by Sharon Joss
Instead, he removed his winter overcoat, bathrobe, and one of his spare shirts. His stay on Aurum would only be a few days, anyway. Just long enough to get Garrett out of jail or whatever jam he was in, and engrave the royal portrait.
Leo caught him with his gaze. “Are you certain you’re prepared to go through with this? I’m not speaking to you as your lawyer here, Renly. I’m here as your friend. Don’t do this. Your brother will never change. If he’s gotten himself into trouble again, you can’t help him.”
Emotion welled in his throat. “When I was abducted by that awful man, and everyone else gave me up for dead, Garrett reached out to me and found me. He saved my life Leo.”
“What if he’s dead? What if you can’t save him?”
Renly gazed into Leo’s well-meaning face. “He’s not dead.” Renly patted his chest, over his heart. “I would know if he were. Look, I don’t want to go, and I do realize you think I’m not up to this, but I am going. I have to. He came for me when everyone else gave me up for dead. I owe him.”
His lawyer gave him a sad, thin-lipped smile and nodded. “All right then. I guess we’d better get going.”
Renly ran his hand across the centuries-old walnut surface of his workbench. Now that the time had come to leave his studio, it was like saying goodbye to his oldest and dearest friend. He’d done his best work here; even felt brief moments of genius and utter satisfaction in this room. His comfortable apartment upstairs had been his home for the last ten years, but unless he silenced Garret’s voice in his head, this place was dead to him. I am coming back. He took a last deep breath, then hoisted his heavy carryall to his shoulder and staggered after Leo out to the waiting limo.
CHAPTER 3
The crowd surged forward into the Aurum customs hall, carrying Renly along like a droplet of mucous in a large sneeze. He stayed well to the back of the crowds in the departure lounge, but the captain opened the doors on both sides of the cabin, and he instead found himself at the front of the stampede of sweaty, overdressed, impatient revelers.
Amidst the crowded customs hall, panic clenched his gut. He stumbled, and without the mob to keep him up, would have been trampled. Travelers from all over the galaxy pressed on all sides. The maelstrom of alien colors, shapes, and pungent perfumes made him dizzy. Worst of all, the penetrating smell of Aurum itself, which penetrated the overheated building with the heavy scent of sulfur, in spite of the face mask he kept clamped over his nose and mouth.
He shrugged into the smallest version of himself and kept his head down, avoiding eye contact; just as he’d done for most of the final ten days of his journey. It was second nature to him now; his only defense against jovial inquiries from well-meaning strangers who, after eyeing his modest and somber black suit, repeatedly inquired as to his financial holdings, recreational preferences, and sexual availability.
His fellow passengers all seemed to assume he was either a priest or some sort of undertaker. In particular, the party from Hepsilon VI did not understand the difference between engraver and embalmer. He’d taken to dining in his cabin, as the dining room hosted all sorts of festival-bound aliens who did not understand the concept of personal space. The thought of catching some alien virus and dying before they reached port killed his appetite, anyway.
Not even the double dose his anxiety medication seemed to dampen his sense of dread. His five months in cryosleep left him weak and short of breath. Not even the electro-stimulation of his muscles during the trip had been enough to maintain his strength. His heavy bag of gold, tools, and medications weighed nearly more than he could lift and carry.
Announcements echoed throughout the hall, repeated in a variety of languages both sharp and guttural. He’d opted to learn both Khirjahni and Th’Dorran, the major native languages of Aurum while in cryosleep, but the thrum of thousands of people and the acoustics of the room made the meaning of the words indecipherable.
At last, the line surged forward. Renly gratefully acknowledged the microchip implants made quick work of processing the mass of people, all of whom were bright-eyed with fever. Gold fever. It seemed as if every single person on board ship, from cabin boy to cabana queen, card shark to captain seemed infected, and the topic of gold and other precious metals dominated every conversation for the entire cruise. As the ship’s purser so gleefully informed, the minimum net worth of each passenger was more than four billion Federation credits.
Since Renly had only secured his passage on the ship by virtue of his invitation from the Khirjahni royal family, he felt like a fraud. In spite of the luxury accommodations, even in his steerage berth, he found the trip to be a disheartening and exhausting experience. He found himself actually looking forward to the cryosleep on the return trip.
When he reached the customs counter, the agent instructed him to wave his wrist across the scanner. The identifying microchip, which had been implanted at the UCP space station, immediately set off an alarm. An armed security officer stepped up beside him.
“Mr. Harkness?”
His heart skipped a beat. “Yes?”
“This way please.” The officer took his arm and he had no choice but to follow.
The officer led him to a windowless conference room inside the terminal. The stink of rotten eggs and stale cigar smoke choked the room. A round wooden table, flanked by eight chairs dominated the center of the room. In one corner, Renly recognized the UCF and American Alliance flags; the third flag was, he guessed, the flag of Khirjah. The twin suns on a lavender field, presumably to represent the famous lavender sky, a pair of dancing fish and some sort of goat, rendered in a primitive style. Accustomed as he was to designing national emblems as symbols of a country’s strength, this childish scribble did not impress him.
Contrary to his expectations, the room was not without modern conveniences. Digital display panels lined the walls, flashing skymaps, images of the planet Aurum from space, the coastline, and presumably scenes of the countryside. Several displays cycled through images of various mining sites; a not-so-subtle reminder of the importance of Arkady Universal Mining Corporation.
He thought about removing his gloves, but decided against it. For whatever reason, they’d pulled him out of the customs line. He had done nothing wrong; perhaps this had something to do with his invitation from the royal family.
He pulled at the Nehru collar of his jacket. His clothes fit perfectly when he left earth all those months ago, but after so much time in cryosleep, he could barely believe this was the same jacket. He’d lost a lot of weight and muscle tone on the trip. Even the shoulders were too big.
The door opened, and a man in dark robes entered the room. He introduced himself as the Terran Ambassador, Robert Reinhardt. Renly shifted in his seat uneasily when Reinhardt excused the officer and asked him to wait outside.
“There is no cause for alarm, Mr. Harkness,” Reinhardt began. “I never actually expected you would come here; but the situation in Khirjah has changed and I wanted to speak to you before you cleared customs.”
Renly recognized the classic shape of the Ambassador’s cheekbones as being of Slavic descent. A large nose, but good bones and well-balanced features. Plenty of laugh lines there, but the furrowed brow of a man with a lot on his mind. Renly estimated his age as somewhere in his early sixties. He guessed that whatever Reinhardt had to say, it wasn’t good news.
“I’m afraid you’ve made this long trip for nothing. King Kehreru died unexpectedly six weeks ago. Khirjah is now under new rule. The new king is not interested in hosting a presentation ceremony for his predecessor. I apologize for being blunt, but there is no other way to say this. He has cancelled the audience.”
Acid churned at the back of his throat and Renly tasted the bite of disappointment. All this way for nothing. “I had no idea,” he choked.
“Of course not. How could you?” Reinhardt’s weathered face appeared sincere. “I’ve arranged return passage for you on the Platinum Queen. It leaves in a few hours, and its next port of
call is the Farralon cluster. From there, you can book transport back to Terra.”
A sense of relief surged through him, but only for a moment. Tempting as the idea was, he’d come to Aurum to find Garrett. To turn around and go back to without him wasn’t going to purge Garret’s image from his work or silence the madness of Garrett’s voice in his head.
“Thank you, Ambassador, but my offer of a gift commission stands.” Renly patted his too-heavy bag; relieved he’d brought the extra blanks and his tools with him. “I would be delighted to design a portrait for the new king.”
Reinhardt gave him a doubtful look. “Why are you really here, Mr. Harkness?’
Renly’s heart skipped beat. The Ambassador’s challenge caught him off guard. “I’m here to do the kings portrait.”
“No one spends five months in cryo to come to a tiny, backwards kingdom to paint a picture of the king, sir.”
He squared his shoulders. “Engraving. I’m not a painter sir; I’m an engraver.”
The ambassador waved him off. “Yes, yes. Master of a dying art, I’ve been informed. Arkady Universal Mining Corporation turned down your original visa application. I checked your bank records, Mr. Harkness. You aren’t a corporate investor, and your net worth would not merit an invitation to attend the Gold Festival.” Reinhardt smiled. “Let’s be honest with each other. That’s really why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“Excuse me?”
“The Gold Festival. The real reason you’re here.”
“Absolutely not.” Renly debated how much to reveal to the Ambassador. Leo told him not to say anything about his search for Garrett until he was face-to-face with the king, but without Reinhardt’s support, that meeting might never take place. Who knew how much pull Reinhardt had with the new ruler? He pulled a sketch out of his travel bag and handed it to the ambassador.
“This is my brother. His name is Garrett Harkness.” He’d drawn Garrett’s portrait from memory and aged the image to account for the years since they’d last seen each other. “He’s a professional gambler. He attended the Gold Festival four years ago, but never left the planet. The Arkady mining executives keep telling me he left Aurum after the festival, but there are no records that show he cleared customs, no ships have his name listed on their manifests. No one has heard from him in five years. The Arkady people insist it’s a mix-up, and say he’s not here, but I don’t believe it. That’s why I’m here; to find my brother. I’m hoping my gift to the king will inspire him to request the local authorities to help me find him.”
“I see.” The ambassador stared at the drawing for a moment. “My brother served in the IPF. Career pilot. His ship disappeared on a training mission just outside the chromium sector. That was twelve years ago. They never found his ship or his crew. I know what it’s like.” He raised his eyes to Renly’s. “To wonder and never know.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Reinhardt sighed aloud. “All right. I will relay your offer to the king. I can’t make any promises, or guess how long you might have to wait for an answer. His Highness is pretty busy these days. He may not respond before the end of the festival. He may not respond at all.”
The thought of being forced to leave Aurum without finding Garrett was unacceptable. “Could I search for Garrett without the king’s permission?”
Reinhardt shook his head. “I doubt you’ll have much luck. The population here at the capital is only about five thousand. I’ve lived here twenty Earth years. I believe I know all the Terran ex-pats who live here.” He handed the sketch back to Renly. “I don’t recall ever seeing this man. If you’re hoping to find your brother, and he’s the gambler you say he is, he’ll be at the festival. Unfortunately, the Gold Festival is Arkady’s private party. Nobody gets in without an invitation, not even the locals, except as paid workers.”
Renly shivered with a sudden chill. “Maybe he left the city.”
The ambassador sighed. “The planet of Aurum does not have a large indigenous population, Mr. Harkness. Summer temperatures here are roughly equivalent to spring in Iceland. In spite of the presence of massive geothermal aquifers, and the warming influence of the seas along the coast, there is only a narrow temperate climate zone between the 45th parallels, which can support native life. Only the coastal regions are safe for Terrans. In addition to frigid temperatures, the interior of this planet is host to dangerous predators and a slew of genetic viruses, most of which are particularly malignant to us Earthlings. If your brother wandered outside the habitable zone or into the interior, he’s dead. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not leaving” Renly answered. “Please tell the King my offer still stands. If he changes his mind, you can reach me at my hotel.”
CHAPTER 4
Edward Duprees walked into the smoke-filled bar at the Aurum Galaxy Inn Hotel at mid-day. The hum of conversation hushed when he paused in the doorway, just long enough for the patrons to recognize him as a regular. His mood soured when he realized Richard Blaylock had arrived ahead of him. No doubt the ambassador notified him of Renly Harkness’s arrival as well. In spite of his antagonism for the man, he could not ask him to leave. Technically, Blaylock was his superior, but for the duration of this year’s Gold Fest XVI, Edward was the Executive Director; responsible for every aspect of Arkady Universal Mining interests on Aurum. Richard Blaylock’s arrogance was the reason they were being forced to deal with the escalating Harkness issue, although after their long association, he knew Blaylock had a different perspective.
He stopped at the bar and asked Jiala to bring him his usual, then crossed the busy saloon to sit with Blaylock.
If the other man was unhappy to see him, he didn’t show it, and greeted Edward warmly enough. Blaylock liked to say he was a big picture man, where Edward prided himself on his attention to detail and people skills. Had Blaylock informed him of the Harkness issue instead of dealing with it himself, Edward was certain he would have been able to persuade the artist not to come looking for his brother.
After Ambassador Reinhardt informed him of the goldsmith’s arrival, he retrieved the transmissions between Renly Harkness and Richard Blaylock from the corporate archive. The correspondence clearly documented Blaylock’s condescending tone in his communiqués to Renly Harkness, bordering on contempt. Blaylock had been the Executive Director of the last Gold Festival. Like it or not, Blaylock would insist on being part of this meeting. Might as well accept it.
“I assume you’re here for the same reason I am, Richard, but I would prefer to handle things my own way. Please let me do the talking.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Blaylock answered mildly.
“Reinhardt thinks he’s harmless. Suggested we go ahead and give him a pass to the festival. I’m inclined to agree.”
“Absolutely not. Giving out free passes sets a bad precedent. This is not a roadside carnival; it is the richest event in the universe. Think about your responsibility to the company. To our stockholders. Our guest list has been carefully cultivated and screened. We’re the hottest ticket in the galaxy. Once you start making exceptions…” His hand waved the air imperiously.
Edward resented the lecture. Of course Aurum was the jewel of the company’s holdings. The planet possessed the largest deposits of rare and precious metals in the galaxy. Embargoes were of course, illegal; but the company got around that encumbrance by allowing public access once every four years. Visas were issued only to major stockholders, their most influential backers, celebrities, and the super-rich.
“He’s a native Terran, Richard. Never been off the planet. He probably has some romantic notion about the universal applicability of Earth laws. And now he’s finagled his way here with a royal invite. Who knows what King Hakaroah will do? My guess is he’ll ask us to handle this anyway, so now that Harkness has arrived, we ought to make the offer ourselves. The last thing we want is to air our dirty laundry in front of the new Khirjahni ruler.”
“Don’t be ridiculous
, Edward. As usual, you’ve overstated everything. These Khirjahni don’t care what happens to off-worlders who wander into the forbidden zone. Why do you think it’s called the forbidden zone?” Blaylock gave him a disgusted look.
Edward sipped his sixty-year-old scotch, savoring the smoky, peaty burn as the liquor warmed him. Blaylock had the maddening ability to put him on the defensive in almost any situation. He’s just waiting for me to screw up. Once again he’d been backed into a position of cleaning up after a mess made by Richard Blaylock.
“As always, I value you input, Richard, but I’m going to give him access to the Festival. I’ll get Wayne to escort him around the park.” Wayne was getting too wrapped up in the racing stables, anyway. Territorial. Obsessive, even. Babysitting the artist for a few days would get him out of the trainer’s hair.
“Not the Gold Ball.”
He glared at the older man. “Give me a little credit, Richard. Of course not the Gold Ball.”
“Good.” Blaylock nodded toward the doorway. “There’s our boy, I’ll bet.”
Edward nodded, and waved the serious-looking young man over. “Mr. Harkness? Please join us.”
The grey pallor of cryosleep identified the narrow-shouldered Terran more persuasively than any nametag. The artist wore a black, oversized silk jacket with Nehru collar, ill-fitting slacks, and shiny leather city shoes. Probably a fashion trend on Earth these days, but funereal and out of step at the festival. He shivered as he approached; a classic sign of new arrivals to the chill climate.
“Edward Duprees, Mr. Harkness. May I call you Renly?” He introduced Blaylock, noting the man wore synthetic biohazard gloves. Oh boy, another one of those. He kept his face impassive. He motioned to Jiala to bring another round, but Harkness declined the offer, asking instead for bottled water. Not a good sign. The Terran stared at the bartender with an expression of terrible fascination.
