Pyrassis was the fourth planet out from its star. For company, it could boast the usual brace of uninhabitable rocky globes, a couple of unspectacular gas giants, a trio of diaphanous asteroid belts, a single methane dwarf, and the usual assortment of icy comets, meteors metallic and stony, and assorted drifting junk: stellar breccia. It was not a memorable system, and Pyrassis itself a less than awe-inspiring planet. Typical of the type of worlds favored by the AAnn, its primary colors when seen from space were not blue and brown, but yellow and red, though there were significant and sizable streaks and splotches of bright blue and green. The atmosphere was nitrox in familiar proportions, the gravity familiar, and the ambient temperature everywhere except at the polar extremes, hot. Just the way the reptiloids liked it, only more so.
Approaching from outsystem with extreme caution, Flinx had the Teacher’s preceptors make a thorough examination of the immediate spatial vicinity. A pair of lifeless, unprepossessing moons circled their parent world. Both were drab, heavily cratered, and insofar as his ship could determine, devoid of anything indicative of intelligent visitation beyond a couple of insignificant and probably long-dormant scientific monitoring terminals.
As for Pyrassis itself, the single network of artificial satellites locked in equatorial and circumpolar orbits was as elementary as Flinx had ever encountered, designed to facilitate nothing more complicated than rudimentary ground-based and low-orbital communications. By positioning itself within the umbra of the nearest moon, the Teacher would render itself invisible to detection from the ground. Analysis of surface-based signals suggested the presence of only a single deepspace carrying beam, and nothing in the realm of sensitive military detectors. Surface-to-surface signals were low-gain and infrequent, hinting at a trifling and widely scattered AAnn presence. Not one of the battered satellites circling in languid low orbit was large enough to pose a threat to an arriving vessel.
The lack of security did not surprise him. Clearly, the AAnn presence on Pyrassis was limited. There were no cities, most likely a single shuttleport, little in the way of surface infrastructure, and certainly nothing beyond minimal military facilities. With so little to defend, there was no reason for the Empire to waste precious equipage, resources that could be better employed elsewhere, in fortifying it. By every measurable criterion, here was an out-of-the-way, strategically unimportant world just barely worthy of the notice of the Empire that claimed it. Sheltered by its location within Empire boundaries, it required nothing else in the way of protection. There was not much here for the AAnn to watch over, and less for raiders to seize.
The last thing any AAnn based on the surface would expect to have to deal with was an illicit intrusion from the Commonwealth. They would be shocked to discover that an unauthorized ship was settling in behind the nearer moon, the better to keep clear of any roving sensors. Had they bothered to look closer, they would have been utterly stunned to discover not one but two unsanctioned craft occupying the same obscure location.
The Crotase did not react to his arrival. No hailing frequency activated the Teacher’s communications module. No salutation image materialized above the command console in front of Flinx. As he directed the Teacher to tuck in close beside the other Commonwealth vessel, Flinx examined the Crotase for visible indications that it was engaged on a mission fraught with extraordinary possibilities. Nothing he saw suggested that this was the case. The Larnaca Nutrition transport sported a standard light-freight configuration, with two passenger/cargo modules comprising the stern of the elongated KK-drive craft. Other than appearing to be in unusually good condition, there was nothing exceptional about the vessel.
Well, if they were going to ignore him, he decided, then it was incumbent upon him to open communication. Maybe they were waiting to make sure the recently arrived craft was crewed by humans or thranx, and was not a captured vessel being operated by the cunning AAnn to lead them into exposing themselves.
No one responded to his queries. Close enough to exchange personnel via suits, the two ships drifted in the shadow of the nearer moon, the Teacher calling, the Crotase not answering. What its presence here had to do with Edicted information on the Meliorare Society Flinx still could not imagine. As his ship’s AI patiently continued trying to evoke a response from the other Commonwealth craft, he contemplated how best to proceed.
Like him, those aboard the Crotase had placed their ship in the shadow of this moon to avoid detection by the AAnn residing on the Pyrassisian surface. There was no other reason for their ship to be where it was. It therefore seemed sensible to conclude that whatever they were doing here, they were not cooperating with the lizards. The elimination of this one possibility failed to elicit enlightenment, since it still did not explain what they were doing in such a dangerous and seemingly unpromising locale in the first place.
Pyrassis might be a world of inconceivable natural riches, though that struck Flinx as an unlikely reason for a Commonwealth vessel to pay it a visit. First, because its location rendered it impractical for any human agency to subsequently exploit, and second because the AAnn themselves had not done so. Or if they had, their diminutive presence on the planet suggested an enormous effort to conceal any kind of extensive development. There was no reason for them to make the effort to do so on a world they fully controlled.
Curioser and curioser, he decided. AAnn intentions aside, the best way to find out what the crew of the Crotase was doing here was to confront them in person with the questions they were reluctant to answer via intership contact. Making plain via open broadcast that he planned to pay them a visit, and directing the Teacher to repeatedly state his intentions, he left the command chamber and made his way to one of the ship’s locks. Sensing that his master’s excitement was conflicted with other emotions, Pip alternated humming along the corridor in front of him with landing repeatedly on his shoulder.
If they would not react to verbal or coded inquiries, Flinx decided as he entered the outer lock, perhaps they would respond to a knock on their front door.
Taking no chances, he donned a full survival suit before entering the Teacher’s shuttle bay. While the suit was awkward to wear, it would provide a degree of protection in the event of trouble. Its internal pickup automatically adjusted volume and modulation so that he could effortlessly deliver verbal orders to the shuttle’s command nexus. Coiled tightly against his shoulder, Pip made a noticeable but not restrictive bulge within the suit.
He could have directed the Teacher to ease right up alongside the drifting freighter, but in the event unforeseen difficulty reared its Hydralike head, he wanted his ship out of easy attack range. Programmed to react in specific ways to explicit assaults, he had no qualms about leaving it to maneuver on its own. He had spent a good deal of time preparing the AI to cope with difficulties in his absence. Feeling confident that the vessel could take care of itself, he directed the shuttle to move out and head toward the elongated bulk of the silent Crotase.
If anything ought to have brought a response from the freighter, it should have been the approach of another large metallic object advancing on a collision course. But though he kept all hailing frequencies open, Flinx heard nothing from the ship he was approaching. It was a good deal more massive than the Teacher, with a bulbous cargo bay appended to the crew and passenger quarters. Light flaring from ports and telltales indicated that power was on throughout the KK-drive craft’s entire attenuated length.
There was nothing remarkable about the ship. In detail as well as silhouette it fit the standard schematic for its type: a purely commercial vessel bearing no surprises. Shuttle bays were located where he expected to find them. Maneuvering cautiously around the cargo carrier’s bulk, he discovered one bay open and empty. Designed to accommodate a much larger cargo shuttle, it offered easy ingress to the heart of the mother ship.
Once more he attempted direct verbal contact, and once again was rebuffed with silence. Shrugging, he directed the shuttle to dock in the most expedient manner possible. The automatics
on the Crotase responded to his intrusion with alacrity. In less than two minutes his craft was tightly snugged in the bay. He barely had time to push free of the command chair before the shuttle felt the effects of the freighter’s powered-down KK-drive field. Gravity once more took hold of his body.
Exiting in his self-contained survival suit, breathing canned air, he examined the outer lock controls. As with the rest of the Crotase, everything was stock and familiar. As a fully qualified, experienced thief, he was used from childhood to breaking into homes and businesses. Breaking into a quiescent starship required a greater command of existing technology, but many of the same techniques. Using the equipment on his suit’s tool belt, which was in turn linked to the shuttle’s AI, he was able to break manually into the freighter’s living quarters. Within minutes he had accessed the autochthonous AI. In less than half an hour it had accepted him as a valid user.
Responding to his commands, it proceeded to secure the bay. He did not order it to close the outer hatch. No sensible thief locks doors behind him.
If Mother Mastiff could see me now, he found himself musing. It was a long way from pilfering bread to stealing a starship. He had no use for the Crotase itself, however. He had come to loot only information.
The inner lock doors opened as readily as the outer, responding briskly to his directives. Nothing emerged to impede his advance. Though his sensors indicated the presence of fully pressurized, uncontaminated, temperature-controlled atmosphere throughout the corridor he was traversing, he did not unseal his suit. There was no need to take chances. He felt confident he could get what he had come for without taking unnecessary risks.
Around him, the ship hummed efficiently while continuing to manifest only mechanical life. Corridors and rooms were brightly lit. In a prosaically decorated crew lounge he found dishes piled high with snack foods in addition to indications of at least two meals abandoned unfinished. No trays lay mute on the deck, however, and no food or drink had been scattered violently about. There was nothing to indicate that the diners had abandoned their fare in haste.
The entire ship lay open to him. His progress was restricted only by privacy codes that barred entrance to individual living quarters. Since several of these stood open to inspection, he had no reason to assume that the others contained anything of especial note, and he made no effort to bypass their personal security. He was not here to spy on an unknowing crew.
What crew? Where was everyone? Had they been surprised by the AAnn and taken down to the surface for interrogation? That particular experience was one that, fortunately, had so far been denied to him. From everything he had heard, a discomfiting gallimaufry of fact and fiction, it was one he would gladly continue to avoid. Had the crew committed mass suicide by blowing themselves out a lock into space? There was nothing on board to indicate anything so excessive had taken place. There were no signs of violence, of struggle, or even of internal dissention.
Based on what he found, or more properly, what he did not find, everything suggested that they had voluntarily transported themselves down to the surface on the freighter’s other shuttlecraft. He could not imagine what for. What off Earth did a company that manufactured processed foods want with a desert world like Pyrassis? He stood outside the bridge, uncomprehendingly shaking his head. For that matter, he had yet to figure out what they wanted with Edicted records of Meliorare doings.
Like everything else aboard the Crotase, the command-and-control blister was considerably larger than its counterpart on the Teacher. Unmonitored glowing consoles beckoned, efficient instrumentation silently declaimed reams of unperused information, and chairs reposed unoccupied. Anyone else thrust abruptly into such hushed surroundings could easily and quickly have become spooked. Not Flinx. In his short life he had seen and been forced to deal with far more intimidating surroundings than a deserted ship. Avoiding the empty command chair, he settled himself into one of the secondary seats.
The freighter’s AI was no less responsive in the control center than it had been in the outer lock. It replied to his queries promptly and without hesitation as he prodded it to divulge the information he had come so far to recover. Unfortunately, the admirably expeditious response did not take the form Flinx desired.
“The information you request is contained in an Edicted sybfile.”
“I know that.” Flinx had trouble controlling his impatience. Sensing it, Pip stirred beneath the fabric of the survival suit. “I don’t seek disclosure. Transfer of the physical file to a blank storage chyp will suffice.” He emphasized the request by running a finger over the Activate proximity control set in the arm of his chair.
“Transfer cannot be accomplished.” The voice of the Crotase was serenely implacable.
“Why not?” Flinx inquired sharply. “Is there a command string lacking? Define the nature of the problem.”
“It is straightforward,” the AI responded by way of explanation. “The sybfile in question no longer resides within my cortex. It has been removed, and there is no copy.”
Flinx slowly took a deep breath. He had not traveled an unconscionable number of parsecs to hear what he had already heard once before, on Earth. “Where is it now? Trace all echoes and ghosts.”
“That will not be necessary.” The AI’s assurance was calming. Finally, something positive! “The sybfile you request has been transferred to and at last check resides within the storage mode of personal recorder DNP-466EX.”
Hope and confidence returning, Flinx resumed his pursuit. “Where is the indicated recorder now? What is its present location?” Clearly, if he wanted the syb, he was going to have to confront the crewmember in whose possession it presently resided. As he contemplated his next query, he wondered if the individual was even aware of the sensitive nature of the information he or she was toting around.
For a change, the AI’s reply did not surprise him. “Following recent disembarkation, all crew departed on shuttle drop for the surface of the world called Pyrassis, presently located—”
“I know where Pyrassis is,” Flinx interrupted briskly. “I can see it out the nearest port. I need specifics. Touchdown coordinates.” He tensed slightly. “Was disembarkation voluntary, or coerced?”
“Voluntary,” the Crotase replied without hesitation.
Some of the tenseness flowed out of him. Whatever the crew of the freighter was up to, or involved in, or dealing with on the surface of the dry, remote world below, they had not been captured by the AAnn. That greatly enhanced his chance of recovering, by whatever means, the information he sought. But it still begged the question of what humans were doing here.
Time for one more highly sensitive question. Whoever they were and whatever their intentions, the one thing the landing party would not dare to do would be to lose contact with their ship. Which meant that if they were in regular contact with the Crotase, then the freighter would also be in contact with them.
“You have the present coordinates of all absent crew, including the individual in possession of the personal recorder containing the sybfile in question?”
“I am continuously monitoring the location of the landing party,” the ship responded readily. “However, I do not supervise electronics on the personal level. There is no guarantee that the individual transporting the particular recorder under discussion is still in possession of it. In its absence from my presence, it may have been manually transferred to any other individual.”
That was reasonable enough, Flinx concluded. No matter. He would locate the recorder when he located and confronted the crew. They might share several dozen such devices among them, but the freighter’s AI had thoughtfully provided him with its identifying code.
Adopting his most assured tone, he once more addressed the Crotase’s AI. “Request that you transfer last known coordinates of landing party to navigation submodule of . . .” and he provided the necessary coding and security-pass information to the AI of his own shuttle, presently resting in the freighter’s bay.
> He breathed a small sigh of relief when the voice of the Crotase replied, “Complying,” and seconds later, “Requested information transferred.”
Rising from the seat, Flinx took a last look around the deserted command chamber. Strange that whoever was in charge of this eccentric mission had not chosen to leave even a skeleton crew aboard. It suggested that everyone might be needed to fulfill whatever purpose was intended. Or that whoever was in charge did not trust their own crew sufficiently to leave even one member of the company behind in charge of the ship. The absence of any evidence for discord prior to disembarking hinted at another possibility. Whoever Larnaca Nutrition had sent here might be cooperating with the AAnn.
Even this remote prospect still did not answer the question, Why Pyrassis? Though percolating natural curiosity demanded an answer, it was one he was willing to forgo if he could just obtain the information locked in the appropriated syb. Some kind of confrontation with the absent crew appeared inevitable. He smiled to himself. It might be direct, or accomplished by stealth. If the latter, then he would be on familiar territory. He was something of a master at concealing his presence from others.
Just as there had been when he had come aboard, there was nothing to stop him, either verbally or physically, from leaving the freighter. Safely back aboard his shuttle, he checked to make certain the Crotase’s AI had actually provided his craft with the requested landing coordinates. They were there, forthright and conspicuous, in the shuttle’s data bank. Reaching down to unseal and slip out of the survival suit’s confines, he decided to hold off doing so until he was clear of the hulking freighter.
Agreeable as before, the Crotase obediently acknowledged his request to disengage. The shuttle was gently released and allowed to drift clear of the bay. Addressing his own craft’s onboard AI, he directed it to program in the newly received set of coordinates and set down within three kilometers of the identified locality, leaving it to the shuttle’s nav system to choose the best site.
Reunion (Pip and Flinx) Page 9