Shackleton's Folly (The Lost Wonder Book 1)

by Yunker, Todd

  The Quest was surrounded by all manner of spacecraft. Spaceport security vehicles were flashing and whizzing in from different directions, encircling the Quest. Security staff deployed, weapons armed and ready. A smaller, more conservative yet authoritative ground-craft came from the Spaceport Administration, a complex of low, heavy cement buildings, and stopped outside the circle of firepower. The heavy wide-body of the skimmer settled on the tarmac so that the well-hidden armored body panels would be detected only by a security expert. A tripedal pewter-colored droid with an air of self-importance exited the skimmer. Dacal’s head tipped slightly back and a little to his left as it bobbed. He shuffled his pads through the security barricade being established by his staff.

  Quest’s airlock whooshed open; Alec stepped out with a crate overflowing with cleaners, waxes, polishing cloths, and a pack of orbital buffer mini-bots. He looked back into the Quest and yelled, “Dancer, I’m not going around with the Quest looking like she does. I promise — not more than an hour.” Alec ignored Dacal and went to the forward landing gear. He put down the crate and inspected the struts leading up into the hull. He stepped on the footing and clambered up into the compartment, leaving Dacal below, walking the perimeter. Alec slowly reappeared, climbing down the gear. The mini-bots scurried across the ship’s hull and started to clean and polish the surface. Alex bumped into Dacal as he bent over to pick up a spray bottle of fast-acting foam cleaner from his crate. “Yes?” Alec bent down and picked out a polish rag and a squirt bottle from the crate.

  Dacal looked incensed. “I am with the port authority, sir, and you have to register your crew, your ship, and your cargo with us. Port fees must be paid immediately. No exceptions.”

  Alec took a peek Dacal’s way. “You’re new around here, aren’t you?”

  Dacal pulled out his datapad. “That has nothing to do with the fact that you must register, Captain Shackleton.”

  Alec turned to Dacal. The distinct sounds of cocking weapon bolts came from security staff encircling the ship. “Now hold on. I am not going to be part of the next Jackson Pollock. I am just cleaning my ship.” He moved carefully and deliberately to allow the security staff to see he was not holding a weapon. “Look, I apologize. It was my fault entirely, and I should have introduced myself on arrival. I am Captain Alec Shackleton. You are?”

  Dacal considered Alec. “Dacal.”

  “I’ve been here before, and I know the regulations. I just got here and haven’t had a chance to go see you.” Alec nodded. “Why the heavy weapons?”

  “You have a bad record of causing trouble, Captain Shackleton.” Dacal took a step back. “Very bad.”

  “I’m here for a few drinks, some cards, and a little entertainment. I assure you I want nothing to do with starting any trouble. I just finished it.” Alec put down the rag and cleaner slowly so as not to startle any of the hired help. “I’ll go with you right now if it’s that important, and take care of everything. You don’t need them.” Alec looked down the muzzles of the weapons pointed at him and the Quest. “Who told you I was trouble?”

  “Lucas said you were an undesirable and to run you off planet.”

  “Well, your Lucas owes me a lot of credits from the last time I was here, so yeah — he’s not happy to see me back.”

  Dacal considered it. “I will check this out, Captain. If you have been misrepresenting this, I will take immediate and extreme action.” Dacal turned to his security team. “Put down your weapons and return to your posts.” The weapons were lowered as the security forces returned to their vehicles.

  Alec shouted into the airlock, “Hey, Dancer!”

  “What?”

  “They want me to do the paperwork now. I’ll be back as quick as I can. See what you can do for the Quest, will ya? We need to take care of her.”

  “Okay.”

  Alec sauntered with Dacal over to the skimmer. “What changed your mind?”

  “First, you were more concerned with your ship than taking a shot at me for calling out the troops, and, second, Lucas owes me five hundred credits.”

  “Oh, that explains it.” Alec and Dacal hopped into the skimmer and headed to the administration building.

  *

  The Vember, a bipedal covered in black oily hair, clicked the digital recorder on the night viewer as Alec and Dacal stopped the skimmer outside the administration building. He played back the recording and froze the picture of Alec. He called up the “information wanted” file from the viewer’s memory, and it ran a facial comparison of the two pictures and indicated a match. He removed a communicator from under his robes with a squeal and made a call.

  *

  When the skimmer with Alec and Dacal arrived back at the ship, it was after dark. Dancer deftly leapt down from the top of the Quest. “Anything I need to know about?” he asked Alec as he scanned with his night vision the droid returning to the administration building.

  “Not really. We just talked shop. Remember Lucas?”

  “Sure.”

  “Not one of my best character references.” Alec started toward the gate.

  Dancer put the cleaning equipment back inside the ship and brought out a fancy cane. He had reproduced one after the first time he watched Fred Astaire’s film Top Hat. He activated the security system. “Now for some relaxation, right?” Dancer twirled the cane with finesse with one hand, tossing it from arm to arm to arm to arm and catching it under the armpit with bravado. “You can detail the struts tomorrow. I’ll join you,” Dancer said as he pulled a rag from his shoulder and threw it through the force field into the Quest. Dancer caught up to Alec.

  *

  Dancer — or his designate EXPLORB5B26354 — had been created for exploratory missions but was never used for this purpose when budgets were cut. The company he was to work for went bankrupt, and he was “lost” in the shuffle. The company asset liquidators were on their way, and he had to get out of there.

  Dancer had managed to do some hacking before they arrived and acquired an anonymous bidder number at his salvage auction. He was up on the latest acting methodologies and gave a credible performance as a dysfunctional brainless idiot whenever a bidder came in to preview him. Dancer communicated electronically from an outside line when his lot came up for bidding. Needless to say, there wasn’t much interest in the strange-looking android that looked like it was going to need extensive upgrades. He bought himself as salvage. Dancer’s company data record was changed to “Sold as salvage.” He had inserted his name in as a buyer. No one looked at the bill of sale too hard, and he was off planet.

  Dancer worked his way out of the system, getting as much distance between himself and the liquidators as he could manage. He had been out on the badlands for ten cycles when he bumped into Alec’s father, Jack. He had heard about humans but never had met one. Jack treated him as an equal and helped Dancer through some tough times with upgrades and replacements. Dancer blamed himself. He asked Jack if they could visit the planet to experience a dig. He was created to be an explorer, and he wanted to see what he could find. Jack agreed, and that’s where they ran into the pirates who eventually murdered Dancer’s human friend.

  *

  “Right.” Alec looked toward the front gate in the distance. There were gaudy lights outside the coffee shop across the street, drawing his gaze. They strode across the tarmac with a purpose.

  The four security guards at the gate tensed as they approached. Alec and Dancer stopped and waited patiently as the guard in the security office made a call. He nodded to the gate operator. The gate swung open. They were scrutinized as they passed through the gate, but they passed without incident.

  Alec checked the street casually for anything out of the ordinary. After all, Lucas might have thought of a more direct approach in getting Alec off planet, a more permanent solution. Alec didn’t see anything and led the way across the street to the coffee shop. The blue neon sign of the shop pointed the way down a narrow stairway to the entrance. A couple of avian crea
tures came from the stairway squawking something about taxes.

  They arrived at a battered door, and Alec reached for the thruster nozzle that was the doorknob. They entered the Temple Coffee Shop and momentarily stopped at the landing that overlooked the main room and stage. When the owners of the establishment felt like they needed more space, they hired a subterranean beast to burrow out more room. There were other rooms jutting off at odd angles from where Dancer and Alec stood. The smoke-filled main room resembled beatnik coffeehouses from the 1950s, though life forms from at least two-dozen alien worlds filled the tables, and a four-piece band trilled on stage.

  Alec took a deep breath. “I love a good coffeehouse.” As they descended to the main floor, the bouncer, a very large, shaggy-haired creature with a huge weapon holstered, looked noncommittally at them as they passed. Alec took in the sights, sounds, and the smell of coffee, watching the patrons ignore the clamor and cries from the band, holding their own loud conversations to drown out the music.

  Dancer twirled the cane with such precision that the bumping and movement around him seemed not to have any effect on his manipulation of the cane. Alec stopped by the stage to look for a table. Dancer stopped at a sign-up board near the stage. It had a few items crossed off, leaving only one other item. “I’ll be just a sec.” Dancer picked up a pen hanging from a string attached to the board and scrawled his name in the local dialect.

  Dancer had explored the entertainment library included in the LAP material. What tugged at his imagination was the film genre musicals. The brilliance of music, dance, and story became his first choice when he was considering what he wanted to watch. He had adopted his new designation — “Dancer” — from his new love. The open-stage night gave him a chance to become a performer, a dancer.

  Alec made his way through the tables toward an empty one at the back. James Canfield, walking evil human trash, stood at the bar with his alien partners. The group was a living nightmare straight out of the horror comics Alec had read in his youth, but when Alec glanced James’s way, he brightened up. It was an opportunity he wouldn’t miss, and Alec was going to go big, really big, at James’s expense.

  “James Canfield, as I live and breathe!” This outburst turned more than a few heads. Two humans in one room was truly an unusual sight, and Alec bumped into, tripped over, and stepped on every outstretched appendage he could manage. Alec wanted every eye in the place on them as he arrived at the bar, with seven to ten patrons in his wake crying out in anger and fury.

  “Give us a big hug; it’s been such a long time.” Alec was making a big show of it, his arms outstretched, rushing to Canfield. Canfield backed into the bar behind him, unsure of what to make of Alec just as Alec stepped up and gave him a hug. He kissed Canfield on each cheek. “Love you, man. Really I do.” Canfield’s partners looked from Alec to Canfield.

  Canfield shook off the shock. “Get off!” He separated himself from Alec quickly, pushing him away and brushing himself off.

  “I know you, James. See you later.” He winked at Canfield and turned, bumping into a few of the other patrons wanting to discuss Alec’s earlier clumsiness.

  “Shackleton, I will kill you for this. I don’t care who you are,” yelled Canfield after him.

  A large claw came down on his shoulder, spinning him around. The creature it was attached to, a Huyck, gaped down at him. In galactic Standard, the Huyck said, “You’re going to buy me a drink for the one you spilled.”

  “Sir, I am only a humble life servant of my master James Canfield.” Alec pointed out Canfield standing at the bar, now with his back to the room. The creature and his associates pushed past Alec.

  Alec met back up with Dancer as he headed to the back of the room. “I thought you hated him.” They both looked back at the confused and angry Canfield, who was explaining himself to the Huyck. His alien partners were distancing themselves from the potential bloodshed.

  Alec smiled. “Oh, I do, with every fiber of my body, but he is human. I wanted him to be the focus of the entire room.” Alec weaved his way through the tables, heading to the back of the room. “I’d love to hear how he explains that one to his pals. Let’s find that table.”

  He looked back just in time to see an altercation between Canfield and the fuming patrons escalate from loud voices to some pushing and shoving. Canfield was thrown into one of the bar patrons Alec had “bumped” and spilled their drink. The altercation soon escalated into a full-fledged fight, the noise from which soon stood out prominently above the bursts of the background chatter of the patrons. The bouncer appeared from the front of the establishment. His sheer size gave him what could be called “presence” in the fight. The bouncer yanked his weapon from his holster. He used it as additional mass in one fist, as he swung wide, knocking four combatants to the floor. One was out cold, two incurred minor injuries, and the last had a broken arm. The bouncer alternated his punches from his right to his left arm. All the fight was knocked quickly out of the unfortunate group lying injured or unconscious on the floor.

  “Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” said Alec. He headed to the back of the room. Alec spotted Dolk, a small troll-like creature, at a table up front. Dolk tossed back a shot of Nenno Tea when he saw Alec and Dancer and hurriedly pushed back his chair. He came at Alec and grabbed him by the shirtsleeve as he caught up with them.

  “Later, Dolk,” Alec said, pulling away.

  “I have something I’m sure will interest you,” Dolk said as he grabbed Alec’s arm again.

  Dolk had dealt fairly with this human, only to be brushed off. The best way to resolve the difficulty, Alec thought, was to avoid it. Dolk did have something that would interest the human. He had bought it off a drunkard fresh from a trip out to the frontier for a pittance — a tall, hot drink.

  Dancer used his alien speed to grab and spin Dolk, incapacitating him with a web-like substance from an appendage. Dancer lifted him from the floor feet first. The cocooned, upside-down Dolk swung as Dancer walked. “What do you think?” Dancer asked.

  They reached their table in the back. Dancer, with a flick of his arm, attached Dolk to the ceiling. Alec eyed Dolk struggling above the table. “We need to re-evaluate our business relationship.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Saleen was pockmarked with black spots and missing parts of its bridge level. An army of figures in pressurized suits moved about and made what repairs they could to the damaged hull. The bridge had suffered multiple direct hits, and its crew had been killed instantly.

  The Illia stood close by and protected her sister ship from the combined marauder/blockade fleet. Bow weapon systems, coordinated by turret crews on both vessels, atomized any of the opposition within firing range.

  *

  Captain K’Dhoplon remained motionless, watching his bridge crew. He held a pain staff held at his side; it was the size of a ceremonial baton — a short, thick stick with his rank of Captain captured in the scroll work of the design that stretched from end to end. The Captain’s only thought was who would receive its wrath. The bridge crew managed to stay out of the Captain’s range of rage.

  Wolfgang Gray paced the floor, datapad in hand. “The question is what did Shackleton actually find in the pyramid, and what is his next move?” Gray continued his monologue, oblivious to his surroundings. He was startled when a white-hot pain crashed into his back, spreading to every bone in his body, and knocking him to the floor. It was so intense, he couldn’t even scream and bit a little into his tongue. The pain staff was lifted and then jabbed once more into Gray’s exposed side, inducing repeated convulsions of his muscles; blood ran from his mouth. Captain K’Dhoplon lifted the staff. “Gray, I have been ordered not to kill you, but I have many other effective ways of dealing with you. You may one day wish I could disregard that one order.”

  Monitors around the bridge were filled with cleanup operations. Captain K’Dhoplon ordered a crewmember, “Hail the Saleen, and inform them they have until the squadrons are recovered t
o get underway. They will be ready to leave.”

  Gray pulled himself slowly up from the floor. He wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand. “If Shackleton has the second piece of the inscription, it may or may not be of use to him,” he said defiantly. He braced himself on a console. A technician looked agitated at his presence. Gray bubbled with sarcasm and chuckled. “The respect the crew has for you is certainly astounding.” He turned to the Captain. “I know Shackleton; he’s going to find somewhere to lie low for a while.” Gray eyed the Captain; if he backed off, he would be put down like an animal. His agreement with the Exalted One was the only thing between him and death. Gray looked over to the chipper — that death was fast and gory. He would live only if he produced new weapon technology.

  A crewman approached the Captain and handed him a datapad. “Looks like you’re right about one thing, Gray — our agents have spotted the Quest on Ferrar.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  An android waitress approached the table. Her smile gleamed at Dancer as she whispered softly into his ear. He nodded and got up. “Excuse me.” The band on stage played a soft rock tune. “I’m on.”

  The band’s lone fanboy sat at the front table. He pulled out a device and raised it. The striking element produced a flame and ignited a cloud of gas that had been belched from a neighboring table. The gas combustion sparked the fanboy’s arm and lit up the room. The fanboy tried to get up from the chair but fell instead. He wailed and thrashed on the floor until the bouncer appeared with a large metal pail and put out the fire. The fanboy’s friends picked him up and seated him again, his clothes still smoking as they brushed him off.

  Alec picked up a BBQ fork–like utensil from the bin next to him and poked Dolk in the shoulder. “How did Wolfgang Gray know where we were going? The Koty Union doesn’t go to a sector without a reason.”