W Michael Gear

by The Artifact (v3. 1) (epub)

  “He’s their only deep space ambassador,” Sol answered. “I’d bet the Arpeggians agreed to let Mormon missionaries in in return for the favor.” And Elvina tried so hard to seduce me. She could have dumped Joseph and attached herself to me. Sol ground his teeth. It would have been her way to get to the artifact!

  “So Palmiere had to have leaked like the proverbial dam!” Archon pulled at his beard. “We swept that office with the best detection devices your people produce. There were no bugs! We were so careful! Palmiere had to have babbled the whole thing to have triggered this kind of advanced interest in Star’s Rest. There’s no other answer.”

  “And now the Arpeggians are here,” Sol shook his head. “Remember, they almost killed us both last time.”

  “I could use the ...” Archon’s eyes gleamed suddenly. His expression betrayed exhausted indecision, opportunity restrained by some deep-seated terror. He started to speak. Bit his lip and wearily shook his head sadly, painfully. “No,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “I refuse to be God!” He looked up, eyes hollow. “Come,” he whispered, cowed. “There is something I would like you to see.”

  The gravity shaft raised them to the observatory, a small room with a powerful telescope. Archon settled himself, indicating the screen. “Watch, it’s five minutes to noon.”

  Unlike the old optic telescopes, Archon’s provided a clear image through the daytime atmosphere. Sol could see the brilliant disk of the sun as the moons aligned. There, for a brief instant, a pinpoint of light appeared through the near moon before being obscured by the far one. The same faint flicker of light occurred as they passed.

  “Incredible!”

  Archon smiled, looking up from comm. “Indeed it is,” Archon agreed. “Let us breakfast. Then let us make haste. The Arpeggians are here and I don’t trust them. The sooner we move, the sooner we can be away from here and free. New Maine also has arrived in force—five ships now, including Desmond.”

  CHAPTER XXVII

  Sol stepped from the ground car and enjoyed the warm moist air that a real wind batted at his face. The sun set, sending brilliant shifts of light like bars over the dark purple shadow of the pyramid. Against the clouds, the sunset burned a spectacular blaze of orange, red, and yellow as Star’s rays played a silent symphony of splendor.

  His shuttle stood waiting as Sol turned, trying to drag his eyes from this wonderful sight he had so seldom seen. To his right rested five LCs, the sunburst and sword of Arpeggio marking their sides. Black-clad guards patrolled a perimeter around the landing craft, their haughty swagger almost goading.

  Sol turned to go, nerves stringing tightly at the sight of the Arpeggians. Too much hydrogen burned for him to ... A tall man walked toward him. The dying light reflected in the black chrome of lustrous body armor. A spacer’s belt hung around a trim waist, pouches full of comm equipment. A polished blaster handle lay ready to grip on his right side. Where they rested on shoulder boards, the emblems of Arpeggio glittered brightly in the rays of the dying sun.

  “Beautiful, is it not?” the Arpeggian asked, fastening eyes pale as frozen ammonia on Sol. Coldly handsome, the man smiled, the gesture mechanical and without warmth.

  “Extraordinary,” Sol asserted, struggling to remain civil. I’ve seen his image somewhere. I know this man. Then he saw something missed on first glance. Groaker wings! This wasn’t just any Arpeggian. A chill, like the frigid emptiness of interstellar vacuum played through Sol’s very soul. Damn it! Sabot Sellers himself! Sellers had taken the symbol from the nasty predator of the Arpeggian skies. A mammallike creature that ruled the air mercilessly, the groaker had a reputation for its nasty habits—like Sellers himself!

  “You must be Solomon Carrasco, Captain of Boaz.”

  Wary, half-crouched in a combat stance, Sol studied him more closely. The thick black hair had begun to whiten along the temples. The whole was drawn tightly into a coil and the shining black braid was interlaced with gold, silver, and platinum threads. Jewels had been woven into the full beard, parted in the middle and twisted to two points on either side below the chin. His brow rose high over those frozen eyes. The nose jutted long and straight, and was of the type once called patrician. Only that icy stare betrayed the cold grace of the man.

  “You didn’t need to ask, Admiral.” Sol inclined his head in the barest minimum of manners.

  “Perhaps not, but then, we’ve never met in person. Admiral Sabot Sellers, Imperial Arpeggian fleet. Your obedient servant, Captain.” Sellers bowed deeply, the jewels glittering in the ruby light of the setting sun.

  Sol smiled wryly and said, “So Arpeggio sends her best, Admiral.” Sabot! The Hound! The planet burner! With his ship, Hunter, the Arpeggian had built a reputation of ruthlessness. Sellers had once held a planet ransom and, when his price wasn’t met, burned it to molten bedrock.

  “I thank you for the compliment,” Sellers smiled in return, gleaming white teeth flashing behind the coal black of his beard. “I hear you have had a most interesting trip, Captain.”

  Sol spread his hands and shrugged. “One star jump is much the same as another; build up to C, apply the shields, drop back inside, and slow down.” What could Sellers know . . . Elvina!

  “And isn’t the lovely Constance more than enough to amuse any man, Captain? She and I are old friends. I hear she’s aboard Boaz. Please inform her I will call to pay my respects. Her brother and I were quite close, you see . . . and Constance and I were . . . How do I put this delicately? Betrothed?” Eyes like ice pinned Sol, waiting for a reaction. Connie and Sellers? He was the one? This terrorist fiend?

  Sellers continued, failing to evoke the response he sought from Sol. “There was a terrible misunderstanding while her father was working for me several years ago. Tell the young lady that I have attended to the matter personally . . . and owe her an explanation of the terrible tragedy.”

  “I’ll bear your message, Admiral. I’m not certain, however, of the reception you’ll receive.” Sol had a sudden thought. “Share my hospitality, Admiral.” He reached into his space pouch and pulled out the little tin of tobacco all spacers carried. Sol took a three-fingered dip and extended the can, knowing Sellers—to save face— would need to at least equal the gesture.

  Sellers granted him a plastic smile and took a dip, carefully placing it in his mouth as his eyes tightened.

  “Boaz is a most beautiful creation. The Brotherhood has the greatest success at combining form with function.” Sellers attempted to continue, face stiff despite his desire to appear at ease. “Consider my ship, Hunter, at your service. I’ll look forward to having you aboard for ship’s call.” He bowed again. Could it be? Was there a sheen of perspiration on his brow?

  Sol bit off laughter. Sellers couldn’t take his tobacco! Round one to Carrasco! “I’ll be most happy to enjoy your hospitality, Admiral. You must understand, if I don’t respond immediately that it’s ship’s business and new trade agreements with Star’s Rest which keep me. Command often necessitates restrictions of pleasure. One of the burdens of our profession, don’t you agree?”

  Sellers looked unhappy; his throat moved spasmodically. “Indeed, I’m glad you take your duty so seriously. IVe always admired Brotherhood captains for their dedication. And your rapid response to crisis. Remarkable.”

  And you ‘d like it better if we were the hell out of space! Sol added to himself. We ’re all that stand in your way and keep you from raiding anywhere you please. Unless Kralacheck broke even that advantage to your Great Houses.

  “Indeed, I thank you,” Sol ignored the almost requisite return invitation. “Hunter is a long way from home. I’ve heard a great deal about her. You yourself have a certain following who take great pride in keeping track of your escapades.” And the best minds in the Brotherhood have wished they could slip something deadly in your drink! “I also hope to see your splendid ship, Admiral. Please expect my call within the week. Since we’re here for some time, there should be more than enough time to enjoy each ot
her’s company. How long are you here for?”

  His smile remained oily—polite although his skin had taken on a green tinge. “That depends on the Speaker.” He fought for control, sweat beginning to bead on his brow. “It pains me to break off our delightful discussion, but I must check on the status of certain delicate negotiations. If you will excuse me?”

  “Oh, don’t feel you must rush off!”

  “Duty, Captain, as you so accurately assessed, limits certain of our pleasures.” Despite the trembling of his lips, Sellers paused long enough to add. “But Hunter and her crew are glad to hear of your miraculous survival and return to space, Captain. We’d all have been poorer had you died off Tygee.” Sol started, cold anger in his gut, a hot response on his lips—but the Admiral had already turned, striding for the nearest building. Sellers almost broke into a stumbling run, and as soon as he thought he was out of sight, spit, then vomited vigorously.

  Sol flipped himself into the shuttle and gave Misha Gaitano a worried shake of the head. Tygee? What did Sellers know of Tygee? Just rumor? And he ‘d been Connie’s lover on Arpeggio?

  “Who was that Charlie, Cap?” Misha asked, clearing for takeoff.

  “Sabot Sellers, Misha. Had he been off Arpeggio that day, we wouldn’t be sitting here now.” Sol winced as he stretched his neck muscles. The headache began to lance knives again. “Worse, I’m willing to bet he’s still fuming at having missed the most dramatic fight ever to take place in the skies over his planet. It must have hurt his dignity and reputation.”

  Misha nodded. “And he has a chance now for a rematch.”

  “Maybe. You know, it’s up to us to avoid it. Outfox him so we’re not pushed into a position where all we can do is fight.”

  “But you think he’s spoiling for a dustup?”

  “Yeah, I think so, Misha.”

  Misha shook his head. “Up, Cap, I’m sure sorry, but I’m having a bad bout with my kidneys that particular day. You know how these things are. I like to have some notice before my bladder goes weak.”

  Sol chuckled at Misha’s pathetic expression. “Me, too.” Then he sobered. “Only I don’t think we’ll get it.”

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  Sol rapped out commands, tension lining his face. “Dig up everything you can find on the Arpeggian Admiral, Sabot Sellers. He’s killed a couple of Brotherhood ships in his life ...”

  Connie wavered, catching herself as her insides wrenched. Oh, God, not Sabot. . . not here. She braced herself, aware of the lingering weakness, the trembling in her muscles, shadows of Elvina’s poison.

  “From that information, have Boaz run simulation after simulation. I want you to be able to fight him in the dark, with no eyes, and both hands tied behind your backs.” Sol searched their faces, as if raking their very souls.

  Sabot! How could I face him? Look him in the eye, knowing the sort of vile slime he is? Guts, girl. You’d do it because you had to. Dearest God, keep him away from me.

  “Next,” Sol continued firmly, “Archon has sent everything he has on this system up by directional beam. Boaz has been processing the information. While one eye is on the combat drills, you need to be learning everything you can about Star’s Rest. The moons—as you no doubt have figured—are artificially maintained. That’s part of the big secret. We’re here to pick up an alien artifact that may unhinge Confederate power blocs. As a result, the stakes are, indeed, higher than we had originally suspected. With the arrival of the Arpeggians and the Mainiacs, things came to a boil a lot quicker than we anticipated.” Sol met his officers’ stares.

  “Yes, people, it’s really for keeps.”

  Connie bit her lip, knees locked, back braced against the bridge hatch. Why does it have to happen now? Sabot? You despicable worm, figures you ‘d be here now. All I want to do is sleep. Can’t I save the universe tomorrow? But then she’d been the one who’d pushed, demanding Boaz release her early—even if she wasn’t one-hundred percent. And now I have to face it. Now the blinders come off. Yes, Sol, this is really for keeps—more than you could know. She ran fingers over the powerful Model 57 Arcturian blaster she’d belted on her hip.

  On the screen, Happy grinned wryly, chewing his thumb. Cal looked sober, confident, muscular arms crossed over his deep chest.

  “I’m sorry,” Sol told them, voice soft. “I don’t think anyone anticipated we’d be compromised so soon. I should have been running you on drills and showing you combat tapes from the moment we left Arcturus.”

  Art took a deep breath as he shot a quick look at Bryana. “Maybe we should have been the ones to think to ask for them, Captain.”

  Sol turned to Connie. “Anything to add?”

  She crossed her arms and leaned back, looking up at the screen where Misha Gaitano watched. She tried to sound firm, in command. “The artifact is egg-shaped. We don’t know how it moves or what makes it function. When we attempt to retrieve it, you’ll have to winch it aboard Boaz. Surprisingly, it doesn’t weigh much. The length is less than thirty meters with a diameter of ten. Tractors, fields, antigrav, nothing seems to affect it—the hull seems completely inert.”

  Misha nodded. “We’ll handle it, Constance.”

  Sol’s face worked. “I’m sorry to run off like this. Speaker Archon wants me to check this thing out before we move to retrieve it. You’re on your own again. Just use your heads. Don’t go off half-cocked.”

  Art smiled. “We’ll be fine, sir. After all, we’ve got Happy to give us advice.”

  Sol chuckled. “I’m not sure I’d brag about that. The story is he spaced in the first place because he was run off by a jealous husband.” Sol looked at the engineer. “You’ve never been back to Mars either, have you?”

  “Nope, but you’d have run, too. Should have seen the size of that guy! And accurate with an EM gun? Wasn’t worth it for a woman that ugly. Even the fungus growing on her lips wore a blindfold!”

  “Last orders, people.” Sol looked into each face. “No Arpeggian sets foot on this ship! If Sellers calls up for a little chat, be polite but tell him any questions must be deferred to the senior officer, who is dirtside and unavailable for the moment. Tell him I’ll give him a call as soon as I’m back aboard. End conversation!” Sol smiled. “Any questions? None? Then good luck, people.”

  He turned and left the bridge. Connie walked beside him, lost in thought. What if Sol fails? What if he’s just another Sellers under a nicer veneer? She throttled the urge to shiver. Could I have fooled myself twice? And if he fails? Will I have the strength to pull the trigger?

  “I guess this is it,” Sol offered. “I’ll finally get to see the artifact, the Satan Sword, as Archon calls it.”

  She looked at him with a forced smile. “If you had any sense, Sol, you’d wish otherwise.” She hesitated. “This thing poisons souls.”

  Her eyes met his and locked, measuring again, as if searching for some hint of what? Weakness? Some flaw in his character? Memories of his gentle hands on her body interlaced with a vision of the alien, dead, waiting. Two mutually exclusive realities—meshed.

  Boaz announced, “Archon has arrived at the shuttle bay.” Sol gave Connie a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand. “It’ll all work out, Constance. Trust me.”

  “You have no idea, Sol. I am trusting you.” And I may pay for that.

  Though he thought her words odd, he didn’t pause to question her as they walked out into the shuttle bay. Misha worked the controls through his headset, settling the Speaker’s shuttle on the deck grapples. Happy met them halfway across the floor.

  “Here, swallow this.” He offered a vial containing a little gray pill.

  “What is it?” Sol asked, looking nervously at his engineer.

  “Locator. Don’t give me no grief, Cap. Take your medicine. If worse comes to worst, we can find you.” He turned to Connie, handing her a pill, giving her a quick hug. “You come back to us, pretty lady.”

  Together they walked toward the shuttle. The hatch hissed open to exp
ose Archon, wearing spacer whites. With a sigh, Connie swallowed the transmitter. It went down like a knotted sock.

  Sol strapped in, watching her curiously. She stared at the white paneling before her, withdrawn. Sellers waited out there somewhere. The thought made her skin crawl. She closed her eyes, gripping her hands into fists.

  Archon called down. “Ready?”

  “Let’s get it over with.”

  Grapples banged. A slight sway of acceleration escaped the grav plates. Constance turned away, occupied with her thoughts.

  “Want to talk about it?” Sol asked.

  “No, I . . . You never answered my question about Godhood. I suppose, now, we’ll see.”

  He smiled grimly. “You know, I’m not sure there’s an answer. In this age, right, wrong, good, bad, all are muddled. I guess I can’t see all the angles, the thorns among the flowers, if you will.”

  She tried to smile, the effort a bust. “No absolutes? The perfect situational ethicist?”

  He chuckled dryly. “I rest my case. No matter what my motives, pure as ammonia snow, how can I say what ramifications will be? Suppose I wave my magic wand of power and blow Hunter out of orbit? Perhaps the second mate’s great-great-grandson would have found a way to harness atomic memory, or some such thing? What I always end up with is that granted Godhood, I remake the universe as flawed as it is today.”

  She nodded, thinking: And that’s nice and neat, Sol, but what about the reality? What about the power at your fingertips? What happens when you work the lever? Overcome the resistance of that spring? Unconsciously, she wiped her right hand on the fabric covering her thigh, the very feel of the green-brown knob clinging to her fingers.

  Sol leaned back and took a deep breath, staring at the blank monitors around him. His comm told him only minutes remained until midnight. Crossing his arms, he settled his head into the acceleration padding and closed his eyes.