Voyved seemed tickled. “You’re quite the rascal, I see. Razeene is going to love you!”
They arrived at the mine entrance, and without protective equipment or any kind of ceremony, Voyved led Anne into the facility and through the tunnels.
“That’s been a profitable prehnite,” he said, pointing down into a cavern. “Made that Logan a lot of profit at one point.” He kept walking, explaining the mine and the points of interest as they went.
Finally, they arrived at a quiet tunnel off the beaten path. “Down here,” he said, leading the way.
For the first time, Anne felt nervous.
Voyved glanced back at her. “Come on. It’s ok. It’s safe, and it opens up into our den.”
Anne hesitated.
“You’re not scared of small spaces, are you?”
Anne’s mind flashed with all the small places she’d hidden in and moved through in her life to evade capture and death. She shook her head.
“Well, what?”
Anne realized that it hadn’t occurred to Voyved that she thought he might do her harm. She wondered if this race had violence or any of the bad things she’d experienced on Estaria. Making a mental note to check that kind of thing with Scamp in the future, she started moving down the tunnel to follow her new friend.
Voyved had been right. It was just a few more yards, and there was a carved-out opening into a den. Relieved to find another Queegert there, she exhaled quietly.
“Razeene, this is Anne. She’s here on Mallifrax with Arlene!”
“Arlene the Terrible?” The second Queegert asked as he stood up from the table and moved towards her.
Voyved smiled. “Yup.”
Razeene regarded the young Estarian. “So you’re her daughter?”
Anne drew back in indignation, this time planting her hands on her hips. “I am not!” she answered firmly.
Voyved chuffed and ambled around the table to take a seat. “Yeah, she doesn’t like it when you ask her that.”
Razeene’s three eyes rolled in unison. “Females,” he said casually. Then he checked himself, peering more closely at Anne. “You are female, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
Razeene looked relieved. “Good, good . . . I just . . . can’t be sure. You all look the same.”
Anne grinned, remembering her own thoughts. She wondered if this was how it was across the galaxies as species met each other for the first time. No handbook. No prior instruction . . . just a mass of culture and differences, leaving the open-minded and courageous to figure it out with questions and a genuine desire to connect.
“Anyway,” Voyved continued, “Anne was wandering around, and I figured that since she was here visiting I should show her the mines, bring her to meet you, and maybe even show her the labs.”
Razeene’s top eye regarded his friend carefully. “The labs? Whatever for?”
“Because they’re the most interesting aspect of this whole place.”
Razeene’s eye flickered in recognition. “Oh, I get it. You want her to understand the process so she’ll be suitably impressed when you explain to her what your ore device can do.”
Voyved’s expression was deadpan. “Well, no point if she doesn’t understand its significance.”
Razeene chuckled but then hauled himself onto his feet. “Well, anyway, I’m going to have to let you get back to it. This ore wont mine itself . . . device or no device.”
Anne couldn’t help but think that he seemed a touch agitated. But then, it’s hard to tell. Maybe that’s his default. Or maybe that’s Queegerts in general. Or maybe he’s anxious about his mining prehnite . . .
She dropped the trail of thought. “It was nice to meet you, Razeene!” Anne said, holding her arm out for the customary grab and slap.
“You too, little Arlene,” he said, a glint in his third eye, which spun round to look at his friend for recognition of his humor.
Anne narrowed her eyes at him as they parted ways, and Razeene disappeared into the tunnel.
“So . . . lab?” Voyved offered.
Anne nodded. “Lab.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dock# 324, Phoenix-Delta Outpost
Clunk.
The Scamp Princess docked in their designated port as gently as could be expected.
“Alright, Scamp. You can reach me on my holo. Shouldn’t be more than a few hours though.”
“Ok, no problem. Although . . . if you don’t come back within say, twelve, what would you like me to do?”
Giles stopped in the open door just before heading down the invisible stairs. He realized this would be the first time Scamp was going to be left alone somewhere since Sean disappeared.
He paused for a moment. “If it gets to two days and you can’t locate my holo or life signs, then head on back to Arlene and Anne. Keeping them safe is your priority.”
“Roger that,” Scamp responded.
Giles couldn’t detect any hesitation or emotion. He guessed Scamp just needed a parameter. Although, if he’d transitioned to AI, this would potentially be more of a problem. A problem that needed managing sooner rather than later.
The difficulty was, right now he had no way of knowing. And bigger, more immediate fish to fry.
He briefly considered asking a few questions to diagnose if that were a possibility, but then decided it wasn’t the time. Or the place.
Besides, since Oz had been sharing out his humor protocols to upgrade the EIs, it was going to be more difficult to account for that. Humor, after all, required a high degree of lateral and creative thinking . . . and if that patch had been integrated into other areas of the code, as EIs were prone to do in the search for more efficiency, then it would certainly blur the results.
“I’ll be back though,” he added, in a half-assed attempt to reassure Scamp in case he had indeed happened to have . . . evolved.
Fuck me, he thought. Damn machines are evolving faster than any of us can . . . even with our extended abilities.
He filed the thought as something to raise in his report and perhaps a white paper. Yes, white papers seemed to help smooth things along when it came to justifying his academic position with the Federation, at least.
He walked back inside and picked up the ancient bottle of sake that was the key to getting this meeting to go his way, then headed out of the ship.
He neared the bottom of the steps, scanning the deck for any signs of a meeter and greeter. Bill said he’d send someone, so he knew he wasn’t looking for Bill. The dock seemed deserted. There was activity just outside the door. Looked like engineers heading back and forth, doing their thing.
His left foot hit the last step, and then he hopped onto the yellow insulated grounding pad at the exact same moment something came to life just out of the corner of his eye.
Alert and shocked, he spun around, his handheld laser gun drawn from his thigh, aiming in the direction of the movement.
“Oh, my,” an electronic voice sounded. “Please, don’t shoot. I’m sorry to have startled you. I mean you no harm.”
Giles hesitated, feeling the hum of the weapon in his grip. It was fully charged and ready to fire. He took a breath and lowered it slightly. “Who are you?” he demanded. “And why are you here?”
“My designation is TRX9978, but Bill calls me Trixie.”
Giles chuckled, holstering his weapon again. “Right. Bill sent you.”
“That is correct. Although, might I ask you to leave your weapons on your ship? It’s station policy not to have any kind of firearms or devices that can be used to harm on the premises, to make it a safe environment for all personnel.”
Giles had guessed this would be the case, but as a matter of his policy, he’d always try to cover himself anyway. “Sure,” he agreed, putting his hands up amicably and heading back up the steps. He dumped his weapons. Well, at least the ones that could be detected through standard scans, then returned to the android to be taken to its master.
The android led
the way out of the docking bay, through the labyrinth of corridors, and into the main living area.
Giles contemplated making small talk, but already the machine had proved far less engaging than Scamp, and he concluded it would be a waste of time.
“Just through here,” Trixie said, opening the next door which took them out into a foyer.
It was a hub of activity. Warm and comfortable, with constant streams of people. It actually reminded Giles of the many casinos he’d visited when he was out in the Vega-Array.
He shuddered, remembering the constant noise, the thirty-six-hour days, and the isolation from normality, as people mindlessly wagered their lives away, quite literally in many cases, under the thrall of suppressed brain-functioning fields and the promise of winning it big.
“Bill is just over here,” Trixie announced, leading the way past a fountain of pink, sparkly liquid.
Giles followed, taking in the sights like a nerd in a comic store.
“Giles, me old codger! How you doin’?” The gruff voice rang out through the crowd.
Giles spun around from the fountain to see Bill walking towards him, his hand outstretched for a handshake. Giles strode confidently up to him. “Good to see you, old boy!” he returned.
The two men grasped each other’s hands and pulled themselves in for a man-hug with big old slaps on the back.
Bill pulled himself away and held Giles at his shoulders. “Giles Kurns, as I live and breathe. I must say, never thought I’d ever see you out in this quadrant!”
Giles pushed his glasses back on his face. “No. Me neither . . . but you seem to be doing alright for yourself,” he added gesturing around them.
Bill smiled, satisfied. “Yeah. Life has been good to me in my retirement,” he agreed. “Come, let’s get you inside,” he said, ushering Giles back through a set of double doors with a security field and into what was likely a private corridor.
Giles held his breath, hoping the field wouldn’t pick up on the carbon-fiber firearms he’d left in his underpants. That’d be difficult to explain. And embarrassing.
“Trix, be a dear and keep an eye on Giles’s wheels for him,” Bill called over his shoulder.
Trix followed them through the doors, looking quite perplexed. “But sir, your friend doesn’t appear to have wheels. He has feet.”
Bill chuckled. “Androids,” he whispered to Giles quietly. “No, I meant his ship. Go look after his ship. I don’t want anyone messing with it, and if anyone tries to do a sweep, you stop them with all necessary force. Ok?”
Trixie stopped dead in her tracks and turned around. “Yes, sir. I comprehend.” And with that, she wandered back out the doors and disappeared across the foyer.
Giles handed the bottle of sake to his friend. “For you, sir, for your kind consideration.”
Bill took the bottle and nodded appreciatively. “Giles, you’re a gentleman and a squire. Appreciate it.” He grinned, then slung his arm around Giles’s shoulder. “Giles, Giles, Giles . . .” he said in a singing tone, leading him down the corridor. “How’s the old man?”
“Frank? He’s fine.” Giles responded. “So’s the other one, before you ask.”
Bill chuckled. “Lance, ha! Now that’s a guy who needed a pole removing from somewhere. He’s still on your case?”
Giles bobbed his head from side to side. “Now and again,” he admitted sheepishly.
Bill shook his head. “Well, I guess with an eternity to live, one never really needs to grow up too fast.”
Giles felt his cheeks flush. The problem, he realized, with spending time with people who’ve known you for a while is that one tends to slip back into the same role . . . even if one has indeed changed over the years.
Giles changed the subject. “I thought this place was a legit outpost?”
“It is,” Bill responded flatly as they strode down the corridor.
“So why no beacons?” Giles asked. “My EI was bitching about the work it was taking him to find the right dock!”
Bill sniggered. “That’s funny as hell!” he declared. “Hey,” he said, grinning and slapping Giles with the back of his arm gently, “we don’t wanna leave him docked too long . . . don’t want our EIs getting any bright ideas!”
Giles glanced at him deadpan. “Well, the sooner you agree to help me, the sooner we can be off,” he teased. “But seriously, why no beacons?”
Bill shrugged. “No point in tempting fate, I guess.” He glanced shiftily around the corridor and put one finger up as if to say, hold that thought.
A few moments later, he led the way in through a door off the corridor, presumably his office quarters. The room was decked out in plush burgundies. The lighting was low. Atmospheric, even. It almost reminded Giles of some of the Earth footage he’d studied about the Ancient Mongols with their cozy tents and expensive fabrics.
An aroma of woody incense hung in the room.
Bill led the way across the rather large room to a seating area near the windows. The view out into space was breathtaking, if not a little intimidating, with its sheer vastness.
Giles whistled. “Takes a certain amount of ‘window-age’ to inspire that kind of awe with that level of emptiness,” he commented.
The seating was low—cushions and beanbags, more than structured furniture. Giles got the distinct impression that Bill was going for a certain look and feel . . .
“Nice gaff,” he added, looking around, deliberately showing he was impressed to smooth his old friend’s ego.
“Thanks. Lolita designed it.”
“Lolita?” Giles flicked his eyebrows playfully.
“My assistant,” Bill explained, plonking himself down in a beanbag and lying back. “The woman is a genius when it comes to design and makes a mean moussaka.”
Giles bobbed his head and sat down across from Bill. “She’ll be bringing some tea in shortly,” he added.
“Neat. So . . . what’s the deal here?” Giles asked, waving his finger in a circle, gesturing about the space station.
Bill remembered what he’d been saying. “Right . . . yeah, so this place is legit. One hundred percent. But there’s a lot of money that moves through this place. Mostly in the form of handshakes rather than credits. But this is the neutral territory that’s used for reaching the kind of agreements that move billions from one system to another . . . or what have you.”
Giles raised his chin questioningly. “So the beacons are just . . .”
Bill shrugged. “I guess the reasoning is, why draw attention when we don’t need to.”
Giles had more questions, but learning about this particular trading post wasn’t what he was here for.
The tea arrived, served by the lovely Lolita. Giles wasn’t sure what race she was, but she was humanoid and pleasant enough . . . if not a little artsy in her comments and appearance for his tastes.
Bill seemed taken with her, he noted.
“Alright,” Bill said, watching Lolita leave the room but turning his thoughts to Giles. “What’s the deal?”
He rejigged his position to drink his tea without spilling it. Giles set his cup and saucer down. “I need you to buy some etheriam at a fair price,” he blurted.
Bill smiled, confused. “I’m already buying all the materials I need.”
Giles pulled his lips tightly together. “Yes, but I need you to do this.”
The two men talked for the next couple of hours, during which time, Lolita brought in exotic snacks and more tea.
Finally, Bill seemed to understand the whole picture. He shuffled forward off his beanbag. “Lemme go make some calls. See if we can put this etheriam to use. Or find some buyers.”
He left the room, and Giles collapsed back on his set of cushions, hopeful that this trip might actually end up paying off.
Ore Laboratories, Mining facility, Mallifrax-8
“You sure Arlene doesn’t mind you wandering around on your own?” Voyved sounded genuinely concerned. Almost protective.
An
ne softened the tone she would’ve otherwise used. “She’s not my mom,” she reminded him. “Besides, it’s her fault I’m stuck here and not with Giles on a real mission.”
“And Giles is the human you came here with?”
“Yes. He’s . . . my friend.”
Voyved grunted an acknowledgment, then waved his clawed hand at the door they were heading into. “This is the lab,” he announced proudly. “It’s where the ore is tested and measured for its etheriam content.”
“Etheriam content?” she asked, following him into the stark room with metal surfaces.
There was a scent of chemicals in the air.
“Yeah, the etheriam is what we’re really after,” Voyved explained. “The ore itself is pretty useless in its raw form. But when we extract the etheriam, you’re looking at the strongest, longest-lasting material in the known galaxy.”
Anne listened attentively.
“In fact,” he continued, walking her between benches of processes with trays of rock on them, “it’s even believed by some races to have mystical properties. One ounce of etheriam will sell on the black market for several times what one of us will sell our ore for in a year.”
“You’re kidding?”
“I’m not. It’s a big business. I mean . . . don’t get me wrong, there are companies who will buy it just for its structural properties. That’s what keeps the price high. But yeah . . . the black market is an interesting place. These religious folks are convinced it has weird-ass magical properties when refined properly.”
Anne stopped abruptly, causing Voyved to turn and wait for her. She lowered her voice. “Is that why you want to be able to extract it yourself? So you can get a better price fo—”
Voyved hushed her with a sharp downward motion of his hands. His third eye spun round checking for anyone who might be within earshot. Seeing no one, he relaxed. “You’re a smart one,” he said wryly. “I’m going to suggest we call you Anne the Wise.”
Anne grinned. “Beats Anne the Angry,” she chuffed.
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