Timestar

by Robert George Mertens

  She was in her room poking around when a 3-D imager came alive and started speaking to her.

  "Hello Sahn, my name is Dyna. I'm the ship's main computer." The words came alive in the imager in Iskolian script, "Am I correct in understanding that you speak and read the Iskolian language?"

  "Yes," Sahn answered, meekly, "I do."

  "Very good. Let's begin our language lessons now. Please have a seat in front of the instructor-imager, and we'll get started."

  Nine

  Arrangements were made and Sahn's Father, Panc, was brought to Frank's Suite. The door chime indicated he had arrived.

  "Open," Frank ordered the door.

  The doors swung open, and standing there in the hallway, was a sad and wretched creature.

  "Come in," Frank said.

  The creature walked in disconsolately, eyes to the floor. "You asked for me, sir?" he asked.

  "Your name is Panc?"

  The slave was nervous. "It is, sir."

  "You have a child—a daughter, named Sahn?"

  The slave looked up in anticipation, then caught himself and averted his gaze. "I do, sir."

  Frank allowed a momentary pause.

  "Do you know about her, sir?" Panc finally asked.

  "I do. And I'm certain you'd like to know about her also."

  "I would, sir." he begged.

  "She's fine. She's under my protection," Frank said.

  "Where is she?" Panc asked.

  "She's on my starship, high above the planet."

  "Please take care of her. She is my only child, and I am certain she will be a perfect slave from now on."

  "You misunderstand. She's no longer a slave. I've freed her."

  "Freed her, sir?"

  "Yes."

  "But… how? Where will she go? How will she live?"

  "I'll think of something. I just wanted you to know that she's alright and being taken care of."

  "I am worried about her."

  "Would you like to speak with her?"

  "What? You can do this?" Panc wanted badly to see her one last time before she was gone forever.

  "Of course. She's waiting to speak with you now. Look here," Frank said, pointing to the holograph set.

  Panc looked into the set and saw his child standing there.

  "Father?"

  "Sahn!" he gasped.

  "I'm alright, father. I wanted you to know that I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. If I had, I wouldn't be in this mess."

  "It's alright, child. I miss you," he cried, "Everyone in my life is going away."

  "Frank's going to help me, Father."

  "Frank? Who's Frank."

  "I'm Frank."

  "Oh. Thank you. She is a good child."

  "I'm sure she is."

  "Father, I have to stay with them."

  "Yes, yes. I don't know what to say. What will you do, now?"

  "I don't know, Father. But I do feel very safe here. And these people—they care. I feel like I have a new family now. But I still miss you."

  "I'm happy to know you're in safe hands, child."

  "Father?"

  "Yes?"

  "I love you."

  "I love you, Sahn." The image closed.

  Frank allowed the moment as the slave dropped to his knees and wept, hands over his eyes. A minute later, he got up bravely.

  "Forgive me," he asked.

  "Quite alright," Frank said, "I'll do everything I can to help her."

  "Thank you. You are most kind. I must leave now, if you have no further need of me, sir."

  "You will see her again."

  "Of course, sir," Panc said, noncommittally. He did not believe it, of course.

  Panc left, and Frank now had to figure out how to meet with the slave named Tog. The meeting was to take place in a week and in broad daylight. They were to meet in a park.

  Frank did not know if the Iskolians had read the message Sahn gave her, so he suspected the slave would be caught and killed if he went. He also expected the slave to be killed if he did not go. If the slave was willing to trade his life for this one meeting, Frank figured he could take the time to hear him out.

  Frank and Maria went for a picnic in the park that afternoon. The trees and shrubs looked a little odd, but they were green, and the turf looked almost like Earth grass. This gave him an opportunity to look over the area before his meeting with Tog, and also to get the Iskolians used to seeing him come here.

  Lord Traaka could not understand why anyone would take food outdoors and eat it, when they could more easily eat at home. Frank explained that it was an Earth custom.

  Frank made it a habit to go to the park for a picnic every afternoon, in the same spot near a tree. At first, a crowd of Iskolians gathered to watch the odd scene—entranced by the strange alien ritual. But after the third day, the crowd no longer gathered. Either they had gotten over the novelty of seeing it, or they had been told not to. Frank was certain they were being watched every moment, though he had not seen any sign of it. Trong and Mangle escorted them but never detected any spying devices. Perhaps that was a tribute to Iskolian technology, or perhaps they were not watching him. Frank was certain of the former.

  On the day of the expected meeting, Frank and Maria went to their favorite spot near the tree, laid out the blanket and food, and ate.

  Trong immediately spotted a reader disc in the grassy turf and informed Frank about it on the encrypted laser com.

  Frank told Trong to read and destroy it without looking suspicious while doing do.

  It was Spydre who finally popped out at high speed, analyzed and read the disc, and slipped back into its compartment. This was done at a speed fast enough that Frank heard a pop, but saw nothing. Trong then destroyed it with an invisible laser burst, and reported the job completed.

  The contents of the message explained that there were too many "Listeners" and the meeting would be held in an apparel store instead. Frank was to browse for a while, moving toward the back of the store. When he was there, he would be shown what to do next.

  "I'm very interested in a certain type of fabric they have on Iskol, and I'd like to have a suit made, Maria. Would you care to join me at the tailor?"

  "I'd love to." They're acting was terrible.

  "We'll do it right after lunch."

  "Okay."

  They finished eating and, leaving the park, went for a stroll in the city following the instructions on the disc. Arriving at the apparel store, they walked in and saw all types of Iskolian clothing. It was a small store run by slaves. There were two customers in the store, both Iskolian, but when they saw Frank and Maria walk in with Trong and Mangle, they lost interest in clothing and left. Two slaves were operating the store, and one of them approached Frank.

  "May I help you with anything." Frank decided that the problem of having a salesperson around asking if they could help you, when you did not want any was a universal problem. He wondered if, ten minutes from now, when he wanted some help, anyone would be around.

  "No, thank you. Just browsing." They were browsing. Iskolians would be arrested by the fashion-police if they wore these clothes on Earth. It was interesting to see the styles, however.

  Frank dodged the sales/slave girl and continued inching his way toward the back of the store. Maria browsed and, Frank worried, looked like she was actually going to buy something.

  Another Iskolian walked into the store, saw Trong and Mangle, politely pretended to look at something and walked out again in a nonchalant hurry.

  Frank made it to the back of the store and wanted to inquire about custom tailoring, but no one was around. The old saying, it seemed, was true everywhere in the galaxy. "Hello," he called to the back, "hello." The sales/slave girl appeared again. "Hello," she said.

  "I'm interested in having a custom suit made. Can you do that here?"

  "Yes, we can. But we don't get many orders from off-worlders. Let me get Clung. He can help you." She went into the back again.

 
A few moments later, a male slave came through the door and approached him. "Shuma tells me you'd like to have a custom suit made," the slave said.

  "That's right."

  "I'll have to measure you. Would you come in the back, please?"

  "Sure." Frank followed the slave/tailor into the back room, and Trong followed.

  "He must stay out there," the slave said.

  "Trong, wait by the door."

  "Compliance, sir. This is inadvisable." Trong went back out.

  "This way, follow me, quickly," the slave said, taking Frank's measurements as they moved.

  Arriving at the back of the storeroom, the slave called "Clung" moved several bolts of fabric around, hurriedly uncovering a floor hatch. He opened it and pointed.

  "There. They're waiting for you. Hurry," he said.

  Frank hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly climbed down the ladder into the hole. Reaching the bottom, a voice came out of the dark.

  "Are you Frank Jameson?" It was dark and he could barely see where the voice came from.

  "I am."

  "Follow me, please." The slave moved through the tunnel quickly. Frank had to run to keep up.

  He followed the slave for a couple minutes through winding tunnels and passageways. The slave finally stopped in front of the doorway to a room.

  "Here," the slave said, pointing into the room.

  Frank walked forward next to the slave and peered into the dimly lit room, seeing three slaves sitting on a floor mat, waiting for him. He stepped into the small room, crouching for the low ceiling as he did so, and sat on the floor mat, thereby completing the circle. Two of the slaves stared at him through the dim light as though he were a ghost.

  "Are you Frank Jameson?" the third asked.

  "I am."

  "I am Tog," the slave explained, "The slave 'Sahn,’ they say you have taken her. Is this so?"

  "Yes. Is this what you brought me here for."

  "No. I was only concerned for her. This meeting is about the slave rebellion and about you."

  "What about me?"

  "You are the Chosen One. You will lead our people to freedom."

  "I've told Sahn, and now I'll tell you; I am not the one you seek."

  "Then explain this," Tog said as he pulled up an animal skin and showed Frank the image painted on it.

  The image was old and faded, but Frank saw an unmistakable image of himself on it.

  "It looks like me," Frank said, noncommittally.

  "It is a drawing of the Chosen One. It is a drawing of you," Tog said.

  "It could have been done yesterday," Frank argued, realizing it was a poor argument. It was obviously much older than the time Frank had been on Iskol.

  "I know you don't believe that."

  "Okay. Then where'd you get it?"

  "I drew it long ago-on my home world. I was a follower of Great Shaman Gronk. He drew a likeness of the Chosen One and I copied it on this animal skin. Later I was captured, brought to this world and made into a slave. I've kept this with me ever since, hoping against hope that you would come here in my lifetime."

  "I assure you, I don't know anything about this. I'm not your 'Chosen One',"

  "Then we are lost and there's no hope for us." The slave looked shattered and helpless. The other two looked equally in despair.

  "I'm sorry," Frank said, "I can't help you." He felt ashamed. The pause filled the air with quiet.

  "I must admit I'm curious about this, though," he said, and the slaves' eyes brightened. "I'd like to meet this 'shaman' of yours and find out where he got a likeness of me."

  "You must!" the slave replied, "I beg you. I cannot speak the words with his power. But when he talks, his words are true, and you will be convinced. All the prophecies are being fulfilled—we know you are the One."

  "I'll look into it. But I have business to finish here first," Frank said, remembering he was waiting to make sure his spybot network was established before he left.

  "How will we know this."

  "I give you my word."

  "Your word?"

  "Would your real 'Chosen One' lie to you. If I don't go, then I'm obviously not the one." Frank's reason was irrefutable.

  "I accept your promise," Tog relented. "You must leave now. If you're here too long, the Listeners will be suspicious."

  "Who are these 'listeners'?" Frank asked.

  "Drolmian spies that look like us. The Iskolians hire them to keep watch over us—to make sure we don't rise up and revolt. It's easy to tell us apart; we have blood and they don't. Also, they have a bad habit of sucking their toes. When you see one, you can't tell without doing this," Tog pulled a knife out and stuck the sharply pointed tip into the heel of his hand. A small stream of dark red blood flowed from the new wound.

  The other two slaves drew knives and did likewise, proving who they were.

  "A Drolmian cannot do this," Tog said, holding his hand out, allowing the blood to drip onto the floor mat.

  "I'd better go before your friend up there gets in trouble," Frank said.

  "Uunta be with you."

  "What?" Frank asked, walking out the door.

  "Hurry," Tog replied.

  "This way," the slave standing by the door said.

  A few minutes later, Frank was back in the front room of the little apparel shop. Maria had made a purchase of some odd looking clothing, and was ready to leave.

  "Your suit will be ready in three days, sir," Clung said to him as he left.

  The foursome left the store and headed back toward the Imperial Palace on foot.

  "Did you pay for those?" Frank asked Maria.

  "Of course," Maria replied.

  "With what?"

  "Haven't you ever heard of credit?"

  Ten

  Frank was still waiting to hear if the spybot network was up and running. He was tired of Iskol with its puritanical pleasantries and shameful slave trade. As soon as he received word that the network was active, he would leave. He would, as promised, go to the slave-planet, Relm, and investigate the 'chosen one' mystery.

  The Iskolians did not mind his extended stay, and even encouraged it. He hoped he would not have any trouble when he left.

  He was into his third week on the planet in his second visit and a week after the meeting with the slave "Tog", when Lord Traaka came to his suite.

  It was early afternoon, and Frank and Maria and just awaked after another all night dinner reception.

  "Please forgive this early intrusion, Frank Jameson," Lord Traaka began.

  "Please come in and make yourself comfortable, Lord Traaka. Would you care for anything," Frank responded, courteously.

  "I'm afraid I'm not here on a social call this time, my friend. Today I'm here on business."

  "Oh? What sort of business?" Frank was curious about this.

  "You've been subpoenaed as a witness to the hall of courts by Lord Wellum. The Emperor sends his deepest regrets that he's unable to intervene in this matter, since Iskolian law forbids him from doing so. The Emperor does, however, have the authority to prevent enforcement of the subpoena, so if you wish, you needn't go."

  Frank was flabbergasted. Him? A witness?

  "They want me as a witness?"

  "Yes."

  "For what?"

  "I'm not privy to that information."

  "Is it a trial?"

  "I don't know, but I suspect it is."

  "When is it?"

  "Tomorrow morning. If you wish to attend, escorts will be provided to take you there. If you wish not, then you need not."

  "I'll go. I don't mind."

  "Very good. I'll inform the Emperor and Lord Wellum that you'll be there. The escorts will be here early, waiting for you. Here is the time and place to be," Lord Traaka said, as he served Frank the subpoena, which was a dime-sized disc.

  "Okay."

  "Good day, Frank Jameson."

  "Good day."

  Lord Traaka left and Frank loaded the disc into the re
ader to examine it. It basically ordered Frank to appear before the Imperial Magistrate, to give testimony at the time and date indicated.

  "You're going?" Maria asked him.

  "Sure, why not? I'm going more out of curiosity than anything else. I can't imagine what they'd want me to testify about."

  "I suspect that, if you don't know, you're probably in for a shock."

  "Maybe. But in the interest of diplomacy, I think I should go anyway." Maria was dressed and heading out the door with Mangle.

  "Where're you going?" Frank asked.

  "To do some more shopping," Maria answered, as though Frank had asked the silliest question.

  "Where are you getting all the money?" Frank asked incredulously.

  "From you, my darling. You're very wealthy, you know."

  "I am?"

  "Of course. They have trading markets here like anywhere else. Dyna's been trading stocks in your name since we arrived. Didn't you know?"

  "No. But I don't have any excuses. I told her she could. But I thought she was only doing that back on Earth."

  "Why would you want to keep all your eggs in one basket? Dyna would tell you to play it safe and diversify. Bye." Maria left.

  The next morning Frank awoke early for the trial. After breakfast he opened the door and found several Iskolians waiting outside it. They had not used the door chime or intruded in any way. They had just been there—waiting, for Frank did not know how long. He and Trong stepped out and they greeted him.

  "Frank Jameson?"

  "Yes?"

  "I am Gedibeh, your legal representative. My law firm handles your financial accounts, and sent me to represent you in this matter," the Iskolian lawyer said, "We prefer to see that our clients get the best representation available. Shall we go?"

  "Sure," Frank said, confused.

  They boarded the Imperial hover-car and headed for the exit.

  "Who are the rest of these?" Frank asked Gedibeh.