Minerva's Soul (The Harry Irons Trilogy)

by Thomas Stone

  Bart’s voice came through the team’s ear receivers, “Not to be a naysayer, but what’s the likelihood of any pilgrims remaining? From the looks of things, it’s been a long time since anyone was here.”

  Fagen cocked his head. “And why would they bother? When you factor in time dilation, it’s been years since the wormhole imploded. The locals would have given up looking for ships, so what’s the use in going somewhere for nothing? Minerva did spot energy sources just a few kilometers northeast of here.”

  “Maybe we should have landed there.”

  Fagen shook his head. “We don’t know anything. I’d rather have them come to us.”

  Harry’s ears buzzed like bees in a jar. It didn’t seem to bother his hearing however. He could clearly hear the others as they breathed into their mics as well as the breeze on the light air. Taking a breath, he recognized familiar smells: Mirabelian zephyrs sprouting somewhere close and the husky smell of rodents within the building. No human had been there for a long time. He knew his team was watching, waiting for him to crack, but Harry felt in control, even more so since he’d stepped down the ramp into the Mirabelian air. The hard part had been convincing Minerva he would be all right, that the psycho-suppressing sedative cocktails were not stopping the impressions but instead helping him to control his reactions to the stimulus. She’d finally relented but as a concession she made him take a pill containing a beacon so she’d be able to locate him wherever he went. Unknown to her, Harry had only pretended to swallow the device.

  Harry looked at Fagen. “Well, Edward, this is your show. Are we going to wait it out or raise them on the radio?”

  Fagen shook his head. “No, I want to see them face to face. Whoever comes out to greet us will be the top dog, maybe his second, but somebody we can deal with.”

  Harry sighed. “I can take you where we need to go…”

  “I want to have the locals’ cooperation. I’d hate to have these folks stumble across us at a delicate moment and you’ve got to admit we could use more hands for an operation like this. Think about going down into another one of those holes again…”

  “I don’t have to think about, I’m the one who’s done it.” Harry shook his head. “We’re wasting time.” He turned and faced east, his line of sight taking a shot through an empty window casing framing a scene of gently rolling desert dunes in the distance. He pointed. “That’s where we need to go.”

  “Like looking for the proverbial needle,” said Bart over the intercom. “Whoa, wait a minute. Looks like we’ve got a vehicle approaching. ETA two minutes.”

  The team stepped from the building and looked across the shimmering airfields waving in the afternoon heat. The approaching Land Rover paid them no heed but instead drove straight up to Minerva and circumnavigated the perimeter, obviously checking out the marvelous spaceship effortlessly floating two meters off the ground in a parked position.

  The occupants of the vehicle were vocal in expressing their admiration and the sound of their voices reached over the expanse to Fagen and the rest of the team.

  “They’re a jolly bunch,” Bobbi commented.

  Kathleen nodded.

  The vehicle veered and pulled to a stop twenty meters in front of Fagen. The driver stepped out holding an old Vimbacher in one hand. He held it aloft. “Just precautionary,” he said in a deep voice. He took a few steps toward them and motioned toward Minerva.

  “What is that?”

  “That,” answered Fagen, “is my craft.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “One of a kind,” said Fagen.

  “I’ll bet it is,” said Gary Jennings. “What are you doing out here? We haven’t seen any Corporation people in years.”

  “We’re not Corporation affiliated.”

  Jennings eyed Fagen for a few, long seconds. “Things must be changing.”

  Fagen nodded. “The wormhole is gone.”

  Jennings nodded. The news didn’t surprise him. “So that would make you like a privateer or some such?

  Fagen looked about at his companions before answering. “Any problem with that?”

  “Depends on what you’ve got in mind. Back to my first question. What are you doing here?”

  “Kitzloc.”

  “Umm.” Jennings nodded. “I should have known. You know what you’re up against?”

  “I was hoping you could enlighten us.” Fagen closed the distance between himself and the man. He was bearded and completely gray but he stood straight and was a head taller than Fagen. “We could provide you with what I am sure are much-needed supplies. Perhaps repair or replace out of date equipment.”

  “There’s a bounty on kitzloc as well as hunting fees.”

  “Which we will gladly pay in whatever currency you desire.”

  Jennings smiled. “I’m sure we can manage an arrangement.” He extended his hand as did Fagen and they shook like civilized businessman striking a bargain.

  Bart’s voice came through Fagen’s headset. “Can we unload the truck now?”

  Fagen turned toward Minerva and waved. “Yes, that’ll be fine.” To Jennings he said, “Would you like to see our equipment?”

  “Very much.” Jennings signaled to his men to come forward, then, on second thought, told them to leave their weapons. The two looked at each other dumbly before obeying.

  As they approached, Jennings introduced them. “This is Felix Brobow and Jimbo. Jim, what was your last name anyway?”

  Jimbo looked genuinely hurt. “Just kidding Jimbo. Smith, Jim Smith. And I’m Gary Jennings.”

  “Edward Fagen.”

  “Now that’s a familiar name I haven’t heard in a long time. Yeh, you were some kind of young hot-shot explorer with the Corporation.”

  “In the flesh. Not so young anymore.”

  “But you had a falling out with Braithwaite.” Jennings looked back to Minerva. “Over that, if I recall correctly.”

  “All true,” replied Fagen. “I hope you won’t hold it against us.”

  “Now what profit would there be in that?”

  As he spoke, a ramp extruded from Minerva’s lower hull like an amorphous appendage before flattening and solidifying. The resulting hole held a large vehicle, the same color and texture as the spacecraft itself. As it rolled down the ramp, the flat black color of the all-terrain truck gradually turned to a weathered, yellow appearance matching the general color of the surrounding terrain. The driverless vehicle came to a halt before Fagen. With a whoosh of air, a side door popped open.

  “This is our conveyance while we’re on the surface,” explained Fagen. “It’s an all-terrain sixty ton vehicle with both ceramic plate armoring and built-in power shields. The fourteen tires are each two meters across and made of super-bonded, carbosteel reinforced polyorthane designed especially for travel over sandy surfaces. It can be controlled remotely from our ship or from a hand remote. Aboard is the finest sensor array you’ve ever seen. We have both passive and active signal processing technologies, just in case the kitzloc can somehow detect electronic probing. We don’t plan on creeping up on the kitzloc, to the contrary, we want to stay as far away as possible. Our electronic eyes and ears will detect them from kilometers away. While we stand off, we’ll send in simulcons to do the grunt work.”

  Jennings nodded and glanced again at Minerva, “Impressive.”

  “This was a mining operation, correct?”

  “Yeh, I was chief engineer.”

  “So you have simulcons as well? Still operational?”

  Jennings sighed and ran a hand over his balding head. “Until this morning,” he admitted. “It appears some of my people have borrowed the transport containing the units.”

  Fagen eyed Jennings carefully. “Off on a hunting party?”

  “I hope not,” Jennings mumbled. “Back in town, my men are working on it. Why don’t you allow me to offer my hospitality and return to town with us? We can prepare you for the hunt and finalize business details. Do you
anticipate needing more men? I would recommend it.”

  *

  In the Land Rover again and headed back to Jennings Bank, Smith and Brobow bounced along a half kilometer behind the strangers’ amazing vehicle. Brobow looked out the side window at the foreboding desert landscape as Smith drove. Smith hunkered over the wheel, gripping it with both hands, his face screwed up in thought. “Who are those people?”

  “They’re Earthers, man.”

  “Well, sure, I know that, but you think they came all the way here for just a hunt? That don’t make sense and if it’s the truth, well it just ain’t right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if the wormhole’s closed up, then as far as I know there’ll never be another supply ship, there’ll never be another way off this miserable planet and you tell me just what the hell we’ve been doing these past years since operations shut down? We ain’t miners no more, we ain’t nothing no more, just step and fetch-it for Jennings. What the hell kind of future are we looking at?”

  Brobow considered Smith’s words as Smith veered around a sand bank blown partially onto the old highway. “I’m hungry,” Brobow said.

  Smith looked at his companion. ”That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  “Well, I am.”

  Brobow blew out a breath. “You’re as dumb as the fuckin’ rocks out there.”

  *

  Jennings sat in the spacious cab of the new truck as the countryside passed on both sides. The truck, like Fagen’s spacecraft, was a wonder. “Smooth ride for such a big rig.”

  “Special anti-grav dampeners supplement a more traditional suspension.”

  “Anti-grav dampeners? Where are you getting the power for that? This thing’s big but not big enough to generate that kind of power.”

  “Minerva diverts a tachyon flow to us.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “It is possible. We’re doing it.”

  “That kind of technology is hundreds of years ahead of anything we’ve got.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Jennings fell silent as he gazed at the simple control console in the cab. Finally, he said, “Your ship, Minerva, is back in orbit now?”

  “Yes, geosynchronous, 322 kilometers above us.”

  “I’d have liked to take a closer look at her.”

  “Perhaps we’ll have that opportunity, but for now I’d like to concentrate on the business at hand.”

  Jennings nodded slowly. “OK. Where would you care to start?”

  “For starters, how many kitzloc are there altogether and where do they congregate? What are their needs?”

  Jennings laughed. “You really don’t know much, do you?”

  “Never seen one, if that’s what you mean.”

  Jennings looked out the window. “Well, I wouldn’t worry about that. You see, nobody’s seen one. Nobody that’s lived anyway.”

  “Mr. Jennings, I respect your superior knowledge of the kitzloc but I must disagree with you. There is someone who has encountered the creature and lived.”

  Amused, Jennings’ thick eyebrows elevated up his forehead. “And who might that be?”

  “He’s with us now, part of our group. You met him briefly.”

  “The big guy, Irons was his name?” Jennings guessed.

  Fagen nodded.

  “Then he’s been to Mirabel before.”

  “That’s correct, along with Kathleen.”

  “She’s a fine looking woman.”

  “They were a Corporation deep-space exploration team, married as well, but not anymore.” Fagen faced Jennings. “Care to see the interior of the truck?” Fagen unbuckled himself from the driver’s seat and began to rise.

  “Whoa there, who’s driving this thing?”

  Fagen paused. “Minerva?”

  “Yes, Edward?”

  “We’re going to the rear compartments. Keep us informed as to road conditions, okay?”

  “Of course.”

  Jennings uttered a low laugh and shook his head as he followed Fagen into the interior of the vehicle. Without visual confirmation it was hard to tell if they were moving at all. They passed through a narrow corridor past an electronics room into a prep area of sorts.

  Fagen pointed at double doors in the aft section. “Six simulcon units in there. Storage compartments for gear behind that.” Then he pointed up a ladder. “We’re going up.”

  Jennings followed Fagen up the ladder into an alcove. Through a shaded window running from floor to ceiling Jennings recognized control consoles for the simulcons.

  Fagen indicated a closed door. “Head, shower, dressing area, sorry - only room enough for two at a time.”

  Most surfaces were constructed from the same dark, glossy material unless where form or function dictated a touch of color. There were also holographic monitors on display and, Jennings was certain, cameras that took in his every move. Fagen stopped before a clean surface of blank wall. “View, please,” he said. Instantly, the monitor switched to a view of the exterior, the desert landscape passing quickly. “Next,” said Fagen and the view changed showing the road behind. Dust rose but Jennings could still see a small, dark spot in the distance that was Brobow and Smith in the Land Rover. “Pan,” said Fagen and the camera moved slowly.

  “And so on,” said Fagen, “We can view, pan, or zoom from a dozen positions – all views available at any monitor.”

  “Handy,” said Jennings.

  Fagen half-turned to his right and gestured toward another door, “This way to the crew’s quarters.” He opened the door and allowed Jennings to step inside into a small, but splendidly furnished lounge. Off to the right was a kitchen and another door was situated at the end of the room. Two couches met end to end in a corner with an adjustable table before them. Music flowed from hidden speakers, some jazzy thing Jennings had never heard before. Bobbi and Kathleen lazed on the couches, Kathleen with her booted feet crossed at the ankles and propped upon the table. Another woman stood in front of Bobbi. All three looked at Jennings as he entered.

  “Hello ladies,” said Fagen. Jennings nodded politely at all three as the third woman stepped up to him. At that moment, Jennings realized she was a holographic display. In lower lighting he would have been completely fooled.

  “I’m Minerva,” she said in the same voice he’d heard in the cab. “So glad to meet you.” She did not extend her hand.

  “Glad to meet you too,” said Jennings in amazement.

  “Where’s Harry?” asked Fagen.

  “He’s got a headache – he’s lying down,” said Kathleen.

  Fagen frowned and pointed at the remaining unopened door for Jennings. “Berthing compartment.”

  Jennings nodded in understanding as he took in the relatively opulent splendor of the truck’s interior and wondered again what the interior of the spaceship must look like. “Ya’ll like traveling in comfort.”

  “It’s home,” said Fagen simply.

  “So,” said Jennings, “there’s three in your crew here and one aboard the ship.”

  “There are others,” Fagen said evasively.

  “Yes, please don’t count me out, Mr. Jennings,” said Minerva with a smile.

  “I’m sorry; I’m not accustomed to such advanced artificial intelligence.”

  “Minerva is the core of the team,” explained Fagen. “Without her, there would be no team. Minerva is a construct, true, but believe me when I say she is as alive as you or me.”

  “And,” Minerva interrupted, “living large.” She suddenly broke into an energetic dance in a display of her considerable talents as well as her understanding of human sexuality.

  Jennings turned red as the others laughed.

  *

  In the last compartment aboard the truck, Harry lay in one of berths watching and listening to the others – the bulkhead between the compartments had vanished as he extended his consciousness. He already knew the Jennings human couldn’t be trusted and wouldn’t have trusted him
in any case. It was the nature of the kitzloc to take nothing for granted. The concoction Minerva had given him was wearing off and he had difficulty controlling his thoughts. It helped to focus on Kathleen and each time he did there was a very human tug of emotion at his heart. He still loved her, even in his new state, and sometimes it seemed that particular part of him was the only remaining human part.

  The pain came again and he gripped the sides of the bunk, splitting the high-impact plastic in the process. Harry breathed deeply and willed himself to relax. As the pain receded, Harry slipped into a fitful slumber populated with hulking nightmare shapes.

  *

  The desert gradually gave way to green pastures, cultivated fields, and then to a forest where they passed a functioning saw mill. Workers ceased their labor and stared at the passing vehicle.

  Jennings Bank was surrounded by a series of high fences, the first of which was a plasma power field, currently off – and probably permanently as long as the pilgrims on Mirabel continued to live by twentieth-century physics. The plasma fence was marked by twenty foot tall stanchions every sixty meters. A number of the poles lay broken and twisted. The second and third fences were about the same height as the first but constructed of simple chain-link topped with concertina wire. A wide area followed with signs along the road warning of land mines. The last fence wasn’t a fence at all but rather a forty foot wall constructed of a mishmash of materials – brick, mortar, duracrete, plastisteel – encircling the entire settlement.

  They rode over a wide canal on a duracrete bridge and Fagen noted the reinforced plastisteel gate suspended over their heads by a series of chains, pulleys, and counter-weights. At first glimpse, the impression Jennings Bank gave was that of a medieval village with hanging smoke from open fires and raw sewage running through gutters, but as they continued through the broad streets, Fagen saw modern facilities such as electric lighting, antennae, even functional molecular trash incinerators. Pedestrians stopped and stared, mouths agape. It had been years since Earthers had paid a visit and no one had ever seen such a sophisticated vehicle. In fact, it would have been an imposing sight anywhere. There were no other vehicles in service although Fagen did see small, electric cars parked in driveways. There were bicycles and hand-drawn carts in greater numbers. It was safe to assume energy was rationed in Jennings Bank.