The Fifth Civilization: A Novel

by Peter Bingham-Pankratz

  “Goddammit! Goddammit, no!”

  David tugged on Roan’s arm. “Please, Mr. Roan!” No matter how much he hated being pushed, especially by a goddamn waddling duck, Roan relented and allowed himself be led by the alien until they worked up a jog. They ran along the emergency walkway until the horror was far behind them. It was an automatic and mindless run, because all Roan was concentrating on were the two shots to the back that had felled Aaron Vertulfo.

  ***

  After blowing away the outer door, Grinek tossed one more grenade into the clothing store. For good measure.

  Pistol at the ready, he dashed out onto the outdoor walkway, coughing with the dust and smoke in the air. There was no sign of his three targets, at least not initially—but, upon closer inspection, at the bottom of the emergency staircase lay the bloodied, crumpled body of a dark-skinned Earthman.

  Grinek bounded down the steps and knelt by the body. Two energy bursts in the back, one in the leg. He turned him over. The face was Vertulfo’s, lifeless and caked in blood. With lightning speed, Grinek patted down the man’s jacket but found only a com and an ID card. Whatever information Vertulfo had, he passed it on to the capped Earthman. And that man was nowhere in sight.

  As the saying went, an important man cannot stay hidden forever.

  Believing Vertulfo’s com might prove useful, Grinek stuffed the thing in the pocket of his vest. Then he removed his own com and dialed the operations ship in orbit. One impatient ring later, a deck officer answered.

  “Yes, Commander?”

  “Send a shuttle. Do you have my coordinates?”

  A moment’s pause on the other end. “Yes, Commander. Are you in a difficult situation?”

  “You will need to be wary. The Earth authorities will be swarming here soon. Just follow my signal and retrieve me without delay.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  Grinek hung up and put the communicator in his pocket. A buoy blinked and bobbed in the harbor, and though he despised water like he despised Earthmen, Grinek knew the buoy was his only refuge from the Earth police.

  Mentally, he steeled himself for the wetness and cold and climbed out onto the walkway railing. He holstered his pistol and looked down at waves lapping against the wall. With a nimble dive, Grinek splashed into Tokyo Bay, his exit from the mall far less obtrusive than his entrance.

  Chapter 8

  Roan had met Aaron sometime in July 2490, on a run out to the Centauri colony. One of its continents had just endured another rebellion and Roan—fresh out of the military and a crewman on the Philoria—was shipping a bunch of Company-approved electric generators to the local government. During some evening downtime, Roan walked into a bar and found Centauri whiskey tasted like someone had ground up a corn husk, just as people said. He stumbled outside for a quick breather and found Aaron sitting on the back steps. Two empty bottles were at his side and he was swigging another, but Aaron was as sober as a teetotaler. He pointed to the sky at a faint comet directly ahead. The colonists believed it was a good omen signaling God approved of the end of the war.

  Did you know there are more galaxies in the universe than stars in the Milky Way, Aaron had asked.

  Roan didn’t say anything.

  I think about it a lot when I’m somewhere dark, Aaron had continued. Far away from all the light pollution. You can’t find those places on Earth anymore. When I look at the night sky, I feel like I’m looking at God.

  So you believe God exists? Roan had asked him, the bad whiskey tumbling through his veins. Aaron replied that a scientist had to remain neutral in terms of politics and religion. He only dealt in the truth.

  Roan pushed. But do you have an opinion? Scientists can have those.

  Aaron took a long swig his beer. He was meditating on the question, searching for the appropriate answer.

  The facts spoke for themselves, Aaron said.

  Goddamn it all, Roan thought, now a decade later and screaming across Tokyo in a hovercar. Why was that the first memory that came to his mind, not their trip to Comet Tsali, or that drunken batball match on Omega II? He didn’t want to remember his friend with a question that was never answered, with a belief or non-belief that was never clarified. Whatever his true feelings were, though, Aaron knew the answer about God now. Roan pounded the side of the skimmer.

  The man didn’t even get a last word. Everyone deserves a last word.

  “Are you feeling well, Mr. Roan?” David asked, eyes on the road.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Roan shunned tears, but this time he was coming damn close to a rainstorm. He bottled it up. Didn’t want to be caught crying in front of a Nyden. Roan focused on the traffic flying by out the window, not caring about the car’s speed or the sharpness of its turns.

  They’d managed to get in their skimmer and tear out of Yuko Mall just as the city police showed up. Sirens screamed by as they escaped. By now, the authorities must have found Aaron’s body and knew the names and faces of both Roan and David. They weren’t going to be happy with the people who caused this very public firefight. Not that it mattered, because Roan had no intention of talking to them. While the Japanese police were known to be on the congenial end of Earth’s finest, there were few things Roan wanted less than to sit down for a police interview.

  Nor did he want to sit down for a Kotaran interview, which would no doubt end in the extraction of one of his molars. He shuddered at the stories he’d heard.

  “We’re almost to the spaceport,” David reported. “You might want to look into a ship we can take.”

  Roan banged his fist against the hull. “How can you be so nonchalant at a time like this? Aaron was just killed in front of you! What is that, a minor inconvenience?” He was breathing heavily now, seething at the alien at the controls.

  “I’m grieving too, Mr. Roan,” David said. Roan noticed David’s bulbous head shined red. An indicator of sadness, perhaps? Roan almost regretted his outburst. “This is a very hard day for me,” David continued. “I’ve seen Aaron nearly every week of these past five years. He was—he is—a family member to me. But this is not a time for pausing. Reflection can come later. We need to reach a ship with alacrity.”

  “OK, David.” Roan thought about Aaron for a moment. He struggled to get out the next few words. “Aaron didn’t have a family. No blood relatives on Earth, I mean. Did he have anyone who he might want to contact in case…in case he died?”

  “There is only me,” David said, and turned the car down a major thoroughfare. Roan wondered what kind of a life it was to be close to only one person, but then remembered that he could count his close friends on one hand.

  Roan glanced at the rear camera on the dashboard monitor, and didn’t see any familiar hovercars. This was good news. It meant that the Kotarans who attacked them were no longer in hot pursuit, and had probably been scared off by the police as well. But it was too much of a risk to stay on Earth any longer. Though the Kotarans were renowned hunters and brutal killers, Roan had much more faith in the human police tracking him down and bringing him in for questioning. This was their territory, after all. He was just sure the Kotarans were monitoring the police channels, and would try and grab him if he arrived at any police station. Then he’d be in trouble, because he did not doubt the Kotaran’s ability to kidnap a stationary being.

  Roan pulled his com from his jacket, his hand brushing past the hexagonal pad given by Aaron. With his index finger he scrolled through his directory, looking for someone to call, someone to get him out of this situation. Jonas was in São Paulo, he knew. Rigo was all the way in Yokohama, and his ship was always staffed by a bunch of cutthroats anyway. Reiko…no. She was definitely out. The only person who could remotely help them out was Masao, and Roan pressed the number to dial him, hoping the copilot didn’t have too much of a hangover.

  One ring. Two. Three. On the fourth, a click and a sniff.

  “Masao here.”

  “Thank God! Listen, it’s Nick.”

  “Nick?”<
br />
  “Yeah, I need your help. I’m kind of being chased.”

  “What? Nick, you been hitting the Centauri stuff?”

  “No, no! Masao, listen to me very carefully.” He gave Masao a brief rundown of what happened. On the other end there was silence, punctuated by periodic coughing. When he finished, Roan waited for a quick question of where he was and an estimate of how quickly Masao could get there.

  Instead: “Seriously, Nick, I thought you were done with narcos.”

  “Goddammit, Masao.” Roan shoved the com into David’s face. “Say something, David.”

  “Um…hello…”

  “Am I telling the truth, David?”

  “Yes, Mr. Roan.”

  “Now say something in your own language.”

  David considered this for a moment, then let loose a few sentences in his native tongue. To Roan, it all sounded like a congested, cawing crow, but he hoped it was enough to convince Masao. In his twenty years of service to the Company, Masao had picked up a bit of the language as he accepted runs to Nydaya every few months or so. Roan returned the com to his own ear.

  “Do you believe me now?”

  “Well, he sounds Nyden. And I know you couldn’t be counted on to learn proper grammar in English, much less an alien language.”

  “Look, Masao. Turn on the BV if you have to. There’s bound to be something about the Yuko Mall. This is important.”

  “I’m not really in a position to do that right now…” There was rustling and a feminine giggle on the other end. All the telltale signs that Masao decided it was prudent to go clubbing in Tokyo the night after returning from two months in deep space.

  “I don’t care. Masao, I need to use your credit account.”

  “My what?” Credit accounts were usually confidential, and your money secure from prying eyes, unless there was some reason why your account was a threat to planetary security. In the aftermath of what happened at the mall, Roan was sure the Japanese police were perusing his account. All they had to do to track him was monitor his withdrawals. He was even taking too much of chance talking on the com.

  “You heard me. I need some tickets to the Tubes.”

  “The Tubes? You’re crazy. You’re on the run from the police and you want to flee the planet?”

  “Remember the Kotarans, Masao.”

  “The Company’s going to raise hell about this. You’ll probably be sacked.”

  “No time to worry about that. Masao, I need your account. Mine will only get me caught.”

  “Don’t you have an extra one, Nick? For emergencies?”

  “Can’t say I do.” He did at one point, before it was overdrawn and shut down. So long, Mr. Jed Smith of Okinawa. That was for another age. Luckily, Roan had stayed within the law since then and hadn’t needed to withdraw sixty grand in the night.

  “Chikushou,” Masao breathed. He was doing some major contemplating. Skimmers shot by outside, each one a potential police cruiser. “Can’t you ask the Nyden?”

  Roan turned to David, cradling the com near his chest. “You have any money?”

  David squawked. “Yes, I have an expense account.”

  “Is it in your name?”

  “Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Roan returned the com to his ear. “Nope, he doesn’t have one.”

  “Fine, I’m coming up there.”

  “Masao, you don’t have to meet us anywhere.” On the other end of the line, something rustled and moaned. Masao shushed whoever was in his bed.

  “No no no, Nick, I do. I ain’t the kind of person to give out account numbers on a whim. Where are you now?”

  Ahead of them, the buttresses of the Tokyo spaceport gleamed in the sunlight. The vast terminal and the monolithic control towers seemed like paradise for Roan, their gate to safety and for an end to this earthly madness.

  “We’re just a few minutes from the spaceport. I want to get a ticket up to the Tubes, and then get to the Entrepot. How soon can you be here?”

  “Give me fifteen. Where are you trying to go, anyway?”

  Might as well tell him. “There’s a Company ship to Orion today. Kel’s going to be on it.”

  “Oh boy. That’s going to be fun.” On Masao’s end, there was a zip and the ruffling of a coat. Masao was probably running his arms through his jacket sleeves and walking to the door. Roan heard Masao murmur a command in Japanese to wait for a few hours and a sigh in response. As he listened to all this trivial noise, Roan realized that the longer he was on the com the more danger there was that the call would be traced.

  “You’re going to have to be quick, Masao. The police are probably plastering my face all over the security network. And I don’t want to even know what the Kotarans are doing.”

  A sigh on the other end. “I’m going as fast as I fucking can. I’ll meet you at Grand Central in fifteen.” Masao abruptly hung up. Roan pocketed the com and scooped off his cap, running his hands through his hair. Traffic grew heavier as they approached the spaceport, but he was glad they were in a hovercar and could avoid the crowded lanes above the terminals. The sky swarmed with orbital rockets and low-flying shuttles zigzagging about, a synchronized dance to the heavens.

  “Is your friend coming?” David asked, interrupting the ship spotting.

  “Yes, he is. We’ll just have to wait in the concourse.”

  David blinked and maneuvered the skimmer toward a parking structure. They passed through a security booth, which scanned them. Roan held his breath; it was yet another way for their skimmer to be logged and recorded. The police were sure to be close behind.

  “You will need to look at what’s on that pad,” David said.

  “Huh? What pad?”

  “The one Aaron gave you.” Then Roan remembered what was in his pocket, the parting gift of a murdered friend. He muttered that he’d look at it later. If something like that was worth two energy bolts to the back, it wasn’t something that Roan wanted on his person. Part of him wished the Kotarans would offer him ten million to give up the pad, making him both rich and rid of this panspermia nonsense. But they’d killed Aaron for the information on it, and Roan sure as hell wanted to know what was worth dying over.

  ***

  By the time the shuttlepod came to pluck him out of Tokyo Bay, Grinek had vowed never to swim again. He was glad to get off the wet buoy, but even as he curled his tail and sat down in one of the shuttle’s seats, he could not escape the water’s effects.

  His body suit was thoroughly soaked and dripped like a leaky pipe. Every time he moved his head he could hear an annoying sloshing sound in his ears. And his grey skin had started to wrinkle from being his time in the water, resulting in a most unappealing look. The soldiers attending to him could do nothing but watch as he struggled to dry his fur, since they had neglected to bring any towels on board the shuttle. Grinek ordered an officer to strip and give him his tunic, and the officer promptly complied. As he wiped himself down with the piece of fabric, Grinek made a note to order a demotion for all on board.

  The operations ship came into view out the pod’s window. It was not a typical Kotaran ship; in fact, its exterior was not Kotaran at all. In order for their expedition to attract the least amount of suspicion, the Ruling Council had provided Grinek with an old Earth colonial freighter captured years earlier. Any Kotaran ship that arrived at Earth, even a diplomatic one, was scrutinized to the utmost degree by the authorities—but no one would bother checking an obsolete freighter lingering above the planet. It was not the only Kotaran ship in the solar system: the Hanyek, which could carry the operations vessel in its hangar, was waiting out beyond the planet called Neptune.

  Grinek treated the disguised vessel with nothing but disdain. It was small, barely able to fit ten people. From the outside, the ship looked boxy and was propelled by two tubular nacelles, having none of the curves and flair that were satisfying to the eyes (Earthmen had no aesthetic instincts).

  At least the interior had been modified. W
hen Grinek stepped out from the pod, he was pleased to be met with the familiar grey of his homeworld.

  An officer named Sisal, the captain of both the Hanyek and the operations ship, stood at attention in a doorway. It was with Sisal’s crew that Grinek was conducting this mission. The man had not yet even reached forty and hid jet white hair under his captain’s beret, but his youth and his lofty position hid the fact he was as clueless as a newly-hatched marocha.

  “Where is Talmar, Commander?” Sisal barked. Not even a greeting for his superior—such rotten manners in the military these days!

  “He was killed,” Grinek said. He pushed past the surprised Sisal, whose tail slithered in the air.

  “Did you succeed in your mission, Commander?” At this, Grinek turned and snarled at Sisal. For some reason, this young officer was considered a promising upstart by the naval services. Evidently, his skill in handling a ship’s operations did not extend to knowing what to say to his betters.

  “You need to assemble a new team immediately. Have them prepared to disembark when I give the order.”

  “Commander, I don’t understand.” Ignoring Sisal, Grinek hurried out from the pod berth and wound his way through a few corridors, startling adjutants and foot soldiers that straightened their backs as he passed. He couldn’t care less if they saluted. As long as they moved out of his way, they were doing their jobs. After a minute or so, Grinek found the bridge, popping open a hatch with a lever that badly needed an oiling.

  The three bodies on the bridge turned to the door, then, noticing who it was, threw up their palms in a salute that Grinek half-heartedly returned. The bridge was trapezoidal and dim, with three consoles ringing a padded chair that hung from the ceiling in the center. Grinek went to the nearest console, where a still-saluting communications officer sucked in air as the Commander approached. Her palm salute had shrunken to a fist by the time Grinek towered over her.