Relic Tech (Crax War Chronicles)

by Ervin II, Terry W.

  “We haven’t left the colony’s influence yet,” I said, although I knew he was right.

  Passing through the launch bay’s integrity barrier sent a wave of energized pressure through my body. The increased engine noise made our neighbor’s eavesdropping a little more difficult. I wondered how a low-level bureaucrat repeatedly secured transport on top of the line shuttles like this. “You travel often?”

  “Why yes. More than most.” He inspected and deftly adjusted his harness. “Mostly on business.”

  “Gathering statistics?”

  “Yes, that and other things for Mr. Jones.”

  “Really, what else?”

  “Oh, meeting with supervisors, local governors. You know.”

  His responses struck me as a bit vague. Maybe he was distracted by the brunette. “Meet with anybody interesting?”

  “Not really,” he said with a sigh.

  “What do you think of Negral Corp?”

  He paused. “Surprising company. Has secured the rights to two planets.” He pressed his tongue against his upper teeth. “Bold, or risky considering Negral’s limited assets.”

  “Bold.” I rubbed my chin. “After I transfer to the Kalavar, I believe my final destination will be Tallavaster.”

  Linnuhey’s eyebrows rose. “Do you know much about Tallavaster?”

  “A little,” I said. “Do you?”

  Linnuhey nodded. “Pretty desolate place. Not much has evolved there. Bacteria, algae, some lichens.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his palm clip. Faster than most programming engineers he brought up information. “Says here that frequent impacts by meteorites have hampered its ecological development.”

  “Well, I doubt I’ll be stationed there. Might be a good thing.”

  “Negral Corp has transported a heavily armed monitor to Tallavaster. They plan to use it to intercept and destroy any celestial threats.” He scratched his head. “If I recall, the Kalavar will be transporting R-Tech farming equipment.”

  He seemed to know an awful lot about Negral Corp’s plans. I looked at the bounty hunter, then back at Linnuhey.

  “Attractive women make you nervous?” he whispered.

  She did, but it wasn’t her looks and I wasn’t going to tell him. “How long will our flight be?”

  “Not long, maybe another five minutes to reach orbit, then fifteen to the space dock.”

  I looked at his red and black tie.

  He set aside his clip. “I should be up for promotion, soon.”

  I was really beginning to dislike his toothy grin.

  “Negral Corp doesn’t own anything on Pluto, do they?”

  “No,” I said. “I was working for Primus Transport Interest. Negral Corp picked up my contract as a skilled service investor.”

  “Security,” he acknowledged. He returned to his clip. “Quinn and Negral agreed to keep the dock and colony names linked. Mavinrom.” He grinned. “What did you think of Mavinrom 1?”

  “Poor,” I said, picking my words carefully. “I was hoping Negral didn’t pay too much for the place. I read they outbid CGIG.”

  “Surprising,” he agreed. “Capital Galactic Investment is used to getting its way.”

  “Quinn Mining really made out?” I needed a little time to think. I offered Linnuhey a gum wrap.

  “No thanks. Hurts my teeth.” He fished around in his left pocket. “You know, I think you’re right. They probably did, considering the difficulties mining on high gravity planets.” He produced a thick, plastic wrapped stick. “Here, try this.”

  “Jerky?” Real beef, I thought. Out here?

  “It’s a little old, but still edible.”

  “Thanks, but I can’t accept.” Candy was one thing, but preserved beef.

  “Sure you can. This stuff lasts for years.” He moved awkwardly, attempting to place it into one of my pockets.

  I caught his hand. “Really, I cannot accept.” Out of the corner of my eye I spotted the bounty hunter shift in her seat. “I have no way of repaying you.”

  “You offered first and I cannot chew gum or jerky.”

  I wanted to ask him how he came across it. Why he had it? I released his hand and accepted it. “No sense eating it now. I’m too nervous to enjoy it.”

  He relaxed, retrieved his clip, and began pecking away as I tucked the rare foodstuff in a thigh pocket.

  “What did you think of security?” Linnuhey asked.

  “Hmm?”

  “You’re a security specialist. What did you think of it on Mavinrom?”

  Well, if he did travel a lot, I wouldn’t be revealing anything. “Pretty lax.”

  “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “Yes, it did. I noticed it most while boarding.” We’d escaped Mavinrom’s oppressive gravitational reach so I loosened my harness and leaned closer. “I’ll report it, but not down on Mavinrom.”

  “Why not?”

  “The two checking the carts and luggage, they’re not original Negral hires. Didn’t look too happy with their job. Probably had their contract bought out. I figured it could be the same with their immediate superior.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Their uniforms. I saw where the Quinn logo had been removed.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  I didn’t believe Linnuhey. He was up to something.

  “Guess it doesn’t matter,” he said. “Mavinrom’s not exactly a prime site for smuggling.”

  “True, but if so, what’s in the fancy crate up front?”

  “They mine some pretty rare elements here,” Linnuhey said matter-of-factly. “Unusual isotopes. The pressure and all.”

  “It would be easier to...standard to send up quantities like that in a return-duty rocket?”

  “Not if it’s really valuable,” he said, “or maybe it’s just that this shuttle was going anyway.”

  I nodded. This guy knew an awful lot for a low-rung bureaucrat. He was interested in security and what I knew. I pondered while he tapped away at his clip. If he was a corporate spy he didn’t seem like a very good one. Pretty chatty. Did he offer the jerky as a bribe?

  Linnuhey interrupted my thoughts. “Was smuggling a problem on Pluto?”

  “No, why would it be? Not much traffic, especially without a space dock.”

  “Maybe they were just lax because you’re one of their own.”

  “Not likely. I’m an R-Tech, class 4. Even lazy, they were less than polite.”

  “Agreed. Most I-Techs don’t think much of relics.”

  Did he really think I’d fall for that sympathetic-heart line? Maybe I could play off it and confirm something. I deliberately placed my right hand on my .357 magnum revolver. “What do you think of us relic techs?”

  I ignored his answer and instead focused on the bounty hunter. I sensed her tensing up. I glanced over and suppressed a smiled. She appeared calm except for her eyes. Intense. Linnuhey was some sort of spy and she was his lookout or bodyguard.

  Whatever Linnuhey had said, I was sure it was apologetic. “I didn’t think you cared one way or another,” I responded, sliding my hand to my thigh. “So what market is there for those rare isotopes?”

  Unfazed by the abrupt topic switch, he answered, “Most of the elements mined are useful to alien races, A-Techs.”

  “Like the Crax?”

  “Well...yes,” he said, licking his lips. “But the Umbelgarri would seem a more suitable trade partner.”

  “True, humans are on better terms with them.” Somehow, he seemed too easily intimidated to be a corporate spy. Unless that was an act as well. I wasn’t up to speed on the espionage business, but whoever Linnuhey was, he rated a bodyguard. Either they were amateurs or I was out of my league.

  Linnuhey continued tapping away at his clip. “Marginal last three years running.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Profits, for Quinn Mining Interest on Mavinrom.”

  That did it for me. Sure, he could have looked it up on some
standard published corporate reports, but something just wasn’t adding up. “Mr. Linnuhey—”

  “Garney,” he cheerily interrupted.

  “Mr. Linnuhey,” I said in a low voice, “or whoever you are. Look, in addition to those C3s, I plan to inform my superiors of your suspicious activities.”

  He wasn’t fazed. His mirthful eyes matched his grin.

  “You may be a secretarial assistant,” I said. “I doubt it. More like a corporate spy. I don’t have the time or the authority to look into it. But I know who can and will. You and your lady friend.

  He looked past me, still grinning.

  “You might think this is some type of game, or that you’ve compromised me.” I held out the jerky wrap, and reminded myself to keep my voice down. “Bribe? Try to press it on me. You’ve got a lot more to lose than I do. Either you’re not too bright or are in it for the long run, thinking I’d be a useful contact. That proves you’re not too smart.” I leaned closer. “I recommend you steer clear of Negral Corp operations...say, for the rest of your life?”

  “I’m glad to hear that!”

  I expected denial or ignorance. Where was this going?

  “Prepare for bay landing,” the intercom voice announced.

  My mind raced. Was he some sort of company plant? Was this a test? “Explain.”

  “Better tighten your harness,” he said. “Just in case.”

  I adjusted my straps and I considered the brunette. How much had she heard?

  Clunk. “Not the softest of landings,” said Linnuhey, releasing his harness. “I’m glad you’re an honest man. Integrity is sometimes hard to find.”

  “Thanks. I am sure you won’t mind then, if I follow you both out.”

  The questionable bureaucrat stepped past me. “After you,” I gestured to the brunette.

  Linnuhey looked back. “It’s okay, Miss Brown.”

  Her threatening glare didn’t bother me. I responded with a Linnuhey-like grin.

  By now most of the passengers had exited. Linnuhey waited for his protection before strolling down the ramp. Brown was on his tail, doing her best scan the bay while keeping track of me.

  The bay was large and well lit. Some of the passengers had moved off to the left to retrieve their carts. The S2 and the dolly-bot had halted a short distance away. It struck me as odd.

  “Down, Vorishnov!” ordered Brown as she ran, pulling him off the ramp.

  I went for my sidearm. My training indicated robbery, but my instincts cried, Hit! The cracking of MP fire echoed. The S2’s laser carbine flashed. I looked down. Brown was on top of Linnuhey—Representative Vorishnov—with an MP pistol in hand. Her attention was still split between the erupting chaos and me.

  I wouldn’t shoot her. I was hoping she went for the chest where my armor might protect me. Bold movement to the left caught my attention. Everyone around the carts was down or fleeing except one handler who’d leveled a large laser pistol at Vorishnov.

  Brown sensed it, too. She spun in front of Vorishnov, taking the searing blast in the back.

  I took cover in the shuttle entrance as I thumbed back my single-action revolver’s hammer. Crack! My shot went wide, rocking the nearest cart. I cocked again as the assassin fired off a second shot at the representative.

  He missed. Sporadic fire continued across the bay. Ignoring it, I took aim. The handler fired off a third shot just as I pulled the trigger. I hit him and he staggered back a step when a grunt sounded from below.

  Vorishnov had been hit in the shoulder while reaching for Brown’s gun. Rounds ricocheted off the ramp. Vorishnov huddled behind the fallen woman as I ran down the ramp. “Damn.” I’d have to complete her assignment.

  I let loose with a shot forcing the assassin behind a cart. With his body armor, success required a headshot. His laser capacitor would recycle in seconds and my armor couldn’t handle a fully charged blast. I fired again, impacting the top of the cart forcing the assassin to seek complete cover.

  Grabbing the representative by the collar, I yanked him beneath the ramp. A set of teeth clattered across the floor. Shouts echoed in the distance above the gunfire and lingering civilian screams.

  “Hope that’s the cavalry,” I muttered.

  Despite the pain, he chuckled. “It’d better be.”

  “Two rounds left.” I cocked back the hammer again. No time to load AP rounds. No sense going for my backup. “Next time, screw regulations.”

  Linn—Vorishnov responded, “Next time, how about a modern weapon—here he comes!”

  The baggage assassin charged, firing.

  I took aim as his shots went high then wide. Mine struck him high in the shoulder.

  He kept coming. Firing again, he returned the favor into my left shoulder.

  “Ahhgh!” I grunted, letting go with my last round. My bullet shattered the assassin’s right shin in mid stride. As he crashed onto the ramp, I leapt up and slammed my revolver down on his skull—twice.

  I examined Miss Brown. Her spine had been severed and half of her internal organs were cooked. Seared metal mingled with burned flesh isn’t a pleasant odor.

  Pounding footsteps approached. “Drop it. Down now!”

  I rolled away from Brown after discarding my empty revolver. Before my hand could reach Brown’s dropped pistol a boot stomped on it. I looked up to see the S2 and a few pals.

  I moved to the prone position and spread my arms and legs. My shoulder wound didn’t hurt much.

  The representative was on his back with someone attending him. Blood flowed from a gash across his cheek. He looked my way. “Delighted to see you found the most effective method to employ your weapon.”

  “I think they stepped on your teeth.”

  He returned a grin with his authentic, smaller set.

  “Shut up!” came from above. “Hands behind your back, Relic.”

  “What for?”

  “Do it, now!”

  “Hey, I just saved his life, Chip. Where were you?”

  Several boots and a stun baton later I was unconscious.

  Chapter 9

  Shortly after the Silicate War an official nomenclature was established for navigational software incorporating a trinomial system similar to the standard biological taxa of three terms. Thus genus, species and subspecies for biological identification corresponded to celestial identification as stellar system, planet and moons.

  Human nature was anticipated in this venture. First, common names have always been more easily recalled. Just as a great percentage of people would be able to conceptualize a specific fresh water turtle when given the common name, red-eared slider, a precipitously low number would accurately identify it when provided with its scientific name, Trachemys scripta elegans.

  Secondly, stellar and planetary identification has remained a hodge-podge of historic, scientific, and corporate naming. Political sponsored renaming has added further complexity.

  All of that being said, it can be argued that more people have a greater interest in colony locations than freshwater turtles. And despite the whims of current influential officials, human navigational programmers wrote code and initiated artificial intelligence programs anticipating such factors.

  I awoke to the taste of blood. It took a second to recall that I was on the space dock, orbiting Mavinrom in the Gliese 876 system. With my wrists and ankles cuffed, two men hauled me face down. I knew where I was, but not my situation. I decided to remain quiet until I knew more, other than the fact that my dragging boots would require polishing.

  After about twenty seconds a youthful voice from the warder on my left commented, “Some mess.” He shifted his hold. “A lot of blood. Especially the bureaucrat’s.”

  “And his,” replied a husky voice on my right.

  Their jovial attitude did little to help my injured shoulder. Complaining would’ve made it worse. Four pairs of feet and maybe my cart escorted me down the corridor.

  “Put him in there. His stuff in there.” It was the S2’s
harsh voice.

  “Sure thing, sir,” promised a voice with my trailing cart. “Break it open?”

  “No,” said the S2. “Use the key. Here. Wait for the inspector.”

  Metallic clatter, followed by laughs echoed in the corridor. “Nice catch, Dosser,” said the right porter. “Don’t lose it.”

  “I’ll just have maintenance cut it off.”

  I almost snickered at the thought. A door slid open to my rear and the S2 departed. The porter shifted as he tapped the door code. I didn’t bother lifting my head to look.

  The left warder asked, “On the bed?”

  “Sure, why not,” said the right porter. “He’ll be sore enough. Gaverall sure don’t seem to like R-Techs. I don’t blame ’em.”

  “Some are okay,” responded the left, his voice lacking confidence.

  They lifted me onto the bed. The process was too painful to continue my ruse. “Ugh.” I rolled my head and opened my eyes.

  “Hey there, fella,” said the right warder. “Up for another go round?” His nametag read, Dribbs. He looked a little old to still be a Class 3 Sec-Spec. His C3 partner, at least twenty years younger, frowned at the remark.

  “Didn’t think so,” Dribbs said. “C’mon, O’Vorley.”

  I shifted to a more comfortable position and watched them exit. I didn’t bother to request removal of my cuffs. The bed was hardly more than a table with a couple of blankets. A stool sat in a corner and an obvious security camera hung recessed in the single intense light. No doubt, the door was locked.

  I examined my shoulder as best I could. The laser blast had burned through my protective vest and uniform. I rolled my shoulder. The wound felt superficial and someone had taken the time to slap on some ointment. My lower lip was split and swollen. I tasted fresh blood and medication on it so I hadn’t been out long.

  I rolled onto my right shoulder and got comfortable. It could be a long wait, and I knew better than to try and slip my arms under my legs. Magnetic locking cuffs had a tendency to further activate when the wrist and ankle versions came in close proximity. Things were bad enough.

  I closed my eyes and waited. Although the hit attempt had been quick, I vividly recalled it. Instead of replaying the event, my mind wandered to broader questions. Why was Representative Vorishnov traveling in disguise? I thought about corporate news editorials denouncing his populist voting record. Was it enough for some CEO to order his assassination? Apparently so.