Minerva's Soul (The Harry Irons Trilogy)

by Thomas Stone

  “We’ll get to that shortly. First, tell me about yourself.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  “I’d like to know who you are, who you think you are.”

  “My name is Kathleen Casey. I was a space explorer for an organization on a planet called Earth. Have you heard of it?”

  “Of course. What is your reason for being on Mirabel?”

  “To cure my husband of an infection he contracted while here on an earlier mission.”

  “And where is he?”

  “I don’t know. I guess he’s looking for me. How long have I been here?”

  The man waved a hand. “That’s not important. Let’s get back to you. At the risk of sounding redundant, who are you?”

  “I told you.”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  “Well then, I don’t know how to answer your question.”

  “Am I then to believe that you have led a life without any trace of introspection, that you have never pondered the great mysteries? Are you so self-involved that pursuing your never-ending desires has taken precedence over illumination and self-understanding?”

  Kathleen shrugged. The nerd was being rude. Kathleen couldn’t deny her life had been privileged, that the pursuit of experience had at times, many times, pushed the deeper questions of life away. Kathleen had always simply accepted who she was or as the stranger had intimated, who she thought she was.

  “No,” said Kathleen, “I wonder about things I can’t know but I don’t let myself obsess over insolvable problems.”

  “That is a good answer, however limited. When you act without thought to consequences because you haven’t considered alternatives adequately, then the resultant reactions are to be viewed as due to your initial action. In other words, it’s your fault whether you know what is going on or not. You are responsible for what you do.”

  “You’re making my head spin. Can you just get to the point?”

  “There are several points, but I’ll stick to my original question: who are you? How do you see yourself?”

  Kathleen was tired of the game. “I don’t know,” she said, “why don’t you tell me?”

  “All right. You’re an atypical human female but you are still ruled by the limited gestalt of your world view – which, by the way, could also be said of ninety-nine plus percent of sentient species, so please take no offense. You have an inflated ego due to lack of what your species refers to as proper feedback mechanisms, cultural and genetic – you know, spiritual stuff. You’re classic Type A, driven to succeed. Your spirit suffers because of it.”

  Kathleen said nothing and wondered if the nerd was a holographic image. If it was, it was as good as Minerva. It was seamless, perfect.

  As if the nerd had heard her thoughts, he stepped forward out of the spotlight across the dark space to where Kathleen stood. He reached out, offering his arm. “Touch me,” he said.

  Kathleen complied. The sleeve of his shirt was real, like some cottony material. The arm beneath was solid and warm.

  She looked at him and asked, “You knew what I was thinking. Who are you?”

  He turned and went back to his spotlight. “Yes, I could tell what you were thinking, or at least make a good assumption about it. It’s not a parlor trick though, so please don’t test me.”

  Kathleen briefly wondered if she was hypnotized, drugged, or dreaming. She was relaxed, concerned but not anxious. She should have felt fear, but the emotion was conspicuously absent.

  “What you see is an image construct, something far more material than a holograph, interfaced with a real-time network.”

  “So who am I speaking to?”

  “An individual and a group of interested parties.”

  Kathleen felt cold inside. “What do you want?”

  You’re here because you have committed crimes. Foremost among these is murder.”

  “I’ve never murdered anyone.”

  “Oh, but you’re wrong. You killed a native inhabitant of this planet, and in so doing you’ve set off an inexorable chain of events.”

  *

  “Where have you been? Where are the others? How did you get away?”

  Emory held up a hand. “Please, let me catch my breath and take a drink. I’ve been walking for some time.”

  Penbrook avoided their questions as they moved through the airlock and returned to the locker room. He took a seat at one of the tables and drank from a bottle of water.

  “Are you ready to talk now?” asked Jennings.

  Penbrook wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “That man, Griswold, attacked me. Struck me, if you can believe it.” He peered at the men and smiled when he saw Tringl. Tringl scratched and yawned. Looking at Harry, Penbrook said, “You’re here,” he said, “that’s good.”

  “How do you know me?” asked Harry.

  “You’re the one who is going to change things.”

  “Change what?”

  “Everything.”

  “Who says?”

  “Who do you think?”

  Harry’s expression did not change but he did not answer Penbrook’s question either. It wasn’t necessary; everyone in the room knew to whom Penbrook referred. Penbrook took another drink, water spilled down his chin onto his ragged tunic.

  “It’s time you came straight with us,” said Jennings. “Why did you bring us here?”

  “Because you’re supposed to be here.”

  “Why?”

  “They have their reasons. They don’t tell me everything, you know. Usually they don’t tell me anything.” Penbrook took another drink.

  “Tell us,” said Fagen, “what you do know.”

  “All right,” Penbrook said, “no harm in doing that now that’s he’s here.” Penbrook nodded at Harry.

  *

  “I did not kill anyone,” said Kathleen. “What happened to that man in Boomtown was not my doing. The same goes for what happened in Jennings Bank.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I’m referring to an earlier incident.”

  Kathleen shook her head. “What incident?”

  “You were on Mirabel before, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “Working for the Braithwaite Corporation.”

  “More explicit please.”

  “Harry and I were here to obtain a sample of kitzloc essence. The Braithwaite Corporation is researching its unique properties.”

  “Did you obtain the substance and return it to your employers back on Earth?”

  “Yes, but they’re not my employers anymore.”

  “Became independent, eh?”

  “So to speak.”

  “Tell me how you and your companion procured the substance.”

  Kathleen took a breath. “Okay,” she said and she related the entire story of how she and Harry had stolen into a kitzloc lair, located the essence, and made their escape.

  “So, after taking what you sought, you were surprised by a creature and killed it in self-defense. However, in the process, your friend was infected. Now, you’ve returned to retrieve more of the substance, but you admit it needs to be living tissue, therefore you must force another one of these creatures to cooperate with you. How were you going to go about that?”

  “My computer has the details.”

  “I see. After all that has transpired, has your opinion about the kitzloc changed?”

  Kathleen looked into the surrounding darkness. “I don’t know. Yes, I suppose so, but I don’t really know what to think. I just want Harry to be cured.”

  “You must care for him very much.”

  Kathleen nodded. “I had forgotten how much.”

  “Yes, well, I suppose we sometimes take things for granted.”

  A moment of silence passed before Kathleen spoke again. “So who are you accusing me of killing?”

  “I thought it was obvious. The kitzloc, of course.”

  Chapter 10

  “
Where are Bobbi and Kathleen?” asked Fagen.

  “They’re safe.”

  “Where are they?”

  “I don’t know exactly. They have the women.”

  Jennings got up and took a step toward Penbrook, pointing the Vimbacher at his head. “You’d better start talking or I’m going to blow the grey matter out of the other side of your skull. That is, if there’s anything in there.”

  “Hold it, hold it,” Fagen cautioned. Harry put his hands behind his head and contemplated the ceiling.

  “He knows where they are,” said Jennings, “and he’s going to tell us.”

  Penbrook sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know where they are. However, I must warn you, harming me would only bring down the wrath of the creatures. Your friends were taken because that oaf you have in your employ struck me.” Penbrook gingerly felt the bruise on the side of his face. “He’s the one that did this to me.”

  “You’re lying,” said Jennings.

  “No, I’m not.” Penbrook looked at Fagen. “Your woman will be fine as long as no harm comes to me.” He looked at Jennings and up the barrel of the Vimbacher. “I can’t make the same guarantee for your men.”

  Fagen looked at Jennings. “Lower your weapon and let’s get some answers.”

  Jennings gave Fagen a hard look but reluctantly turned the gun away. Fagen focused on Penbrook. “Start talking.”

  “Where should I start?”

  “From the beginning,” said Fagen.

  “Well, that was a long time ago. I was here years before the miners. You know how it works. One of Braithwaite’s unmanned exploratory craft found the planet. It fit the profile; perfect for exploitation and transplant, that’s the term the Braithwaite planners use which means it was ideal for mining and colonization. No sentient life-forms were detected. The planet was pristine with virgin forests, plenty of water, a hospitable, even pleasant atmosphere, and a great expanse of deserts shot through with minerals. Naturally, they were excited. They had high hopes for Mirabel. I was a mission specialist, a technician, what you call a xenobiologist, but you know, you find yourself doing all kinds of things. I was a field guy, still am I guess, but I don’t get much done anymore.”

  Penbrook drifted away for a moment until he found himself again. Harry stopped staring at the ceiling and focused on the old man. Something was wrong with Penbrook’s story. It wasn’t that the old man came across as a liar, or that even some of his mysterious statements were so screwy -- it was more like he was telling a story about someone else.

  The old man rubbed his forehead with a wrinkled hand. “Sorry, I lose track sometimes. Too much time alone, I guess.” He looked at Harry. “Sometimes they’re in there,” he tapped his skull, “and I lose track of time.” He shook his head. “I don’t remember it all. It’s odd. I don’t remember anything about Earth anymore. It’s like I’ve always been here.

  Anyway, I’ve always been glad to be here, on Mirabel, I mean. Feels like... home. Except for one bad time early on. I worked on the initial evaluations along with the leader of the expedition, a woman named Anita Lopez. You probably never heard of her. It was her first command position and well, she died. Not a lot of fame in that, eh? We found a fortune in minerals, pretty much anything you’d want, and the planet had a healthy feel to it. The air made you feel good. Nothing’s changed about that. It can still make you feel good. Just walk out under the stars and you’ll see. This is a very special place.”

  “How did she die?” asked Jennings.

  “Anita died in my arms, screaming, stark-raving mad.”

  Jennings nodded.

  “We’d been here for over a year and this complex was still being built. For the longest time, my team was the only humans on the planet. We had the run of the place, or so we thought. After the complex was built, we alternated our time between this place and a more primitive camp in the green climes. We traveled extensively, did the mapping, tested the soil and the water, collected specimens -- all the early work.

  Through one of our wide-area surveys, we determined there were huge areas of water under the deserts. Ironic, isn’t it? The deserts, if you don’t know already, measure forty per cent of the planet’s total land mass. That’s a lot of desert, don’t you think, for a planet with such an agreeable climate and plenty of water? Odd? Well, that’s what Anita thought. She talked about it at length, running through the data over and over. She loved numbers. Anyway, it was a mystery.”

  “What happened to Lopez?” asked Jennings.

  Penbrook sighed. “She got infected before we even knew about the kitzloc. She went out for air one evening and returned three days later. I should have gone with her. Maybe I could have done something. She was the first.

  She seemed all right, at first, except she couldn’t remember anything. She said she got lost, that’s all, and wandered around for days. But she didn’t have water, survival gear, anything. It was a fantastic story and no one really believed it, especially later when she started raving. She locked herself in the communications room and destroyed the equipment. When we finally broke in, she attacked us. She said we shouldn’t be here…”

  Penbrook’s voice trailed off again as he lost himself in thoughts of the distant past.

  Jennings grew impatient again. “Okay, I’ve seen it for myself. People get infected, they lose it. When did you figure out it was the kitzloc that did it?”

  Penbrook looked up at Jennings as if he’d been awakened. “Not long after,” he replied. “People started to disappear after Anita died. There weren’t many of us – eleven besides myself. Everybody else had returned to Earth after this complex was completed.

  Over the course of a month, one by one, everyone disappeared. At first, we scheduled watches, but the watch-standers would be gone in the morning. Video showed nothing except those same people simply walking out in the middle of the night. We tried locking everything up but it didn’t stop. Every other day or so, someone else turned up missing. In the end, it was just me and a fellow named Francois Dumont. Francois was a funny man. A Frenchman with a sense of humor. At the end, Francois and I locked ourselves into the main control room and agreed to watch over each other. Neither of us wanted to sleep and we stayed awake a long time before Francois finally dozed off. I watched him and listened and I watched the video monitors until I guess I finally went to sleep too. When I awoke, he was gone. The doors were still locked. I suppose he could have let himself out of the room and locked the door behind but it seems as if I would have heard something.”

  Penbrook paused again, lapsing into reverie

  Jennings broke the silence. “How long have you been out here… alone?”

  Penbrook looked confused for a moment as he considered the question. “Twenty-six years?” he said. “Maybe more, I can’t remember.”

  “That’s hard to believe.

  “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  Jennings narrowed his eyes. “How old are you?”

  The old man shrugged. “I don’t know anymore.”

  Harry still had the uneasy feeling something was wrong with Penbrook’s tale. His lapses of memory, the length of time alone...

  “You knew about the settlements, didn’t you?” asked Jennings. “I mean, how could you not know?”

  Penbrook nodded and waved a hand in the air. “Of course I knew. Sometimes I see you fools out here pretending to hunt the creatures.” He looked at Jennings. “You never find anything though, do you?”

  Young Randy Ellis stood. “This is pointless. We should be searching for my father.”

  Fagen shook his head. “No, it’s not. Be patient.”

  Ellis sat down again and Fagen turned to Penbrook. “How did you exist? What about food and water?”

  Penbrook waved his hand as if swatting a fly. “Water flows through this desert. It’s underground. It collects in great natural cisterns. This complex taps into one of those. Water is not a problem. The complex has its own nuclear power source. There will be electric power
here long after we’re all gone.”

  “What about food?” asked Jennings. “Are you eating the sand?”

  “There is food here.”

  “How could there be enough to last for so many years?”

  Penbrook shrugged and repeated himself. “There’s food. There’s always food when I want it.” His face suddenly brightened and he looked at Fagen. “Do you want to see?”

  “Yeh,” said Jennings, “show us.”

  Penbrook got to his feet. “All right,” he said, “follow me.”

  They looked at one another. “Lead the way,” said Fagen.

  He took the group down the corridor to the stairwell where they descended to the lower level. Overhead, the lights flickered casting a ghostly strobe over the group. They followed Penbrook, carefully watching his every move. None trusted him, or wholly believed his story thus far.

  They stopped before a door and Penbrook pushed it open. Shining lights inside, they found a small room with a single table kept company by a solitary chair. Penbrook felt along the inside wall and punched a switch. Overhead, a light flickered on. The room was much like the rest of the complex: dirty and lacking in amenities. There were dishes and utensils piled on the floor and table. It was difficult to walk inside without bumping against them. Along the far wall were built-in shelves, some with sliding covers. Penbrook approached one of these.

  “Here it is,” he said, sliding the cover open. Inside was a small, empty storage space.

  The others looked at one another questioningly. Fagen spoke. “What is it exactly we’re looking at?”

  Penbrook looked back at the empty space. “This is where I get my food when I’m hungry.”

  “What do you mean?” asked young Ellis.

  “Just what I said, young man. When I want something to eat, I come here and decide what to eat. I open the cover and there it is.”

  “There’s nothing there now,” Ellis pointed out.

  Penbrook shrugged. “I’m not hungry,” he offered in explanation.

  Fagen stepped forward and inspected the cabinet space. There was no instrumentation, no false backing. It was as it appeared to be: an empty storage cabinet. Fagen stepped back. “Show us how it works.”