The mood in the room became tense. Silently, the crowd watched. What were they expecting?
Finally, Applebottom arrived on the landing at the crest of the ramp. He reached out for the grapefruit-size sphere. The second his fingers made contact with the orb, it began to glow brightly, as if somebody had flipped a light switch.
There was a collective gasp from the onlookers.
Joe’s heart skipped a beat. Even from so far away the light was quite bright to his eyes.
Applebottom stood frozen for a moment, evidently surprised by the light himself. He shook his head, dislocated the sphere from its pedestal and set it into the black box on the pushcart. As soon as his fingers lost contact with the metal, the orb stopped glowing.
Applebottom and the other scientist calmly descended the ramp towards the onlookers.
Joe squinted at the crowd. A man that looked remarkably like the infamous leader of the Martian gang, Howly Irons, complete with tweed jacket and straw hat, approached the pushcart.
Simultaneously, a man in a Chinese Admiralty uniform stepped forward. He and Howly Irons grabbed onto the cart’s handle at the same time and the two men stared at each other for a moment. Things apparently weren’t going as planned.
Words were exchanged. Joe couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, but the tone wasn’t friendly. He leaned in closer, knocking loose a piece of metal from the statue in the process. He scrambled to catch it, but it hit the floor with a loud bang and noisily tumbled all the way down to the bottom of the hundred yard ramp.
Joe closed his eyes and wished it would stop making noise.
Tammy stood wide-eyed, staring at the boisterous scene. Joe peeked back down at the crowd and met Enoch Applebottom’s gaze.
The scientist stared for a moment, his face confused. Then, without warning, he pulled a ray gun from his jacket and blasted a hole in Howly Irons’ forehead. The mobster collapsed to the floor. The Chinese soldiers followed suit, opening fire on the Martians without hesitation.
The explosive shots echoed like a drum solo throughout the cathedral. Dust crumbled from the ceiling. Martians collapsed to the ground bleeding. Most of the gang members were killed instantly. But not willing to go down without a fight, the survivors of the massacre took their blasters and returned fire on the Chinese. All but a few of the officers died in the firefight.
In the chaos of the shootout, one of the Martians managed to grab the black box that held the gray orb from the pushcart. He scurried behind a nearby storage container to hide with his newfound treasure. Applebottom and the Chinese officers had meanwhile taken shelter in the tent.
The Chinese Admiral laid on the floor dying, a puddle of blood around him. He shouted to the others something along the lines of, “The mission has been compromised.”
Joe was pretty sure that was the translation. His Chinese was a little limited.
Sparks exploded from the atmosphere shield generator which had taken shots in the exchange.
An automated voice in Chinese announced, “Evacuate the premises, atmosphere shield losing integrity.”
That phrase Joe understood for sure.
Applebottom and the military officers scrambled into their transport. The assistant scientist grabbed the empty pushcart and stumbled up the on-ramp after them. He didn’t seem to notice the lack of black box and orb. The ship’s engines started. It lifted up and blasted off through the atmosphere shield.
Now that the coast was clear, the Martian carrying the black box scurried into his own ship, the orange Corvette. The engines ignited and the vessel elevated. But before it could make its escape, a piece of ceiling debris fell and smashed the hell out of its starboard side. The Corvette barely managed to stay afloat and chugged out through the open wall.
The ground beneath Joe’s feet shook. The cathedral was falling apart. Suddenly, the force field began to flicker as the air escaped the room.
He sprinted back towards the Visitor’s Center with Tammy at his side, hoping to outrun the vacuum of space. They tried to close the archway door, to isolate the air leak, but the mechanism now refused to work. Typical.
“What are we going to do?” Tammy asked. “We have no ship.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Joe said.
They stood in the docking bay, staring at the tiny tour shuttle. The egg-shaped hull was faded from age and Joe peaked inside the clear glass door. There was only one seat. The anxiety made his skin itch as he estimated the thing probably wouldn’t last five minutes in space.
“We’ll go together,” Tammy said.
“Like hell we will,” Joe said. “You go first and come back and get me in another ship.”
Tammy stared at the tiny vessel with hesitation in her eyes. Evidently she didn’t want to live with the guilt of leaving Joe there to die. “We’ll do rock, paper, scissors for it.”
A red warning light began to flash on the wall. “Critical air leak detected,” the center’s computer declared. “Oxygen supply will deplete in five minutes.”
They barreled through space in the tiny pod, sharing a seat, Tammy with half her ass up on Joe’s lap.
“This is pretty uncomfortable,” Joe admitted.
“You’re not my type, Joe,” Tammy said. She let that hang in the air for a moment, before changing the subject. “We’re pretty lucky they had this shuttle. Don’t you think?”
“I think I should’ve shot those Martians before they stole the Crown Vik,” Joe said flatly.
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
“Why not?” Joe exclaimed. “Killing’s not a sin for me. It’s a necessity. Especially out here.”
“Everything that happens in life is a test to see whether we’ll do the right thing.”
“Save me the sermon, please.”
“No, I mean it. This... all this...” Tammy said, surveying the universe, “is just a training ground.”
Joe weighed the pros and cons of hitting the eject button.
“And like it or not, Joe, you did the right thing today.”
“The right thing wouldn’t result in me flying through space in an egg, with you on my lap, sharing a one person oxygen supply.”
“We’ll be fine.”
Suddenly they were jerked forward. The seat belt went tight on Joe’s waist and Tammy bumped into the front window. The shuttle had stopped.
Tammy looked back. Her eyes grew big. “That’s not good.”
“What’s not good?” Joe asked, trying his best to turn around in the cramped pod.
“We’re tethered to the center.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“Great.”
“Why would they tether it?” Tammy asked, exasperation in her voice.
“Maybe this is part of our training,” Joe suggested.
“How much oxygen do we have?” Tammy asked.
Joe looked at the gauge. “Ten minutes worth, for one person. So that’s five minutes for the two of us.”
“Give the thrusters more gas,” Tammy commanded.
Joe stepped on the accelerator, but the ship only swung around in a vague circle at the end of the tether cable. They were still about two hundred kilometers shy of the diner.
“Well… try your best not to breath,” Joe sighed.
Tammy began to pray to herself in Spanish.
Joe stared, dumbfounded. “Please don’t waste our air on that.”
But Tammy shook her head. She reached into her pocket and took out what appeared to be a small instruction manual, pressed it to her forehead and continued in her supplication.
Was the kid praying to a blender? In the half light of the escape pod it was difficult to see exactly what the manual was for. There was no picture, and only a few words in Spanish that Joe couldn't make out. It seemed to be quite aged, judging by the wavy, cream-colored pages.
The situation was making him sick. He needed to get his mind on something else. He glanced at his starsailor’s comp
ass. It was still pointing towards Bolstra 5. It also informed him that there was least one and a half hours before the mechanic would arrive to fix his ship. That guy was sure in for a surprise.
Joe gazed out the window. A huge, dangerous universe was out there, waiting to be discovered and now how he was going to die in an egg-shaped tour shuttle. His chest began to tighten. His fingers began to tingle. But it wasn’t the air running out. This was a panic attack, a common occurrence for Joe. But unlike all the rest, this one was actually warranted. There were only a few minutes before he’d suffocate. He didn’t want to go out like this. Joe thought back to the home he’d never see again. The billions of strangers he’d never meet. The countless bowls of chili left uneaten.
The gun sat in his holster. There was always the easy way out.
He thought of Cassandra sitting among the purple flowers.
Just for the heck of it he gave the engines one last thrust.
The strap holding the shuttle suddenly snapped and the craft was flung forward, Joe’s back pressed against the seat. He couldn’t help but laugh – laughter that was half surprise, half the thrilled relief that he wasn’t going to die.
Tammy gazed at him with her mouth wide open. “Can you believe it?”
“That sure was lucky,” Joe answered, breathing shakily, steering the careening ship towards the diner.
“I prayed and it worked,” she said in astonishment, putting the manual back into her jacket.
“They bought cheap tether cables,” Joe said flatly.
But Tammy didn’t hear it. She was too busy smiling from ear to ear at the deus ex machina that had just occurred. “I can’t believe it.”
“It wasn’t...” Joe sighed and shut his mouth.
He pulled up next to his crashed Crown Vik. Inside his damaged vehicle sat the Martian man, frozen solid in the driver’s seat, his eyes wide open with a look of shock on his face. He must have been killed instantly in the air leak.
Up ahead, in the parking lot, they set down next to an orange Corvette with heavy damage to it’s starboard side.
“Is that what I think it is?” Tammy asked.
“I think so,” Joe said, unbuckling his seat-belt. “Get off my lap. I’m making the arrest.”
Joe entered the diner through the front door. To his surprise the Martian from the throne room had seen him coming and had taken a hostage, namely the waitress. In one hand was his blaster, held tight to the woman’s neck, in the other was the black box.
“Hands in the air,” he shouted with that god-awful Martian accent – every vowel sharp.
The waitress’s eyes bulged from her head. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Woah, woah, woah. Hold on now,” Joe said, raising his hands. He took a couple steps forward. “Nobody needs to get hurt here.”
“Stay where you are,” the Martian hissed, pressing the gun tighter to her skin.
“Just do what he asks,” the waitress pleaded.
“Let her go, man,” said Joe.
“I will, just as soon as the transport comes,” the Martian replied.
Joe took a quick look around the diner. It was closing time and the room was nearly empty. A few truckers sat concerned in a nearby booth. The line cook was frozen solid behind the counter.
Unbeknownst to the Martian, Tammy had gone around back and come in through the side entrance. She was now inching her way towards him. Joe made eye contact with her, giving a look as if to say, ‘Just be careful.’
The transport bus pulled up outside. The passenger loading bridge connected to the diner’s parking lot and the front door opened.
“No sudden moves, any of you,” commanded the Martian. “I repeat, I was forced to do this job.” He turned to see Tammy approaching and shook the gun menacingly at the deputy. “Hey, back up!”
Joe had to act quickly.
Suddenly, the bathroom door to his right creaked open. The Martian turned and blindly fired. The shriek of the blast echoed through the room. The waitress’s son stood there at the bathroom door with a hole in his chest. His face was blank as he fell to the floor.
The woman screamed and the Martian pulled her out the doorway and onto the transport.
Joe was paralyzed.
The transport pulled away, a frightened driver at the helm.
The waitress’s son laid on the floor.
“Joe, what should we do?” Tammy asked, as she ran to the boy. “What should we do?”
Joe went numb and surveyed the room. His bowl of chili was still sitting there on the table. No one had touched it.
4
It wasn’t until after they were in hyperspace that Enoch Applebottom noticed the pushcart his assistant had grabbed from the ruins contained no box, and thus no artifact. Dagnammit.
How had the plan failed?
At the base of it all was one simple truth.
You can never trust Martians.
They were the worst race, hands down. Dishonest, conniving, lazy. He really should’ve seen this coming. Qin Feng grabbing the empty pushcart was simply the cherry on top.
Nonetheless, dealing with the Martian gang was the only feasible course they could have taken. They had the bribable officials, the loose border controls and lax import and export regulations. They were the only faction that wouldn’t have noticed the artifact passing through their territory and that made them the only viable option of the eight systems bordering the neutral zone.
Having those two lowlifes babysit the rangers at the Visitor’s Center was only logical. He couldn't have placed Chinese soldiers there, that would’ve blown their cover. It had to be somebody who would have been likely to try and rob the place. He should’ve expected them to come and crash the excavation party the way they did. The Martians apparently wanted to have all their men on deck when they tried to steal the artifact.
Excavating the throne room wall with precision lasers was the right decision as well. Fast, silent and effective – no one had ever even noticed them working.
Applebottom admired the sleek body of the man leaning against the transport’s computer terminal. David was the deadliest assassin in all the galaxy. He was, for all intents and purposes, the Chairman’s own personal bodyguard and in charge of the secret police. Usually, he was stationed on the White Dragon with the Chairman himself, but due to the importance of this mission the Chairman was willing to part with his right-hand-man. Which was lucky for Applebottom. If not for David, he would have been killed in that shootout and wouldn’t even had made it out with the pushcart.
Lastly, the Chairman placing Applebottom in charge of the whole operation was the only sensible choice. He was the most knowledgeable and capable Talashaa expert. He literally wrote the book on them. Anyone else would have been a mistake.
So – since every decision made along the way was the correct decision, this outcome was unavoidable.
“We’ve completely lost the signal on the artifact,” the first officer, Saburo, announced from the computer console.
“And you won’t find it either,” Applebottom said.
“Why not?” Saburo asked, spinning around in his swivel chair. “You said it has a completely unique signature.”
“Unique or not, it doesn’t do much good in the wave canceling box.”
“Right,” Saburo replied, dropping his head to his chest.
The wave canceling box was Qin Feng’s idea. Also a correct decision at the time of its conception. He looked to his assistant who was now sitting at the table with his face in his hands.
“Sir,” said Saburo. “The Chairman is on the line.”
Applebottom closed his eyes. The mission was a complete disaster and he hadn’t had the time to formulate the reason for its failure. He had to get to work immediately. With a pen and paper before him, he intended on finding the precise point where all of this had gone wrong. “Tell him I’m busy.”
“What are you so busy with?” the Chairman asked over the ship’s intercom – apparently he didn’t
wait on hold. The man’s voice was somehow soothing and threatening at the same time.
“Details, your highness. That I won’t bore you with.”
“I’ve been told you’ve lost the artifact.”
“Momentarily,” Applebottom said. “There was a misunderstanding.”
“What type of misunderstanding?”
“The people we trusted screwed us over.”
“Then you trusted the wrong people,” the Chairman stated.
“They were the right people, there was just a misunderstanding.”
“There can’t be misunderstandings with something so valuable, Applebottom. There was a reason we did this covertly.”
“I know,” Applebottom said.
“It was to avoid an international incident.”
“I know. It was my idea.”
“Then don’t let it get out of hand,” the Chairman said. “Find those that took it. Question them if you can. Kill them afterwards. Nobody can know about our involvement.”
“I’ve reviewed the video footage,” Saburo chimed in from the console. “There were two police officers there. No ID on them yet.”
“Police officers?” the Chairman asked.
“From the local sector.”
“Has David seen the footage?” the Chairman asked.
“Yes,” David said, still leaning against the computer terminal, right over Saburo’s shoulder. His black hair slicked back, his dark eyes dead.
“Memorize those faces,” the Chairman said. “I want them taken care of. I’m beginning to feel there’s more to this than just a small misunderstanding. And Applebottom?”
“Yes?” Applebottom asked.
“Results are the only thing we can judge, that’s your famous line isn’t it?”
“I wrote that, yes.”
“Then give me results. No matter what – results.”
“Noted,” Applebottom said.
“David, are you still there?” the Chairman asked.
The Star Collector Page 4
