Lost in thought, Ansel started in response to a booming voice close behind him.
“This dust gets everywhere, Kraden. Takes forever to slough off.”
“Always with the complaints! You’ll see, Hom Huido, this new sideline’s worth investing in.”
Ansel turned around, and his eyes widened. The mine’s burly foreman, Kraden, stood beside what looked like the offspring of a servo tank and a monstrous crustacean. The shiny black creature stood a head taller than the foreman, and its massive bulk would dwarf a personal transport. Independently mobile eyestalks sprouted through the gap between the two bowl-shaped armored plates that protected its head. Its lower asymmetrical claws were like siege weapons; the upper pair of claws on its carapace served as arms. In Ansel’s opinion, the formidable being was the stuff of nightmares.
The Carasian shook itself with a sound like falling shale. “So where is this amazing product of yours?” it asked. A few of its eyestalks bent to study Ansel, who shivered.
“It’s in the glazing shed, Hom. We’ve perfected the erbium-promethium stabilizing agent, the luminescence is remarkable . . .” The foreman hurried off, and the living black servo trundled in his wake.
Time to get back to work, Ansel thought. He pulled his elbow-length leather gloves back on, picked up a long-handled ladle, and scooped out some of the gently-roiling lanthanum. With the focus and eye for detail that had earned him this job, he decanted it into a mold.
“Pink!” bellowed a voice from the direction of the glazing shed. “What’s remarkable about pink?” The huge armored being burst from the shed and stormed across the yard.
Running after Huido, a ceramic tile in his hand, the foreman shouted, “Hom Huido, wait! Let me show you!”
The creature halted with a clatter. Its eyestalks swiveled in Ansel’s direction, and it demanded, “Do YOU find the color pink remarkable?”
“It . . . it’s calming, Hom,” Ansel stuttered.
The winded Kraden pushed Ansel aside and held out his tile. “Please, Hom, look. It changes colors based on light levels. Out here, it’s greenish-blue. See?”
With surprising delicacy, the smaller of the handling claws dipped to take the tile. “Interesting. What causes the effect? Radioactive decay?”
“Oh, no! This mine contains the safest mix of rare earth isotopes in the quadrant,” said Kraden. “The stabilization process both preserves promethium’s luminescence and eliminates harmful radiation.”
“It’s a novel use for surplus erbium,” the creature conceded, “and waste reduction is a smart move in any business, but at .013 credits per tile, can you imagine how many tiles you’ll have to ship to scrape a lousy 20% profit?”
“12,165.79,” Ansel said automatically, then blushed when both beings turned to stare at him.
Eyestalks clustered, bending his way. “And a load that size would weigh?”
The talking assault vehicle obviously expected Ansel to answer. “About 1,459.89 units.”
“Transportation costs will eliminate your profit margin, Kraden.”
The foreman’s voice became a persuasive wheedle. “But I’ve found a buyer, Hom. He’ll take all we produce at 0.0237 credits each.”
Armored plates slid over one another with a sibilant hiss. The being asked Ansel, “How many tiles will we need to clear a 20% profit on that?”
“1,668.37, Hom,” answered Ansel.
“Now that’s remarkable,” the Carasian said. To Ansel’s horror, the giant strode closer, until its shiny black bulk blotted out the suns. Ansel held his shoulders back and pushed out his thin chest, but the bravado of his pose was betrayed by the shudder that wracked his body.
The creature spoke. “This one is wasted on lanthanum.”
Kraden frowned. “You’re right. He’d be of more use tracking inventory. The clerk I have now can barely add.”
Ansel listened with growing wonder. Could this be real? Might he really be assigned to work the warehouse? He flashed a tentative smile at the Carasian, and could have sworn one of the shiny black eyes dipped, like a wink.
* * *
• • •
Ansel scanned his company-issued ID badge, and the loading dock door whisked to the side. Carston, ostensibly Ansel’s co-manager but Kraden’s crony in truth, shoved a grav sled over the threshold. “’bout time,” he grunted. “It’s hot out here.”
“What was the trouble delivering Hom Huido’s tiles to The Fortunae?” Ansel asked. As usual, a delivery that should have taken fifteen minutes had lasted several hours; from Carston’s breath, Ansel figured he’d had a few fortifying beers along the way before heading back to “work” at the warehouse.
“Ain’t so easy. Shipcity’s a maze. Out in the sun all day, probably got heatstroke . . .”
The insectile drone of Carston’s complaints seldom ceased. After a while, the sound faded to white noise. Ansel grinned. He’d probably miss it if it stopped.
Ansel grabbed a rag to wipe down the dusty sled, and saw something that made his heart skip a beat. “Carston, there are still tiles in here!”
Carston blinked bleary eyes. “Those broke ones was in a box what fell off the sled. I shut the box up again after—he’ll never notice.”
Ansel, knowing Hom Huido’s perfectionist temperament, had his doubts. Huido had ordered a shipment of Kraden’s tiles for his newest venture, an interspecies’ restaurant named the Claws & Jaws, located in the legendary Plexis Supermarket. Ansel didn’t understand the appeal, but demand for the color-shifting tiles remained steady. Lord Lianjie, Kraden’s wholesaler on Camos, put in a new order every six months.
Ansel made a mental note to issue a partial refund, and gathered up the pieces. Along the tiles’ broken edges, he noticed something odd; a strata of tiny brown crystals. He put a chunk in his pocket to show Kraden, and tossed the rest into the recycler.
“Excuse me, Hom,” said a cheerful voice. Ansel stepped aside as a towheaded youngster pushed a second grav sled into the loading dock. “It’s the lanthanum order for Captain Ivali.”
“Excellent, Tom,” Ansel told the young apprentice. “It’s getting late, why don’t you head home? I’ll deliver it.”
* * *
• • •
The ramp to Captain Ariva Ivali’s ship was packed with merchandise. Blue-suited figures crawled around and over the boxes, bags, and crates, wielding hand-held scanners. At the bottom of the ramp, arms crossed and foot tapping an impatient rhythm, stood the trader, a slender Human female with gray-streaked blonde hair. When she caught sight of Ansel, she called out, “Hello, my friend! You’ve arrived just in time to watch Port Authority search my shipment for contraband. They seem to be under the impression Ryan’s Venture is a smuggler’s scow.”
The constable looked up from the box he was riffling through and grimaced. “Captain Ivali, Port Authority is making no accusations. It’s a random security check.”
“You held a lottery, and I’m the lucky winner?” Captain Ivali frowned. “You do realize the launchpad is about to close for the night? If I miss my docking tug, the creteng in that tank will die before they reach Plexis.”
The officer sighed. “No one wants to inconvenience you, Captain. The tug is scheduled for you and will be available following our inspection.”
Ansel cleared his throat. “Sorry to intrude. May I load these boxes on the ramp?”
“The ramp is full; I’m afraid it’s not possible . . .”
“Of course it’s possible,” Ivali cut in. “Have your people unload the creteng tank, and put it in the shade under the ramp, like I asked you to do in the first place. Then there’ll be plenty of room.”
The constables glanced at one another, their dismay obvious, but complied, switching on the anti-grav device under an enormous cylindrical container and easing it down the ramp. Ansel would have bet a cycle’s pay that Ryan’s Ventu
re would never again be singled out by Imesh 27’s Port Authority.
The boxes of lanthanum were soon stacked in the tank’s place.
“Great to see you again, Ivali,” said Ansel.
“Likewise. This provincial backwater does have its bright spots.” Captain Ivali scowled at the security officers. “Well, it has one, anyway.”
* * *
• • •
Ansel could hear the shouting from outside the warehouse. He quickly tapped the entry code into the keypad and shoved the sled inside. A prolonged tinkling crash echoed through the building. Ansel hurried toward the sound, face pinched with worry. So much for an early night.
The voices grew intelligible as he approached. “I can’t believe you gave him the wrong tiles!”
Ansel peeked around the storage room’s steel door and saw Kraden strike a cringing Carston, who tried and failed to block the blow with his forearm rather than his face. The two were surrounded by smashed tiles and shredded boxes, the ruins of the second tile shipment.
“It’s not my fault. They all look the same!”
Carston’s whiny protest seemed to incense Kraden. He grabbed a tile and shoved it in Carston’s face. “The tiles for Hom Huido are marked, you idiot! Lord Lianjie will have our heads for this!”
Kraden punctuated his speech with a punch; Carston took it on the chin and toppled like a felled tree.
Ansel winced. The doorknob in his hand rattled.
Swift as a striking snake, Kraden’s head whipped around. “You! Where were you while this was happening? This is your fault, too!”
Ansel slammed the door, shoved home the nighttime lockbolt, and sprinted toward the service exit like a scalded rezt. He didn’t deserve to be beaten for Carston’s mistake.
It wouldn’t take Kraden long to kick down the door. Ansel raced through the shipcity, eyes wild. The warehouses were closed, the main walkways almost empty. Where to hide, where to hide? His gaze lit upon the creteng tank still under the Venture’s ramp. Perfect!
Ansel ducked under the ramp and slid into the narrow space between tank and starship. Before he could talk himself out of it, he unfastened the tank’s lid, lifted the hatch, and hopped inside. If he lay submerged on his back, face tilted toward the opening and fingers gripping the lock bar inside the hatch for dear life, he had enough space to breathe. The life signs of the creteng would camouflage his own if Kraden attempted to scan for him.
The tank was surprisingly loud. Clangs and thumps from the tethered ships nearby shuddered through the water. A bubbling sound came from the air hose beside him that kept the water oxygenated for the fish. His rasping breaths were amplified.
Footsteps vibrated through the water. This was it. Ansel held tight to the lock bar and prayed for Kraden to walk on by. A distorted voice reached him instead. “Get that tank into the hold. Cap’n’s going nova.”
Before Ansel could react, the lock bar slid sideways, pinching his fingers, and the click of the anti-grav switch echoed through the tank. The suddenly unruly water billowed over him, clung to his face and smothered his shout. He groped for the air hose—who would have thought anti-gravity would make movement so difficult—and after a heartbeat’s-worth of panic, found it.
He held tight to the pressurized hose and took deep breaths, in through the mouth, out through the nose. He didn’t dare make a mistake; he’d choke and drown. It felt strange to concentrate so hard on an activity he’d always taken for granted.
Ansel banged on the side of the tank with his free hand. They had to hear him, didn’t they?
The sound was deafening inside his little water-filled world, but the thumps must have sounded much softer on the other side. A wave of disorientation and dizziness eventually announced the absence of the anti-grav, but the footsteps grew distant and faded away.
Again panic rose in Ansel’s throat, along with bile from his stomach. He swallowed it down. He wouldn’t give in to fear. Breathe in, breathe out. The moments became hours as his world narrowed to fit a hosepipe the thickness of his tongue. Ansel drifted into the same trance he’d perfected while working in the mines.
He scarcely heard the running footsteps, didn’t notice the change in light levels when the tank lid was lifted away, and fought the hands that wanted to separate him from the tank’s air hose. When a sharp pinch on his arm made him gasp, he finally realized he’d breached the surface and his ordeal was over.
* * *
• • •
“Stupidest thing I’ve ever seen! What were you thinking?” Captain Ivali’s acerbic voice was at odds with the concern in her eyes. She toweled Ansel down herself and snugged a blanket around his shoulders. “You could’ve been killed.”
Ansel couldn’t breathe deeply enough. The metallic recycled air was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.
It wasn’t until he was sitting in the medbay, swathed within a nest of blankets and cradling a hot cup of sombay, that he was able to explain himself to the captain’s satisfaction.
Ivali shook her head. “Either you’re the luckiest being I’ve ever met, or Providence has a fondness for fools,” she said. “If we hadn’t reviewed the security cameras when we did, I doubt you’d have lasted the night.”
“Probably not,” Ansel agreed, “but nobody knows what they’re capable of until life forces them to find out.”
Captain Ivali snorted. “Lovely. Remind me to stitch that into a sampler. Pithy remarks aside, what am I going to do with you?”
A good question, since Ryan’s Venture was already in subspace. “You’re going to Plexis, Captain. Could you take me to the Claws & Jaws? I need to talk to Hom Huido.”
Ivali nodded. “Plexis I can do, but we’re on a tight schedule. I’ve a promise to keep for the Silver Fox. We’ll point you in the right direction.”
Ansel sighed with relief, and his shoulders sagged. The med-tech lifted the cup from his hand as he crumpled like a paper doll onto the narrow cot. He was never sure later whether he’d said “thank you” out loud, or only thought it.
* * *
• • •
“You want the wholesaler’s level. Up that ramp. From there, turn right at the first—not the second—servo parts dealer. Keep walking till you’re through the first night zone. Can’t miss the Claws & Jaws. You’ll be fine. Got it?”
Ansel nodded, and explored the waxy airtag on his stinging cheek with a fingertip, anxious but unwilling to admit it. The Venture’s first officer slapped him on the back. “Good luck,” he called over his shoulder as he hurried back into his ship.
When the crowded ramp spilled into the vast reaches of Plexis Supermarket, Ansel’s jaw dropped. It was huge! The mine on Imesh 27, the nearby shipcity, and the countryside between them could fit inside this shopping area, with room to spare. He’d thought his tiny shipcity was loud! Here, a thousand voices fought to be heard. He’d thought the walkways at home were crowded! Creatures he’d never imagined, wearing clothing he’d never seen before, choked the vast reaches of the concourse. Ansel’s knees wobbled, and he swayed.
A tap on the shoulder startled Ansel out of his near-swoon. A friendly-looking creature in a reassuring security uniform asked, “Can I help you, Hom?”
“It’s . . . so big. Everything.”
The guard lifted the ID badge Ansel still wore around his neck with a jointed appendage and gave it a quick glance. “First time on Plexis, Hom Ansel? It can be overwhelming. Where are you headed?”
“I need to find the Claws & Jaws restaurant.”
The security guard swiped its single digit across a hand-held screen. “Here it is, ¼ spinward.” When Ansel still looked confused, it took him by the shoulders. “That way,” it said, and gave him a little push.
Ansel waded through what felt like a lunatic’s obstacle course. He was groped by eager storekeepers, spun around by fast-moving streams of shoppers,
and tripped up by more merchandise than he’d thought existed in the quadrant.
Thanks to a slow-moving group of foul-smelling Lemmicks, he almost passed by the colorful Claws & Jaws: Complete Interspecies Cuisine sign that hung over a pair of Huido-sized double doors. With a dizzying surge of relief, Ansel slipped inside the darkened restaurant and shut the chaos out.
“Well? What did you do with my saucepans?” an angry voice demanded. Hom Huido approached the door at full steam, his largest claw snapping in threat.
“I don’t—I mean, I never had—your what?” Ansel pressed his back against the door.
“Saucepans! I’ve been waiting all morning!”
“I’m not—I don’t know where they are. I’m Ansel, Hom Huido? From Imesh 27? I work in the warehouse?”
“You don’t sound very sure about it.” A small claw lifted Ansel’s chin, and Huido’s eyestalks bent to examine him. “You are him. What are you doing here?”
Ansel shivered. “It’s a long story.”
“Then let’s hear it over breakfast.” Huido bustled off toward the kitchen. “Any preferences? Choose something that doesn’t require a saucepan.”
* * *
• • •
Ansel polished off his second helping with a satisfied sigh. “So that’s all I know, Hom. Kraden assaulted Carston because he sent you the wrong tiles.”
Hom Huido shifted in his seat. “Doesn’t make sense. Tiles are tiles. I’ve already put them up.” He indicated a faintly-glowing blue line on the wall at chair-rail height.
“I just remembered.” Ansel dug in his pocket. “I have a piece of one of them; it’s a little odd.”
The Clan Chronicles--Tales from Plexis Page 42