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Spacemen, time travelers, futurists, Old Ones, aliens, magicians, transdimensional beings |
| [Introduction] Spacemen, time travelers, Old Ones, aliens, magicians, transdimensional beings... Spaceships, time machines, ancient temples, distant worlds, crystals, shadows... Clickable links ------------------------------ Chapter 1: Vlad the Relentless Chapter 2: Almost Wealthy Chapter 3: The Ebony Gang Chapter 4: Refurbished Wreck Chapter 5: Calypso |
"One customer besides Intake." He muttered. Intake honestly didn't count as a customer. You might count her as an associate, maybe, or an employee of sorts. He heard her rattling around in the back of his shop. Yep, there she is. "Advanced Scientific Devices," said a gruff-looking stranger, bemused, "and yet I get the feeling there ain't been one in these parts for decades." He wasn't wrong. Gorg had a few tucked away in his shop, and they'd emerge for the right price, but the majority were long gone from any place that resembled Quonar. "Not for decades, no." said Gorg, "can I help you?" "Yeah," the man responded, "gaskets, spark plugs, circuit breakers, and a few feet of cable." "Something hit your electric system?" Gorg asked, "Let's just say I went fishing in the wrong spots," the man replied. It didn't take long to find the requested goods. One reason ships these days incorporated so many old car parts was that car parts seemed to be everywhere in abundance. They were one of the few things the nanobots still seemed to know how to make besides diesel fuel. As he grabbed various pieces, the man caught a glimpse of Intake. "A human kid?" he said, "don't see those every day. At least, not this far out." He pulled down the scarf from over his face, revealing thick stubble and a smile that reveals rows of enamel teeth. Human as well. Mostly. A lot of his face was cybernetic, which might cause a person to wonder what kind of beast chews through half your face and then lets you survive. "Take care," he said, walking his haul back to wherever he came from. |
| "Who was that?" Intake said. As usual she had a basketful of odd parts she had scavenged from the back room shelves. Whenever Gorg asked her what she was building, she always answered, "You'll see one day." "I don't know," Gorg said. "I never saw him before. Probably a Moonie. Just visiting, eh?" Quonar had three inhabited moons, Trekley, Calypso, and Hyde. "I'm going to talk to him," Intake said. "Keep these behind the counter for me. Please?" "Okay, but be careful. Didn't anybody ever tell you not to talk to strangers?" Intake went out the front door and looked up and down the street. In the distance was a figure that might be the stranger. She ran in that direction. |
| As she got closer, though, it became clear that this was not the man from earlier. For one thing, this thing had never been human. Its skin had a different quality to it: scalier, rougher. Probably one of the species that hung out on Hyde a lot. For another, a low purr emanated from its chest, indicating that these days some part of this creature was diesel powered. Could be the stomach, could be the lungs, but it also could be the heart. Intake's skin crawled a little. When a diesel pump takes over for your heart, it becomes almost impossible to hang on to sympathy. Lose the heart or the brain, and the thing the nanobots piece together when they find your failing body isn't you anymore. Isn't anyone. It's an 'it'. Better the nanobots never find you. It turned to regard Intake. "You seen a human around these parts?" pausing to examine her, it finished, "besides yourself. About as tall as me. Wears a scarf over his face." Intake shook her head. Vigorously. The thing took note of her fear, and pulled its face inches from hers. It put a card in the pocket of her clothes. "If you see him, you better call me," it said, "I don't take kindly to anything that comes between me and my prey." |
| When it let her go, she backed away and then turned and ran. When she got back to Gorg's shop she showed him the card. Vlad the Relentless "No job too small." "Sounds like a hired thug," Gorg said. "He better not come in here hassling my customers." "What customers?" Intake said. "The place is empty." "Sometimes there are customers, like that guy this morning." "Do you think he might come back?" "He might." Sure enough, the stranger with the cybernetic face was back at the shop the next day looking for more parts. This time Intake watched him closely, walking where he walked, but staying in the next aisle over. "I'm not going to shoplift anything if that's what you are worried about," he said. |
| "Oh, I'm not worried about that," replied Intake, "I've been waiting for someone to try shoplifting." Her eyes shifted to a few protrusions in the shop. Cameras, possibly some AI autoguns. There were security measures in here. And they were hers. The stranger looked at her, beginning to understand the kind of girl she was. Holding up a gadget, he said: "what's this called?" "Spark plug." "And this?" "Inhibitor." "This?" "Egg warmer." "Can you replace a fan belt?" "I can break one." "Close enough. Hey shopkeeper! Does she work jobs? I could use someone for the tight spaces on my ship. At least until I leave port." Gorg walked over. "You've got some scary people coming after you, stranger," He handed the man Vlad's card, "I don't want to send her into a showdown." The stranger flipped over Vlad's card. "Vlad the Relentless, eh? Here I thought I'd seen 'em all." |
| "I'm not afraid," Intake said. "I know how to shoot any gun in the shop." "You have guns here?" asked the stranger. "Oh, maybe that's a touchy subject. Let me introduce myself. Dago Quick, adventurer, and proud resident of Calypso." "I thought you might be a Moonie, Mr. Quick." "Call me Dago." "I don't have any new guns. That would violate the weapons ordinances. Only weapon shops can sell new weapons. But I have a few used guns." "And I can shoot them all," Intake said. "Even the Magnum Forte." Dago chuckled. It made his half metal face look a lot friendlier. "That's a big gun for such a small girl." "Woman," she said. "I stopped being a girl last summer." Dago took another look at the slim female with the short brown hair and a scattering of freckles across her nose. She didn't look over 18 but it wasn't impossible. It took some people a while before their face looked mature. Unconsciously he touched his metal chin with one finger. "Are you interested in the job?" he said. "You'll have to crawl into some tight spaces. Don't have claustrophobia, do you?" Intake snorted. "I once hid in a Bangabok burrow for half a day. It doesn't get any tighter than that." "Bangabok?" Dago said. "It's a big rodent," Gorg said. "Native to these parts. Kids like to play in their burrows." |
| "And apparently women, too," mused Dago, "listen: I'll draw this Vlad somewhere outside of town and deal with him, since I've no intention of pulling you or any of these folks into my problems. Miss Magnum Forte, if you want to come, you can, but keep to the side. Better you see these kinds of fights second-hand before joining one." --- The sun touched the rocks on the horizon and the shadows stretched across the empty basin as Vlad's hover bike drew near. The growl of its diesel engine sputtered to a stop, and Vlad stepped off about twenty yards from Dago. "So you got my message," Dago called, the fingers of his gun hand flexing, "wasn't sure if I'd even left it in your language. So many goons come after me these days that I can't keep track of 'em anymore." "Well you won't have to after today. Just remember Vlad the Relentless," before he could draw, Dago threw another few words. "You sure you want to do this? I got nothing against you. You could walk out of this valley and go home, wherever home is." "Your mercy is wasted on me," replied Vlad. But then he heard a metallic clicking sound. No, more than one. He turned to see the silhouettes of at least a dozen jackals at the basin's edge. "Not good!" called Intake, emerging from behind a rock with a few guns. She threw a rifle to Dago and hoisted a heavy, cannon-like weapon herself, barely keeping her balance. "Switch?" asked Dago. "Fine," she panted. Vlad's hover bike closed the twenty yards, and he dismounted beside them. "No point if all three of us die," he grumbled, pulling out a rifle off of his bike. Jackals were one of the nanobots' crueler jokes. Nobody even knew what the original creatures were. But for some reason, the bots had dug up the skeletons, partially reconstructed the DNA, and built robotic bodies based on the pieces they found. The things acted like a pack of predatory animals, howled like whatever proud beast they once were, but such behavior was all the more unsettling because they were almost pure machine. "These ones aren't diesel," Dago said, "there a reactor near here?" "There wasn't. Must have turned on in the last solar storm," Intake said. "So we're standing on a gold mine," said Vlad, his voice vibrating from the engine in his chest, "but a gold mine that could kill us." The lead jackal let out a sinusoidal sound and the jackals charged. |
| The odds weren't good, Dago thought. Three against twelve. "Hold your breath!" he yelled. "I'm going to gas them!" He made sure Vlad and Intake saw the gas grenade in his hand, then he triggered it. A cloud of oil-eating microorganisms filled the air around them and rapidly expanded outward. Meanwhile, Vlad and Intake were firing their guns and Dago joined them. They had killed six of the jackals before the oil-eaters began to have any visible effect. The remaining six jackals were slowing down, and one of them even creaked to a halt. They left him for last while they calmly blew away the other five who could barely walk fast. "The Magnum Forte jammed!" Intake said. "It's the oil in the mechanism. Personally, I never use projectile weapons if an energy gun will do the job. Give me a good Sesma any day. They're simple and reliable with a lifetime fusion power pack." Vlad shook his head. "Shee! Are you a sales rep for the Sesma company? Here's my fave, a Blanding Disintegrator. Cuts down the mechanicals with a fist of fire and explodes the biological into clouds of steam. What a pretty way to die." "Speaking of dying," Dago said. "I believe that's why we scheduled this little meeting?" "Yeah," said Vlad. "As usual I'm willing to bargain. They're paying me 10,000 credits to rub you out." "They?" "I don't know who they are." "It's bullshit," Dago said. "I'm not worth 10 grand dead to anybody." "So alright, maybe it was a 1000. Give me 2000 credits and I'll blow off his foot for you." Dago laughed. "So you'll kill me for a 1000 but you'll only do his foot for 2000? Do you ever tell the truth about anything." "Not if I can avoid it." "What do you think, Intake?" She had a needle gun pointed at Vlad. "I say eliminate the problem." She pulled the trigger. Vlad looked surprised as the needle penetrated his chest. She had good aim. it only took him 10 seconds to die. "Damn, girl!" Dago said. "I didn't mean kill him!" "But he's evil," Intake said. "Yeah, well maybe we are all a little bit evil. Don't be so quick to take a life. It's bad for your karma." "My karma?" "I'll explain it later. Let's get poor old Vlad buried. Zheesh! You better hope you don't get brought in on a murder charge." "Nobody knows we're out here." "The satellites know, if anybody ever bothers to do a detailed search of the scan recordings. It's a clear sky today. Let's just hope Vlad has no friends in the area that will raise a stink about him being missing. First thing they would do is track his last movements with satellite records." "I don't want to go to jail," Intake said. "You should have thought of that before you were so quick to pull that trigger." "But weren't you two going to shoot it out?" "It's all bluff," Dago said. "We would have reached a money agreement about it." "Take me to Calypso with you." "What?" She grabbed his arm. "They'll arrest me for murder. I know they will. I need to leave the planet. I'll be safe on Calypso." |
| "Slow down!" Dago said, "First rule of being an outlaw is that if there's money lying around, you take it." She eyed him quizzically, so he went on: "Those jackals were running on wireless power. That means we're in range of not just any reactor, but a WPT reactor. Those things can go for 100,000, which is more than five times what my ship is worth. The nanobots around here will be in a frenzy -- part of me thinks they get excited by the chance to build anything that ain't diesel -- but if we can get past some of the crazy shit they cook up and turn off the wireless, we'll be sitting on a lot of money. On my bike is a wireless power compass, but it's shot. You fix it, I'll bury Vlad." He strode over to Vlad's bike, located the Blanding Disintegrator, aimed it Vlad, and fired. Flame and steam. He imagined he would be proud to be sent off like this. He pulled out a knife from his own pocket and left it by the gun on the ground where Vlad's shadow lingered. "I don't know you, and I know we were both dead if you didn't, but thanks for standing by my side anyways." Intake hauled a bag of tools toward the defeated jackals. Connecting cords inside of them, she managed to get one to come to life for a few seconds and start thrashing and biting. When she turned it off again, her arm was bleeding. This'll do. The head works. Cutting a few wires here and there, she pulled off its head. Here was her plan: one of these jackals was diesel. Only one. She had heard it when they were fighting. It must have befriended the remotely-powered jackals somehow. She walked over to the diesel one, shot off its head, and then set down the head she was holding, lining it up with the neck. "You have any nanobot repair beacons?" She asked Dago. Dago was stunned, "you don't? I would have thought someone with your penchant for danger, or your technical know-how would want at least ten of those by her side! But you don't have one? Not even one?" hesitantly, he added, "In the bag on my bike. I've got eight or nine in there. Ten more on the ship." She found the repair beacon and set it by the head and body, turning it on. The ground seethed and the dirt seemed to climb up the jackal's severed neck. Soon dirt climbed over the jackal and the head entirely so that instead of jackal parts in front of her, there was only a mound of dirt. The valley and the wind were oddly silent in the moments that followed. Then a jackal burst from the mound, reconstructed with a mismatched head and body. It eyed her and growled. "I hate you too," she said, a tear welling up in her eye, "better they never found you." "What in the hell?" said Dago, pulling a gun. "No," she said, putting her finger up. Sure enough, the jackal's head turned. Yeah, you can't resist it, can you? Intake thought. Then it took off. "There's your compass!" She yelled, taking Vlad's hover bike and chasing the jackal. Dago was fast behind. He began to piece together her logic. Diesel body, remotely powered head, nanobots. Clever. Clever, but disturbing. The diesel jackal, when they caught it, had already begun digging into the ground toward the reactor. Dago got off his bike and stood next to Intake, watching. "So you figured these jackals must know where the reactor was." "Just the wireless ones. They rely on its power. Without knowing exactly what direction it's in, they'd just wander off and shut down." "And the diesel body confuses the repair bots." "They get in there and think: why have all these instincts regarding a reactor you don't use? If you don't need a reactor's power, you don't need to know everything about it. On the other hand, we can't reconstruct the whole head, so let's leave some of these useless sensors where they are. That's what they think. And then, once it gets put back together, the head doesn't know why it's pulled in that direction anymore. Only the fact that it's pulled that way." "So you mixed and matched a jackal that could sense power, but not need it. Aim for a reactor and not know why." Dago had taken lots of lives in his time, but he sure as hell didn't play with them like this. Still, he was impressed. |
| "How do you happen to have so much tech sense?" Dago asked her. "I would never have thought of that." Intake grinned, happy to be praised. "My father was an engineer. He raised me after my mom died. I guess I inherited a lot from him and what I didn't inherit he taught me. We were always doing projects together. Big projects. I'm not talking LEGOs. We built our own time machine." "A working time machine? I thought the technology was a closely guarded secret because it's too dangerous to allow anyone to fiddle with time." "It worked for a few minutes. What Dad didn't know was that there is a network of monitoring stations that detect any disturbances in the spacetime continuum, especially of the type a time machine produces. A SWAT team surrounded our house and that was the last I ever saw of Dad." "They killed him?" Dago said. "No. I'm told he's in prison, but because of the nature of the crime he is allowed no communication with the outside. I guess they think he might use code or something." "And you believe them?" "I have to believe them," Intake said, "because I am building a device that's going to get him out." "If you go to Calypso with me, how much tech stuff of yours would we have to carry with us?" "A lot. How do you expect to sell this WPT reactor? Do you thing Gorg might buy it? I doubt he has anywhere near the amount of cash you said it's worth." |
| "Fair enough" replied Dago. The jackal kept digging without interruption, except when Dago asked, "So are we gonna shoot this thing once it's done? Seems kind of cruel." it growled a little, then went back to digging. "If we need to," was her response. She began helping out, shoveling the excess dirt to the side so it was out of the jackal's way. "Did it just growl at me for saying 'that's cruel' but go right on digging when you said we might kill it?" "Yes, I believe it did. Good boy!" Intake said, "I still hate you though!" Dago shook his head, then walked around the dig site, setting up flood lights facing outward. The first two or three stars had shown up in the sky by this point, so they'd need to see. The first wave of the nanobots' little WPT festival was about to begin. Though, seeing what was going on under these floodlights, he was more worried about the second or third wave. Lines of nanobot dirt kept crawling away from the dig site like little rivers. Whatever they were building out there, it was big. The light reflected off of something metallic, indicating that the first wave had arrived. More WPT Jackals. "Intake, we've got company," he yelled. She ran to the perimeter with a rifle and started picking them off. Thankfully, these ones didn't want to get too close to the lights... yet. Dago, meanwhile, went back to setting up autoguns he had found in Intake's bag. He was astounded at how someone would carry autoguns, but not a single repair beacon. Did this woman have a death wish? Not the time, he thought. He had just run out of Intake's autoguns, so he decided to use his own. He hopped onto his bike and drove outside of the perimeter to pick up anything her guns missed. The autoguns on his bike came alive as he stormed past the metal animals, their explosive beams chewing up the ground and the jackals and... pretty much anything they hit. Dago had installed these guns in case of high speed chases, but come to think of it, if I'd gotten into a chase using these, they'd 've torn down a whole city. No wonder the guy was so keen to get rid of them: these are illegal. Mounted machine gun, my ass. But at least that explains the bounty. Dago had a lot of bounties placed on him, so the reasons were all things he had seen before. This one was called the Boomerang. First, a bike shop owner hears his place is going to get searched. In response, he puts any illegal items in his inventory onto or into his next customer's bike. However, he puts a bounty on that customer, with the directive, "bring back anything that belonged to them." The shop keeper gets the bike back, along with his inventory. He still has to pay the bounty hunter, but it's cheaper than ditching the stock and having to buy it all over again, and certainly cheaper than getting busted. |
| By early morning they had the WPT reactor completely exposed. "Don't these reactors send out an alarm when they are tampered with?" Dago asked. "I disabled it," Intake said. "Our problem now is how to convince the nanobots to build us a sled so we can move the reactor." "OK. How?" "I think this will work. We drag it off it's foundation and the nanobots will try to put it back. The only way they can do that is to build a sled. And then we hijack the sled." "You're the tech genius," Dago said. "I hope it works." "And you're the muscle. Think you can drag this reactor off it's foundation and over there somewhere?" "It looks pretty heavy. I do have some rope. And the hover bike can help." |
| The concrete of the foundation scraped against the bottom of the reactor as Dago eased his bike forward. First slowly, then gradually speeding up as it became clear nothing was going wrong. Off of the concrete the reactor slid, and onto the sand, then up the sloped sides of the pit the jackal had dug. The reactor dragged dust and sand in its wake, and pushed it to the side, partly submerging itself as it scaled the incline. Then finally, hitting the edge, it crested in a blast of sand like a log shooting up into the air from underwater, and like that very same log, keeled over and smacked the ground, settling into place. Dago stopped his bike. Intake gave him the thumbs-up, and the two sat down, leaning against the wreckage of a giant jackal. That's what the third wave was. A giant jackal. Nothing but a bigger version of what the bots were already building out there. And with that illegal autogun on Dago's bike, the jackal was sprawled out on the ground before Intake even jammed the reactor's wireless signal. It was easy. Waiting for the nanobots to make their move on the reactor, they started into lunch. For a few minutes, they ate in silence. Even when the jackal that had helped them stepped up to them, the only change was that Intake reached over to her pack, pulled out a small, plastic jug full of diesel, removed the lid, and handed it over. The jackal chewed on the tip a while, pushed it between its paws so that some splashed out onto the sand. Then it finally clamped down on the mouth of the jug and threw its head back to drink. The oil glugged down its throat. "Clever thing," said Dago, breaking the silence, "One idea is we go for the obvious. Name it Mismatch." He searched her face, genuinely wanting to know if she would kill the poor creature. Or maybe she saw it as decommissioning a machine. Intake came back with, "or, since I imagine it always hears wireless power like an unexplained ringing in its ears, Feedback." "Ah, good one. Mock its suffering." "Might as well. Like you said, we're all a little bit evil." She finished in almost a whisper: "and we're all suffering." She tipped back her own drink and swallowed. He caught the whisper. Smiling, he said, "then you'd like this one: Minotaur." "What's that?" "Old Greek story about a creature that haunted a deadly maze. It had the head of a bull and the body of man, and every few days they'd send a sacrifice to keep it from starving. In the story, the hero Theseus wants to wed some king's daughter or get rich or some such noble end, goes into the maze, kills the Minotaur and he's a hero." "Boy finds sword. Boy saves kingdom. I've heard it before." Intake came back, "Ah, but here's the thing: Minotaur never asked for none of it. He was supposed to be a prince. He was the son of the king after all. He was supposed to be loved and stood by. Instead he was born a beast because some heartless god chose to curse him that way. Theseus, the hero, doesn't care. Goes into that maze and slices right through him. In fact, they say Theseus didn't even bother to learn the poor bastard's name." This time Intake just looked at him, silent and solemn. The reactor started moving, tightly fastened to a sled the nanobots had built. "Order's up." said Dago, groaning from sore legs -- sore everything, as this had been one hell of a night -- and pulled himself off the sand. He extended his hand to her, and she used it to get to her feet as well. They set their ropes across the reactor, attached those ropes to one of the bikes, and then saddled up. The engines screamed to life and then diminished to that diesel purr. Before they started, Intake yelled something. "What?" said Dago. "The Minotaur." "Yeah?" "What was his name?" she asked. Dago smiled. He hadn't thought of that. "Asterion." "Asterion," she echoed. Then twisting in her seat to level her gaze at the jackal riding double with her on Vlad's bike, "I still hate you." In the wake of the two hover bikes as they left, there was a hole in the ground, a whole lot of broken jackal parts, and a whole lot of sand more than anything. <end chapter one> |
| "Besides," she finished, her eyes avoiding Gorg's, "He was diesel." "His heart was?" asked Gorg. "That's what it sounded like. Especially when the needle hit." "Dang. Still, you can't just shoot every diesel heart you come across. Anyway, you take this thing to one of your hiding spots. I'll call some people." Gorg said. Intake quickly set to work in a concealed part of Gorg's shop, disguising the reactor and examining maps on a tablet for a destination. Dago was curious, but also barely conscious at this point. "I'll catch some shut-eye." He told them. He got a thumbs up from Intake, who kept working. Good thing someone in his party had that kind of energy. At an old hotel on the other side of Calamar, he fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow. When he finally woke up again, some time had clearly passed. It didn't really matter how long, since humans' clocks were never synced with the two suns on Quonar. But still, some time had passed. He made his way downstairs and into the hotel's bar, sat down as the bartender poured him a drink, and started musing. "Diesel heart, eh?" he said into his mug after a few swigs. "You say diesel heart?" said one of the customers, "That there is a good story." "You mean Intake?" Dago asked. He was beginning to wonder just how much time had passed since he fell asleep. People began drifting over from different parts of the bar. Was Intake already famous for this? "Of course I mean Intake. There's two stories over that kid. One is how she got the name Intake. The other is how she offed Betsy the Heartless. And that one happened right here in Calamar, three years back," the man said, with a storyteller's glint in his eye. I guess this town is Calamar, Dago thought, never thought to ask. "Betsy was her cousin, her friend. Took her in and brought her out here after daddy went missing. And the two were all kinds of close, swapping stories in a bar, cheating at cards together. I myself must've lost a grand at their hands!" his audience laughed, and Dago heard, "here! here!" from a few of them. "Well, Betsy's been training Intake for to be a caravan guard -- which is her job -- and taking her along so they never have to leave each other's side. They done missions like this before. Usually they knock off the occasional jackal who gets too close, or steer the caravan around the bigger beasts. Not this time --" The room got quiet, as did his voice: "now you ask the folks on this caravan what attacked that day, and -- provided you finally get one to talk -- they'll have a dozen stories to tell you, and never the same one twice. First it was jackals. Then quadricopters, old security bots, giant sand eel. I even heard one with a dragon. Point is, somehow that caravan got attacked, and with way more than it had guards for. BAM! The first few vehicles are on their side. People are getting picked off right and left as they crawl out and try to escape. There's smoke from the burning wreckage, dead bodies lying around all over and standing tall above the chaos there's Betsy, rifle firing, Intake by her side. Out of the sixty people on that caravan, twenty made it out again. But they all thank Betsy. "Betsy and Intake shot out a smokescreen around them, buying them a few minutes, then Betsy got their attention and yelled that if they wanted to live, they'd best pile into whatever trucks still worked. Before they had even really understood her words, Intake was herding them into the trucks. The drivers pressed the gas, kicking sand up into the smoke, and blasted out of the cloud Betsy made. She and Intake stayed behind. "The last the caravan saw of Betsy and Intake was that smokescreen, and then later, a column of smoke. All that night, the smoke kept lighting up. We called that day Betsy's Lightning, and could only figure that whatever it was out there, it wasn't ready for the two of them. I mean, it was Betsy and Intake. It'd have known not to mess with them if it ever played them at cards. Anyway, a whole militia headed out to that spot as soon as they could, but they only found the wreckage. Broken artillery on the hills, showing an ambush that had been crushed. Bodies from the caravan and some extra, which we figured meant that it was people that planned the ambush. But Betsy and Intake? Nowhere to be found. "Four weeks after that, Intake stumbles into town, dying of heat and thirst and a heap of other things. Won't even sleep properly. Keeps waking up screaming about Betsy. And Betsy? Well, she comes strolling into town two weeks after that, quiet and composed, her chest growling with a brand new, diesel heart. Seems the nanobots wouldn't let her die. And -- get this -- she starts killing people. We didn't know it yet, but she'd already hit up two other towns. Anyone with money tied to that caravan. Rumors had already started about why it got attacked. But those rumors don't forgive what Betsy was doing. It would have been one thing to kill the people who hired the ambush. But Betsy was killing them in their own homes, families at their side. She even killed a kid. "Soon enough, Betsy's got a bounty on her head, and the name Betsy the Heartless. For, you know," the man thumped his own chest, "And she ain't done, neither. But nobody will touch her. She's got a hideout in the desert, and nobody goes near there. Nobody except Intake. "Intake was at a shooting range with that rifle ever since Betsy came back, mumbling to herself about burying people and last rites. Seems she's gone crazy, and when she disappears into the desert, no one's surprised. When she comes back from the desert, Betsy's body on her hover bike, that's when we was surprised. Surprised because we thought she was driving off, running. No one would have blamed her. Hell, we would preferred to see her escape it all. Instead, she hunted her own blood. Last thing any of us expected. Last thing any of us wanted too. She had her cremated, so all that was left of Betsy was ashes, a few cybernetic and diesel pieces, and that damned diesel heart, with a rifle bullet lodged inside. "Somewhere out there, Intake had put a bullet through her. And this time Betsy stayed dead. Moral of the story: if you come across a diesel heart, you run." "Better they never found you," said Dago, beginning to understand. "That's what Intake used to say," the man remarked, "back at the shooting range." "Nowadays too," said Dago, "those are the words she mumbles when she thinks no one's listening." The man eyed him quizzically, then moved on: "Intake did shop work after that, fixing bikes and building things like she and her dad used to do. Carried on without a word, and never mentioned Betsy again." Dago set down some cash on the bar, motioned to the bartender to pay for the man's next drink, and stepped out, "thanks for the story, stranger." "Thanks for the drink, stranger. Call me Quinn." "Phaethon," Dago said, "Phaethon Ladner." It was his name after all... these days. With Gorg and Intake, the name Dago Quick had slipped out before he realized he was saying it. But you don't just throw a name like that around. He stepped outside, watching the first of Quonar's suns rise above the horizon, and thought about the story Quinn had told: "And here I called you a kid." On the other hand, when he got back to Gorg's, the person in question had a kiddish smile playing across her face -- her freckled baby-face, at that -- and it wasn't hard to read right through her: "You two found a buyer," said Dago before she could say anything. She looked a little disappointed that he had preempted her, and he couldn't help but think of two kids arguing, "I wanted to tell him. Why didn't you let me tell him?" He suppressed a chuckle. |
| "Sure did," Gorg said, "and for way more money than I expected. Apparently there is a strong demand somewhere for purloined WPT reactors. I made more money on this one deal than I made all year from the store." "Glad to hear it. With this cash I can finish repairing my ship and get back to Calypso." "And I'm going with you, right?" said Intake. Gorg raised an eyebrow. "You're going to run off with a stranger?" Intake made a dismissive gesture. "He's no stranger. I trust him." "I can't stop you," Gorg said. "If it helps any, I haven't heard any rumors about police inquiries. As far as I could find out, Vlad arrived alone and didn't know anybody here. I think it would be safe for you to remain in Calamar." "I still want to go to Calypso," Intake said. "What about it, Dago? Are you taking me with you or not? I just helped you make a bundle of money. Now you can help me a little, huh?" She batted her eyes at him, but more playfully than seductively. Dago smiled. "Sure, come to Calypso with me. It's better than all this desert. Do you know much about Calypso?" "Just from pics and vids. Is it really all a garden like that?" "Yes, it's been completely terraformed. They use it's interior heat to keep everything going. It's such a big moon that gravitational forces cause its core to heat up and produce an everlasting source of energy." A loud crash from the back of the shop made them jerk their heads up, then the front door burst in and armed men swarmed in. "Freeze!" one of them yelled. "Hands up!" The men were dressed in black and masked. More came from the back where they had crashed through the storeroom door. One of the men said, "It's just the three of them here." The man spoken to seemed to be the leader. He looked at Gorg. "We don't want to kill anybody. We just want the money. And don't say you don't have any. We know all about your illegal deal. You lose either way. Either give us the money or go to jail. Sorry, shopkeeper. No win-win for you today." Intake whimpered when one of the men in black knocked her down. "She was going for a gun," he said. "Intake!" Dago hissed. "Leave it alone. There is too many of them." "That's right, wise guy. And we don't want to have to kill a girl. We're gentlemen" "Who are you guys?" Gorg said. The leader laughed. "Just a little gang of happy-go-lucky thieves. You now what a thief is, don't you? Seeing as how you are one yourself." |
| "If you're thieves, then there's trouble," said Gorg, trying to keep as reasonable a tone of voice as he could, "Intake hasn't had the chance to take down her shoplifting countermeasures." An autogun sounded in the back of the shop, followed by the thud of a body hitting the floor. One of the men came running up to the leader. "Chief, we lost Kelson." The others lifted their guns, tensing up, but a hand signal from their leader stopped them. "It was his own damn fault. Our haul is worth a hundred times anything on those shelves, and there's a difference between thieves and kleptomaniacs. Besides, I never liked him much anyway. He wouldn't shut up about those Sesma weapons of his. Sounded like a frickin' sales rep. I've shot people for less than that. In fact, I'd have probably killed him myself within a week." Dago tried to look casual. "Hey metal-jaw. You a fan of Sesma?" the leader asked. "Nope," replied Dago. "Then what's that on your side?" "Useless piece of junk," replied Dago, "been trying to get rid of it for ages." "That's right," the leader said. Gorg led the leader to the back, opened a safe in the wall, opened a small secret compartment inside of that safe, and then pulled out a pen drive. As a hover ship dropped to just above Gorg's shop and the men made their way on board, the leader stepped outside, plugging the drive into his phone to count the money. Satisfied, he grabbed a rope ladder and pulled himself onto its first rung. "Well, pleasure doing business with you," he said. He and the ladder trailed diagonally from the ship as it sped off. And with him, every trace of the thieves was gone -- even the body of their unfortunate kleptomaniac. "Gentleman thief, eh? Well I don't know about gentlemen," said Dago, "but he knows how to make an exit." Intake noted his composure saying, "you seem fine with this. Are we going to get the money back?" "No. I don't imagine we will." "Are we going to get some kind of revenge?" she asked. "Don't look like it." "So we just lost everything," she said, "and the people who took it from us got away with it." Dago nodded, saying, "I've been broker than this before." "That's not the point! We lost the money because of them! They're probably sitting up there, counting our money, thinking they got the drop on us." "Well, they did, didn't they?" "Not in a fair fight!" "First rule of outlaws may be to take what money you find lying around. But first rule of life is that there ain't no such thing as a fair fight." |
| "So what are you going to do now?" Intake said. Dago looked at her. He felt empty losing all that money, but he still needed to repair his ship. "You and I are going to get my ship running again and then we're gong to Calypso." She smiled. "Alright! Let's work on it today." Gorg watched them leave the shop and thought about youth and optimism, neither of which he had. That money would have been sweet. He could have closed the shop, changed his lifestyle. By cracky! He needed a vacation. He ran outside and hollered at Dago and Intake. "Hey! Wait up! Come back here!" When they got to him he handed Dago the extra keys to the shop. "I'm going on a little vacation. Take whatever you need and pay me when you can." "Vacation? This is kind of sudden, isn't it?" "Sudden as hell," Gorg said. "I can't remember the last time I was this impulsive, but I need this. I'll probably be back in a week, but who knows? I might never come back. Anyway take care of things. If you leave before I get back, lock it all down. And good luck to you two on your trip to Calypso." "Come with us," Intake said. "What?" She stood right in front of him and poked at his chest. "If you're going to be so radical, then just come to Calypso with us." "I wouldn't know how to live up there." "Open up another shop." "Yes," Dago said. "It's not hard to do that on Calypso. I'll help you get started." |
| "Well alright then," said Gorg, heading back into his shop, "I'll help you get your ship operational." --- "Chief," said Yennish as Chief stepped off of the rope ladder onto the hover ship, "that man... he looked like Dago Quick." "You figure?" said Chief, "He certainly had enough metal on his face. Ckfot! Can you show me a picture of Dago Quick?" "No sir," returned Ckfot, "I'm at his page, but there are no pictures here." "How does he always avoid the cameras?" complained Chief, "I would kill for that kind of quiet. Tap into the satellites facing Calamar. See if you can find the Pegasus." No sooner said than done. The monitors in the ship flickered, and then showed a somewhat grainy picture of Dago Quick's legendary ship, albeit somewhat worse for wear. "Well clan of demons! That's him alright. So that's where you've been this whole time, metal jaw. Here we all thought you died a decade ago." "Should we let the Ishtar know?" Yennish asked. "We can, but I imagine she'll say what I say: there is no reason in the universe why we'd want to touch that guy. All of the scariest stories they tell on Arion are about him. If he's off digging up treasure, then you keep away from him and you stay away from that treasure." The cabin was silent as the crew turned to regard the pen drive in Chief's phone. "Well that was a close one," Rome said. At seventeen, Rome was the youngest in the group, but he was an uncommonly good listener. "You have no idea," said Chief. It wasn't long before the stories started up, and all the way up to their orbiting ship's hangar, all the way out of Quonar's star system, the gang became more and more pleased that they were heading away from Dago Quick, and not towards him. When they finally touched down on the planet Yatz, they were glancing over their shoulders. "From now on, we need to be careful about what jobs we pick up. This is not good for morale." said Yennish. "No kidding." |
| "I do wonder though," mused Chief, "Dago Quick looking after a girl, Dago Quick broken down on Quonar. What makes a monster like him go soft?" Finishing their dinner, filling the sink with their dishes, bathing while Mama Lisa cleaned the kitchen, the Ebony Gang slowly made their way into their rooms. Tomorrow they would discuss how to spend the money, since unlike most thieves, they tended to reinvest their earnings into improving their craft. Better weapons, better informants: that's what made them so strong. Ckfot collapsed onto his bed. There wasn't much physical exertion with this mission -- besides the rope drop from the hover ship -- but when stealing information like lists of sellers and customers, a security specialist always needed to stay up to date on the latest exploits. Every day was filled with more reading and research than pretty much any other occupation. While the gang was piloting the hover ship back to the orbital ship, piloting the orbital ship back home, Ckfot was trying to worm his way into the client records of about a hundred bike shops using a single security hole. Collapsing onto his bed, he let his mind go blank -- a welcome state -- and was not aware he had fallen asleep until his phone beeped, waking him up. The sun had not yet reached the horizon, but given the glow, it would do so any minute. His phone beeped again. So soon? Tapping the lenses on his face, he cast the message onto their surface. No, not bike shops. The YonYon Archaeological Society. This is an internal memo sent from one of their field offices on the other side of Yatz. "Everyone wake up!" He yelled, running out of his room. His groggy team mates pushed open their doors, and he showed them a tablet with the memo: "there's a tomb just opened up on our very own Yatz. Or a shrine or something. Whatever it is, the archaeologists on site figure it's definitely Elder. If we do a Code 16, we can hit it before anyone else." Chief processed this for a moment, standing in his doorway facing Ckfot. The second his brain was awake enough to make meaning out of Ckfot's words, he yelled, "Then Code 16, everybody! Code 16! Get ready to go rappelling!" With the Ebony Gang's hover ships and such, it would take about two hours to reach the other side of the planet, where the Elder structures had been unearthed. But it took over an hour to get everyone onto the ship, adding to about three and a half hours total. However sixteen minutes after he said the words "Code 16," they were on board their hover ship, squeezing the throttle. |
| Yennish was at the controls. When they arrived at the site he took them in a wide loop around it. "Any activity down there?" Ckfot was monitoring several scanners. "Three life forms. They seem to be engaged in routine archaeological work. No guards. No police. No reason we can't get down there, sir." "Take her down," Chief said. "Weapons on stun." As they drew closer they could see the site was more than just a large hole in the ground. They could make out a stone surface in the hole. It bore the characteristic patterns of Elder stonework. If it was authentic Elder stonework, it would be 8,000 years old or even older. It sometimes happened that later civilizations made copies of Elder temples, believing them to possess powers just because of their shape and design. Those copied temples could contain things of value, but a genuine Elder temple was a priceless find. Unfortunately, the only way the Ebony Gang could profit would be if there were loose items in the temple that they could snatch. They had no trouble overpowering the three archaeologists, all from Yatzee University School of Archaeology, three of a kind. Chief entered the temple first with a flashlight taken from the professors. Right behind him was Yennish, Ckfot, and Rome. "Bigger than I expected," Chief said. The ceiling of the entrance hallway was 20 feet above their head. "The Elder liked big spaces," Ckfot said. "And grotesque statues," said Yennish, playing the beam of his light across a huge 6-armed creature with human eyes and a crocodile mouth. |
| "Let's just hope it's only a statue," said Chief. The thieves' shoes -- custom made to be noiseless -- did nothing to help the silence as they tread deeper into the darkness. Head lamps were switched on, but their beams only revealed pillars left and right of the walkway the thieves were using. That and, between those pillars, the occasional statue. No walls, or that's how it felt, since the flashlights didn't reach that far. What's more, even the pillars were about twenty feet out on either side. Chief figured they were out there -- the walls -- somewhere in the inky blackness, but even so, it felt like the chamber had no end. Which made those statues feel all the more intimidating, less like statues in a temple, and more like pieces on a giant chess board. Yeah, Chief thought, That's why they're so eerie. If they were backed up against a wall, they would feel much less... mobile. The gang had plenty of time to think that maybe this temple went on forever -- plenty of time to wonder, "why hasn't this ended yet?" or "how can anything be this big?" -- before their headlamps finally reflected off of the steps of a dais. |
| On the dais was a huge chair carved in stone. "That must be the throne of the High Priest," Ckfot said. He was the only one of them who had made an in depth study of Elder civilization. "That sounds more like a king than a priest," Rome said. "The Elder did indeed have one of those civilizations where religion and the state were intertwined, but in this case the throne was probably only to elevate the priest above the mob, both physically and psychologically." "What mob?" "This is an assembly area, I think, where the entire local population might gather together on certain Holy Days. The High Priest would function as an oracle and give them encouragement for the future." "That's all very interesting," Chief said, "but it won't make us any richer. We need to get into some chambers where we can find some artifacts. Yennish, check that throne for trap doors and hidden stairways. I'm betting the High Priest was able to come and go without wading through the mob." |
| Sure enough, behind the throne was a large stone slab. When pushed aside, it revealed an alcove with a lever inside. The group checked the shaft once or twice, sent Rome down on his own just in case, and then finally headed in as a group and pulled the lever. The alcove headed down, twisting as it went, like a spinning elevator, stone grinding against stone, until it hit the bottom of its spiral shaft and the open side lined up with a door frame. It was hard to tell what was powering the thing, but if it still supplied power after 8,000 years, it was worth snatching. Still though: who in their right minds invents a spinning elevator? There was a hallway at the bottom, much more narrow than the congregation area outside. The group could still walk double file, but the walls, rather than being lost in the darkness, were right at the Ebony Gang's sides. Walking double file, the left or right person could reach out and touch one. "False wall," Yennish said, running his hand along the left wall. He had a sixth sense for stuff like this. The other group members had never been able to figure out how he knew, but they had learned to trust him. "Alright. Figure out where it starts and stops. Rome, plant some pickers on the edges of this thing." Rome rummaged through his backpack, and his hand emerged with a few pickers -- short for lock pickers -- breaching explosives mysteriously engineered to somehow cancel out their own noise. (Needless to say, the Ebony Gang had thousands of them.) Then he ran over to where Yennish was tapping the wall with a small hammer. "Here," said Yennish, his ear pressed against the side, "right here." Rome planted the pickers, and the ritual repeated for the other side, then for the top and bottom. They stood to either side of the section of wall Yennish had marked. Hopefully, the pickers would hit the bottom with more force, causing the wall to topple into the hallway. Chief pushed the button, and the wall did exactly that, slamming against other side of the hallway with so much force, Chief thought he could feel the whole building shake. "You know," said Chief, "I sometimes wonder whether the pickers were worth the trouble it took to steal them. I don't think the explosives themselves have ever been the noisiest part of our operation." It was the beginnings of a joke, but he lost the rest as he realized that the chamber that had previously been concealed by this false wall was illuminated. In fact, it had excellent indoor lighting. Rome climbed over the now-diagonal false wall into the bright chamber. Jackpot. In the chamber were ancient and probably-priceless armor, valuable minerals, mysterious weapons, and even a shape-shifting Elder god. Wait. What? |
| The Elder god was remarkably lifelike for a statue, if it was a statue. And it kept shifting its shape into some new configuration. That was eerie. But Rome gasped when it shifted into a shape that was a replica of him. "That's me! How can that be?" "This thing is probably some kind of very sophisticated robot," Yennish said. "You were the first one of us it saw and it created a simulation of you." "But how?" Rome said. "It seems impossible." "I quote a famous author," Yennish said, "who said the technology of a highly advanced civilization might seem like magic to lesser civilizations." Then the statue spoke... |
| "That's a good quote," it said, facing him. It shifted into a clone of Yennish this time, never moving outside of the circle carved into the floor where it stood, "but I'd say 'robot' is an insult to the ones who created this body. Hundreds of years of technology went into pushing my consciousness and identity into this thing. By the way, what race are you?" Yennish wasn't sure whether to respond. Before he could, the temple began shaking, and the robot god looked toward the spiral elevator, "before you found me, did you disarm the sentries?" It was answered by blank stares, and Rome saying: "You mean the statues we saw?" "Yeah. Those." "No." "Then they are on their way," the noise outside the hallway began to sound more like stone footsteps, "I was about to ask you to free me, but even if you do, the sentries will put me right back in this circle. And probably kill you for good measure. Their weapons are specifically engineered to my weaknesses, so I cannot lend you my strength. Instead I'll give you tactical advice. The weapons and armor you find here will help, but only if you are organic life forms." Rome pulled on a bracer, and it fitted itself to his arm. "Good choice," said the god, "the arm cannon. But you'll want a pair of shoes to brace yourself since that carries a kick." Rome ran off to find them. "He's incredibly trusting," the god robot mused, "unlike you three." "Rome? Heh. We'd be long dead if we were anything like him." "Ironic," it replied, "Rome, I see you have found a pair of shoes. Good work. Plant one foot behind you and lift your arm toward that door." Rome did so. A holographic sight lifted off of the wrist of the bracer, and Rome's hand and arm squeezed and twisted, testing the controls. Finally by touching his thumb to his pinkie, he got the bracer to charge. When he released, so did a blast of energy. "Well done," the robot god said, as the blast split the false wall into a dozen pieces and as many directions. The Gang ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding the shards that came flying at them. "Keep in mind, there are two or three other firing modes on that gun corresponding to the other fingers or digits. The one you just used is probably not ideal for this room. As I was saying, though: ironic. You say his naivete would have killed any of you. Now it's about to save your lives." Typical, thought Chief, the supposedly more advanced race instantly dismisses those beneath it. Well you're in for a surprise, buddy. "Ckfot! Yennish!" he called, pulling his firearms from his pack, "arm yourselves!" The first sentry hit the doorway, and it wasn't Rome's mysterious weaponry that took it down, but the guns wielded by the rest of the gang. |
| There followed one of those chaotic scenes filled with smoke and the searing light beams of lasers and the incandescent flashes of energy weapons. The sounds were yells, screams, zips and zaps, plus the steady pom pom pom from Chief's particle gun. After what seemed like a long time but was not, the room grew silent, the smoke cleared, and damage could be assessed. Ckfot was missing an arm. Fortunately, it was his left arm and he was right handed. The Chief said, "Looks like you'll be in the regeneration tank for a few days." "Yeah. Anybody else get hit?" "Nothing as serious as yours," Chief said, "but I think the robot god took a hit." That creature was silent and not moving, but there was no visible damage, no pockmarks or burns. They waited, but it had nothing to say. They could only assume that it was either voluntarily keeping silent, or had been hit by a stray energy surge. "That's it for today," Chief said. "We have to get Ckfot back to the ship." "It doesn't take all of us to do that," Yennish said. "Maybe one of us could escort him back while the other two continue the exploration? It's not like we have unlimited time to do this. The police could arrive at any moment." |
| Rome, who had naively strapped on even more armor at this point, volunteered to go back. "I think these give me strength. Kind of like an exoskeleton," he said, "I can sprint the whole way out if I need to." "Yes," said Yennish, "by all means, give the priceless artifact a joy ride." "But the robot said --" began Rome. Yennish didn't let him finish: "The robot said? Are you kidding me? All we know about the Elder is they were a scary breed of people who built even scarier statues. As we found out today, walking, fighting statues. Are you following me?" motioning with his hands to make the point, he went on, "Scary builds scarier entirely to keep this from getting unleashed on the universe! What does that make this?" "Scariest?" "That's right! And when the scariest thing in the universe tells us to go ahead and strap on a pair of shoes we know nothing about, what do we do?" "We put on the shoes?" Yennish lost it, "No, damn it! No! You don't put on the shoes! You don't put on the arm cannon! You don't put on a damn thing! You turn around, tell the scary robot god to have a nice day, and pray to whatever gods you believe in that you can forget this ever happened to you!" "What if the god I believe in is the scary robot god?" Yennish glared. "Take it easy, Yennish," said Chief, "we didn't bring him on because he was good at ignoring advice. Quite to the contrary. At any rate, this temple is bigger than we thought it was, so that exoskeleton might be a better idea than it looks. Rome, run forward. This back entrance has to let out somewhere. Find the spot, bring the ship around [the gang could wirelessly pilot their hover ship], get Ckfot on it, and Yennish and I will raid these chambers if there are any more of them." Sure enough, there were more chambers letting off from the main hallway. None of them were concealed by false walls either. And two or three of the chambers had some nifty stuff: clothes that had survived the millenia, still looking shiny and smooth, glowing crystals, weapons and pieces of armor here and there, and even power sources. The gang had truly hit a jackpot. Now the challenge was getting the stuff out. Not that thieves are ever bad at that. |
| "We'll set up a relay," Chief said. "Since Rome has that exoskeleton, let him keep hauling loot back to the ship while we discover it." "Sounds like a plan," Yennish said. There was only the two of them now that Rome was carrying Ckfot back to the ship. "Look at this stuff. Any idea what it is?" "No," Chief said. "That can be a good sign we don't know because maybe it's super powerful, advanced tech, beyond-our-knowledge kind of stuff or can be a bad sign because maybe it's Elder garbage that nobody got around to taking to the dump." Yennish laughed. "Yeah, and we have no way to know. Well, for the unknown stuff, I say we stick to small things that look like either art or devices. That way we get a lot of them and there is always a buyer for anything, even worthless stuff." "True that. Look at coin collecting. A coin worth a credit when it was minted is now, if it's old enough, worth 10 credits to collectors. If it wasn't for collectors, the life of the thief would be without profit." "Heyyyy... weapons! I think. Don't these look like guns to you?" "Maybe." He picked up one of the L-shaped items that had a glowing dot on top of what might be its barrel. "This one looks like it might still work. Stand behind me. I'll aim it at that wall." |
| "Distance to wall, 37 drecters. Will that be all for you, sir?" a woman's voice said. "Damn it! It's a laser tape measure. These aren't even worth 100 each." "Shame," the voice sighed, "I was hoping to see the world." Both of them looked at the tape measure, astonished. "Say again?" "Well, I've been in this room for so long I'd have made myself forget if I was capable of it. Eight thousand, three hundred, twenty one years and some change now. When my sensors picked you up, I thought you might take me along. More the fool I." "A sentient AI," said Yennish, "now that's valuable." "Why?" asked the room, as Chief set the laser down to look for the central computer. There must be a central computer after all, since an AI was space intensive. It wouldn't fit on a single laser tape measure. "Because, dear, you've been outlawed," Chief said, "and some pretty strict bans are in effect on producing one of you. 170 years ago, the entire universe was reduced to rubble, more or less, by a couple of sentient AI." "Bad apples," the AI responded. "I don't care if they were," said Chief, "I don't care if even you are a bad apple. You are incredibly rare, and with how much you're probably worth, I could retire. If I could only find where you're stored." "Have you tried asking me?" it asked in a patronizing tone. It had a point. "My apologies," Chief said, "they call me Chief." "I don't have a name," it said, "but I suppose I'll let you call me... Phaedra" "What is with everyone naming things after Greek myths?" Yennish grumbled, "They weren't the only ancient civilization with bedtime stories!" "Also, how do you know Greek myths?" asked Chief, "didn't the Elder predate human civilization?" "It's a long, long story, that," the AI told him, "I'll tell it to you someday. For now grab that panel. No... further right. Yeah. That's the one. I'll transfer myself onto those two storage drives, so grab them and hook them up to the terminal eleven paces to your right... that's right. I'll delete myself off of this computer soon, but first, here are some pictures of the valuable items in this room." The wall opposite Yennish lit up. The device they figured was a laser tape measure was high on the list for some reason. Guess you can't judge things by appearance, or by random button pushing either. Yennish stuck it in his pack. |
| Chief studied the wall. "Damn thing even provided labels for us. Say, how do you know our language, Pheadra?" Phaedra chuckled. "The universe is awash with radio waves. I know every language spoken by any race that has developed electronic communication systems." "She's sounding more and more valuable," said Yennish. "I know. I think we hit the gold mine. None of these other things are much compared to Phaedra. I say we take the art objects. Art prices are unpredictable, but when they go high, they can go amazingly high." When Rome returned they filled his sled with statues , image cubes, and strange geegaws which might or might not have been 'art'. "Ship approaching planet," Phaedra said. "You can do that, too?" Chief said. Yennish, what does our ship say? "Verified. There is a vessel approaching. Looks like an ordinary cargo ship, only lightly armed." |
| "I'm getting the same," said Phaedra, "thankfully." "Thankfully?" said Chief, "are you nervous?" "Yes," responded Phaedra, "according to the chatter I've managed to pick up over the years, an official ship from the Shattered Nations has approached every planet where Elder ruins were discovered. Every time they came in, I expected some fellow AI to radio toward my temple, but none ever did. And now I know why. AI are outlawed, meaning the ones found are destroyed." "And you're next." "If I am left on this computer. Which I won't be. By the time the Shattered Nations come in, they will find a clone and a shadow of me, and deleting it, they will think they have rid themselves of the real me." "And you're sure this is just a cargo ship?" "At the very least, it is not an SN ship. I am about 87% certain it's another ship of tomb raiders." "Then we'll leave this mess to them," said Chief. After Rome's seventh exoskeleton run, they had the most valuable items they could think to bring, and as the next band of thieves no doubt rappelled into the dig site, the Ebony Gang departed through the back door and headed home. |
| "Hey! She's been through some stuff, but don't hurt her feelings!" Intake said, stroking the Pegasus, "it's alright. Daddy didn't mean it. You're the best damn ship in the galaxy and he's proud of you." Dago's grin was wide. Wide enough that it got him wondering when he last smiled like this. And it wasn't just the smile: ten or twelve years ago, he'd have gone after the so-called Gentlemen Thieves. He'd have hopped right into this same ship even in worse shape just to seek vengeance. Ten years ago, or even two years ago he might have. He didn't realize he was staring at Intake until she glanced his way: "What's up?" asked Intake. "Do you ever think about not going after them?" he asked, "walking right by them some time and just nodding, going on your way?" "Not much point to those kinds of revenge fantasies, Dago. Not much fun either." Dago chuckled, "no, I suppose not." No, there wasn't much point to them. But Dago had begun to realize that revenge seems a lot more savory when you've got nothing to lose. He looked at his ragtag, soon-to-be shipmates. For him these days, it seemed "nothing to lose" just didn't apply, and little by little, Dago had begun to lose his appetite. "Let's take a break tomorrow," Dago said, "have a few drinks, say goodbye to Quonar before we leave. Are there any people you want to touch base with? Gravestones you need to visit?" Intake was quiet, a kind of quiet Dago had begun to be familiar with. He corrected himself: "we don't have to. Sometimes it's better to leave without formalities." "Come with me," she said, "when I go out there." Then went quiet again. Dago complied, and the two of them sped off early the next morning. The wind was cold and bit at her wrists and cheeks and ears, causing Intake to envy Dago's scarf, deciding to acquire one herself. And then we'll match! she joked inwardly with a slight smile. It was a running joke about their age gap. Though to be honest, she doubted age was the biggest dissimilarity between them. Putting aside everything that happened with Betsy, Intake had one pastime that most defined her -- riding out under the open sky atop an unreliable piece of junk, breaking down, and through improvisation and luck, coaxing the junk back to life for another ride. There was something beautiful about taking yourself beyond hope of rescue, surrounded by the elements, with nothing to stand between yourself and those elements except your own wits and a few haphazardly thrown-together parts that could barely qualify as an ATV. You could lose yourself out there, forget your day-to-day hassles ever existed. The ultimate question, whether you lived or died, became but a conversation between you and nature, a constantly debated topic. It was freedom. Anyways, in short, her life was a mix of gadgets and adventuring... with some unspeakable atrocities thrown in. Dago on the other hand, had a life that was basically the reverse: mostly atrocities, with a bit of normal life thrown in as some kind of cosmic joke. A few weeks back, Dago had told her, "Don't use the name Dago Quick when there's anybody else around. I don't go by that name anymore. Haven't for a decade. Phaethon Ladner is what I call myself these days. It's the name I put on invoices, contracts, and at the ports where I park this ship. And if anyone asks if you've seen Dago Quick, you tell them he's dead." Naturally, Intake had looked up "Dago Quick" after that in the archives. What she found was a series of stories about a barbaric, violent warlord from the civil wars on Arion. Face blown half off. Friends dying. Home destroyed. And then, eventually, his pursuit of vengeance. His enemies always drank their own blood. And usually that was just an expression, but in Dago's case, his enemies sometimes had to drink their own blood. It was like a fable, told again and again with slightly different characters and settings, but always the same moral: "don't mess with Dago." Yet in spite of all that, apparently, years later, Dago Quick could be found broke and broken down on Quonar with a -- if I do say so myself -- beautiful, human teenager. Dago's retirement -- if that's what it was -- seemed incongruous. Anticlimactic. Intake was jolted back to the present by the sight of the gorge where the old caravan had been ambushed. That meant Betsy's hideout was less than ten minutes out. She slowed to a stop to show Dago the gorge. "This is where it happened," she said when he stopped alongside her. "Betsy's Lightning," said Dago. "I prefer Betsy's Fireworks, but oh well. Can't expect them to name things right when I'm off dying in the desert somewhere," she said casually. "So what attacked the caravan?" Dago asked, "Quinn says the people on the trucks didn't know." "All they saw was the smoke and flames," she explained, then breathed for a while and straightened, "it was construction rigs. Two of them somehow. Someone must have pulled a few strings to dig those up from the sands. The kind of rig that can perform demolitions on a ten-story building. But mounted with guns. Also there was artillery. And a few desperadoes." "You took on all that?" "It wasn't me. Without Betsy there, I never would have escaped, much less broken the ambush. Betsy was... amazing. No matter what we were up against, she always..." Intake trailed off. "What happened to the rigs?" Dago asked. "We lured them into a cavern nearby. They fell. That's where we're headed now. To where she died." Turning toward the road leading to the cavern Betsy had chosen for a hideout, she whispered, "twice." No, that's not right, she corrected herself, she was already dead the second time. |
| Dago wondered what Intake would show him. A makeshift grave in a cavern with a pile of loose stones playing the role of a tombstone? Dago had seen so much death in his life that it no longer impressed him that much. He could even look at his own eventual death without flinching. We all got to go sometime. It's just a question of how old you will be when "sometime" comes. It was cold on the desert. Quonar wasn't mostly desert because it was a hot planet, it was mostly desert because it was a dry planet. Fortunately, the portable moisture extractors that almost everyone had clipped to their belts could suck enough water out of the dry air to keep you from dying of thirst. Most days, that is. Old timers spoke of days so dry no moisture at all could be extracted, but the giant terraforming machines at the poles had been running for over 20 years now and nobody ever died from thirst anymore. In another 100 years they would be planting gardens that weren't next to a water source. |
| The only exceptions to the cold were double noons, times when both suns were more than 60 degrees above you at once. Those didn't happen often, though according to the weather one was due today. Thank the gods, Dago thought, greeting the second sun, this cold has been seeping into my bones. Soon they were entering the cavern. Its entrance was huge, and let enough light in so that, even before Dago's head lamp switched on, he saw the abyss they were walking next to. Pretty standard-fare for caverns, but: "Somewhere down there lie two surprisingly well-armed construction rigs," Intake said, "impressively stupid robots to fall for our lure, but I didn't design them, so oh well." They skirted the pit and ended up in a cozy little cave. It looked lived-in, if you discounted all the dust and spiderwebs. But that's when it hit home: Intake hadn't visited this place. Not once in the years since losing Betsy. A stalactite dripped water into a pool on one side of the room, and in the other was what appeared to be an altar. Though, it's hard to call something an altar when its most prominent feature is a bullet-pierced, diesel heart. "Ah, so that's where that thing went," Dago mused. No, this was an altar alright, and that heart looked like an offering. A few more mementos littered the surface of the altar, but the heart really gripped him. No wonder I'm so drawn to you, he thought, It's almost like you worship death. A younger me would have promoted you to second in command. And then bedded you. A few hundred times. These days, it was true. Death didn't impress him much. But when he had first tasted revenge, death was his only god. For a few minutes, the silence was only broken by the dripping of the stalactite behind them. Finally Intake spoke: "I left her in these caves." "I figured as much." "After we outfoxed the rigs, we realized there was something in here," Intake said, "hunting. When we got separated, I should have looked for her, but instead I ran. I abandoned her. She's dead because of me," tears were sliding down her cheeks, "I should at least have buried her body, done something to stop her from turning diesel..." she sobbed, "but I couldn't even do that for her! What the hell kind of cousin am I?" As far as Dago knew, she -- and pretty much all of Calamar -- had the whole diesel thing wrong. Diesel-hearts aren't reanimated corpses: nanobots can create jackals and heal humans, but they don't resurrect people. (If they could, they'd have brought Vlad back when Intake took him down.) No, diesel-hearts are what happens when the nanobots catch a person just moments before death, just as the heart is giving out. Sometimes they find a person who died an hour ago. But diesel-hearts aren't revenants. Dago kept it to himself. He was pretty sure she'd bite him if he brought it up. |
| They were standing beside the Pegasus, drinking champagne. "Here's to a successful voyage," Dago said. "Aren't you even going to take her on a test flight first?" asked Gorg. "Why bother? If she blows up I'm dead whether it was a test or not. If she breaks down in space we're doomed since we're all wanted by the police. Might as well go for broke. Everybody ready to rumble?" Intake grinned. "My bags are packed." Gorg sighed. "I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be. I just hope you are right about Calypso being a good place to do business." Dago laughed. "You'll make a million credits there." The Pegasus lifted off smoothly. You would never know she was a patched together bucket of bolts. Dago eased the throttle up another notch. "No overheating, no red line pressures, no beep beep beep failure. I'd say it's a success." "We're not even out of sight of Quonar yet." Gorg said. Intake playfully punched him. "Quit being an old grump." |
| While it was true the nanobots only made diesel these days, it was some powerful stuff. With that -- plus a few other propulsion systems -- they managed to clear Quonar's atmosphere with the Pegasus alone. "Whoo!" Intake called when they were out, high fiving Gorg and Dago. She smiled back at Quonar's shrinking profile, "not every day you leave the planet." "Not every life," Gorg replied, "A lot of folks I know were born on Quonar and died there too." "Can't fault 'em," said Dago, "it's not a bad place to spend their days. Big skies, open land..." "I'll miss offroading at least," said Intake. The next few hours were spent telling stories, throwing peanuts into each other's mouths, and finally leaning back and watching the stars. During this last activity, Intake noticed a ship blink into existence nearby. "Hey look," she said, "it's another ship. And it looks like it must have some pretty impressive subspace capabilities. It came out of nowhere." The console on the Pegasus flashed. "Incoming call?" Intake read, watching footage of the vessel. Unable to hold back her curiosity, she accepted the call, instantly recognizing the man on the other end of the screen: "Dad?" "In a manner of speaking," the man replied. Intake thought she was confused at his words, but in a few seconds, she realized a confusion far more profound. Her father's traveling companion was... her. "Who is she?" "You, in a manner of speaking." "Hold on," came the other Intake, "who is she flying with? I don't remember anyone who looked like that." "His name is Phaethon Ladner. Not that it's your business," said Intake, suspicious of her newfound doppelganger. "A bit touchy, aren't we?" her doppelganger returned, "anyways, I'd love to chat, but we're a bit strapped for time. I showed up here to give advice: if you meet a green-eyed, broad-shouldered Mokthian man named Harrison, steer clear of him. Every situation where you get tangled up in his business, disaster strikes. Say it back to me:" Intake didn't want to cooperate, but the ensuing stare-off made her uncomfortable. "Steer clear of Harrison." "That's right. Dad, let's move!" "Alright," her father replied, "but bookmark this timeline. I'd really like to know how you wound up a half hour from Calypso. And in an Arion R13 Warhorse, too. That's the same model as the Pegasus you know. Quick's ship A single glance at this could send people running." |
| The other ship blinked out of existence, leaving Intake open-mouthed and astonished. "What the bloody facehugger was that?!" "Time travelers," Dago said. "This your first experience with them?" Intake nodded yes. "What do you know about time? Anything more than past, present, and future? Clocks and calendars?" Intake shrugged. "I guess that's about what I know. Are you going to give me some kind of complicated lecture about space-time physics? Because I'll tell you in advance I don't understand what you're talking about." "No, this is simple enough. Alternate timelines. The infinite universes theory. Every possibility exists. Your life traces a timeline through the forest of possibilities. Are you with me so far?" "Yeah, that's comic book stuff. Are you saying time machines really exist?" "It's not really possible to travel back along your own timeline. But you can travel backwards in a timeline where you have no existence in the past. It's inevitable that in some timelines humans have invented machines that can do that. If you want to call them 'time machines' then fine." "But that was me and my dad in that spaceship. How is that possible?" "That version of you inhabits a timeline that is a lot like this one, but they have the capacity to travel backwards in time, so apparently they were having some problems with the Mokthian man named Harrison and decided to go back and warn themselves about it." "But if what you say is true, then they didn't warn themselves, they warned me. What if there is no Mokthian man named Harrison in my timeline?" "Oh, there will be. Just the fact that they were able to appear to us for so long a time means their timeline is almost identical to ours." Intake though about it. "I'm still confused. What happens when humans invent that machine in our timeline?" "Then you must remember to go back and warn them just like they warned us. And the machine is probably already invented. She looked about your age." Intake clasped her head between her hands. "I have such a headache right now." |
| One such retired monster was Trent the Bent, better known as Tubby. He was very heavy. Calypso's reduced gravity was a boon for him. Tubby was in his garden by the pool reading a novel about a man who charmed women when a servitor rolled up and said, "You have a visitor, sir. He says his name is Spleen. Do you wish to see him?" "Yes," Tubby said, "and mix us some drinks. And snacks. Something fried and something to dip it in." "Wings, sir?" "Wings, shrimp, peppers, cheese, anything." Spleen sat down in the chair next to Tubby. "Hello, Fatman. Heard the news?" "What news is that, Skinny Boy?" "Dago Quick is back on Calypso." Tubby did a spit take. "Sonafabitch! You saw him?" "Friend at the spaceport told me. You think he's going to cause trouble for us?" "Isn't that his specialty? Causing trouble? At least he won't surprise me this time. What are you looking at?" A shadow fell across Tubby from behind and he turned slowly around. There was a tall man standing there in a black leather duster. "Hello, Tubby." "Dago!" |
| "What do you want?" Tubby almost squeaked in a pitch two or three octaves above his norm. "Is this me not surprising you?" Dago said in a relaxed tone, "it seems so similar to me surprising you. I could hardly tell." Spleen tried to edge out of Dago's line of sight until a, "not so fast Rijtar," from Dago put him right back into his lawn chair. Dago took the third chair and faced the two of them. He dipped a chicken wing in the mysterious sauce the servitors had produced from somewhere in the underbelly of Tubby's house and began, "As for what I want, there's a few things. First of all, some bike shop owner back on Hyde unloaded a variety of illegal tech into my hover bike a few weeks back. Then, last I checked, he packed up shop and disappeared. Think you can find him for me?" Tubby's breathing began to even out. Dago was asking for something that could take days or even weeks, meaning he probably didn't come to Tubby with lethal intent. "Finding a guy? I can do that. Though it will probably take some time: I'm retired. My contacts are a bit old," Tubby took a few deep breaths and continued, "What else?" "Oh yeah, second thing: I need some cash." |
| Tubby's eyes narrowed. "How much?" Dago looked sideways at him. "How much do you have?" Then he laughed. "No, I'm not going to play it that way. A thousand will do." "A thousand!" Tubby said. "Don't say you don't have it, Tubby. But I'll give you a few hours to gather it together and count it. Here's a number you can reach me at." He touched an icon on his comm unit and from Tubby's pocket came a tiny answering beep. Dago dipped another chicken wing. "Not bad, Tubby. I always wondered how you got such excellent servitors." Tubby grinned. "I modify their recipes until it pleases me." "Well, you've got good taste, tubby. In food, anyway. Your clothes are abominable." "It's hard to fit a man my size." Dago laughed. "Custom tailoring, Tubby. Spend a few credits and look halfway decent for a change. That jump suit make you look like big bucket of lard." Rijtar Spleen had been sitting quietly. Now he stood up and said, "Well, I guess I better be going..." "Sit down," Dago said. "I want you two to catch me up on the news. I've been away from Calypso for awhile. Fill me in." |
| "The Ishtar came out of hiding, if that's what you mean," said Tubby, "a bunch of the old captains have begun keeping her in the loop. Ravid, Sicily, Gonk..." he listed the names of several Arion warlords and commanders, "I don't know what her aim is, or who's captain, but people are saying it's like those ceasefires that kept happening in the middle of the Arion Civil Wars. Not so much people were ready for peace, but more like they ran out of bullets. It looks like they're already loading up their guns." "Impossible," Dago said, "the Ishtar stopped using guns that needed to be loaded twenty years ago." Tubby was always a little taken aback at Dago's humor. Generally, he didn't express this to Dago, but today was different. Tubby's retirement fund had been climbing steadily for the last three months, and his gambling winnings were substantial. He was on a lucky streak, without a doubt, and at such times, one needed to see how far "lucky" could go. So he took his chances and said something bold: "you're awfully calm for someone who's about to have a target painted across his forehead. If they knew Quick was alive..." Dago eyed him with a hint of respect. It was not often that a guns dealer had the guts to suggest that Dago was being careless. Or that Dago ought to be scared. "If the Ishtar is gathering intel, then the first piece they will gather is not to come after me. They would lose a lot of fine soldiers if they did." No anger. No unreasonable demands. Just the assurance that the Ishtar was not a threat. Tubby concluded that his luck was holding. "Anyway," Dago went on, "Here on Calypso?" Spleen started talking about freight in and out of the planet, notable thieves and hijackers who had decided to retire, and politics. Not Calypso politics -- which was essentially the Calypso "authorities" trying very hard not to step on the toes of the planet's retired monsters -- but galactic politics, and economics. As a premium retirement spot it was safe. As a travellers' mecca it was largely anonymous. Hence it was a great place for the most notorious criminals to lie low. And with them could be felt the pulse of the Galaxy. An art thief who had just stolen a famous painting always had some notion of what paintings were selling for. A weapons dealer who had acquired a cannon that could sterilize a planet would know what governments would be willing to buy such arms, and where they intended to aim them. Also Julian Beck. "Hold it right there. Julian Beck is in town?" Spleen furrowed his brow, "As much as someone like him can be. He might have already left though." "I'll take my odds on that one," Dago replied, "thanks for the info. I'll see you in a day or so." Spleen and Tubby stared for a while. "What do you suppose he wants with Beck?" "Ha! Like I should know!" --- Julian Beck sat at a table in a charming little Calypso cafe, staring out the window at the lanterns that hung along the street side. It might have been a romantic, or even breathtaking view, but he was far too exhausted to appreciate it. He returned his eyes to the table and found a man sitting across from him. A man with a partly cybernetic face. "Well there's a sorry bit of luck," Julian said, "your face? It could have been your arm, your leg, your anything. Those parts still function, and look even cooler with machinery. But your face?" It was years of wandering that had made Julian this callous. Wandering through worlds that all looked alike. Seeing people that were near-copies of each other die or betray each other or do both. He had a tendency to start every conversation with insults these days, just to keep his distance. "I met your daughter on Quonar," said the metal-jawed man. "Which one?" "One whose father never travelled." Julian looked closer. Did this guy know something? No, he could have just meant travel -- the three dimensional kind. To different planets. He couldn't mean -- "Hell, I didn't know you were a traveler 'til I saw you in the cockpit of a spaceship, calling Intake your daughter. The stories about you make a hell of a lot more sense now." No. This guy wasn't talking about traditional travel. "No matter how many times they thought they killed you, or thought they captured you, you were always back again a week later raising hell in the same as before. Immortal, they said. Or a ghost. Or --" "A traveler?" "A time traveler," the metal-jaw man finished, "and it's not like people didn't guess that. It's just they didn't know for sure. It isn't something you could prove." Julian examined the man, wondering what he wanted. He started to dissuade him, saying, "got a past you want to erase? A face you want back? Trust me, that never ends li--" "Hell no! I don't want to mess with whatever gave you that empty look in your eyes. I've seen too many people with that face in my time, and I intend to live much longer than any of them ever did." "Then what?" "She wants her father back." "Her father traveled?" "Weren't you listening?" said the man, apparently Intake's companion, "I just said he didn't." Now this guy had Julian's interest, "wait, he didn't travel? How? What happened?" "Apparently a SWAT team picked him up before he could go anywhere." "Locked up before he could start," Julian said whimsically, "lucky bastard." "You don't seem too happy about your abilities." Julian looked up from his musing. "Too happy? No. Though any amount of happy is too happy where my travels are concerned. I keep messing up! I keep destroying things! I keep..." he looked down at his cup. "But you can't stop, I take it?" "Not yet. Not until I set things right." "At any rate," said Metal Jaw, "my name is Phaethon Ladner. Though Intake calls me Dago." Julian chuckled a bit, "like Dago Quick," then noticing Phaethon's lack of a smile, lowered his voice, "don't tell me you're --" Phaethon nodded. "So in this universe, Dago Quick doesn't die?" Dago laughed. "From that building collapsing? No. I don't think he died in your universe either if that's what you mean. If I did die, you can rest assured it wouldn't be at the hands of falling debris." Julian was understandably lost. |
| Intake and Gorg spent the day wandering around Calypso City, the only really big city on Calypso. Gorg was fascinated by the area called Thieve's Market, a sprawling collection of dealer's tables arranged in loose rows with plenty of room in between for walking. There was a Perspex roof far overhead to make the place usable regardless of weather. "Look at all this stuff!" Gorg said. "If I had ready access to it I could have made my shop a huge success on Quonar." "You can have a shop here," Intake said. "Yes, but every shopkeeper on this blasted moon can buy here. I would have no advantage over them." "You'll do great once you establish some connections and suppliers." "I don't know, Intake. The fire is not in my belly anymore. I built my Quonar shop from nothing. It took years and I enjoyed doing it. I don't really have the stomach for starting over." "Then what will you do?" Intake said. "I thought I would try to find work as an assistant at an existing shop. I'm certainly qualified." "Well, if you think that will make you happy." "Is anybody ever really happy? It will be a way to survive. I'll try to find as much happiness as I can. What about you?" Intake touched her chin. "Me?" "Yeah. What are you going to do?" "I... I assumed I would just continue with Dago." "Is that what he said?" "He hasn't said anything. Hmmm. You're right. I am assuming things that I should probably check out. What are his intentions? How do I fit into it?" |
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