The Chara Talisman

by Alastair Mayer

  “No, that will do it for this trip.”

  “Where are you headed now?”

  “Down to the surface for a day or two of R and R. I’m waiting to hear on a job. If that doesn’t come through then I’ll see what I can pick up for Tau Ceti and head back. But let me know if you hear anything, okay?”

  “Sure Jackie, will do.”

  Back aboard the Sophie, Jackie did a systems check and prepared to debark. The airdock bay doors were open behind her, and the shipyard computers eased the Sophie back out and away from the station. On the planet below, the city of Kreschets Landing was visible to the west, and the blue expanse of ocean stretching beyond it faded into the blue glow of the atmosphere at the horizon. Pretty, but not the best angle for an approach. Jackie took control of the Sophie and swung her around. Kakuloa’s sunset line was still a couple of hours east of the city. That gave her enough time to do a once-around orbit to reenter over the ocean and still land in daylight, rather than having to fly a retrograde approach with the sun in her eyes. Perfect. She dropped the Sophie away from the shipyards and began to set up the de-orbit burn. It would feel good to hit the beach.

  Chapter 12: Mugged

  Sawyer City

  Carson glanced around. No obvious sources of help, nor was there any refuge near enough that he could afford to ignore the gun, even if the gunman were slowed by pulling it from a pocket to aim. He went along with them, resisting enough to be a nuisance, but not so much they wanted to shoot him there in the open. His mind raced.

  “So, are we going somewhere for a meal? I was thinking about dinner just now.”

  The thug holding his arm just squeezed tighter, muttered “shut up!” and dragged him to move him a little faster.

  They rounded a corner, a little-used alleyway between two buildings. The big man to Carson’s left—Carson tagged him Bad Guy One—abruptly turned and slammed him against the wall. “All right, Carson, where is it?”

  “Oof.” Carson grunted at the impact. “Where is what?” He suspected he knew.

  Bad Guy One punched Carson in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. “Don’t get smart. You know what.”

  Carson gasped for breath. “No.” Breathe. “No, really, it would help if I knew what you were talking abou—Oof!” He was cut off by a vicious backhand across the face, and he tasted blood.

  “You found it on Ransom’s Planet, at Zeta Tucanae. A talisman, about so big,” Bad Guy One, the questioner, held thumb and forefinger about four inches apart. “Stones and engravings on it. Where is it?” He gestured to his partner. “Pat him down, see if he’s carrying it.” His partner proceeded to do just that.

  “Oh, that thing.” This was his chance. The thug who was in the process of roughly frisking him had pocketed his gun, and his questioner wasn’t holding one. Even if Questioner had a gun, the frisker was between them, it would interfere with the line of fire. Carson readied himself, waiting for the right moment. Rattling them a little would help. “It was bogus,” he said, “totally wrong century. We threw it out.”

  The questioner’s eyes bugged out and it looked like he might have a stroke right there on the spot. That would improve the odds, thought Carson.

  Instead the man yelled. “Liar! No archeologist would do that!” He raised a hand to slap him again, just as Frisker had squatted to run his hands down Carson’s pant legs. Now! Carson moved.

  He grabbed Questioner’s wrist, the arm that was swinging toward him, and at the same time he snapped his right knee up to slam into Frisker’s face, connecting with a solid thump.

  Frisker fell back on his butt, off balance and stunned by the knee to his face.

  Carson pulled Questioner’s arm in the direction it was going and ducked sideways out of the way, using his opponent’s momentum against him. The man lost his balance and took a half-turning step away to recover.

  Frisker was on his back, knees bent, scooting backwards to get room. His hand scrabbled in his pocket, the gun pocket, trying to draw the weapon.

  Carson saw the move. He saw the obvious best target and kicked Frisker hard in the crotch. The man spasmed, curling into a ball, everything clenched. There was a sharp bang! Frisker must have pulled the trigger.

  Carson didn’t have time to focus on that. The other thug had continued his turn and, his back toward Carson, jabbed his elbow into Carson’s gut. He folded and staggered back.

  The big man continued his turn and grabbed Carson’s collar, punching him hard in the face with his other fist. Hannibal staggered again and his weight pulled them to the side, off balance.

  They both tried to take a step to compensate, but Frisker was there. He writhed and groaned on the ground, blood pooling around him. It looked like he’d shot himself; in the leg, if he was lucky. Carson and the thug stumbled over Frisker’s body and fell to the ground together.

  Carson turned on the ground and, still on his side, brought his upper leg around and kicked Questioner solidly in the jaw. Carson heard the teeth slam together. He scrambled to his feet just as Questioner made a grab at him again.

  Carson wasn’t having any of it. He caught the wrist and twisted the thug’s arm hard. With the wrist in his right hand, he grabbed the fingers in his left and brought the whole down sharply across his knee. He heard and felt a sickening crunch as bones cracked and joints popped.

  Questioner screamed and cursed.

  Carson dropped the arm, pushing Questioner to the ground again. The thug immediately started tugging with his good hand to get the gun out of Frisker’s now blood-soaked pocket.

  Carson shook his head, partly to clear it, partly in disbelief. This guy was persistent! He took a step and stomped hard on the gun hand, then for good measure kicked the man in the head to make sure he was out. Frisker had stopped twitching, he had probably passed out from blood loss.

  Hannibal staggered back, leaning against the wall, breathing hard, trying to catch his breath. He was more angry than scared, still trembling from the adrenalin surge. “Nobody,” he said to the unlistening bodies, “nobody fucking threatens me, and certainly not on my own fucking campus!”

  He limped back around the corner of the building, gradually becoming aware of the ache in his guts, the lump on his head where it had slammed against the wall, the salty taste of blood in his mouth from the slaps and punches, and a sharp pain in his left shin. How had he gotten that? He didn’t know.

  The pain increased as the adrenaline wore off. The campus infirmary was a half block away, and he limped off in that direction.

  It occurred to him to call Campus Security, to have them come pick up his assailants before they regained consciousness and got away. Or perhaps it would be to take the bodies to the morgue. He didn’t think he had hit Questioner that hard, or that Frisker had bled to death just yet, but maybe he would get lucky. Hannibal was in a foul mood. Bastards!

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Two hours later Carson sat in the Security office, still a little sore from the fight. He had just finished making his report; earlier the medic at the infirmary had skin-glued his cut lip, sprayed on several bandages and given him a couple of painkillers. It occurred to him that these guys might try again.

  Not Frisker, though. He had, as one of the Security guys bluntly put it, “just about shot his own balls off.” The bullet had penetrated both that delicate portion of his anatomy and his left leg, narrowly missing the femoral artery. Carson didn’t know whether to be sad that it missed—the man would have bled to death too quickly for anything to have saved him in that case—or happy that he had survived to enjoy the rearrangement of his anatomy. So, not Frisker, but there were no doubt more where he came from, and they’d be more careful next time.

  He had better get off-planet, and the sooner the better. One thing about interstellar travel, with ships being the fastest means of communication available, there was no worry of your troubles waiting at your destination to meet you.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Maynard’s man Taggart hadn’t heard abo
ut Frisker and Questioner. He was already on his way to Kakuloa.

  Chapter 13: Old Friends

  Kreschet Spaceport, Kakuloa

  Jackie Roberts lay sprawled on her bunk aboard the Sophie, still mostly asleep, when her omni bleated at her. She groaned, half opened one eye to glare at it, and thought about ignoring it. She had brought the Sophie down late yesterday, intending to hit the famous Kakuloa beach for some sun and surf, but her sleep schedule was out of sync with the planet’s rotation, or at least with this part of the planet. The omni bleated again. That was the business ring tone, probably following up on the message she had got yesterday from Sawyers about a possible charter. She couldn’t afford to frustrate potential customers by not answering.

  She propped herself up on one elbow and grabbed the omni with her free hand, glancing at the call information. Hannibal Carson? She had never expected to hear from him again. Why was he calling her, and why was he on Kakuloa? Jackie blinked a few times and took a couple of deep breaths, oxygenating her brain and waking herself up. “Sophie Space Charters, Roberts speaking, how can I help you?” she said, more cheerfully than she felt.

  There was silence. For a moment Jackie thought she had lost the connection. Then: “Jackie? Jackie Roberts? You’re Sophie Space Charters?”

  Jackie felt a knot in her gut and groaned inwardly. “Sophie is the name of my ship. Please don’t tell me that you’re my charter.” The last time she had flown with Carson—she had been the XO, not the captain—the trip had not ended well.

  “It would seem so. I need to get to Taprobane and on from there.”

  Jackie was tempted to say something about already being booked, take a scheduled flight, sorry maybe next time, but she did need a job right now. “I may have schedule conflicts.” It never hurt to leave an out. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

  “I need to pick up something at Taprobane. Epsilon Indi.”

  “I know where Taprobane is.”

  “Of course you do. Anyway, that will give me the coordinates for the next leg of the trip.”

  “Why should I take you anywhere, Carson? You almost got me killed.”

  “I got you rescued,” Carson protested.

  “Rescued! If you’d just given them what they asked for I wouldn’t have needed rescuing.”

  “Given them . . . Those were unique artifacts! I couldn’t just turn them over to tomb raiders.” Carson paused and shook his head. “Not that you were ever in real danger.”

  “No real danger? That’s easy for you to say, Carson. You weren’t the one locked up—” Jackie shuddered as the memory came unbidden. She had been bound and gagged, and locked in a dark windowless room. She shook it off. That was in the past.

  “I—”

  “No, I don’t want to hear it,” Jackie said, her tone becoming businesslike. “So how dangerous is this trip going to be? Or is it merely illegal?”

  “Dangerous? No,” Carson said, far too casually. “Just a routine investigation of a site I heard something interesting about. Pick up a few artifacts, you know.”

  “Then why do I get the feeling that you’re lying through your teeth?”

  “No, really. I’m not expecting any specific danger.”

  “‘Specific’, huh? That’s what you said about Raven’s Rift. And you didn’t answer the part about ‘not illegal’.”

  “I play it straighter these days, and there’s no Department of Antiquities where we’re going. I don’t even think it’s inhabited.”

  “I thought you didn’t know the final destination?”

  “Well, not exactly, but I have a strong hunch. Listen, let’s meet somewhere and we can go over the details.”

  “Oh, all right.” She could always say no later. Like you’ve ever said no to Hannibal Carson, the thought drifted up. Shut up, she told herself. “Anywhere,” she said aloud, “as long as there’s coffee involved, even better if there’s breakfast.”

  “Fair enough, where are you now?”

  “The spaceport.” There was only one active spaceport on the planet, between the soured economy and the other continent off-limits because of the natives—although there was still debate as to whether the tree-squids deserved to be considered sentient natives or just intelligent animals. “It has a restaurant,” Jackie said.

  “All right, I just landed at the spaceport myself. The restaurant in the port building, then?”

  “Sure.”

  They made their arrangements and Jackie clicked off her omni. She rolled back onto bed, staring up at the overhead, and wondered what she might be letting herself in for. At least it’s a job. She forced herself out of bed and into the fresher. The hot shower revived her.

  Out of the shower and feeling more human, she started to get dressed. Casual or the dress uniform? For a first meeting with a potential customer she would normally wear the dress uniform, it inspired confidence, but Jackie wasn’t even sure if it was in a fit state to wear. The shipboard laundry system was fine for shipwear but did a lousy job on anything more formal. Screw it, it was only Carson, not someone she needed—or even wanted—to impress. The casual.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  To Jackie’s enormous relief the waitress brought them coffee as soon as they sat down, its strong coffee aroma alone stimulating her brain cells like a beat to quarters. They quickly ordered breakfast—Jackie getting the scrambled eggs and sausage, and both of them asking for sweet rolls—and talked while waiting for the food to be delivered.

  “So you have your own ship now.” said Carson.

  “That’s right.” Jackie took a sip of her coffee, savoring the hot smoky taste. “It’s an older model, but she’s had some modifications.”

  “Oh? Tell me about her. Why Sophie, by the way?”

  “Sophie? Two reasons. One, the ship was named Surprise when I bought her, but I didn’t think that was the best name for a charter.” Jackie paused, watching as Carson lifted his coffee mug to his lips. “In general, passengers don’t like surprises.”

  Carson choked on the coffee he was sipping. He grabbed a napkin to wipe up what he had sprayed. Jackie hid her grin.

  “There was a series of old time sailing ship adventures I read as a kid. My father had a leather bound set. It was a prized possession, printed on real paper. O’Brian, the author was. In the books, the captain’s ship was the Surprise, but earlier in the series he’d commanded the Sophie. Hence the name.”

  Carson recovered from nearly inhaling his coffee, and, not without some wariness, asked: “And the second reason?”

  “Oh, from the fact that it’s a Mitsubishi Sapphire. Sophie, sapphire, they sound similar. They don’t build them like that anymore.”

  “Strongly built?”

  “Amazingly so.”

  “Here you go, gentles.” The waitress appeared with their food. “Let’s see, you had the eggs and sausage,” she said, setting the plate down in front of Roberts, “and sweet rolls for both of you. More coffee?” She produced a coffee pot. Jackie wondered how she had managed to carry all that to the table. At their nods, the waitress topped up their cups then returned back to wherever she had come.

  “Where were we?” Jackie asked, and took a bite of sausage, savoring the spicy, meaty flavor. “Mmm, these are wonderful!”

  Carson looked at her plate, hesitated, then “They do look good. May I?” He picked up a fork.

  “Sure, take one. They’re a bit spicy though.”

  Carson speared a sausage on his fork and took a bite. His eyes widened, and his forehead glistened with a sheen of sweat. “I see what you mean.” He gulped his coffee. “Good, though. What’s the spice?”

  Jackie grinned. She had thought he might know, with Kakuloa being so close to his home base on Sawyers World, but apparently not. “Oh, no spices at all. The animal’s indigenous here and the meat is loaded with a kind of capsaicin variant, probably to discourage predators.”

  Carson shook his head and gulped down more coffee. “I should have known better than to ask
about how sausage is made. And the eggs?”

  “Just chicken eggs. The local birds don’t take to domestication. I think some of them still have teeth.”

  Carson looked thoughtful for a moment, perhaps regretting he ever brought it up. “You were telling me about the Sophie.”

  “Oh, right,” Jackie said around a mouthful of scrambled egg. “Well, an old Sapphire hull. I had the fusion unit upgraded with an electrolysis insert and converted the hydrogen tanks over to water. It gives me about another seven light-years range.” She paused to take another bite.

  “How is that? Wouldn’t storing straight liquid hydrogen be more efficient?”

  Jackie nodded and swallowed, then took a sip of coffee to wash it down. “Old fashioned thinking. It is, in terms of energy per kilogram. The thing is, a warp ship isn’t weight limited, it’s volume limited . . .”

  “Sure, everyone knows that.”

  “So the neat thing about water—aside from it’s being much more readily available and easier to handle—is that a liter of water holds more hydrogen than a liter of liquid hydrogen, so I actually get about fifty percent more hydrogen in the same size tank. It’s standard these days, but most models reduce the fuel tankage and increase the living space. The power for the electrolysis is negligible.”

  “Ah. I see.” Carson was staring into his coffee cup. She wondered if he was even listening.

  Jackie wrapped it up. “Of course, the tanks will still hold hydrogen, so I can still refuel from a gas giant if I have to, but in most systems water or ice is easy to find.” She quickly scooped up another forkful of scrambled eggs, to get another bite before Carson asked more questions.

  “Well, good, the range might come in handy.” Hannibal nursed his coffee and looked thoughtful, as if wondering how to broach the details of the charter.

  Jackie took advantage of the opportunity to finish her breakfast. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and set it down on her plate. Almost instantly the waitress appeared at the table to clear the plate away, leaving the sweet roll on its small plate, and offering a refill on the coffee.