the fresh air was a welcome change from the stale atmosphere of the ship to both men.
The entire planet seemed to be outskirts of the city, which consisted only of the well-kept spaceport. Each resident had an estate of several square kilometers, one not within sight of another.
“This would be a nice place to retire,” observed Bal in a friendly manner.
“Retire?” asked Rebani in a surprised tone.
Bal Tabarin’s furry eyebrows knitted. “You don’t think of retiring someday?”
“No,” answered Rebani. “And though you may think of it, you’ll never do it, either.”
“Is that so?” Bal asked, a bit taken aback at the Sabour’s presumption.
“Yes. For all your scholarship, you are a man of action,” Rebani said quietly. “There is no retirement for men such as you and I. We fight until we can fight no more, and then we die.”
“Life isn’t a fight,” objected Bal. Rebani’s Udehe nihilism rankled him. The Corruban was not exactly a hedonist, but he knew how to enjoy life. The Sabour seemed incapable of this.
“Is that so?” parroted Rebani, sudden venom in his voice. His green eyes blazed like hot coals in the black of night. “Are you so certain that you can speak for me? What do you know of loss?” he spat.
Bal Tabarin was shocked into silence. Finally, in a quiet voice, he said, “We’ve all known loss, ‘Bani.”
Too suddenly, Rebani said curtly, “Of course.”
Neither spoke again until Dr. Pyx’s residence was in sight.
Untitled
The architect had gone to quite a bit of trouble to make the house look like an authentic castle out of an ancient history book, but the builder, with more practical matters on his mind, ruined the image with modern construction techniques, which stood out plainly and garishly against the ancient building materials. This was obvious to anyone who looked with any real attention to detail, even those who did not understand the rudiments of architecture as Bal Tabarin did. He was versed in a number of disciplines corollary to his primary one, anthropology.
A high stone wall – lannonstone, Bal thought, but it was difficult to tell in the dark – with large wrought-iron gate, completed the scene.
Set in the gray stone wall was a holovisor screen. Rebani left the skimmer, and stood before the dark screen. At his presence, the screen lit, and shortly, the odd face of Dr. Pyx appeared on the screen. His lipless mouth, on the underside of his short snout, frowned when he recognized the Sabour.
Rebani bowed slightly, and said, “It is important that I speak with you immediately concerning one of the pieces in your collection.”
Dr. Pyx snorted shrilly, and squealed, “I’m really too busy right now. Yes, really too busy.”
Rebani’s gaze hardened. “Never-the-less, you will admit me, and we will speak of this matter.”
Dr. Pyx blinked twice bewilderedly, as if he had been lightly struck by an unseen object, and said, “Come in. But only for a decichronon. I’m really very busy, very busy indeed.”
With a slight hum, the ove
r-sized wrought-iron gate swung slowly open. Rebani bowed once more toward the holovisor screen. “Of course. Thank you.”
As the screen darkened, Rebani walked through the opening between the gate and the wall. Bal, though impressed by this display of persuasion, said nothing, and silently followed the Sabour toward the castle-like home.
The two found the massive oak front door thrown wide open, a being silhouetted in the doorway.
“Greetings,” drawled the butler-bot in a voice that had to be holotronically-synthesized, but did not sound it. It could have passed for the real thing. Physically, he resembled Josef. “I am PTR-188. You may address me as Peter, if you so desire.”
The door, gimmicked with a sensor, closed behind the two as they entered the abode. As Bal and Rebani passed the butler-bot, Peter seemed to sniff condescendingly at their appearance.
Narbossa, thought Bal wryly, the planet where even the ‘bots are snooty.
“Follow me,” drawled Peter as he led the way to his master’s study.
Rebani whispered to Bal, “There is something amiss here.” Although the two were walking a normal distance apart, the Sabour’s voice sounded as if his lips were next to Bal’s ear.
The study was mostly a trophy room, filled with valuable objets d’art from throughout the Milky Way. Bal Tabarin eyed the artifacts as Peter led them through a maze of display cases, each individually lit for maximum effect. He was envious, not of the wealth the artifacts represented, but for their historical value.
Remembering Rebani’s warning, Bal used this as an opportunity to search for some sign of the danger at which the Sabour had hinted.
The vast room was silent but for the slight hum of Peter’s servos as the ‘bot moved, and the soft footfall of Bal’s own boots upon the hard stone floor.
Bal Tabarin suddenly realized that no sound emanated from the Sabour as he moved through the room.
Abruptly, the form of Dr. Jardin Fackler Pyx came into view. He was half of Bal Tabarin’s height, and obscured by a display case until the two visitors rounded the piece of glass-and-wood furniture. He was no more pleasant-looking in person than he had been on the holovisor screen – short, pinkish-white flesh covered with sparse coarse hairs, bulbish head with short snout, chin sprouting whiskers.
Rebani Kalba bowed slightly in greeting as Peter turned and left the room with only the slightest of hummings of his servos.
“Thank you for seeing us.” Gesturing to the Corruban, he explained, “This is my associate, Bal Tabarin.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” the Riorlan said unconvincingly in his shrill voice. “Really it is. I don’t mean to be abrupt, but I’m really very busy, very busy. How can I help you?”
Without preamble, Rebani announced, “I wish to examine your Sacred Heart gem.”
Dr. Pyx let out an outraged squeal, then grunted twice. “Is this some kind of joke?” he demanded, his shrill voice blunting the anger in his tone. “Who are you two?”
A nonplussed look jumped onto Bal’s face, and the Sabour’s reflected the same feeling, though expressing it to a slighter degree.
“I have explained who we are and what we want,” said Rebani calmly, though with a trace of surprise in his voice, his green eyes glittering with curiosity as if lit by an inner flame.
Dr. Pyx scurried away, small feet clacking noisily on the hard stone floor. He yelled wildly, “Peter, summon the authorities! Summon them now!”
Rebani’s voice rang through the vast room like a bell being struck, clear and penetrating without being loud. “Stop. Explain your reaction.”
Dr. Pyx’s little form came to a halt, and the pink-skinned being visibly calmed down immediately, as if he had been physically slapped out of hysteria.
“The Sacred Heart has been stolen,” Pyx explained quietly.
4 In Which the Cheese is Missing,
but the Mousetrap Remains Unsprung
The silence in the great room hung like a heavy black cloud over the three of them, ready to unleash its torrent at any moment. The quiet almost seemed fitting in this museum-like chamber, but for its ominous overtones.
Dr. Pyx sat behind his half-size desk, looking as guilty and ashamed as his porcine features would allow. “Stolen some time ago,” the Riorlan repeated in a hollow tone.
Bal and Rebani exchanged uneasy glances. It was too much of a coincidence to be believed.
“When?” queried Bal, teeth bared in a grim, wolfish smile.
“Tell us of the circumstances,” instructed the Sabour in a soft voice.
Dr. Pyx blinked twice, as if just waking from a deep slumber. He said in a quiet, sleepy voice, “A few kilochronons ago, armed men broke into the house, and at blazer point, took the Sacred Heart. I’ve managed to keep it a secret, to protect my reputation. To protect it, of course.”
Bal Tabarin scowled at the Riorlan. “How did they get past the planetary shield?” he demanded.
“It was dropped,” Pyx continued, his voice regaining vigor. “The shield operator who was on duty disappeared afterward. He was found dead a short time later. He was apparently bribed, then killed because he knew too much. At least, that’s how it seems to me. Yes, it does.”
It made sense to Bal, too. Then the information in Pyx’s account slowly sank into his mind: The Sacred Heart had been stolen before he found the gem on Jabareen. Was that gem the Sacred Heart? If so, how did it get there after being stolen? Or were there two of them?
With a sinking feeling, Bal suddenly realized that it could appear that he’d been part of the burglary.
Bal Tabarin glanced at Rebani, and saw by the expression on his face that the same thought had occurred to him. The Sabour, face tight and hard, looked at the Corruban suspiciously, gazing into the latter’s steely eyes.
“I give you my word: I know nothing more of this burglary than you,” Bal said solemnly.
After a moment, Rebani replied dryly, “I accept your word.” His tone left no doubt that he didn’t accept Bal’s word, but had another reason for believing him. Bal thought the Sabour might have read his mind to determine the truth, and the thought made the hairs on the back of the Corruban’s neck bristle.
“What else can you tell us?” asked Bal, the sourness not completely gone from his voice, as he turned and looked back at the small, pink Riorlan, who was smaller and pinker than most of his race.
“The men seemed to be professional, and knew what they were after,” continued Pyx. “I have several other items in the same range of value as the Sacred Heart, but they didn’t even notice them. Not a one. They broke in, stole the gem, and left, too quickly for the authorities to respond. Much too quickly.”
Pyx grunted forcefully. “I have no doubt they would have killed me if I’d resisted. Indeed they would have.”
“What happened when the authorities did arrive?” prompted Bal.
Pyx blinked once, and said, “I told them there’d been a malfunction in my security system. As far as the galaxy knows, I still possess the Sacred Heart.” There seemed to be a trace of pride in the Riorlan’s shrill, falsetto voice. “Yes, I do. Of course, the shield outage was investigated, but I’ve already told you the results of that. You know what happened.”
“I take it you had no warning you were about to be robbed,” Bal observed aloud. “Did anything unusual happen prior to the burglary?”
“No,” said Pyx. “Not that I can recall. Not a thing.”
“Are you certain?” Rebani prompted in a soft, penetrating tone. “Close your eyes. Concentrate. Put the Sacred Heart at the center of your thoughts. What thoughts lie on the outskirts? Look deeply into the corners and shadows of your memory.”
Pyx closed his deep-set eyes, and after a few moments, his fleshy face softened. The room was silent but for the soft breaths of the three living beings coming and going.
“Someone offered to buy the Heart,” squealed Pyx, eyes springing open. “It happened so long ago that I’d forgotten about it.”
Half-sized Pyx s
curried to a desk in one corner of the vast room. It, too, was half-sized, and the pink-skinned Riorlan rummaged through its drawers. He explained excitedly, “I think I still have a datacard here somewhere.”
Rebani whispered to Bal, again in that unusual way that raised hairs on the back of the adventurer’s neck, “Pyx knows no more than he’s telling.”
“You go around reading Sentients’ minds without their permission regularly?” Bal asked in an irksome tone.
Rebani ignored the tone in Bal’s voice. “Unnecessary,” he explained. “His story matches his emotional state.”
It was Bal’s turn to eye his companion suspiciously.
“I feel emotions the way you feel the temperature of the air,” the Sabour explained quietly. “Thought-reading is too invasive, usually.”
“But in the right circumstances?” Bal prompted sarcastically.
“You’ve never done anything unpleasant, something which had to be done, have you?” Rebani asked pointedly.
Bal’s lips drew back in a snarl, baring his teeth.
“Here it is!” Dr. Pyx exclaimed with a squeal, interrupting the discussion between his two visitors. He held the object of his search up for them to see.
Forgetting their disagreement, the two crossed to the small desk, and Bal took the datacard in his hand. It read: “Omar Batrachian, Dealer in Antiquities and Other Unusual Items of Value, Planet Garscon”.
Bal Tabarin withdrew a small, dark oblong object from his vest, and activated the device. A moment later, a light signaled the data on the card had been recorded by the machine.
