The Chara Talisman

by Alastair Mayer

  Roger Geary grumbled but acknowledged her apology.

  “Okay, I need to check our position. If there’s an easy way around this dust cloud I may be able to return to warp and restore gravity for a while longer.” She hoped so. If they couldn’t do another thirty minutes in warp it would add weeks to the trip, travelling in normal space. It had to be an anomaly; Eridani’s dust ring didn’t extend out this far. She strapped herself into the control seat and began to check the displays.

  Fifteen minutes later she had worked out the new course. “Folks, we’re going to have a day of microgravity as we get out of this dust cloud, then a half hour in warp to bring us into the inner system. Sorry for the delay.”

  Laura Geary floated forward and gripped her husband’s shoulder. “A day in zero gee? That could be fun.” She giggled and tugged her husband back toward the aft cabin. “Come on, Roger, let’s try it in freefall.”

  Jackie shook her head. There really shouldn’t be dust thick enough to worry about this far out-system. She hated flying into the Epsilon Eridani system, and she hated flying married couples, especially rambunctious newlyweds. She turned back to the controls.

  When the dust had hit the Alcubierre-Broek warp bubble the resulting radiation burst had tripped the safety relays in time, but some components were more sensitive than others, and all should be checked. She began to set up series of diagnostics.

  Chapter 3: The Diagram

  Sawyer City, Alpha Centauri A II

  James Smith—not his real name, he’d had almost too many to remember that—examined the image he had captured. It depicted a talisman or amulet, square with rounded corners. Stones, perhaps jewels, were inset on its face at random. Lines connected some of the stones. A constellation? From what Smith knew, it somehow connected to alien technology, possibly weapons.

  If Maynard catches me with this, he will kill me.

  He closed the file and touched the SEND key on his omniphone again. Nothing. They must have a jammer. He would have to leave the building or get to an exterior wall where the signal might penetrate. This had gone far beyond just keeping tabs on a religious cult. He had to report it to Ducayne.

  He slipped out of his room and down the short hallway to the stairs, then paused. The foyer at the foot of the stairway was empty. He descended with quick, quiet movements. As he reached the bottom he heard voices from behind one of the closed office doors.

  “. . .find the key.” That was Maynard’s voice. Smith stopped to listen.

  “We can check the archeology databases, but something like that might be in the hands of a private collector.” A different male voice.

  “So you follow up on black market connections.” Maynard sounded dismissive. Smith darted towards the exit.

  The office door opened just before he got there. “Brother Smith! Are you going somewhere?”

  “Ah, Brother Maynard.” Smith stopped and turned, palming his omni. “Just for a short walk, a bit of exercise.”

  Two other men had stepped out of the office behind Maynard, and they moved to block the exit. Smith turned his head toward them, raising his right hand to his chin in a nervous gesture. His left arm hung by his side, holding the omni in his cupped hand while he slid his thumb over its slick surface. He pressed hard, once, twice, and felt the surface change beneath his fingers, extruding pushbuttons. He probed with his thumb, seeking the right one.

  “Exercise is good for the mind as well as the body, of course, but you seem troubled by something. Perhaps you are not fully Clear? I’m sure one of the Brothers,” he gestured at the two large figures now blocking the exit, “would be happy to Audit a session with you.”

  Crap, they’re on to me. “Uh, that’s very kind.” His thumb scrabbled over the surface of his omni, pushing a sequence by feel. Sweat slickened his palm; he was losing his grip. “Perhaps when I return from my walk?” The omni slipped and fell to the floor with a clatter.

  There was a split second of hesitation, then:

  “Grab that!”

  The two by the door dove for it.

  Smith, already reaching for it, grabbed it first and straightened up.

  One of the two clutched his hand, trying to pull the omni from his fingers. The other reached around him from behind and pinned his arms, trying to keep him from struggling.

  Smith clutched the omni. If he could just work his thumb loose . . . but the big man’s hand wrapped around his. He wriggled his hand and his thumb felt a button. Was it the right one? He squirmed again, trying to free up his right arm. No good. Smith swung his head back savagely, catching one of his attackers a blow to the face. The impact stunned Smith, but it also shook the attacker. He kicked out at his other attacker, connected, and the hand holding his loosened for a moment. Smith hit what he hoped was the SEND pad with his thumb. The omni beeped. It was!

  “No!”

  The man who had pinned him threw him to the floor, but Smith still had hold of the omni. A foot came down, hard, on the outstretched hand, breaking the omni and the bones in his hand. He screamed. Something slammed the back of his head, and his vision dazzled.

  Then it went black.

  Chapter 4: Tomb Raiders

  Delta Pavonis III

  “Dr. Carson, I presume.” The tallest of the newcomers took a step forward. He was better dressed than the others, something Carson wouldn’t have thought possible in bush wear. “Tomb raiders? You’re the one who opened it. Myself, I prefer the term ‘art collectors’.”

  “Collectors? Dealers, more likely,” said Carson. “You know my name, who are you?”

  The man paused, then grinned. “Just call me John Stephens.”

  Carson scoffed at the name. “The real Stephens is better than you in two ways. Even though he was an amateur, he was a fine archeologist.” John Lloyd Stephens had been pivotal in uncovering Mayan ruins in Mesoamerica three centuries earlier.

  The tall man, Stephens, raised an eyebrow. “And the other?”

  “He’s dead.”

  Stephens frowned, angry. “That’s enough. Come on, first slowly hand over your weapon, and then get up.”

  Carson reluctantly surrendered his pistol. The odds were not in his favor, but perhaps they’d leave his group unharmed if he cooperated. His group. He looked over at Brian, the turncoat. That’s why he’d had his omni out. He must have sent a signal when they’d found it, and probably sent the picture too.

  Brian caught his glare. “Sorry, Dr. C,” he said with forced cheeriness, “they outbid you.”

  “I didn’t realize you were up for bid,” growled Carson.

  “All right, cut out the chit-chat.” Stephens turned to his men. “Rico, Smith, keep them covered. Brian, search them. No weapons, no omnis. Come on, make it snappy.”

  Carson and his two loyal men grudgingly stood to, hands on their heads, while Brian patted them down. Carson had already turned over his gun; Brian relieved him of his omniphone. He patted down the others, taking their omnis, and from Gregor a rather wicked-looking sheath knife. He brought the goods over to Stephens.

  Carson sneaked a glance at a laser machete leaning against a nearby tree. If he could reach it and power it up while the others were occupied . . .

  One of Stephens’ men must have seen him look. The man strode over to the machete and yanked its cable from the power pack, then looked around and did the same with the other one.

  “Good catch, Rico,” said Stephens, who had been watching. “Okay, dispose of the weapons, smash the omnis and recorders.” He was taking no chances on communications.

  Carson started at this. “Hey, wait a minute, you can’t—”

  “Carson.” Stephens waved his gun. “Of course we can.” He smiled, looking amused. “What’s the matter, don’t you make backups?”

  Of course Carson did. Every hour his omni backed itself up to the net. That wasn’t the point. “I don’t care about the omnis, they’re low bandwidth. The recorders are high-resolution multi-spectral, and they’re not backed up. The d
ata is irreplaceable.”

  “Why should I care?”

  Good question. Carson thought fast. “You’re joking, right? Those artifacts are worth far more to a collector if their provenance is established.”

  “True enough. So?”

  “Leave me the data and I can publish a report on the findings. Not the same quality or level of detail as if I had the artifacts to examine more closely. Can you at least leave me some?” It was worth a try. “If I publish on them, any collector will know they’re the real thing and not something fabbed in a workshop.”

  “I can fake my own provenances. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Fake? The thought disgusted Carson. “Professional journal articles? I don’t think so. Think how much more you could get.” And you’ll need me alive to write them, and if you need me alive, you’ll leave my men alive.

  “You have a point.” Stephens didn’t say anything else for a few moments, evidently weighing the options.

  “It’s not like we have anything on the recordings to identify you.” Carson added.

  “Why would you publish, why do me that favor?”

  “You know academia, ‘publish or perish’. I’ll get some credit for it.”

  “Okay.” Stephens turned to his men. “Go ahead and smash the omnis but don’t damage the recorders, we’ll take them with us.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry, Carson, if you behave yourselves we’ll leave them at your ship. I just don’t want anyone to get funny ideas about recording us before we’re gone, or making calls until we’re well away.”

  “What about leaving me some artifacts?” Carson said, somewhat encouraged.

  “Don’t push your luck. We’ll leave you the tomb, we can’t carry that.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Stephens organized the gathering and packaging of the artifacts, then had Carson accompany him back into the tomb.

  Carson watched in silent rage as Stephens looked around the interior, noting a few more items to take.

  “Okay, last item. Rico, go cut a couple of branches and make a stretcher, we’re taking the body.”

  “Got it, Boss.”

  Carson’s gut wrenched. “Leave that at least! What good will it do you?” That body was his main hope. If this tomb was unique, perhaps so was the occupant.

  “Are you kidding? Some collectors love this kind of stuff. Bit weird if you ask me, but you didn’t.”

  “Collectors!” Carson’s anger overcame his caution. “That’s all you care about? A few credits for what could be priceless scientific information? Dammit, we don’t know much about this species, or why this tomb is different. Let me—”

  “I’m not going to ‘let you’ anything, Carson. Your scientific information isn’t priceless, it’s worthless. Maybe you haven’t noticed, stuck in your ivory tower—”

  “I don’t—” Carson tried to interrupt.

  “Shut up!” Stephens gestured with his pistol. “You have no concept of the real world, you with your university benefactors paying your way. You think living out here on the frontier is easy? There’s damn little to trade that Earth wants and is worth the effort to ship, and—”

  “But, what about biologicals?” Carson said, thinking of the main local industry.

  “They have a trading lifetime of a couple of years before some bright boy in a lab figures out how to synthesize them or genetically modify them to grow on Earth. Look at what happened to Kakuloa: two years of a thriving trade in squidberry extract and then the bottom falls out when General Pharmaceuticals learns to synthesize it.

  “No, don’t be stupid, Doctor. You know that the trade in alien antiquities is about the only thing that brings hard currency out to the colonies. I’m doing my bit to support human expansion into T-space. You’d be more useful if you figured out where the Terraformers went, and if they’re coming back. Where do a few scholarly reports on long-dead stone age aliens get us?”

  Carson was taken aback. He knew the economic situation wasn’t as bleak as Stephens, or whatever his real name was, painted it, but Carson recognized Stephens’ point. His anger ebbed. It was then he noticed that Stephens’ pistol still pointed at him. Was there an edge of xenophobia in Stephens’ voice? What would he do if he thought there’d been spacefarers back when humans were barely into their own neolithic civilizations? “All right, damn it. Let me at least take a sample, do a DNA check.”

  Stephens looked at him, an eyebrow raised. “A bit out of your line, isn’t that? But okay.” He lowered the pistol and turned to the body, looked it over, then broke off its equivalent of a little toe. He tossed it to Carson. “Here.”

  Carson’s hands shook with another surge of anger, and he fumbled the catch. He swore. “I hope the bloody tomb is cursed, you bastard.”

  Stephens grinned. “None of them have been yet,” he said.

  Carson carefully bagged and pocketed the toe.

  Just then Rico came back with a makeshift stretcher, and they carefully transferred the body to it and maneuvered it out of the tomb.

  Carson looked around at the tomb, now empty save for the raised stone platform in the center. “There’s nothing left,” he said, although he knew that perhaps there might be.

  “We’ll see,” said Stephens. “Brian, help me move the lid off of this.” He started to push on the slab that formed the top of the sarcophagus.

  Damn, this Stephens knew the tricks. Knew that sometimes the body on top is a guardian or decoy for the important one inside.

  Stephens and Brian had shoved the lid a couple of feet to the side, and Stephens shone his light in. “Damn, it’s empty. What’s the point of an empty crypt?”

  “What?” Carson looked in and saw by the light of Stephens’ torch that it was indeed empty, nothing but dirt and a few loose stones. Now that’s interesting. Perhaps the body is special. His pulse quickened but he kept silent.

  “We’re done here. Everybody out,” Stephens said.

  Outside Stephens turned to his gang, who had finished packaging the artifacts for travel. “Gather up the recorders.”

  “You promised to leave those!” Carson protested, wanting to keep Stephens distracted.

  “Oh, don’t worry Doctor. I told you, if you’re good and give us a head start, I’ll leave them at your ship. Now, you three,” he pointed to Carson, Gupta and Gregor, “you’re going into the tomb.”

  “What? We’re not going back in there.” None of them wanted to just disappear in this jungle.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not sealing you in. But you won’t be getting out quickly either.” He turned and shouted, “Rico!”

  “Yes, Boss?”

  “You stay here and give us the usual head start. If anyone pokes his nose out of that hole before that, shoot it off.”

  “Got it, Boss,” Rico said, and grinned. He picked up his rifle and found a tree to lean on. It was about twenty meters from the tomb; too far to rush, but close enough to make shooting easy.

  Carson was convinced he’d do it, too. He knows his stuff, Carson thought, that’s a pity.

  It took a few more minutes as the thugs gathered up packs, double checked for anything left behind, and herded the prisoners into the tomb, then they were ready to go.

  “Hey!” Carson called from the entrance of the crypt. “You will leave the recorders, right?”

  “Don’t worry,” Stephens called back, amused. “You will write a report, won’t you Dr. Carson?”

  Carson just cursed.

  “Back inside, Doctor!” Rico raised his weapon to the ready position for emphasis.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Carson waited ten minutes, then tried hailing. “Rico? You out there?”

  There was no answer, so Carson took off his hat and extended it out of the entrance. He heard the crack of a gunshot and felt a tug on his hat. He quickly snatched it back inside. There was bullet hole through it.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Rico chuckled to himself at the sight of the hat disappea
ring back into the tomb. He’d wondered if Carson would try something like that, after trying to call him. Carson was a wiley one. Rico smiled, remembering the look of disappointment he’d seen on Carson’s face when he’d ripped the power cords out of the machetes. They’d have made a formidable weapon with the beam stops removed. The boss—Hopkins, not “Stephens”—had taken quite a chance there, but it looked like it had paid off. Rico didn’t get all the fuss about ancient relics; they didn’t seem to have much practical application. Still, the job paid okay, and he sometimes got to play with weapons and gadgets that most people didn’t.

  He glanced at the clock face on his omni. The others should be almost back to the ship by now. He’d wait a little longer. He shifted the rifle to a more comfortable position and leaned back against the tree.

  Three minutes later Rico checked his omni again and then began to slip back along the trail. Where the path angled away, he turned. The tomb was just visible around the trees. He raised the rifle and fired another shot at the entrance—to encourage them to stay put—then turned and jogged quickly to get back to the ship.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Carson heard footsteps fading back along the trail. He edged toward the tomb entrance, and there came another shot. This one sounded more distant, probably a last warning shot, but Carson waited five more minutes before he stuck his hat out again. It drew no response this time.

  Sure that they’d gone now, Carson led the others out of the crypt. “Gregor, get back to the ship, bring back a spare omni and a recorder. We should see if there’s anything left in there.”

  “I’ll go,” said Gupta, “I want to check my ship.” At Carson’s nod, he took off at a quick jog.

  “Something left? With us crowded in there?” asked Gregor.

  “It was dark. Maybe in the sarcophagus.”

  “That was empty. If somebody took a body, why leave everything else looking untouched?”

  “There may never have been another body.” Carson hoped there had not. It would increase the odds that the body Stephens had stolen was special, and Carson had a sample of that. “But who knows what alien motives might be.”