by Thomas Stone
“After you, gentlemen,” said Emory and the three stepped from the airlock into a room stacked high with trash and wrecked equipment. “Excuse the mess, the maid is long overdue. Please move forward, take the second left.”
They followed his directions until he ordered them to stop before another heavy door. “Open it,” he said to Fagen.
Fagen turned the knob and pushed it open. A flickering light came on as they entered. To Fagen’s annoyance, the light continued to flicker. The room contained a couple of beat-up desks and more broken equipment. In a corner was a bank of file cabinets designed for software although there was no sign of any type of computers. Everything was covered with dust.
Emory did not follow but instead remained outside.
“You gentlemen make yourselves comfortable while I attend to affairs. I imagine your friends will be along soon, so I’ll have to greet them as well. Farewell for the moment. Your tea may take longer than expected and I apologize for that.”
He pushed the door shut and a lock clicked solidly. Fagen crossed the room immediately and tried the door anyway, but to no avail.
*
“Edward and Jennings just dropped off the grid,” Minerva announced.
“Maybe they found somewhere to dig in,” suggested Bobbi, “like a rock outcrop or a cave or, do you think there are more ruins out here?”
“Let’s hope it’s something like that. Two signals going out simultaneously like that? They went to ground for sure. Minerva, head for the last coordinates. The storm is all but gone so it won’t take long to get there.”
At their control consoles in Jennings’ truck, Griswold and Ellis listened via the commnet. Kathleen was so put off by Griswold she refused to speak to him unless absolutely necessary, so Minerva made the call to Griswold and Ellis, coordinating their move to Fagen’s last position. Ellis slaved his drone to follow Griswold’s lead, unplugged from the control console, and went to the cab to drive the vehicle to the new coordinates.
*
Fagen searched along the walls and ceiling and tried putting his shoulder to the door, but there was no apparent way out. Jennings pushed two desks together and, without brushing off the dust, lay down.
“Ah,” he said, “that feels good. My back is killing me.”
“Who is that guy?” Fagen asked.
“I have no idea.”
Fagen sighed. “Great. What about this place? This hasn’t been here three thousand years.”
From his prone position, Jennings looked at his surroundings again. “Looks like an office or, you know, whatever.”
“That’s brilliant. Remind me again why I brought you with me.”
Jennings looked to where Fagen was still pushing on the door. “You know what his armor was made from?”
“No, but let me guess, you’re going to tell me it’s fashioned from some local flora or fauna.”
“As a matter of fact, that’s right. That’s exactly what I think. I could be wrong, but I think his armor was made from kitzloc scales.”
*
Kathleen and Bobbi’s simulcons arrived at the coordinates before everyone else. Their sensors picked up the man before they could actually see him, but verified there was only one person at Fagen’s last known position.
“I’m just getting one blip,” Kathleen said.
“Me too,” said Bobbi, adding, “there, I can see him.”
“He’s not doing anything. He’s just standing there like he’s waiting on us. It’s not Edward or Jennings. What’s he wearing?”
“Looks like a robe.”
“Who is this guy?”
When they came within his field of view, he continued to stand motionless as he watched them approach. He raised a hand in greeting and the simulcons responded with the same gesture. They stopped before him. He was an older man in what appeared to be excellent condition. Although he wore a hooded robe that covered him from head to foot, he was tanned and lean. There were snow-white whiskers covering his lined face, an amused smile peeking out from beneath a drooping moustache. He looked curiously at the robots before addressing them.
“Where are the others?” he asked.
“They’re coming,” said Kathleen through the simulcon’s loudspeaker. “Who are you?”
“Emory Pen…”
He looked past them as two more simulcons crested the top of the hill behind. Griswold’s robot pointed a flamethrower in his direction. Over the commnet, Kathleen requested he point the weapon elsewhere but she was ignored.
“Who’s this?” Griswold demanded to know.
“Who are you?” the man retorted.
“I’m the guy you don’t want to mess with,” said Griswold, looking around the area. “Where’s Jennings? Where’s Fagen?”
“All in due time,” said Emory. “When your vehicles arrive, I’ll show you inside.”
“Inside what?” Griswold demanded. He stepped forward and the simulcon towered over the man. “I asked you to identify yourself.”
Emory didn’t move. The smile remained plastered on his face as he raised a hand, palm facing Griswold’s simulcon. In the center of his palm was a small device. Without a word of caution, a bolt of electric plasma shot from the device to the center of the simulcon’s chest. Griswold’s robot crumpled to the ground. The remaining three simulcons stepped back.
The man lowered his hand. “Your machine will be fine after a re-boot. You really didn’t expect me not to protect myself, did you?”
Before they had time to answer, Minerva-Too came rumbling up. As Ellis’ simulcon stood mutely aside, Kathleen and Bobbi inspected Griswold’s machine for damage. The re-boot sequence took a few minutes but upon completion it was able to stagger up on its mechanical legs, however with some difficulty. Just as they determined there was indeed no permanent damage, Jennings’ truck, driven by Ellis, appeared.
“Ah,” said Penbrook, “we’re all together now. Please pay attention and follow me.” With that, he knelt and dug into the sand only enough to uncover the sand-shrouded door mechanism. He pushed the lever forward and a portion of the desert floor began to rise. The crack widened and became a gaping yaw exposing the ramp leading underground.
“Get your vehicles inside and help your rude friend along.” Emory turned and started down the ramp as the simulcons exchanged glances. Halfway down, he paused and looked over his shoulder. “It’s all right,” he said, “your two friends are waiting below.” Without another word, he started down the ramp again.
“Follow him,” said Kathleen and the trucks rolled forward, Minerva-Too first, followed by Jennings’ truck. The simulcons came behind.
“Who is this guy?” Minerva asked again over the commnet. No one answered.
The ramp took them down one level into a garage area large enough to house numerous vehicles. The overhead was just high enough to allow the passage of the trucks, but once off the ramp, there was plenty of room to maneuver. Sand had accumulated in many of the darkened corners and a glance showed they had the only vehicles. At one end of the garage was a loading dock. An airlock hatch was located near the top of a series of steps. As Emory walked toward it, Minerva steered the truck to the dock. Large pneumatic pistons hissed into action as pressure was released in a calculated fashion, lowering the great lid to the ramp until it was solidly shut. Metallic bolts slid into place as locks were activated. Overhead lights illuminated the garage although their sporadic behavior delivered more of a strobing effect than a steady source of light. Generally, the place was in poor repair.
The simulcons made it to the airlock far ahead of Emory, blocking his way, if necessary, to the short flight of stairs leading to the top of the loading dock. The old man peered into shadows above and to both sides as he walked toward the simulcons, finally stopping short. He looked at the concrete between his feet and rubbed his chin before looking up at the machines.
“A few ground rules. Here, you must do as I say. Always. Any one of you could be snatched at any time.”
> “Why haven’t you been snatched?” asked Bobbi.
Emory looked around the garage again before answering in a mutter, “So many questions…” He abruptly regained his composure, “But there will be time enough later to discuss these things. First, let’s get you situated inside. The robots must be left behind. The corridors beyond simply aren’t large enough to accommodate.”
After a brief discussion between the operators, the robots were guided back to the trucks under Penbrook’s watchful eye.
After they were stowed and secured, Minerva-Too’s side hatch popped open and Kathleen appeared. She climbed down the side of the truck and walked toward Penbrook. She wore a black leotard with utility belt, holstered hand weapon on her side. Her spiked platinum hair contrasted radically with her clothes. Under whitened eyebrows, Emory’s eyes became slits as she came closer.
“Mr. Penbrook,” she said, extending a hand.
Emory stared at the proffered flesh, and then looked up at Kathleen, his eyes lingering over her breasts before moving up to her face, her hair, and finally her eyes. “I must beg your pardon.” He lowered his head and took her hand, kissing the back of it gently and inhaling her fragrance before reluctantly releasing it. “I haven’t been in the presence of a beautiful woman in many years.” He laughed. “In fact, any woman at all.”
“Thank you, Mr. Penbrook. My name is Kathleen Casey. I was a Mission Survey Commander for the Braithwaite Corporation.”
“Ah yes! Braithwaite, the Corporation.” He winked at Kathleen and his eyes twinkled. “We have the same employer. And please, call me Emory.”
“This is a Corporation facility then?”
“Yes, for a long time. But please, it’s best we get inside and not linger. No one should remain in this area for long.”
“All right.” Within the trucks, over the commnet, decisions were hastily made and it was decided Harry and Tringl should remain covertly behind with Minerva.
Emory waited until all were gathered before opening the airlock hatch and ushering them inside. His reaction to Bobbi was much the same as his reaction to Kathleen; a man unaccustomed to being around anyone, but especially those of the female variety. Griswold noticed it as well and used it as another reason to dislike the old codger. He stared at Penbrook as Penbrook stared first at Bobbi, then Kathleen, while the air in the airlock was re-cycled.
“I’m the guy you zapped,” said Griswold.
“Maybe you’ll be more pleasant then, eh?” From nowhere, Emory pulled a bone-handled knife whose blade was more akin to a short sword. A tense moment passed before he grinned and put it away within his robes. The inner hatch buzzed, a green light signaled the cycle was complete and finally, a light mist filled the air before being blown away by hidden fans.
“What is this stuff?”
“Disinfectant,” said Emory as the inner hatch unlocked. He stepped through and motioned for the others to follow into a broad hallway, which they did. To the left was a short hall that, according to the signs on the wall, led to the larger airlock. Emory took them the opposite direction to a room containing bunks and toilet facilities. “Down the inner hall over there,” Emory pointed to an open doorway, “are showers. Plenty of water here. Sorry it’s not hot anymore but broken parts sometimes can’t be replaced.”
“How long have you been here?” asked Kathleen.
Emory stopped and scratched the white whiskers on his chin. “Twenty-six years.” He looked around the room. “It’s not much but you can rest and wash up. I must attend to things. I’ll return shortly.” With that, he turned and started away.
“Hey,” said Kathleen, “where are our two men? You said they were here.”
“I’ll fetch them straightaway.”
“I want to see them now.”
Emory faced Kathleen. “You’ll see them when I bring them. Not before. Are we clear?”
A hush fell over the room as all looked to Emory and Kathleen. Kathleen stared at the old man, uncertain how to react. When she made no reply, he turned and exited the room. An audible click sounded at the door as it closed.
*
As soon as Fagen heard the sound of approaching steps, he was on his feet. The door swung open but Penbrook stood away as if expecting an attack. When he saw Fagen standing in the middle of the room and Jennings lying on the desk, he hefted the Vimbacher in one hand and a container in the other. Atop the container were two plastic cups. He entered, swinging the door shut after him, and placed the container and the cups on the floor. He remained at the door, quietly inspecting his two prisoners.
Fagen broke the silence. “What is this place?”
Emory turned his gaze upon Fagen and said, “How much do you know?”
Fagen looked at Jennings. They both looked back to Emory. Fagen said, “About what?”
“The kitzloc, you fool. There’s really nothing else to talk about on this planet. Or perhaps mounds of sand tickle your fancy. It’s the kitzloc you’re interested in and I want to know why.”
“We’re here on a hunt,” said Jennings.
“Then you’re both fools and you know next to nothing. Here is the tea I promised.”
Fagen took a step forward and Emory backed away, keeping the business end of the Vimbacher pointed at him. Fagen took the container and the cups and handed them to Jennings. Jennings poured himself a bit of the steaming tea but Fagen remained where he was, eyes glued to Emory.
“Why are you keeping us locked up? We haven’t done anything to you.”
“I’ve locked you in for your own good. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourselves into. They know you’re here, haven’t you figured that out already? Edward Fagen, for such a famous cosmic desperado, I expected more.”
Jennings noisily sipped his tea and nodded. “This is good.”
“Thank you. It’s made from the koyo root.”
“Hm, didn’t know you could make anything from that stuff,” replied Jennings.
“Yes, it has certain calmative properties.” Emory pointed the Vimbacher, Jennings’ Vimbacher, at Fagen. “You have a cup as well. Perhaps two.”
Fagen shook his head. “I don’t want any.”
Emory directed the Vimbacher at Fagen. “You will drink. Now.”
When Fagen remained motionless, Emory abruptly moved forward and slammed the butt of the weapon into Fagen’s solar plexus. Fagen bent over but absorbed the pain. Jennings poured a cup and handed it to him. “No harm in drinking a little.”
Fagen eyed Emory as he raised the cup to his lips and took a sip. It tasted bitter but with a sweet edge and no aftertaste. Emory watched closely. “It won’t harm you, Commander Fagen, but I insist you drink the entire contents.”
Jennings took another sip and smacked his lips. “Kinda grows on you.”
“I’d prefer water,” said Fagen.
“You can have all the water you want – after you finish the tea,” said Emory, re-positioning the Vimbacher.
Fagen glanced at Jennings as he drained the remainder of his cup. Jennings shook his head. “Nothing wrong with it. I’ll have another,” he said, holding out the small cup for Emory to refill. Emory complied as he gazed steadily at Fagen. “Drink it,” he said to Fagen.
Fagen drained the cup and felt no ill effects.
“Have another,” demanded Emory, “then you can see your friends.”
“They’re here?”
“Of course. They’re waiting for you.”
Fagen held out his cup for a refill.
*
Comms with Minerva was reduced when Minerva-Too entered the underground garage, then finally gave out altogether moments after parking. Harry sat with Tringl in the lounge inside Minerva-Too. Tringl was bored because they’d shut down the electronics in an effort to remain concealed, so he’d set himself to the task of inspecting Harry’s skin and hair. It was annoying but Harry tolerated the attention. Social grooming was not a Malaaz custom but Tringl had picked it up from Arai and apparently enjoyed it so much he
naturally thought Harry would enjoy it as well. Harry sighed as Tringl leaned forward and spit on Harry’s hands. Harry pulled away and stood.
“That’s enough,” he said, rubbing both hands against his trousers.
Tringl looked at him blankly.
“Look, I appreciate the intent but I need to see what’s going on. What do you say we take a look around?”
Tringl shrugged. In his native tongue, he said, “It’s too hot outside.”
“We’re all right. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Reluctantly, Tringl followed Harry out of the lounge and down the ladder to the simulcon storage compartment below. The powered-down mechanoids hung mutely in their racks. Harry paid them no heed as he unlatched the exterior door and swung it open.
“See,” Harry said to Tringl, “it’s cool out there.”
Tringl leaned out the door. “Where are we?”
“I’m not sure. Underground.”
The garage was quiet. The flickering lights cast a ghostly strobe as Harry climbed down the side of the truck to the floor. Tringl swung down behind him. Harry was curious, curious not only about the current situation but also how it fit into the unfolding greater mystery. The kitzloc had not revealed everything during the course of Harry’s transformation – or perhaps the human part of Harry simply could not fathom what had been shown. He was, after all, still finding his way through the changes. It was clear the kitzloc had something in mind for Harry. They were using him, but for what? So many questions. Unseen forces were moving round him, using him for their own purposes. It was how he’d always felt about Fagen and the Braithwaite Corporation, and now about the kitzloc. All his life, he’d been used and carried along on a wave of destiny where he never quite knew what the outcome would be. He’d been rewarded for his service; that much was true enough. He was wealthy and famous because of his work. He’d been trusted with secret knowledge, at times he’d been the one to uncover that knowledge. But there had always been a price. Because of the time dilation of interstellar travel, his family back on Earth was gone, the world he’d grown up to know had disappeared, and so he had dedicated his life to exploring the universe. It had been his choice, his dream from the beginning. He had only two regrets. First, that he had allowed Kathleen to drift away from him. Perhaps that could change and he could salvage the love of his life. Second, he had let Fagen get away with the greatest find in human history, the interstellar starship Minerva. He regretted not going with Fagen all those years ago. What a life he and Kathleen could have had together. Perhaps there was yet another answer, another discovery even greater than that of Minerva. It nagged at Harry.