Minerva's Soul (The Harry Irons Trilogy)

by Thomas Stone

  *

  The wind howled around Minerva-Too as the team looked for Harry. Minerva was certain it was just a matter of time before they found him and she said as much several times. Kathleen sat in the cab straining to see anything outside but to no avail.

  They hit a series of ruts and bumps that rocked the truck violently from side to side. In the rear, an unattended toolbox crashed to the floor.

  “It’s useless,” Kathleen said, “you may as well stop and let it blow over before we break something.”

  Minerva agreed and braked the great vehicle to a halt. Kathleen remained in the cab, looking out the window in the hope Harry would come walking out of the storm. The radio crackled to life, startling her. Jennings’ voice was barely recognizable over a din of rising and falling white noise.

  “Anybody there? Fagen?”

  “Open a channel for me, Minerva.”

  “Done,” she replied.

  “Mr. Jennings, this is Kathleen, over.”

  “Best just bed down til this thing blows over,” he advised. “If Harry Irons is as good as you say he is, he’ll find a place to weather it out. He couldn’t have gone far. I’m just an hour or so away. I’ll start moving again after the storm passes.”

  “How long might that be?”

  “Coupla hours, coupla days, never can tell. Call if you need me. Out.”

  Fagen leaned into the cab from the access passage.

  Kathleen looked at him. His face was clean and his cuts had been treated with plastiheal but he still looked rough with both eyes blackened. “Did you hear?” asked Kathleen.

  “Yeh. We’re here until this clears. When it passes, Minerva will be able to spot him from orbit.”

  “She can’t see a heat signature now.” A tear rolled from Kathleen’s eye.

  Fagen put his arm around Kathleen’s shoulders and allowed her head to rest against his chest. “He’s outside the area, that’s all. Don’t worry.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead just as Bobbi came into the compartment.

  Her eyes widened and her mouth opened but there was an instant’s hesitation in her voice. “Am I interrupting something?” she managed.

  Kathleen and Fagen parted like opposing magnets. “No,” Fagen said quickly, “not at all. I was just…”

  Kathleen interrupted. “He was consoling me about Harry, that’s all.” She looked at Bobbi with reddened eyes and sniffed.

  “Aw,” Bobbi said, taking Kathleen into her arms, “it’ll be all right. We’ll find him.” Over Kathleen’s shoulder, she gave Fagen a hard look. Fagen shrugged and left the cab.

  *

  Jennings turned from the cab console and looked down the narrow passageway that led to the rear compartments. The Ellis’s and Griswold played cards on a makeshift table in the equipment room. An odor of machine oil permeated the space. Simulcons hung on racks like an audience of mute, metallic giants.

  Griswold shouted at Jennings. “What’d they say?”

  Jennings got up and made his way to the card game where he sat down and picked up his cards. “They said they were in the same shape as us, sitting it out. Irons is still MIA.”

  “Just as well,” said Griswold, “the guy’s infected. That’s something you don’t just get over and I don’t care what kind of whiz-bang technology you have. It was just a matter of time.”

  The wind buffeted the truck and it swayed, rattling the chains that held the simulcons aloft.

  “All right,” said Jennings, “what’s the bet?”

  “It’s to you,” said Griswold, “I raised. These mute yahoos both folded. You in or out?”

  Jennings was tired and the truth was he didn’t remember what cards had been played. Jennings shrugged. Griswold was hard to read and Jennings had lost his concentration when he got up to make the call. Oh well, that’s why they call it gambling. “I’m in,” he said.

  “Okay,” Griswold said, “I call. What you got?”

  Jennings laid his cards face up on the table. Straight flush, seven high. Griswold looked in disbelief and slammed his cards on the table. “I oughta be fried in hell for playing cards with you.” Jennings leaned over and inspected Griswold’s cards: three aces and two queens.

  Jennings glanced at the piles of chips in front of both Ellises. “They’re not doing so bad themselves.”

  “They don’t talk though.”

  “We talk,” they said simultaneously. Senior added, “When there’s something to say.”

  A particularly hard gust of wind suddenly hit the truck, nearly knocking the men from their perches and tipping over the table. Plastic colored chips spilled across the floor. The simulcons swayed wildly among clanging chains. Just as it seemed they’d passed the worst of it, there came a pounding at the side of the truck as if someone was outside and desperately trying get in. The hair rose on the back of Jennings’ neck.

  The pounding came again, louder and more persistent, then stopped as if waiting for a response. Randy Ellis, Sr. got up and moved to the far end of the compartment toward the weapons locker.

  Griswold urged Jennings to take a look. “Maybe it’s Irons.”

  “Too far for it to be him.”

  “Well, take a look,” Griswold said again. He’d risen to a crouch and had his Vimbacher in hand.

  In an effort to prove himself, young Ellis spoke up. “I’ll do it,” he said. Ordinarily his father would have said no, but he faltered because he didn’t want to embarrass his son in front of Jennings or Griswold. Jennings didn’t want to go near the door and was relieved when the younger Ellis said he would.

  The young man took a machete in hand and moved to the door. Through the small glass portal, he looked left and right. Seeing nothing, he unlocked the heavy door and pushed it open. Griswold and the elder Ellis raised their weapons. Wind and sand flew in through the opening, spraying the compartment. Jennings hoped they could properly clean the simulcons afterward and briefly weighed the value of opening the door versus keeping it closed.

  Ellis stuck his head through the opening and shouted, “Is anyone there?” He listened a moment then leaned forward. Noticing something, he opened the door a bit more. At that instant, within the blink of an eye, he was taken. It happened so quickly, neither Griswold nor the elder Ellis had time to react. Jennings was briefly dumbfounded but soon found his ability to act, jumping to the door and pulling it shut, then locking it.

  “My boy,” shouted Ellis senior, “we can’t leave him.” He jumped to the door but Jennings intercepted him.

  “What did you see?” Griswold asked.

  Ellis shook his head. Tears filled his eyes. “One of ‘em got him. That’s what I saw. The same thing you saw.”

  Jennings finally started to think. He pushed his way back to the cab to check the camera feeds. They didn’t all work, but there was a chance. He checked the live feeds and flicked on the exterior lights. He had four videos from six cameras because two were inoperable due to glitchy equipment. The feed from the lower right of his display showed young Randy Ellis being dragged backward through a howling sandstorm. He was alive and screaming but the howling of the wind overtook his words. Whatever had seized Ellis had its back to the camera. Its colors blended into the surroundings, making it difficult to note details, but the impression Jennings had was of something large with a broad back of reptilian scales – very nearly what he’d always imagined they’d look like close-up.

  In the next moment, young Ellis and the creature disappeared into the swirling dust.

  Jennings started the engine and put the truck in gear.

  *

  Bobbi stood with her arms crossed. The wind moaned low and constant. Fagen sat on the couch across the room with a virtual monitor in the air in front of him. He manipulated objects on the screen as Bobbi stared. “Well?” she said.

  “Hm?” Fagen emitted, still busy at the monitor.

  She took a few steps then turned and returned to her original position. “That. In the cab, with Kathleen.”

&nbs
p; “Nothing. She was upset, I’m her friend.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Sure I’m sure.” He looked through the monitor at Bobbi. “Why are you jealous all of a sudden?”

  Bobbi shrugged. “I’ve never seen you with your arms around another woman.”

  Sighing, Fagen got up and walked to Bobbi. “Why would I want her when I have you?”

  Bobbi lowered her head. “She’s more capable than me.”

  Fagen placed his fingers under her chin and lifted her face. “Not true. We’re all partners here. You and I have a special deal. That’s love, sweetheart.”

  Standing on tiptoes, Bobbi put her arms around his neck and kissed his swollen cheek. “I love you,” she whispered as she drew him toward her.

  “Minerva’s watching,” Fagen said, “she might get jealous.”

  “I don’t care,” came Bobbi’s reply.

  *

  The floor beneath Harry was flat, hard, and cool to the touch. He moved his legs and arms to ensure everything worked, then reached out to see how much room was around him. Feeling nothing, he gingerly sat up and surveyed his surroundings as his vision, enhanced by the infection, grew accustomed to the dark.

  He sat on a stone floor strewn with sand. Around him, columns held the great slabs of rock overhead. Where the stone had tilted, the rock slab looked sturdy and natural, as though it hadn’t budged since it had originally been set into place. Rising to his feet, he looked at the surrounding walls and long stone surfaces, like tables in a beer garden.

  He took a calming breath and let it out slowly. There was a storm raging overhead but it was quiet in the chambers below the ruins. He’d been looking for shelter. Here it was. But how was he to get out?

  Beyond the stone tables was a doorway. Beyond that, more darkness. Harry walked past the tables and peered through the opening to discover an adjacent room with more long stone tables; however, these tables had objects upon them.

  Atop one table were dust-covered bones, remains of various animals. Other, more curious artifacts were arranged along the second table.

  Harry moved closer to see what looked to be a half dozen rounded rocks of varying sizes. Undisturbed for years, all were encrusted with dust. Reaching for one, an insect scurried across the table. Harry picked it up and rubbed away the dust to reveal a sparkling surface underneath. It looked to be a mineral of some sort trapped within a clear matrix. Whether manufactured or natural, Harry could not guess. He set it down and picked up another, similar to the first although a different color.

  The next item on the table was a piece of metal tubing, possibly a meter in length and half a centimeter wide. When Harry reached for it, it would not budge, as if cemented to the table. Intuitively, Harry allowed his newfound instincts to take control. Holding a hand over the tube, it began to glow. In an instant, it suddenly rose to his palm where he accepted it within his grip. Harry studied the glowing rod with faint recognition. Memories arose and a powerful image appeared in his mind of a weapon used to focus mental energy. Along with the memory came the realization that because the item was an alien artifact, he had no use for it. Any power it gave him could not approach the power contained within himself. He placed it back on the table where it clanged against the stone. Activated by touch, the glow faded to nothing.

  The next object was similarly covered in dust. At a meter in height, it looked like a dead tree with bare branches and long gone leaves. Although he was tempted, his inherent senses told him not to touch it. It was a defensive weapon and even though it had sat undisturbed for many years, its touch could still paralyze.

  Another pile of bones sat next to the miniature, barren tree. Harry couldn’t guess what sort of animal but it seemed likely it was the last to touch the paralyzing tree.

  How had these items come to be here? The place was old, but who had left them? And why? There was a bas relief on the walls. Cuneiform characters were arranged in columns with pictographs interspersed. Harry knew, given enough time, he could unravel the history of the place. On one wall section, he finally saw what he already suspected. Carved into the stone were representations of Tec’Lissir wearing battle suits. In an instant, he knew what the place was and what the ruins were. The True Ones had used the location as an outpost long ago. They had constructed the place and hastily left the artifacts.

  Harry turned from the items to contemplate more pressing matters. How was he going to get out? He moved to the next room. At a glance, Harry could tell in days long past the room had been used as a large bathing area. Crumbling tile overlaid everything. A wide depression in the floor suggested a central communal bath. Other, smaller depressions lay farther on. They were empty save for a coating of dust and pieces of tile that had succumbed first to erosion, then gravity, and fallen inside. Harry’s human instincts reminded him he should hydrate, but oddly, he was not thirsty.

  A buzzing in the air rose to his attention. He re-entered the artifact room looking for its source. He wanted it to be air moving through the room so he could follow it to its source and find a way out, but as the sound rose in intensity, he knew it was something else, something that came from the inside of his own head, forcing him to pay attention. Harry gripped his temples with both hands as the buzzing gradually turned into a hypnotizing drone.

  Pressing his hands over his face, Harry covered his eyes and watched figures of light dance. When he lowered his hands, he stood in a darkened underground chamber, a Crevah. Tall, dark figures encircled him. They parted so Harry could see the plot. It was brimming with water that ran down the sides of the obelisk in a constant stream. Above the obelisk, suspended in mid-air was a pulsating sac of light. The smell it emitted was strong, forcing Harry to remember that all things were connected and that many things could be accomplished from that simple base of understanding.

  Pain shot through Harry’s vision and he covered his eyes again as the scene changed. He was floating, without form, watching photon streams streak past him as the stars on either side began to bend and circle about his formless self. There was a paradox in there somewhere but he could not discern it and then, in the instant of a thought, he was aware of his own physical body standing in the midst of alien ruins.

  He gasped for breath as the meaning of the vision formed. His head ached and the buzzing returned. This time however, rather than being annoying, it had a soothing effect. Understanding came to light. The kitzloc were guiding him for some greater purpose. They had brought him to this place as a test. He was stranded without help from Minerva’s medicinal cocktails, away from Tringl’s calming influence. If he could survive the trial of separation that had helped maintain his balance, he was assured of even greater revelations.

  The experience was exhausting and Harry collapsed to the floor where he fell into a profound sleep.

  *

  Griswold and the elder Ellis sat with Jennings as he drove through the storm vainly searching for Ellis’s son. It occurred to Griswold that they would never find the boy in these conditions. They were putting their own lives at risk for nothing.

  They bounced along a bit farther before Griswold said something. “If we can get that fancy rig of Fagen’s over here, we’d stand a better chance of finding him. They’ve got side-scanning radar and infrared.”

  “They’re bogged down in this weather. They won’t be going anywhere.”

  At that moment, the truck hit a rut. Ellis was not strapped in and hit the roof. He landed with a thud and immediately curled into a ball of pain. Jennings stopped the truck helped him back to the berthing compartment.

  “He didn’t break nothing, did he?” said Griswold as they returned to the cab.

  “I don’t think so,” answered Jennings. “Bruised ribs and a bump on the head, that’s all.”

  “We ain’t going to find that boy, storm or no storm. I know it and you know it.”

  Jennings looked outside. The sandstorm was blowing itself out. Jennings considered using the simulcons for the search but hated th
e idea of using his prized robots for anything other than their intended purpose – hunting kitzloc. His simulcon units were not as sophisticated as Fagen’s. They didn’t have the travel range or the array of armaments and sensors Fagen possessed. Still, they were the best tools for the job and Jennings felt compelled to do something for Ellis. He said so to Griswold.

  Griswold considered it and gazed at the maps. “We’re not that far from the others. A coordinated search would go faster and improve our chances. But, like I said, it’ll be a miracle if we find him. There won’t be any tracks to follow.”

  Jennings looked out the window at the blowing sand. “The wind is beginning to die down. Let’s give it a shot.”

  “You mean, drag out the robots?”

  “You got a better idea?”

  Griswold leaned back against the bulkhead. “Yeh, as a matter of fact, I do.”

  Jennings looked at Griswold. He was a rough character who was well-known in the community as someone who really didn’t give a damn about anyone else. All the same, he was respected for his survival skills and his toughness. “Enlighten me,” said Jennings.

  “All right, I will,” he said. “We’re running around out here putting our lives on the line just so these Earthers can find their prize and take off out of here leaving us in the same shape – stranded.”

  “They said other ships will be coming.”

  “So they say, but what proof do we have any of it is true? Come on, we don’t know these people and we’re supposed to believe whatever they tell us just because they’ve got a fancy ship and all their sophisticated equipment? Why should they care about any of us? They’re not even part of the Corporation. They’ve admitted they’re nothing more than pirates.”

  “Privateers,” corrected Jennings.

  “Whatever,” said Griswold, “it all adds up to the same thing. You can’t trust these people. We should be looking out for ourselves.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “The ship.”

  “What ship?” asked Jennings, but he already knew.