Jim Cartwright- Raknar Quest

by Mark Wandrey

  He accessed the computer’s communications feature. Intent on defeating the database himself, he’d had no reason to use it. He looked at the menu for a long time, battling with his pride in his computer prowess. Eventually, he clicked on the assistance icon.

  Assistance currently unavailable on Oblique #6.

  “Big help,” he said to the empty room. Jim spent another few minutes messing with the comms system, but other than calling for help or closing his account, there wasn’t anything more he could do. With a frustrated shake of his head, he got up and went to the sanitary facilities in preparation for getting some sleep.

  Leaving the sanitary facilities, Jim found himself face to face with a Flatar. The sudden encounter took Jim by surprise, and when he tried to retreat, he launched himself backward, into the ceiling, headfirst.

  “Ouch, crap!” he yelled, slowly returning to his feet and massaging his head with one hand while reaching for his sidearm with the other.

  “Are you injured?”

  The Flatar was looking at him, its beady, little eyes curious, not malevolent. Jim wasn’t prepared for that kind of scenario. The Flatar were famous in the merc world as the partners of the deadly Tortantula. You’d find them, most often, astride their huge, 10-legged, spiderlike partners shooting someone in the head with an advanced hypervelocity pistol.

  “Are you looking for information, too?” Jim asked. His hand wasn’t on his weapon, though it was on his belt, close enough to draw quickly.

  “No,” the Flatar said.

  “A researcher, then?” Jim asked.

  “You might say that.” The Flatar looked nonplused by Jim’s curiosity.

  I guess not all Flatar are spider-riders, Jim thought. “Sorry I acted badly,” Jim said, “I’ve had a few encounters with Flatar, and they were not friendly.”

  “I know nothing of others. I am Kehra’aja.”

  Jim ran the word through his pinplants and got a big nothing. Science Guild, he thought, more like Mystery Guild.

  “Very well,” Jim said and moved back toward his obligette. “I need to get some rest, so I can waste my time waiting for research help.”

  “Why is it a waste of time?” the Flatar asked.

  “The computer keeps saying there is no help available.”

  “I will assist you, if you desire it.”

  “What?” Jim asked.

  “I said, I will assist you, if you desire.”

  “Uh, yeah, sure!” Jim finally replied.

  “You expressed a need for rest. I will come to your obligette tomorrow, after you have rested.”

  Jim wanted to do it now, but he realized the Flatar researcher was probably right and relented. “What’s your name?” Jim asked.

  “You can call me Os’shu.”

  “I am Colonel Jim Cartwright.”

  The alien noted Jim’s obligette number and left without fanfare.

  Jim used his pinplants’ established database on Flatar to identify the alien’s subtle sexual characteristics. Os’shu was a female. He returned to his obligette, his mind buzzing with questions. Back inside, Jim took out his small survival blanket and curled up in the sling bed. Despite his excitement, he was asleep in minutes.

  * * *

  When he awoke, Jim barely had time to rush to the sanitary facility, then the dispensary for “food,” before racing back to his obligette to find Os’shu patiently waiting for him. “Thank you for coming, Os’shu,” Jim said. The tiny Flatar nodded, and Jim used his glowing chip to open the door and let them both in.

  “Your obligette is immaculate,” Os’shu noted.

  “I found a cleaning robot here and brought it back online.”

  “Did you?” Os’shu asked, looking around and nodding her diminutive head. “I was unaware any of the service robots were still functional.”

  “At least one is,” Jim said. “I saw it the other day, down the hall.”

  Os’shu walked over and stood next to the room’s terminal while Jim adjusted it so they could both see the screen. Because the Flatar was short—barely half a meter from its furry feet to its bushy ears—Jim elected to sit on the floor while the alien stood. He normally eschewed sitting on floors because it made his back hurt, but with only a 20th of a G, it wouldn’t matter.

  “What, exactly, are you looking for, Colonel Jim Cartwright?”

  “You can call me Jim, Os’shu.”

  “Very well, Jim.”

  Jim smiled and took out his slate. He called up a recorded image of his Raknar marching across the field of battle. The Flatar’s eyes widened. “Raknar,” she said. “Is this contemporary?”

  “The recording?” Jim asked. Os’shu nodded. “Yes, from around a year ago.”

  Os’shu considered the recording. Jim let it play out as thousands of Tortantula appeared and tried swarming the 30-meter tall mecha, only to be burned, stomped, or slaughtered. He watched her for any signs of a reaction. There were none. Jim had thought the Tortantula and Flatar inseparable. This seemed to suggest there was more than he knew about the enigmatic pairing.

  “What do you want to know about Raknar, Jim?”

  “Everything?”

  Os’shu turned her tiny head, her black eyes regarding him for a moment, before smiling and revealing her ivory, buck teeth. “I like you, Jim. Show me your search criteria.”

  They worked for several hours. Jim showed her the various search routines he had used and how the hits came back from the Science Guild databases. Her eyes were sharp as he worked, always watching what he did with careful attention. She occasionally asked questions without offering advice, until they stopped for lunch.

  They went to the dispensary, which was empty except for them. Os’shu watched Jim order his meal, then commented, “You are a normal Human?”

  “More or less,” Jim said and shrugged.

  “Then why eat this minimal food?”

  Jim looked at the computer control, his eyebrows knitting together. “It was all I could program.”

  Os’shu went to the dispensary computer and tapped the controls. A moment later, the autochef beeped, and she removed a package. She took it to Jim who gawked at the hamburger and fries inside.

  “Holy shit!” he said, taking the package from her. He tore open the plastic wrapper so viscously several fries flew off in long parabolic arcs in the low gravity. As he bit into the burger, Os’shu caught the errant fries and ate them, a decided twinkle in her eyes. Jim rolled his eyes as he chewed in delight. The sandwich tasted like a real meat burger from Earth, something incredibly difficult to buy on his home planet. “Ha djid yu gnow?” he asked around a huge mouthful.

  “How did I know? Humans are programmed in the food dispensary. You just needed to enter your race’s name.”

  “Fuck,” he said between bites. He offered Os’shu some of the burger. She passed but did take a few more fries. By the time he finished eating, he felt more satisfied than he had in the last five days. He was full, but he scanned the food choices on the dispensary’s computer. He wasn’t surprised to find an extensive list of Japanese dishes. When he was done, they returned to his obligette.

  “I think I can help you find what you want,” Os’shu announced after they’d arrived.

  “Wonderful,” Jim said.

  “I can’t do it for you, though,” Os’shu said. “It’s against the rules.”

  “What can you do, then?”

  Os’shu pointed to her pinplants—bare areas of skin, just above her ears. “These are the key.”

  “I don’t have the memory to download all the database hits,” Jim said. “I’m not sure anyone has so many exabytes.”

  “You have enough to download individual files, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” he said. “More than one in all the cases I’ve come across so far.”

  She looked at him, raising a single dark eyebrow. “How quickly?”

  “Very quickly,” he said. “I have the newest generation wireless interface.”

&nbs
p; “And you can then run search criteria on each file?” Jim nodded. “Maybe save where your search string caused a hit?” Another nod. “So, you can transfer multiple files and quickly scan them?”

  “Of course,” Jim said, a little miffed. “That’s a basic comparison you learn…” He stopped, eyes widening. “I don’t have to compare them all.” It was Os’shu’s turn to nod. “Holy shit, I’m an idiot.”

  “No, Jim,” she said, shaking her head, “you aren’t used to dealing with the Science Guild.”

  “Your guild is as nuanced as the Mercenary Guild.”

  “An apt description for the Science Guild,” she agreed, “but it is not my guild.”

  “I’m confused,” Jim said. “If it isn’t your guild, why are you here?”

  “I guess you could say I came with the facility. Me and my ancestors.” She smiled and stood. “I think you can carry on from here,” she said.

  “Os’shu, what does Kehra’aja mean?”

  She regarded him again with the same thoughtful consideration she’d used as he searched the databases. For a moment, he thought she’d leave without answering. “Kehra’aja is what we were to this place. Our duty. A lost calling.”

  “Are there any Tortantula here?” Jim asked.

  Os’shu gave him an unmistakably sad look before responding. “I wish you a good life, Jim Cartwright.” Then she left without another backward look.

  Jim wanted to go after her but realized it would be a mistake. He’d gotten far more from her than he’d thought he would. He also suspected what she’d just told him about herself, the guild, and how she’d come to be there might prove useful someday.

  Alone now, he returned to the room’s computer with a grin on his face. He was mad at himself for not thinking about using high speed sorting for relevant hits. But he understood now, so he wrote a subroutine in his pinplants and began. Within an hour of Os’shu’s departure, he was sorting through terabytes per second, his pinplants flying through the data.

  As he sorted the data, he extracted, bit by bit, the information he wanted. It was always hidden in files where he would never have expected to find it. In a manufacturer’s merchandise order, he found specs for a Raknar weapon known as an Ia’kuu. In an excerpt of a personal combat log, he found details about Konar, which might have been another kind of Raknar. Then, in an entry in a ship’s captain’s inventory from a Sleesius-class assault carrier, he saw a note from the ship’s stores master saying they were out of Ia’Kaa.

  Jim had more than five exabytes of data on his pinplants, and he began dumping it off onto computer chips. As he did, he reviewed it again quickly. He discarded a few items as dead ends. Then, in another note about Sleesius-class ships, he found mention of antimatter stores.

  Holy shit, he thought, they used antimatter? Few things were illegal in the galaxy. Attacking a planet above certain altitudes. Genocide. Developing AIs. Then there was antimatter. Everything fell into place. A theoretical antimatter bomb would be devastating. Enough to destroy a world.

  The day ended with Jim’s computer chips jammed with data. He took one chip, then went through all the others, copying some of the most important stuff he’d found onto it. He’d found information on worlds were Raknar had been stored, maintained, and manufactured. He did a cursory search through his pinplants but found none of the worlds. Of course, he’d deleted a lot of stuff to make more room. He shrugged. Once he was back aboard Pale Rider, he could use the ship’s computer to restore the data and go over the information in detail. He set the chip on the table next to the computer and continued sorting.

  It looked like he was done. The biggest disappointment was on the operator side. He hadn’t found a single byte about training a Raknar operator, the names or pictures of operators, or any images of them. It’s been scrubbed, he thought. There’s no other explanation.

  After a year of searching before his quest and poking through various GalNet nodes, he’d found absolutely nothing. That he’d found something, here, was encouraging. He’d finally hit pay dirt.

  Jim spent a final hour re-running the queries and verifying he hadn’t missed anything. Satisfied, he started putting the chips back into his plastic carrier. He was finished. “Time to go back,” he said and commed Splunk. “I’m done here,” he said.

  “You find data? ”

  “I’ll show you when I get there,” Jim said. “I’ll be there pretty soon.” He collected his things and went through everything, twice, sure he’d forgotten something, but everything looked to be in place. He carefully slung his bag over his shoulder and opened the door. Once outside, he pushed the door closed and turned down the corridor. He almost jumped out of his skin when he found himself face to face with a huge monkey.

  “Gah!” he yelled and backpedaled. The alien was a little over half of Jim’s height with tiny, almost recessed, eyes and huge ears. A pair of long tails constantly curled and uncurled behind it and it wore a link chain of some shiny metal around its neck. The analytical, merc commander part of his brain identified it as an opSha, a non-merc race. “Sorry,” Jim said, “I keep getting surprised.”

  “Colonel Jim Cartwright,” the alien said. Its hooting voice, translated into English, carried a sternness which instantly put Jim on edge. “What are you doing here?”

  “Leaving,” Jim said. “I’ve just finished.”

  “No, I mean why are you researching Raknar?”

  “My research is my business,” Jim said, taking a small step backward. “Are you with the Science Guild?”

  The unnamed opSha nodded. “I am a Proctor, and all research is the business of the guild,” the alien said. “All knowledge is the property of the guild.” Its eyes ran over his body, stopping at his head. “I see you have pinplants. Are they fully integrated into your cortex?”

  “Of course,” Jim said with a growing sense of unease. He glanced over his shoulder, evaluating his options. The opSha wasn’t very large. He knew the route back to Pale Rider, and he didn’t think the little monkey could stop him. It appeared to be unarmed. “I’m leaving.”

  “No, I don’t think you are.”

  Jim opened his mouth to ask how the alien was going to stop him when it suddenly leaped at him.

  * * *

  Since Jim had become a merc he’d spent hundreds of hours in zero gravity, working, living, and even training to fight. What he hadn’t done was fight anyone hand-to-hand. So, when the diminutive simian opSha launched itself at him without warning, Jim was caught completely off guard.

  Jim followed his training and reached for his GP-90. The pistol was wirelessly linked with his pinplants. All he needed to do was pull the weapon clear of its holster, raise the barrel, acquire the target, and trigger the weapon with his pinplants. It was a good plan, if the enemy let you execute it.

  The opSha moved faster than Jim thought possible, crossing the distance between them in less than a second. He’d just pulled his weapon clear of its holster when one of the alien’s two tails slashed out and slapped his wrist. The tail looked soft and furry, but it was only lightly furred and mostly bone. The impact sent a jolt of pain through his arm, and the gun sailed away.

  “Son of a—” Jim started, then gasped as the opSha’s other tail snaked around his neck. Jim’s backward lurch turned into an extended, backward fall in the minute gravity. The opSha was trying to keep its body away from Jim, and he decided not to allow it.

  He snatched the tail around his neck and pulled. The opSha tried smacking his hand with the tail it used to knock away his gun, but Jim had already accomplished what he’d wanted; the opSha was within reach. He punched the smug monkey in the face as hard as he could.

  The alien looked surprised, so Jim punched it again. The bones in his hands were hardened from the nanite treatments he’d had to help him survive the rigors of operating a CASPer. When he hit the alien’s face, Jim’s hand suffered no real damage. He’d have some bruised knuckles. So what? Fucking monkey was about to get its ass kicked. />
  After the second punch, the opSha responded by using Jim’s own movements to slip sideways, so Jim’s third punch merely grazed the alien’s head. Jim’s fist hit the floor. It wasn’t an impact so much as a light bounce. Jim used his grip on the alien’s tail to swing it around. He wanted to slam it against the floor, but the lack of gravity neutralized most of the move. However, the momentum did cause them to turn slightly sideways and slide along the floor toward a turn in the corridor.

  The tail around his neck tightened, and Jim found it almost impossible draw a breath. He fought a growing feeling of panic. The corridor was narrower. Maybe it was narrow enough? He pulled his leg up between himself and the alien. Still struggling to breathe, he wiggled his foot until it was against the opSha’s torso, then he shoved as hard as he could.

  Jim’s back collided with the wall behind him as he shoved the alien against the wall on the opposite side. The tail released, and Jim took a raspy breath, seeing little floaters behind his eyelids. That was close. He opened his eyes and searched for the gun. Fucking monkey is better at this than I am. I need to end this.

  He spotted the gun and slid toward it, realizing too late he’d broke a cardinal rule of a fight; never lose sight of your enemy. His hand wrapped around the gun, his pinlink instantly reconnecting, and he desperately tried to spin as he felt small, powerful hands on his head.

  “No!” he screamed and tried to roll again.

  Small feet wrapped around his chest, and a tail around each arm. “Stop fighting,” the alien said.

  “Let go you bastard!” he cried.

  “It will be over in a second,” the alien said, and Jim felt tiny fingers probing his pinplants. There was a snap as the alien attached a data probe.

  “What are you…” Jim jerked and cried out as he felt the alien access his pinplants. In an instant, it went from access to an attack. He screamed as he felt the icy tendrils of a presence like the one he’d last sensed on Karma Upsilon 4! He tried desperately to muster a defense. As the alien had said, it was all over in a second.