“Are you kidding?” said Gus. “They couldn’t wait to get off Quijano and back to their cushy jobs. Hell, Etta, you kept up with Uncle Leo a lot more than they did over the last several years. He used to call you his Third Child.”
“Wow. That’s quite a compliment.” That poor, dear man. Gods, I loved him so.
“Well, if the girls are doing as well as you say, they could have at least rented a taxi flyer in Villanueva and come out for a few hours,” she said bitterly. “They are his daughters, after all.”
She took a few more drinks as they watched the orange disk of Zavijava dip beneath the Ribas Mountains. And now, she decided, it was time to speak of unpleasant things.
“On the subject of flyers,” she began. “Just between us, what do you really think happened to Uncle Leo? Do you think it was an accident?”
Gus took a big gulp of his drink and stared at the bottle for a moment. “I’m not gonna say it couldn’t have been an accident, because those things happen. The problem is Etta, I really don’t believe it was.”
She studied her cousin. Gus had always been a sensitive and thoughtful person, even when he was young. He wouldn’t say something like that unless he was sure in his heart.
“What about the helicraft? The preliminary police report pegged mechanical failure as the cause of the crash.”
“It was a Hawksley Five-hundred, only two years old and in great shape. Uncle Leo and I worked on it together—it was his pride and joy. That rig was in perfect condition the day he went up.”
“If you say so, I believe you. Maybe it was pilot error.”
“Do you really think that?”
“No, not really. He was far too good of a pilot, and he knew the mountains.” She reached for another bottle of soju, nearly knocking over one of the empties lined up on the veranda floor.
“Did he ever have any visitors out here?”
Gus thought for a moment. “As you say, it’s a long way from the city. Most of Uncle Leo’s business was in Villanueva or Santo Pacian. He did a lot of video conferencing too. The only person that ever came here to the ranch was Auric Banks.”
“When was that?”
“About once a month—twice sometimes. Here was here the day before the… accident.”
“How is your security at night?” she asked, sipping on what she promised herself would be the last bottle for this evening.
“Security?” He made a snorting, laughing sound. “Our biggest problem is the occasional pack of wood jacks that attack a stray cow. Etta, we’re out in the middle of nowhere—we don’t have security.”
“So it might have been possible for someone to tamper with the helicraft, like at night.”
“I suppose so, but if a stranger had been skulking around, the dogs would have thrown a fit.”
“Hmm,” said Sanchez in a skeptical tone. On the surface, what Gus said made sense. In the field, Carr always hated dogs for that very reason. However, even with their keen sense of smell, a skilled person in a stealth suit could have slipped by the dogs. Difficult, but not impossible.
“Gus, how many hands do you have working here now?”
“Twenty-two full time, a few more depending on the season. What exactly are you driving at?”
“I’m not driving at anything, other than the fact that people can be bribed or blackmailed into doing things—sometimes horrible things.”
There was silence for several minutes before Gus spoke again.
“Etta, I have a favor to ask of you.”
She smiled, although now that it was dark, she wasn’t certain if he could see her face.
“House, increase lighting here by thirty percent,” she directed the house AI. As the ambient light rose gently, she braced for whatever her cousin wanted. “I was wondering why Elena didn’t come out to join us. All right, Gus, what’s on your mind?”
“I’d like for you to visit the SSB office in Villanueva on behalf of the family. I know that you and Frank aren’t just government drones, that you have some sort of important positions. I need you to make sure State Security is doing their job and not dragging their feet like I think they might be. I think they would listen to you more than…”
“Gus, you listen to me,” Sanchez said straight away. “Carr and I are not government VIPs. Hell, I don’t even work for them anymore.”
“But you have connections,” he insisted.
This was the last thing she needed right now. It would add a day, maybe even two to her Quijano stay. On the other hand, if someone did kill Leo Sanchez, she felt an obligation to do something.
“How long did the police spend here, going over the ranch?”
“They haven’t.”
Sanchez gave him a blank stare. “What do you mean, they haven’t?”
“Honestly, they haven’t,” he repeated. “A local constable came out and took statements from me, Elena, and some of the ranch hands. That was it.”
Sanchez was incredulous. “They didn’t search his computer? No forensics on the shed where the flyer was stored?”
Gus shook his head. It was unbelievable. If it were anyone but Gus, she would have accused the person of lying to her. Something was wrong here—very, very wrong. With a sigh of resignation, she killed off the last of her drink.
She closed her eyes and thought. All right. Just a quick check in with SSB, then I’m off this rock. After that, I will look for my husband… and I WILL find him.
“Sounds like the SSB needs a push,” said Gus in a timid voice.
“Sounds more like they need a kick in the ass,” Sanchez said in an angrier tone. “I can’t promise anything, but before I leave for Sarissa, I’ll stop by the State Security office and have a word with… someone.”
The following day Etta Sanchez departed the ranch and returned in the rental flyer to Villanueva. With the need to search for Carr, delaying her departure was inconvenient at best, and there was one further complication. Tomorrow was the beginning of the annual Festival of Aura, and the city was beginning to fill with revelers and tourists. The weeklong celebrations would cram every hotel, restaurant, and taxi in town.
Just a few days earlier, Villanueva had been on a knife’s edge with the memorial service for her uncle and the ensuing political protests. Now people wearing bright holiday garb and smiles were beginning to fill the streets. As she made her way through town, Sanchez noticed tourists from the planetary capital, Santo Pacian, conspicuous in their bright neon green hats. She saw numerous visitors from Gahon prefecture, notable among Quijanans for their blond hair and fair complexions. And there was one other thing she spotted as she walked back to her hotel: a woman who was definitely following her.
12: Encounter
Heavy cruiser Tempest
Summit star system
Pettigrew couldn’t quite believe it. “You’re telling me there are no other Massang assets in this system.”
“That is correct, Commodore,” said Commander Paruzzi. “According to our sensor sweeps it’s just the alien installation on the moon and that single ship in orbit. They also have various drones and satellites spread across the area, but that would be SOP to secure an outpost.”
“Assuming the Massang operate anything like we do,” added Mullenhoff.
The Massang—it seemed odd to finally have a name for them. Tempest and the mining vessel Vasant had been in the Summit system for two standard days. The Sarissan cruiser had settled into orbit above what the aliens called Stobi, a desert moon that was home to one of their scientific outposts. Meanwhile, Vasant was off laboring above the adjacent gas giant gathering hydrogen and refining it into precious fuel.
There had been several communications with the alien commander over the past two days, a Massang male called Shartok Harradoss. Some basic information had been exchanged, but it was nearly time for a landing party to descend to the moon’s surface so that Chaz Pettigrew could meet his counterpart face to face. To say that he had a few questions for Harradoss was an understatement, not
the least of which was asking how the alien knew the language of humanity so well.
It was the final staff meeting before going dirtside, and Pettigrew was trying to nail down all the details. He motioned to the end of the conference table. “Mr. Hayes, what about our passive scans on their ship?” Everyone looked toward the ensign, who was still skittish following his recent gaffe on the bridge. Nyondo had expressed the opinion that Pettigrew had come down too hard on Hayes. Maybe he had, but he wanted to permanently stamp out all talk of ‘Pumpkinheads.’
“Nothing much to report so far, sir. The ship’s hull is composed of some unusual metal alloys which keep bouncing most of our scans back to us. However, the outpost below isn’t.” That got everyone’s attention.
“Do tell, Ensign,” said Pettigrew with a slight smile. “Continue.”
“I’m sending the data to your pads,” said Hayes as the others glanced down to inspect the information. “The base seems to be civilian in nature. Fourteen buildings in all, including some underground structures. No evidence of fixed weapons. Various signal arrays, about a dozen land vehicles—nothing that raises a red flag. Several buildings on the eastern side of the complex seem to be unoccupied. We estimate between seventy and eighty individuals there most of the time, with shuttles running between the base and ship on a regular basis. They do most of their moving around at night.”
“And the moon itself?” asked Captain Nyondo.
“Both gravity and atmospheric pressure is a tad on the light side, but within acceptable limits. To know more, we’ll need an environmental team on the ground to run a detailed analysis.”
“Good work, Ensign Hayes,” said Pettigrew, giving the junior officer a nod. “Keep working with the EW techs to see if we can grab a little more info on that ship, but be gentle—we don’t want to upset our hosts.”
Praise of his report seemed to buoy the young ensign. Pettigrew learned a long time ago that if you ripped into a member of the crew, you needed to go out of your way to build them up again later.
Captain Nyondo spoke up. “Dr. Richmond, have you and your team formed any theories on how they know our language so well?”
“Not any good theories,” Richmond joked. He had confessed to Pettigrew shortly after the initial communication that he was disappointed his team wasn’t going to be more useful. “Our bet is that it has something to do with their contact with the Beta Corvi expedition. There is, however, one step we haven’t taken yet.”
“What’s that, Doctor?” asked Pettigrew.
“We could ask them,” Richmond suggested with a sheepish grin.
“Don’t worry, I plan to,” assured the Commodore as he gazed around the table. “A few reminders to everyone. First, anyone coming and going from that moon goes through decontamination once they return to the ship—absolutely no exceptions. And another thing—we don’t mention Warlock and Maroth to our new friends. Let’s keep the fact that we have two more ships coming our secret for now.” It was still a week until the anticipated arrival of the destroyer and her miner consort as the pair continued to set up the FTL link with Sarissa.
“Anyone have anything else?” asked Pettigrew.
“Ensign Hayes,” spoke up Paruzzi. “Any indications that the Massang are trying to scan us?”
“Negative, XO.”
Paruzzi made a puzzled face. “Anyone else think that’s odd?”
“Maybe they are scanning us and we just can’t tell,” Mullenhoff commented.
“Or maybe we are not worthy,” said Kuypers. “Maybe they just aren’t interested in our technology.”
“Sir, it’s time,” interrupted Nyondo.
Pettigrew nodded and stood, joined by the others. It was time for human and alien to meet. It was time for history.
In the secondary shuttlebay, Pettigrew found a squad of Marines awaiting him.
“Captain Darst, your men can stand down,” he said to the commander of the ship’s Marine detachment.
“Captain’s orders, sir,” the thickset Darst said stubbornly. Before Pettigrew could say another word, Nyondo was quoting regulations.
“Article seven, paragraph six, sub-paragraph three clearly states—”
“You can stand down too, Captain,” groused Pettigrew. “If you can quote me the rule or reg that concerns proper procedure when meeting representatives of an alien civilization, I’ll be all ears. Until then, we leave the Marines at home.”
Nyondo may have lost the battle on the Marine escort, but she won the right to pilot the shuttlecraft to the surface herself. On Tempest, Paruzzi had the conn while three others would accompany Pettigrew and Nyondo: Lieutenant Oldcastle, Petty Officer Trent, and Hospital Corpsman Robinson. Oldcastle was geared up with an unobtrusive video recording system so that the historic meeting could be signaled back to the ship and recorded for history. Trent was an environmental specialist who would analyze the air and soil for harmful microbes before they debarked from the shuttlecraft, and Doc Robinson was along to make observations regarding the alien’s physiology.
As Nyondo flew the craft into the thin atmosphere of Stobi, Pettigrew reflected on just how unprepared he was for this moment. Could any human truly be ready for this? How many other alien races had the Massang met? Could it be that humankind was their First Contact as well?
Before Pettigrew knew it, his shuttle came to rest on a landing pad just outside the alien base. As Trent went about his environmental tasks, the rest of the landing party gazed toward the shuttle’s starboard bulkhead. The entire wall had turned into a monitor showing what was outside the craft. They saw a bleak and desolate world, brown cracked soil all the way to the horizon. The only break in the inhospitable landscape was a nearby stand of trees sporting purple foliage. At the foot of the trees was a wide swath of moss-like growth, a violet carpet spreading out to surround the buildings of the alien outpost.
“What a place,” muttered Robinson.
Nyondo chuckled. “Who knows, Doc? This may be what their homeworld looks like. It may be paradise to them.”
“All clear!” barked Petty Officer Trent, who would be staying inside the shuttle and wasn’t the happiest man for it. “Everyone be careful out there, the gravity is lighter than norm.”
“Will do,” said Pettigrew. “All of us falling flat on our asses wouldn’t exactly make a good first impression.”
Trent was right. As they exited the shuttle, there was a definite bounciness to the surface, but it was manageable—more so than the heat, which quickly became uncomfortable. As they walked around to test the gravity, it struck Pettigrew how empty the place was. There was no reception committee, no honor guard, nothing but parched soil and sun.
“Are we supposed to go up and knock?” joked Lieutenant Oldcastle, trying to break the tension.
Just then, a door in the side of the largest building slid open. Three figures exited and walked toward Pettigrew’s group. They were tall by human standards, between six and seven feet in height, and were dressed in what seemed to be a kind of brown military uniform. Pettigrew knew he was employing human standards, but he thought their russet, ridged faces did not look pleased.
“I am Shartok Harradoss,” said the lead figure with a slight bow of his head. “Welcome to Stobi. I present to you Shartok Phersu and Shartok Minz.” The others repeated the subtle head bow.
Pettigrew almost returned the nod, but caught himself. Not knowing the alien’s etiquette, he decided to err on the side of caution and make no gesture, which in itself could have been deemed offensive.
“I am Chaz Pettigrew,” he said forgoing military ranks. “This is Sephora Nyondo, Paul Oldcastle, and Jaron Robinson.” He had practiced a little speech about how they came in peace on behalf of the people of Sarissa and so forth, but it didn’t seem to fit the occasion. Honestly, it felt more like people meeting on some sort of awkward blind date than it did First Contact. Coupled with the unbearable heat, a speech was the last thing anyone needed.
Harradoss held up a large fo
ur-fingered hand to block the sun from his eyes. “Let us leave the heat,” he said, gesturing the group back toward the base.
* * * *
The group moved inside the largest building of the base, a structure with what appeared to be three distinct levels. Every wall was curved, arced gradually in one direction or the other. Pettigrew couldn’t determine the type of tan building material being used, but it looked like it was mineral based and very strong, similar to concrete.
Inside, there were about a dozen Massang silently mulling around and working very hard not to look toward the humans. It wildly ran through his mind that these people could all be telepathic and were actually jabbering up a storm, silently discussing the alien humanoids as they walked by. Perhaps aliens weren’t a novelty to the Massang, or maybe they simply did not want their guests to feel uncomfortable, but Pettigrew was certain neither was the case. He had been in the military long enough to recognized people grudgingly following orders when he saw it. These people were dying to sneak a peek at the humans but had been instructed not to.
They settled into what was unmistakably the Massang equivalent of a conference room, a dimly lit cubical where Harradoss began to answer some of Pettigrew’s questions. The human leader appreciated the opportunity to sit at a table with the Massang representatives—it helped to mitigate the height advantage his hosts so obviously held when the two species stood next to each other.
“This is our nearest outpost to your people. It is a science base,” said Harradoss as he gulped a container of water. “Are you sure you will not drink?”
Pettigrew wished they could, but the water had not been tested and he politely declined on behalf of his group.
“You are hardy people,” the one called Minz said. “We mostly work at night to avoid the intense heat. You seemed to have no trouble at all with it.”
“Shartok Minz is our doctor, err—what are the words? A physician?” said Harradoss, somewhat unsure that he had used the correct term.
“Robinson here is our physician,” Pettigrew replied. “Perhaps Minz and he can talk while we are in this star system. We would like to have an exchange of information.”
Keeper of the Sun (Starhold Series Book 3) Page 11