The Harrison Chapters
Chapter 4
Jim Vassilakos
copyright (c) 1990
Mike leaned against the wall and squinted into the cool, scented spray as it stung his face and shoulders and dissolved into a fine, white mist, pools gathering in clusters and slipping down his aching body to the hexagonal tiles below. He vaguely wondered what he would tell Linden, trying to rehearse the words in his mind. "Oh, remember that guy with the android who kidnapped Niki and bugged your offices and home? Yeah, he's really an okay guy. I was just talking to him this morning. He decided not to jettison me out his torpedo tubes. Isn't that the nicest thing?"
Robin was in the next room prying about, trying to glean information about him from every facet of his life. Boss's orders, she explained, but she approached the assignment with a curiosity beyond mere orders. He hardly knew her and she was already getting on his nerves.
"Okay. Dry now." The spray shut off and short blasts of warm air jetted from the sides of the stall. A clear bowl-shaped device lowered itself from the ceiling until it surrounded his head. He shut his eyes as hot air jets whipped around his ears. In a few moments Mike stepped out of the stall and looked for the threads. Robin had laid a black three piece suit out for him. He hated formal wear, but he knew the occasion warranted it. Quickly dressing, he grabbed a comb and then set it back down as it scratched bare flesh. He found a formal hat beside the imager.
Robin, dressed in a long white evening dress, sat on the couch bent over the Niko camera system with its various parts sprawled across the living room floor. She had been sifting through pictures in storage and apparently one had caught her fancy.
"What're you up to?" Mike approached cautiously remembering the last night's incident and the pain she could inflict.
"I didn't know you had another Siri. Who's this one?"
Mike glanced at the picture on the screen. A young Siri woman, perhaps five years older than Niki, stood facing a large triangular lake finished in polished black stone centered around three fountains outlined by the dim amber light of Calanna's dying red sun. Her eyes, dark and bitter, seemed to cast a shadow across the black stone tiles upon which naked symbols were etched like tortured spirits, bonded to the stone for all eternity. Mike remembered the sacrificial alter for all its beauty and pain; and as if by reflex, he reached to the monitor and the screen went black.
Robin looked up startled, "I was just looking."
"She was an old friend. You wanna go?"
"There's still another hour. What's your hurry?" She stood up and walked into the bedroom.
"Nothin'. What's yours?" Mike packed the camera into its case and continued to ponder what he would tell Chuck. He walked to the bedroom, pausing before the door, reflecting what Robin might be doing. He tried to take into account the fact that she was an android, but with everything that happened, it still seemed impossible.
"I always did like a girl who was straight-forward." He smiled at the poor taste of his comment.
"Excuse me?"
Mike entered the room to see Robin hooked up to the computer system via a thin clear cord leading into the comm-socket from her ear. Suddenly he found it not so hard to think of her as an android.
"What are you doing to Cindy?"
"Talking," she smiled. "You have everything locked up real tight. No access to private files."
Mike felt relieved. For a moment he debated inwardly between snapping her cord or just yanking it out of her ear. The thought made him grin.
"Cindy, give Robin all the information you have on the Nissithiu."
"It is done, Michael."
Robin unplugged and the thin cord automatically retracted into her head. Mike felt generous, as if he had a choice in the matter.
Robin stared at him for a moment before speaking. "What makes you so sure?"
Mike shrugged, "The facts fit. C'mon, let's go see Linden."
The subway to Greenflower was slower than most since it traveled above the surface for much of the ride. Mike imagined that its architect preferred monorails with their visual entertainment of clearings, crop-land, and rolling hills speeding quickly by the windows to the functional subways which moved a person tens of kilometers in a matter of a few minutes without anything to look at except bare earth along the way. True, the subway to Greenflower was more pleasant than most, but it wasn't really a subway.
Robin didn't seem particularly impressed, however. She kept studying Mike and the other passengers, and when she caught Mike watching she even faked a yawn. It didn't bother Mike, but he didn't like it either. If she was going to fake a human characteristic, better that she should fake being delighted to see the trees dashing by or the rushing sound the wind made whenever the tracks would turn. That was what he liked so much about Niki. She was always so happy just to experience and be alive. That was what he envied most about her ever since the day he met her at the Psi Institute on Tizar after his last return from Calanna. He liked her so much he didn't even bother checking out the full range of her talents, and when he had found out how limited they were, Mike still decided to keep her on.
Niki was not nearly as talented as her predecessor in the picture, but she was happier all the same, though even that could become irritating sometimes. Robin on the other hand was either dead or cruel. Mike smiled at the thought, because he knew he was being too judgemental, but it seemed true all the same. Robin had her excuse, however; she was an android. Her makers wouldn't program her so she could have a good time. Anything as state of the art as herself would have some purpose. Mike, on the other hand, was human. He wondered what his excuse might be.
The train pulled into the Greenflower station. The Lion's Den was only on the neighboring hillside looking down over a bluff onto the inland town. It was perhaps a twenty minute walk, fifteen if they hurried, two or three if they took a taxi. Mike felt like walking but realized he wouldn't have a choice as two men in green uniforms entered the compartment.
"Galactican security," one drily announced, "Please come with us."
Every mega-corporation was like a nation state; they all had their own private police, whether the company specialized in cargo transport, starship construction, agricultural production, or news gathering and dissemination. The Galactican was no exception, and on every world under its scope it recruited from the ranks of the planetary ground command. The people they invariably got were low quality mercenaries who couldn't cut it in an interstellar outfit. That knowledge kept the ground cop humble in comparison with his starlaw counterpart. It was a quality Mike appreciated.
The two security officers led Mike and Robin to a grav-car outside the subway. The cool evening air enveloped them as the taller of the men fiddled with the electronic keypad-lock. The other rested his hand on his holster, his rough fingers lightly touching the handle of his automatic, while his eyes stared at the back of Robin's neck. The gun looked like army ordinance. Mike guessed that the short clip contained armor piercing bullets.
Once inside the car, they sped up the hillside toward the Lion's Den. With variable altitude control, the ride was non- stop; and cars on cross-aisles sped above or below at intersections. Within two minutes they had settled outside the banquet hall, the tall statue pillars of the building suggested a certain elegance of manner which Mike knew would be lacking within. The tall officer motioned for Mike to follow as he withdrew from the car toward the white stone building.
Mike looked over his shoulder as the shorter guard stood blocking the door, "What about her?"
"She stays here," the tall one answered.
Mike followed the security officer into the building, noticing familiar faces smiling and nodding in every direction. Linden sat at the front table flanked by the departmental heads. Mike approached cautiously, catching Linden's eye as he walked toward the table.
"Mike!" It was Niki. Bill stood behind her, his long dark hair combed back and knotted. Several heads turned suddenly from the crowd.
"We thought you might not..."
"I know," He cut her short. "What did you tell Chuck?"
"Everything," Bill responded first. "When you didn't come back... what happened?"
Mike scowled, "Things are screwed up. I've gotta see Chuck."
"Hold on a sec..."
Mike cut through the crowd toward the editor. Linden wore a blue suit and a confident smile. He stood up as Mike reached the table, and several of the department heads followed the editor's example, offering their hands to Mike as the guard took an unobtrusive position in the background.
"Gentlemen, you know Mr. Harrison."
"Good to see you again young man, you're doing a great job for the paper."
"I hear you will be speaking tonight, Mr. Harrison."
"That was a brilliant piece on Telmar."
Mike shook their hands and exchanged pleasantries before pulling Linden aside.
"Chuck, we have to talk"
Linden kept smiling, "You bet."
"Now."
Once they were outside, Linden dropped his show smile, "Okay, what happened."
Mike let out a long breath, taking his hat off as an opener. Linden blinked with astonishment at the shaven head and short metal barbs.
"...what the... you okay?"
"For starters, I've got to wear these until I get away from our psychotic, android friend. Clay wants me to take Robin to Calanna to find Fork, and I don't think he's an Imp."
"He's not," Linden stopped staring when the hat went back on. "We checked over that disk you stole from the Solomon estate. The one you planted on Niki for us to find."
Mike nodded, "Anything juicy?"
"It seems a lot of people were visiting Mr. Solomon that day. Many are listed as tourists. Other's as diplomats. We think they may be spies."
"Azazi?"
"Draconian Corporation. You stumbled onto something very big."
Mike tried to puzzle everything together in his head, but none of the pieces matched.
"Have you informed the government."
Linden shook his head, "And blow the story? No way."
Mike gulped down wondering how long he could go to prison for concealing information about Draconian spies. He finally looked up, "What do I do?"
"Take her to Calanna. Get into her programming over there."
"We can do that better over here."
"No," Linden stared into the reporter's eyes. "Mike, we've already agreed that somebody had to get into my office and home to plant those bugs, and that somebody was probably in security. If they have and agent in security, they could just as easily have ten in technical. Get the job done on Calanna. It'll be more quiet that way."
Mike looked down to the grassy turf below his feet, "Okay. Get me a ship and I'm off."
"Thank you, Mr. Chairman, for that more than generous introduction. It is certainly a pleasure to be here, and to speak to such a distinguished assemblage of colleagues, employers, and guests."
There was a titter from the audience as Michael Harrison surveyed the banquet hall. There were easily over a hundred people present and none who knew what he was about to say, himself included. Mike tried to concentrate on what they wanted to hear, but his head was still dizzy from the events of the day, and he felt a cold sweat beneath the hat as the metal implants began to itch.
"As Mr. Jaden pointed out, I've been working for the Galactican for a very short time, and my work experience often borders on the fantastic, so whatever advice I have to share with my colleagues, whatever incriminations I have to send to my employers, and whatever insights I have to give to our guests tonight, should all be taken with a granule of sodium-chloride.
"Investigative gathering is a very individualistic effort; everybody in the business has their own style and way of tackling a case, so be forewarned that what works fine for me will probably fail miserably for you."
This time there was laughter from the audience. Mike began to relax and let the words flow. His trick was just to keep speaking and never really think about what he was saying. As long as his mouth kept moving, shovelling out the meaningless phrases stuck together with the pointless glue that was public speaking, he'd be through with his obligation in no time.
But underneath the cool exterior his mind began to wander away from the speech. Being an engaged speaker was what they taught in oral communications. He remembered the class well enough. He remembered two of his instructor's pet phrases: "Reach out to your audience;" "speak with them, not at them." Mike inwardly smiled remembering how he had passed the class: by being disengaged. Speaking was frightening enough, let alone engaged speaking. Mike always had an alternate method, for almost everything. He liked to experiment until he found out for himself what worked best.
The same was true with investigative reporting. Some guys would read the morning updates until they found something interesting, and then they'd go and research a spin-off. Others would carry a team of news-hounds, usually young people just entering the workforce who were looking for a few extra credits. Mike decided to rent-a-psyche.
He could have found John Doe #17 any of the other ways, but the fact was that Niki found him the day she visited the med-center for a psi-rating test. She had contacted the institute on Tizar and they referred her to Dr. Albertus. After the test she was still keyed-up and open to psi-emissions as they were called. That was the day they brought Fork into D-ward.
"D" was for Disaster. He had been apprehended in a cafeteria at the starport with a bloody fork in his hand. It was the real kind, not like the grav-utensils which couldn't hurt a flee. He must have been from off-world. There was no record of him anywhere in the planetary directory. And to top it off, he had no identification what-so-ever. Niki just happened to sense his total confusion while walking by the two nurses who were transporting a wacko to solitary, bound in a straight-jacket and tied to a stretcher. It had been in the updates, any nurse news- hound could have called somebody on the floor, but as it happened, Niki spotted the opportunity and took it. That's the way the dice fell, and Mike couldn't say he was any happier for it.
Fork was messed up, that anyone could tell, but what nobody had known was that the damage had been the result of a mind- scanner. It took a trained "psyche" to know that. Even sophisticated medical equipment could miss it. It was that little bit of knowledge which everyone else had carelessly avoided that gave Mike a story. To each, his own.
The mind-scanner was an expensive piece of technology far more advanced than the sensatizer Mike had so recently experienced. It attempted to do what any well-trained Siri could do, read the mind of its victim. Victim was the word to use, because mental damage was often associated with over-zealous use of the equipment. If someone was well trained at hiding a secret inside their mind, all that there was to do was kill a few brain cells until such training departed. And then, sometimes, the scanner wasn't used to get secrets. On rare occasions, it was used to maim. Mike believed that Fork's was such a case; and he believed that the Imps were the responsible party.
But how did the Draconians enter into it? That was the piece of the puzzle Mike couldn't place. It hinted at something much larger in scope, something which dwarfed both Mike and Fork and all of Tizar. It was the real itch that he couldn't yet scratch, until he got to Calanna.
"Being a reporter for an interstellar news syndicate also has certain fringe benefits, not entirely immaterial. For starters, nobody wants to piss you off."
Mike looked around. Everywhere he saw people laughing. He hoped they were laughing with him and not at his obvious lies.
"Another, and this one is just as critical as it sounds, is that often if there is an important public figure you need to interview, that person will generally take time out of their busy schedule to get some good press, whereas if you were working for some two-bit firm out of Arcadia..." he stopped for a wide if sheepish grin, "I hope there's nobody here from Arcadia tonight..." The audience was loving it.
Except for one person. She sat in a corner near the back. Her dark features were not so stern as they were indifferent, but her eyes were as sharp and cold as steel. She seemed vaguely unimpressed, and Mike felt his heart skip a beat as she stared directly through him.
"The last fringe benefit I can bring to mind, tonight, is that after the story is written and published and read by the masses, the reporter gets to speak to a distinguished assemblage of his colleagues, employers, and guests. That's always a lot of fun."
The entire audience tilted on the edges of their seats, hands poised in clapping-position.
"And with that I'd like to return control of this honors banquet to one of my most esteemed employers, your friend and mine, Mr. Ray Jaden. Mr. Chairman."
Mike hurried away from the lectern amidst raucous applause from a mostly standing audience, and took his seat next to Niki and Bill. They both congratulated him with pats on the back, and Mike guessed that the speech went okay, though he still hadn't the faintest inkling to know what is was that he said.
"Nice speech buddy."
"Thanks Bill."
"... cept, next time I'd leave out that part about taking a dump outside the Cubbyhole."
Mike turned around, "What?"
"You 'member. When we came back from Telmar and got..."
"I didn't." Mike felt his mouth drop open.
Bill's face broke into a grin, "Just kidding, Mike."
Mike sighed with relief as Walker laughed, "You have to admit, I had you goin'."
Bill Walker was one of the few people who really knew how Mike worked. Mike tried to teach him everything, and in the end he'd taught Bill too much. Now he'd do his best just to hide things from the younger gatherer.
Mike looked over his shoulder and saw the woman in the corner. She was still focused on him. He turned around but could feel her stare boring into the back of his skull. Her face was familiar, but he couldn't place it. Some foreign official, he decided.
"Bill, who's the woman in that corner in the white dress, nothing over the shoulders. She keeps looking over here."
Bill took a half turn using the full extent of his peripheral vision, which was far better than most people's. Mike figured that he had lots of practice.
"She's turned around."
"Well, she was..."
"Wait. It's Draconian Ambassador Kato. Don't you read the paper? Oh, of course. Look who I'm talking to. Forget I asked."
"Don't let it happen again," Mike used his best Draconian accent. It sounded absurdly frustrated, and Bill laughed.
"I think she likes you."
"Shut-up."
Natasia Uhambra Kato was the permanent Draconian envoy to Tizar. It was uncommon for her to attend social gatherings unless she was required to do so by her office. Mike figured that drastic circumstances had called for drastic measures. But what did she hope to accomplish?
"Here comes the booty, mate." Bill looked pleased with himself as Jaden placed a tray of wall plaques on the table beside the lectern. He had a list of "winners" in his left hand and a glass of water in his right.
"This could take awhile."
Bill smiled back, "Should we pick up the yawn patrol."
"But that would be rude," Mike countered as he began his first glorious yawn of the evening. Bill attended with voluminous seconds.
"Our first award goes to one of our speakers tonight, a gatherer who has done a splendid job for the Galactican, and a close personal friend of mine."
"I wish he hadn't said that," Bill slowly began to struggle up from his seat.
Mike placed a hand on his shoulder, "Sit down."
"This gentleman has preserved the sacred trust our paper holds with the public, that of reporting the truth as it is, without reservation and without dramatization."
"At least we know it can't be you."
"Shusshhh..."
"He headed the best-selling issue of the Galactican this year with his front page article headlined, `Telmar Prepares For Civil War' which I might add, was quite accurate if we are to have any faith in the current news.
"His articles and essays are insightful and are a fine example of the very best in journalism. With that, it gives me great pleasure and pride to award this plaque to Michael J. Harrison, for his contributions to the Galactican."
As Mike accepted the award there were resounding cries for another speech, all of which died down as he resumed his seat. It took an act of will to not sneak a glance toward the corner of the hall. There was something different about her.
"I hope you're not reading me."
Niki turned, startled, "Somethin' the matter?"
"I'll tell you about it later."
The plaque wasn't especially impressive. Mike wondered if they imported the silver ore from Telmar. Jaden continued to hand out various other plaques to various other people for various other accomplishments while company photographers stood around snapping images.
"I wish I had one," Bill interrupted Mike's thoughts with his most sullen voice. He looked like a four-year-old who lost his lollipop.
Mike stuffed the plaque in Bill's jacket pocket.
"Hey..."
"You can change the name."
Bill laughed, "Hey, thanks dude."
"Anytime."
As the tray grew empty, Mike noticed that he and Bill weren't the only one's yawning. However, nobody had the guts to make for the door. Mike knew that the first person to break open the doors and leave would cause a tidal-wave of people to follow, but nobody dared start the congestion.
Finally, Jaden congratulated the readership, everyone who came, and everyone who didn't get an award but thought they deserved one all the same. With the final laugh, he declared the ceremony complete and adjourned the congregation. The rabble, anticipating the clap of the gavel, were already on their feet with more raucous applause, but this time with constipated steps as they tried to squirm outside and perform their relative duties to nature. Mike laughed remembering the Cubbyhole.
"Are we having fun yet?"
Mike gave Niki a hug, "We're about to."
"Michael..."
Linden approached from behind Niki, "I got that ship."
Mike looked over her shoulder, "How soon?"
"It's at the starport in pre-flight. Hanger 183."
"Accommodations?"
"Four."
"Okay, thanks Chuck."
Niki tugged Mike's arm, "What's goin' on?"
"Get your stuff packed, you too Bill, we're going to Calanna."
"Now?"
"Yeah."
Bill headed toward the doors muttering something about his mother. Niki followed, and then suddenly turned.
"What about you?"
"I've got everything I need."
She turned and ran out after Bill.
"Mike," Linden turned back to face the reporter. The multitudes were still bumping their way outside amidst the congestion at the Hall's entrance.
"What is it, Chuck?"
The editor's hands were wrung into a knot as he tried to lean casually against the lectern. He smiled his real smile for the first time in the night.
"Nothing... Good luck."
Mike nodded, "Thanks."
Outside the air was cold, not at all like the balmy summer nights on most of Calanna. Mike saw the dark figures recede into the distance, climbing into their chauffeured limousines, a sign of their decadent elegance. The security officer stood beside the company gravcar. He was looking for Mike amidst the approaching crowd. Mike guessed that Robin was still tucked away inside. It would have been a long wait for a human.
"Mr. Harrison."
Mike swung around abruptly, barely catching his head in time to keep the hat from falling off.
The Ambassador smiled and tried unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle, "I'm sorry if I surprised you. My name is Natasia."
"I know." He reached out his hand to shake hers. He wondered if there was some other sort of protocol.
"But my friends call me Nuke. Don't worry," she withdrew her hand abruptly, "you don't have to kiss it or anything. I'm not Imperial royalty."
Her long dark hair shined in the moonlight. She was a tall as him, but very slim. She suppressed another giggle rather poorly, and her face glittered with amusement, but her eyes told a different story.
"Can I help you Ambassador?"
"No." She waited for her reply to sink as she smiled seductively, "I wanted to commend you on a brilliant speech."
Mike wondered if she was being sarcastic or giddy.
"Thank you."
"You are welcome."
Her eyes glimmered with icy bemusement as the reply sank deeper into his mind. Something within them toyed about an idea, as if she were sifting though his memories for an occasional... stolen disk.
"What do you want? You want to know something."
She studied him for a moment, "I already have what I want. You've told me everything."
Mike clenched his fist, knowing he'd given away his thoughts.
She put her hands on his shoulders and rubbed her thumbs into the fabric of his collar while staring into his eyes with a message of sympathy.
"Yes, you have. Now I want you to have a safe and happy trip. And be sure to find Mr. Fork. He's very, very important."
A dim, filtered luminescence clung to the cold air as Christina Quatalis re-checked her flight instructions for the fourth and final time, shaking her head with a now comfortable disbelief. The recycler hummed in a shaded corner of the bridge as the computer silently reconfigured her upper boards to account for the installation of turbo-fan chemical jets into the IFM Vista's tertiary ports. Hazel eyes scanned its progress, reading the textures of data with a mixture of apathy and distrust. Over the bridge IC she heard Rrkal's husky voice shouting obscenities amidst the dull background chatter of ground techs.
She opened her line, "Some sorta prob, engineering?"
"Captain?" It was Victor. His York accent was easily discernible over any transmitter. "Com-beta on the third tube is right out. If we had another day we could make repairs, but not in space."
"Typical ISS surplus. Don't sweat it. We can still route navcom through manual."
"Only if we tear open your panel. And then we'll probably have to reconfigure the whole system from scratch. Is it really worth it?"
"We haven't any choice. We're taking-off in five hours."
There was a growl from the other end.
"What's that?"
"Never mind. It's not repeatable."
Chris smiled, "Tell Rrkal to watch his lip. I want you back up here to chart our course."
"I thought our course was already registered."
"Just get up here; there's been a slight change in plans."
"On my way."
The bridge lights flickered as local batteries kicked in. It was one of Rrkal's ways of letting everyone know when he was annoyed. Chris punched up another channel.
"Gunnery, are you ready for the Jane's files on Wasps."
"Ready Freddy," Rita's voice crackled over the IC.
"Sending now..."
Mike cautiously stepped onto the maintenance grav-plate. The congested workspace of Hanger 183 made him feel conspicuously overdressed. Robin dangled her legs over the edge of the plate as it slowly lifted to the spacecraft above. Large spotlight attached to the wall illuminated the aft of the vessel as water vapor condensed and frosted along the fuel hoses and quickly sublimated back into the air a few meters down the line. A large Vargr, his coveralls stained with lubrication fluid, barked directions to the starport maintenance personnel from a small engine port. An expression of distaste seemed to cross his black, furry snout as he sniffed the pair's scented formals.
"Y'da pass'ngerz?"
Mike stepped onto the cold, steel hull extending his hand, "That's right. My name's Mike."
"Rrkal," the Vargr shot Mike a toothy grin and turned toward the airlock. "Da stat'rhoomz don'da lif'tund beinty stups sdhar'burd. Blu dhoorz."
"Thanks," Mike winced as the engineer's breath steamed into his face. "We can find our way around."
The airlock's iris valves rotated open as Mike and Robin approached the outer hatchway. A youngish woman with short, sandy-blonde hair stood in the short passage. Her khaki uniform showed command rank.
"Ms. Clay, Mr. Harrison, it's a pleasure to welcome you aboard the Imperial Free Merchant Vista. I'm Captain Quatalis. If you'll follow me, I'll be happy to show you to your cabin. Our other two passengers have not yet arrived. Will you be staying together?"
Mike and Robin followed the Captain through the airlock's double iris valves and into a hexagonal passage with railings and iron grating floors.
"No. What are the accommodations?"
The Captain glanced toward Mike, twisting a red lever which opened a set of sliding doors to a small cargo lift.
"Two staterooms, double occupancy."
The lift descended one level and the doors slid open. Three passages ran to the bow, port, and starboard respectively. The floors and walls were all finished in an artificial, white substance made to look like polished marble, but the metal handrails remained. One was conspicuously bent outward several centimeters.
"Bumpy rides?"
"We often get comments on that."
They followed the captain through the starboard passage and into an oval common area. A wide table occupied the central floorspace, its translucent body suspended from the ceiling by a reflective, holographic projection rod. Gravitic recliner housings lay scattered on the floor around the table like an assemblage of anthills. Nested into the far wall were cupboards, a hydration oven, a squat cooling unit, and two air filters. Sliding, blue doors to either side marked the stateroom entrances.
"You'll find the galley down the port passage in case you get hungry. Rrkal, I believe you've met our engineer, he cooks the supper chow at eighteen hours ship time. Otherwise, its fend for yourself. If you need to use medical, that's next to the galley. Rita doubles as our ship's medic; you'll meet her if you get spacesick. If you need anything else use channel zero on the IC. We'll be leaving Tizar in four standard hours, or a little over fifteen cents local time. After we jump into hyperspace we will review your drop-off instructions," Captain Quatalis paused with this last thought searching for the right words. "I hope you enjoy your stay. Good-day."
She quickly headed down the passage and made a swift right turn away from the lift.
"Apparently in a hurry," Robin poked her nose into the cupboard.
Mike leaned against the passage railing, "What drop-off instructions?"
"I think she means we aren't landing at the spaceport. Wanna split a can of mash?"
At T-0:02 Bill and Niki showed up, packed as tightly as two rats could pack. For Niki, that meant a pair of pris glasses, a string of worry beads and the standard med-kit with bandages and casting-foam. Bill carried his own sort of med-kit, three vials of purified ethanol, ten grams of hexobarbital, a laser blade, and one fiberglass body pistol of last resort. Mike never understood how two people so different could get along so well. Getting Bill and Niki together was a recipe for destruction. At formal banquets they could behave, but in a starship galley...
"Foodfight!"
"Hey Mike, what's the matter. I thought you liked yogurt."
"Wanna smoke an enchilada?"
"What the hell is going on here?!"
"Uh..oh.. Ah, hi el cap-i-tan. How beautiful you look this evening."
"This passenger is drunk!"
"Who?"
"I want to know who the hell brought drugs onboard this vessel!"
"Hic..."
Mike began to question the wisdom of bringing along an entourage. Niki was essential, just because without her finding Fork would be next to impossible. Robin was part of the deal, which could have been broken back on Tizar. And Bill, with his aptitude and inclination for brawling, was just cannon fodder. Mike smiled, wondering if he would get that far.
"Are you aware of the term `depressurization', Mr. Walker?"
"She's gonna space me..."
"Only if you're lucky. And as for you miss Sen..."
"Tee hee hee..."
Captain Quatalis had an interesting method for dealing with drunks. First, they were injected with a nausea inducing compound causing them to sacrifice to the porcelain god the entire contents of their stomaches in addition to several dry heaves just for good measure. Then she had them hooked up to plasma vaccs where they had their blood filtered by the Empire's most sadistic gunner/medic. Finally, she had them stuffed into low berths for one hour of uninterrupted hibernation, just so they wouldn't miss the hangover. Then, after they were thoroughly sobered, she offered them her sincerest apology for having put them through such stringent disciplinary measures and broke out a bottle of Antares' finest spirit, just to show them how much she meant it. If they accepted, they got to go through the whole process over again.
Mike sat in the corner of medbay taking notes and plenty of pictures for future blackmail. Half way through the proceedings he felt an unmistakable disorientation.
Bill leaned on the plasma filter, pukestance. "Was that the drug or just me?"
"We just jumped into hyperspace," Rita Ghomes examined the readings along the med displays. "Oh...that's interesting."
"Sweet mama, Mike, get me the hell outta here."
"Sorry Bill, captain's orders."
"Billy..." Niki curled herself into a little ball around the base of her filter, probably to keep the room from turning so fast.
"What is it Niki?"
"I feel woosy."
"Yeah, that's one way of putting...Mike?"
Mike looked over at his sobering companion. Bill had plainly noticed something new in his now undrunken state.
"Take off the hat, Harrison."
Mike obliged him, relishing the surprise of a half-suspended grin. Niki's was less controlled, and evolved from giggles to more puke which nobody thought she possessed.
"What the..."
"It's a long story."
"Them's head-tricks, Mike. Highly illegal for Tizarians."
Mike nodded, "Courtesy of Mr. Clay."
"In other words, you didn't have any choice."
Mike smiled, "I guess he wants to keep me in line."
"Or out of line."
Niki looked up from her barf, "I think it's gross."
"Look who's talking."
"Hey, at least I hit the bucket, okay?"
Mike turned about and left, donning his hat only as an afterthought. The dark passage with its white finish and bent railing seemed to flow over with misplaced memories. He leaned against the metal as if testing its strength. Something about the cold steel put him at ease, as if the time-space bubble which now surrounded the ship would take them somewhere else beside Calanna. Even Telmar was preferable. Or perhaps Tyber. Mike remembered the dense, choking atmosphere, mildly acidic carbons and sulfates eating his lungs as he scrambled for a filter mask, tall smokestacks cutting through the lethal fog a mile and more. Even that would be preferable to Calanna.
The oval antechamber to the passenger staterooms was dark and cold. Mike searched the table's surface for environmental controls without success, finally fumbling across the IC.
"Hello?" The voice was strange. A York accent?
"Hi. How d'ya turn the lights on?"
Suddenly the room lighted up.
The person at the other end seemed to laugh, "I think you found the magic words."
"Oh. Sorry."
"Glad to be of assistance."
Mike switched the line closed and stumbled into a gravitic recliner beside the table. He wondered who he had just talked to, and how many more "strangers" were aboard the Vista.
"Computer on." Nothing happened.
"Quaint..." Mike leaned over the table and found the switch at the base of the connector. The air above the table began to glow with a luminescent texture as the holo-rod generated a spinning three-dimensional representation of the Vista. Mike paused, waiting for some sort of prompt. The image of the Vista continued rotating.
"Hi."
"Unrecognized command."
"Help."
"No help available."
Mike went to the cooling unit and returned to his seat empty handed.
"Show passengers."
"Respecify at unrecognized parameter... passengers."
"Cargo manifest."
"Records unavailable."
"Bullshit..."
"Unrecognized command."
"Show flight instructions."
"Records unavailable."
Mike returned to the cooling unit and grabbed a sluice-stick. He bit off the end and sucked out a quarter of its frozen, syrupy contents.
"Who the fuck programmed you?"
"Respecify at unrecognized parameter...the."
Mike sat back in the gravitic recliner and let the head tilt back until he rested on a forward incline, his feet sticking upward and out like a gull's tail feathers.
"Who...are you?"
"Specify data format."
"Verbose."
"Vista, Imperial Free Merchant, SG-64923. Laid down 124-618, Dimstar, Imperial Dimstar Corporation. Tonnage two-hundred standard, twenty-eight hundred cubic meters displacement. Engineering, one Dopel PF-18 fusion-linked power plant driving two Ditar AG-217e hyperfield generators and one Monoquad MQ-3 fixed impulse maneuver drive with dual Zalpha-X turbofan installation. Gravitics, Napaliastics I-14 Field Generators with standard inertial compensation and zero to two gee sustained gravity adjusters. Range, sixteen point three light-years with unlimited maneuver..."
Mike straightened his posture as the holographic display zoomed-in on specific systems aboard the craft. He tried to keep pace with the output as the computer jumped from one topic to the next. The Vista was a 38-year-old retired scout ship built by Dimstar based on a standard design two-hundred ton hull. It had been purchased at discount by the Bank of Ares and leased through the Galactic Press Corporation as a refitted free merchant. Its entire class had a history of excellent atmospheric maneuverability, but the Vista, in particular, had been placed in dry dock six years previously with orders that it be scrapped due to a series of critical drive failures. Somehow a deal had been cut, and the defective drives had been repaired.
The vessel was crewed by two Galactican personnel, two independent contractors, and three robots. The captain, Christine Quatalis, was born on Tyber. She served as a pilot in the Imperial Scouts before being hired on by the Galactican. Her first mate, Victor Darian, was from Ares. He served Sector Navy as a tac-ship lieutenant before being discharged in naval cutbacks three years earlier. Rita Ghomes, a native of Telmar, was discharged around the same time from her planetary guard while the civil unrest was beginning to brew into open revolt. Rrkal, the vargr engineer, was from the outworld coalition. He worked his passage from the frontier aboard a merchant craft until he was laid off near Dimstar. The three robots worked in cargo, maintenance, and engineering respectively, places which passengers were unlikely to ever see.
The passenger roster was classified as were flight instructions. Mike guessed that he could have broken the security if he had Cindy on hand or access to the ship's computer directly. An idea itched away somewhere deep inside his mind, but he put it away shaking his head and smiling. If he hadn't seen the way Captain Quatalis dealt with drunks, he might have been more willing to see how she dealt with snoops.
Mike decided he was tired. He peeked down the passage and saw no sign of movement. Niki and Bill were going to spend a few more hours in sick bay for sure. Mike pulled himself to his feet and started toward the closest of the staterooms.
"Lights off." The door slid open as the room darkened behind him. He shuffled out of his shirt and climbed into where he though the null-tube should be.
"Mike?" It was Robin.
"Uh..oh.. I think I stumbled into the wrong room."
"It's okay. You don't have to go."
"What makes you think I was going to?"
She didn't bother to come up with a reply but scooted over to make more room. Mike tried to make out her features in the pitch darkness. He wondered what she was wearing.
It! It's an android. Mike tried to refocus his thoughts, but they kept twisting around on him.
She moved again, "What are you thinking?"
"Wrong question."
"You're trying to see me, aren't you."
Not your typical android question, Mike thought. "Can you see in the dark?"
No answer.
"Like, infrared?" His throat felt dry.
She moved again, her head very close to his, but without breath. "With a dash of the ultraviolet." He could almost see her smile.
Mike closed his eyes and tried to sleep wondering why she would do the same. She seemed to mimic humans in almost all aspects of their behavior. Was it simply a part of her programming or something deeper? After several minutes he felt the supressant currents slowly rock as she seemed to breathe, quietly, peacefully. He finally let himself sink slowly beneath the cover of sleep, the depth of space closing inward like a far away dream realized in a sudden instant. And in his mind's eye he saw the fine red outline of a short fence post, its needle-thin barbs pressing outward, seeking blindly in the static wind as a trio of squat, white figures lay aside, their fluffy forms resting on a bed of green haze.
"If I wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it."
Captain Quatalis looked mildly irritated. She chewed on the end of a buttersprout and glanced around the galley looking for her lightpen. Victor sat in the far corner of the room still sizing up her intended audience of four passengers as Rrkal and Rita stirred a can of condensed Terriak hearts into their joint concoction.
Niki studied the map on the near wall, trying to decipher the gist of the implications. "What if we get caught?"
Quatalis turned to the Siri, "If we land at the spaceport we'll all be picked up by starlaw, or worse, by ISIS. This is the only alternative."
"That's only true if the Calannan guard lets the Imps push them around, which is something I find highly unlikely."
"It's more likely than you might think Mr. Harrison, particularly since Calanna has never been a friend of Tizar or the Galactic Press Corporation."
Mike nodded, and reconsidered. The drop-off instructions, drawn by an ex-army commander working directly under Jaden and heading the Tizar office's internal security division, were simple and direct; a clean military troop insertion if Mike had ever seen one. Under the plan, the Vista would jump in at the far side of Calanna's smaller moon, dive into the planet's atmosphere, deal with any resistance as necessary, make the drop via gravchutes, and get out. The only problems were the gravitational effects on the hyperspatial drives, and the resistance, most likely in the form of Wasp fighter craft. After the four were safely dirtside, they should easily ditch the chutes and hide in the local terrain. After that, hiking twenty kilometers into Aelflan, a large agricultural community, would be a snap.
The incident would be logged as yet another smuggling operation which made it through. Since many government and security officials took part in such activities themselves on a regular basis, no eyebrows would be raised. The Wasps would probably follow the Vista out at a safe distance and let the few ground personnel available handle the drop. Probability of success: 90% plus, or so it was written. And better still, the Imps would be thinking Harrison and company still on Tizar counting the ashes of poor Mr. Fork.
"Fine, but how do we get out." It was Niki again.
Quatalis had wondered when somebody would ask the obvious question. The fact that it had been asked meant that they had already accepted the plan for getting in.
"The Vista's cargo shuttle, the Ariya, will land at the spaceport eight days after the drop. We'll unload our cargo and begin speculating. No doubt we'll attract some Imperial attention, so when you try to get back in contact, be subtle. We'll stick around for ten days after that, or until we are no longer needed. The Vista, herself, will be hiding under scanner range of the system's largest gas giant. In case of complications, I suggest you arrange for a backup spacecraft. Are there any questions?"
Seeing none, Rrkal announced open season on the supper, and the crew plus one android dug in. Bill poked at the food with the end of his laser blade, watching the mixture fizzle and flame with tempered distaste, and Niki gathered half-a-bowl in a half- hearted attempt to put something down. Mike just sat around watching the others, his appetite all but evaporated by the discussion.
Rrkal grinned at the trio, "Da Pass'engurz don' eet hartz."
Bill looked up from his bowl, an enigmatic smile slowly creeping across his face.
"Z'hartz goood foood. Ven Z'Droyd noez."
Mike looked across at Robin. She was still shovelling it down with an eager hunger bordering on ravenous.
"Zhe eetz like und no tomarwoo."
Robin looked up from the table, gulping down her mouthful without chewing.
"Why iz zat, droyd?"
"Because there might not be..." She looked across at Mike with a matter-of-fact smile. Taken together with the fake sleeping, yawning, detachable ears, and punch in the chest, he decided he didn't like smiling androids, not that he had ever known any others to justify the generalization. Mike reflected on his attitude as she resumed eating.
"Doz zhe zhit too?"
Her eyebrow cocked at the query, and for the first time Mike felt an inkling of interest in the conversation, such as it was. Bill perked up too, as did the captain after a moment's pause.
"Not exactly your usual supper manners, Rrkal."
"I'm...tirzty." He seemed to search for the last word as if unsure of the translation.
Quatalis regarded him with a passing curiosity. "You're thirsty? For knowledge?"
"Da." The Vargr grinned, two canines dropping from either side of his snout. He seemed rather pleased that he'd gotten his point across, and had all but forgotten about Robin.
Mike looked across the table, "I don't know; Robin, do you?"
"Do I what?"
Mike smiled at the slated reply, "Y'know, 'zhit."'
Niki spilled her bowl as Mike felt a raw reminder of the pain coarse up his spine, snapping each vertebra as it ascended until it loomed at the threshold of his mind. He awaited the burning, but it just stood there like a flickering candle flame, pausing for some sort of twisted invitation.
Mike opened his eyes to see everyone staring at Niki, her face averted in shame as she tried to dry the table. Rrkal slided across and began helping her clean-up as the Captain shuffled out of her recliner to grab a hand-vacc.
"Maybe we should have discussed the drop after supper."
Bill kept frozen in his place, his eyes sweeping from Niki to Robin, and then over to Mike. As their eyes locked in an understanding that didn't need explanation, Bill reached down to the base of his recliner and switched off, his body slowly rotating into a standing position before the gravitic currents gave way to the surrounding fields. Mike followed suit, and soon found his feet placed firmly on solid decking.
"Thanks for the food, but we're not hungry."
"Daz okay...mor foood fur uz."
Mike followed Bill to the hold, the younger man entering an access code at the lift and again at storage. A security camera watched from the corner of the room as Bill hauled one of the gravchutes off the near wall.
"Mama says it's best to strike while the enemy is out to lunch."
Mike nodded, "Looks like you've been keeping busy."
"I figured it was high time I paid my keep." Bill took his last vial of ethanol from his back pocket.
"She let you keep that?"
"I told her it was for barter...on planet."
Mike snatched the vial from Bill's open hand, twisting off its cap as the younger gatherer broke out a two and a half gram capsule.
"I wouldn't drink that if I were you, Mike."
"Not straight."
"Straight or mixed, you'd die." He began opening the chute's gravitics, snipping a thin wire with the end of his knife and fishing it out.
"Ethanol?"
"Guess again, Mike." His grey eyes seemed to flicker with amusement he tied the thread around the capsule.
"I dunno."
"Well, for starters, it's radioactive. The vial's the shield."
Mike handed it back without the cap, "Fine...you drink it."
"Not very likely." Bill plunged the capsule into the liquid and extended his hand as if for a shake.
"This isn't gonna work, Bill."
"The cap."
Mike handed it over, sweat droplets beginning to form on his forehead. "They're gonna check these things out."
"Really?" Bill's eyes widened with pretended surprise.
"Really."
"Don't be a puss, Mike. It'll take at least fifty claps for the current to dissolve the casing." Bill produced a foam napkin, wrapping the vial and tying it securely at both ends, the thin wire string falling from its interior. "And in another twenty... give or take..." He gritted his teeth as the laser blade burnt the wire back into place.
"Then what?"
Bill closed the unit and replaced the chute back on its rack, nicking its polymer housing almost as an afterthought.
"Boom?"
"Neutrinos, Mike. Lots of neutrinos."
The Vista hung cloaked beneath the shadow of Baal, Calanna's lesser moon, as its port sensors began scanning the cloudy world below. On the distant horizon, the rutilant giant descended into night, saffron rays slipping carelessly away to space.
"Passive EMS reports local clear."
"Focus IR, 3rd Octh, Coord 34.21, 84.13." Captain Quatalis cautiously edged the Vista between the jutting walls the dark lunar canyon. An eerie silence crept outside the craft as the joints along her spine began to tingle in anticipation and fear.
"How long 'til the batteries..."
"That depends," Victor's hand fidgeted over the sensor boon controls while his adjunct talked to the ship's computer and played with the data.
"Nothing unusual."
"Try Neutrino."
"Already done. Minutes clean."
"Maybe."
Mike sucked in cold air outside the dropshaft, glancing toward the digital altimeter on the far wall. Niki and Bill sat opposite, knees bent upright, boots braced together. Bill wore a worried expression. Niki looked elsewhere, she was ignoring the tension. Mike focused his eyes forward, a cool sweat breaking out along his hairline. Robin gently fingered the straps of her gravchute.
"Overweight?"
"Paranoid."
Mike smiled at the reply as the vessel jolted sharply against a deafening noise.
"Minute's clean! Get me DR and ID!"
Christina struggled with the helm controls as the Vista rocked and tumbled with the impact.
"They're ground to air. Quiet Snipers."
"They?"
"Two mark ten."
"Ghomes, are you reading this!?"
The Vista's hull armor crackled and glowed against the atmospheric friction as the heat seekers scrambled in pursuit. A swarm of plasma cells jettisoned from the aft and exploded in a fiery blaze over fifteen miles high.
"Sending pinpoint on source."
"Fire at will!"
The robot eye scanned skyward, over the grey and dusty clouds, a cumbersome program slowly analyzing the data. Chemical explosion. Plasma release. A small mechanical motor raised the antenna to an upright position as the launcher's comm unit broadcast the coordinates of the hit. Within moments only a burning crater remained.
"Okay, give me decoys."
"Is that neces..."
"Yes!"
Six gravballs dropped in pairs from the Vista's ventral aft, dispersing about the vessel as it darted toward the cloud-cover below.
"DR Victor."
"Hull breach in tank seven, jump's out also."
"Oh, and by the way."
Victor smiled at the criticism, then stopped smiling.
"Two wasps, cold fuel. No make that four, in close form pairs. They're mark six. Missile range in twelve."
"Eyes open Ghomes."
"Get me fix."
"Sending...Eight goblins folks."
A single Hellraiser flushed into the inky black as Victor pronounced the "E" in "Eight." Within scarce moments a billion cubic yards of sky burst into an intense white flame.
"One and two nixed. Three and four are breaking up. Four dupes out."
"We got lucky."
"Four more goblins. Mark five and six."
Christina reflexively pulled hard and to starboard as Rita fired an antimissile and loosed a swarm of plasma cells despite the tumbling and turning of the spacecraft. Suddenly the Vista lurched from impact, its steel frame splintering open and erupting from all sides in a fiery inferno of fusion and plasma.
Jim's a grad-student at UC Riverside, hoping and praying like crazy that he'll get his MBA before the dean's axe gets him first. In between classes and term papers, he can be found editing `The Guildsman,' the raunchiest gaming zine ever to be published. `The Harrison Chapters' were originally written as a setting description for his Traveller (SF-RPG) campaign. His story, he says, is what you get when you combine an overactive imagination with the foolish tendency to wing it. He says he writes exactly the same way he gamemasters: without any semblance of plan or preconception.
What has been published here as Chapter Four is actually chapters six and seven as written originally by Jim. `The Harrison Chapters' will be continued next issue.
jimv@ucrmath.ucr.edu