by Zach Winderl
“Yer sayin’ this place is been floatin’ fer ‘undreds a years?” Byron exclaimed, his eyes twitching as his mind overflowed with the information.
“Aye, lad.” Bronte released Hither in order to wander down the row, trailing a hand with loving attention on several markers. “We’ve been around long enough to make a mark on this galaxy.
“But now my thoughts are slowing us up.” He turned back to Atom, apology in his eyes. “I’ll get you up to the village and up to the meet.”
Without any further explanation, he turned, and tucking his hands behind his back, led the group on the far path, deeper into the woods. They walked with muted footsteps between the ancient trunks. The path, although carpeted with pine needles, proved easy enough to pick out from the surrounding landscape.
As they drew near the village, Byron leaped with surprise and excitement as he pointed to a doe and her two fawns grazing in a sunny patch of grassy meadow visible through the distant trees.
“There’s a bleedin’ deer in an asteroid,” he hissed, his eyes wide as saucers.
“Yes, son,” Bronte said with a paternal smile as he craned his neck to take in his own view of the majestic beasts. “As I said, we have a fully sustainable ecosystem here. That includes animals.
“Come now.” He turned and continued along the path. “The village is just ahead.”
Reveling in the whisper of a breeze swirling through the trees, Atom maneuvered the pram up a final set of stone steps leading into Bronte’s village. He halted at the edge of a carved plateau nestled up against the curved side of the hollowed asteroid.
The village consisted of fifty or so immaculate, if ancient, wooden structures. Smaller thatch-roofed dwellings surrounded a wide meeting hall. Black tile shielded the roof and artesian shachihoko decorated the ends of the central beam. In front of the broad, pillared hall, a small packed earth square sat empty.
“Quaint,” Atom said as the others fell into a ragged line at the top of the steps.
“It’s home.” Bronte shrugged.
As they made to cross the square, Atom noted several shadowy figures lurking in the doorways of the houses flanking the open space. The doors to the central hall opened at their approach, held by silent acolytes.
Bronte led the way inside.
Heavy timber posts ran in dual lines, creating a sylvan avenue terminating at a low dais at the far end of the room.
“Atom Ulvan of the Meriwether Han.” Bronte’s introduction carried Atom along with a thespian flair as the captain pressed forward with stolid curiosity. “And the crew of the One Way Ticket.”
Atom halted halfway across the long room, studying the man seated on a cushion upon the dais. With one hand on the pram and the other stroking his holstered rail-pistol, he stood in calm silence. Atom’s eyes slipped from the man, taking in the surroundings in a single, sweeping glance. Drifting between each pillar, soft glowing paper lamps hung on suspensors. Tight weave, rush flooring mats compressed beneath Atom’s boots. Sliding doors lined both walls behind the pillars.
Atom shifted his head and caught the soft rustle of cloth as a guard or ambusher shifted.
“Crew?” The man upon the dais questioned without looking up from the book resting on a low table before him. “Or compatriots?”
Atom shifted forward a couple steps, swinging the pram to settle at his side. “They’re my crew, m’lord.” Atom’s stiff bow brought a gentle chuckle from their host.
“I appreciate your formalities,” he said. “But in my estimation, we are equals.”
Casting a staying glance to his crew, Atom strode to the dais with a boldness that brought a gasp from Bronte and a tense shift from beyond the shoji screens. Atom studied his host as he and the pram halted just beyond the edge of the platform.
The man, older, but fit and wiry, sat facing the side wall with one hand shielded from Atom’s view. Dark glasses hid his eyes and his slicked, white hair gave a sleek, predatory cast to his already lean features. As if Atom’s advance gave no concern, the man traced words in his book with a finger that fluttered somewhere between fine and frail.
“Would you care to sit?” the man asked without looking up from his book.
Before Atom could answer, a servant whisked from a sliding door behind the dais with two cushions and, from her knees, bowed to Atom as she placed them on the dais at a civil distance from her master.
“Please,” the host said as he closed his book and turned his gaze, “join me.”
Atom lifted Margo from the pram and set her on the dais as the unburdened machine settled to the floor with a relieved sigh. Shepherding his daughter to her cushion, Atom dropped to a stiff-backed posture with his arms resting on his knees.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Atom asked.
The man tsked with a gentle shake of his head, reminiscent of a weaving snake. “Always in such a rush, Mr. Ulvan.” The host shifted his low table aside so nothing sat between them. “You of all people should recall the civil formalities which must be observed when rank deserves it. Without civility we are little more than the beasts we hunt.”
“What rank do I possess?” Atom quirked his head in amusement.
“Why, you are a high lord.” The man sounded amazed.
“Was. I am nothing but a ship’s captain now, a shadow of what I once was.”
“A lord of shadows.” The man clapped his hands together and pressed them to his lips. “Oh, how I like the sound of that. Atom Ulvan, the shadow lord.”
Atom stared at the other’s mirth with an impassive glare.
“Forgive me.” The man’s predatory smile revealed a dead front tooth that matched the cold, calculating eyes behind the dusky glasses. “My name is Alderon Pips. I am the head of this meager tribe of players.”
Atom glanced down the hall to where Bronte stood beside his crew. “Alderon . . .” he began.
“Is a family name,” Pips filled in.
“And the Tribes aren’t a myth?”
“Fortunately, no,” Pips said with a laugh and some of the predatory tension fell away from his face. “We are not a myth, not completely. I will admit that we allow some of the stories of our prowess to spin on larger than reality, but we do exist. Generally, we keep to ourselves and take the odd contract to perpetuate the flow of ko. I can assure you, however, that the stories you have heard are beyond our capabilities.”
“If you represent the Ghost Tribes, why do you need me?”
“To clarify, I only represent a single tribe. There are others out there. But, I am the head of my Tribe and I would like to hire you because there are times….” Pips struggled to find the right words. “Where an outside contractor is needed to preserve the peace and structure within one of those Tribes.”
A light of understanding drifted across Atom’s face like a veil, but before he could voice his thoughts, Margo rose to her feet. She stepped close to lean on Atom’s shoulder. “Hims funny eyes.” She leaned her head sideways to study Pips.
“Hush, love, that’s not polite,” Atom chided.
A broad smile spread across Pips’ face. “She is rare,” he said and removed his smoked glasses to reveal blue eyes, pale enough to border on white.
Margo leaned forward and nodded in confirmation. “Yip, funny eyes,” she repeated, looking up to Atom with a worried expression. Seeing her consternation, Pips replaced his glasses. Margo stared, but settled back against Atom’s shoulder. She relaxed her body, but not her vigilance.
“Care to talk of the job?” Atom wrapped a comforting arm around Margo’s waist.
“I am actually presenting a pair of jobs. The first is something of a test. We could handle it ourselves, but if we’re already hiring you, why not use your skills.
“The Migori have taken up against the Adlerians. Simply put, they contest a system in the First Knuckle of the First Finger. The Adlerians have contracted us to remove an opposing piece, Admiral Leilani Motoki Migori.
“It would be a simple matter for u
s.” Pips retrieved his table and once again began tracing a finger over information. “But it should give us a sound reading on your abilities.”
“And the second job?”
“Kill Lilly Prezrakov Genkohan.”
***
Back in the safe embrace of the Black, the crew mulled the possibilities.
“I feel as if we been over this one already.” Shi had her feet propped on the empty chair at the end of the table. “Kill ‘er, don’t kill ‘er, kill ‘er agin. I vote, she ain’t done nothin’ wrong by us. Leave ‘er be.”
“Oi, darl, you forgettin’ the cap’s bleedin’ conks,” Byron chipped in from across the table.
“I’ve done the same an’ he ain’t put me down . . . yet.” She grinned at Atom.
“That’s ‘cause I en’t tickled ‘is palm ‘nough,” Byron said into his bowl of spicy rice.
Blowing a childish raspberry, Shi returned her attention to slipping bullets into her gunbelt. Their relationship had evolved in the months aboard the ship. Coming from the same planet, the homeworld pair had grown into a sibling pair that sometimes amused, and other times grated on Atom’s paternal nerves.
The captain stood with his back to the two, scooping his own bowl of spicy rice and topping it with a heap of saucy veggies. At his feet Margo sat, playing with Cody.
“She could be dead.” Atom spoke without turning.
“You know ‘er, Cap,” said Shi. “I wouldn’t wager a single shell on attending her buryin’.”
“It was a deep wound.”
“So you say, but she was alive when you put ‘er inside that golem.”
Atom shrugged. “Barely. She wasn’t conscious and as uncolored as a body can get before hopping on to the other side.” He pondered his way to the table and shared the chair with Shi’s feet. “I didn’t think she was going to make it. I didn’t think to check her pulse, but her breath almost gone and she couldn’t hold any form but her own.”
“Why’d the golem want ‘er inside?” Byron asked. “Get an ‘unger or somefin?”
Cody flew over, and without landing, stole a strip of sautéed zucchini, and whirled back to drop the food in Margo’s outstretched hand.
Giggling, Margo stuffed the food in her mouth. Atom shook his head.
“If I had to guess,” he took his own bite, “That golem has a stasis pod installed.”
“En’t standard.” Byron plotted schematics in his mind.
“Koze, is it possible to dredge prints for a golem?” Atom asked. He sniffed as he hit an extra spice bite.
“Unfortunately, no,” the AI replied. “If I could worm into an imperial core, I might be able to find what you are looking for. But at the moment, I have no access to records directly addressing golems.”
“We ‘ave to assume she’s modded that metal beastie so hard the imps would scrap him an’ start over,” Byron said with a distant shrug.
“But a stasis pod is possible?” Atom asked.
Byron licked off his spoon and used it to scratch his scalp. He scowled down at his bowl. “Jus’ a trisky twist a space ‘n power. Could ‘er guts play ‘at way? Sure….” He left off fishing his spoon through his thick, dark hair and took another bite of his dinner. He chewed in thought before looking up at Atom and Shi. “But, powerin’ anyfing larger ‘n a stasis cast makes portability improbable.”
Atom pushed his food around in his bowl. “Possible, but not probable,” he mused. “We need to bounce to the highest orbit first. We need to talk to Coffey and figure if her information holds air. If it’s solid, have choices on the table.”
“Whether to ride fer money or more money?” Shi grinned as she slipped the last bullet into her belt and closed up the ammo box. “You know my vote on that matter. Question sits, is there a time limit on the Tribe’s job. Turnin’ the matter, seems to be the Migori boke might be time-crunched, but the other?”
“Lilly?”
“I reckin’ that’s a touch more open. We gotta track the trail first. We can’t kill what we can’t find . . . and that’s if she’s still breathin’.”
Atom dropped his spoon in his empty bowl and rose. “We hit Coffey first. Tie up that intel loop. Then we move on the Tribe job, first part first. Sounds like there is a window there and we’ll aim to shoot that gap.
“We miss that window and we lose the bounty, and that’s bad for business.
“We’ll see how that job and the treasure ship line up.” He rinsed his bowl in the sink and tucked it in the cabinet. “We’ll vote on our course when we get to that point.”
***
Atom stood behind Daisy in the cockpit as Klavir’s moon crested the horizon. Leaning on Daisy’s seat, he lost himself in the possible avenues life presented. The moon, icy white, fully rose as Daisy guided the Ticket towards the distant haven.
“They aim to betray,” Atom said, grimacing at their fast approaching destination.
“You plucked that spirit from the air of that meet?” Daisy drummed his hands against the yoke. “I didn’t hear much of what was said, but nothing in that place struck me as solid grav.”
“Hole?”
Daisy bobbed his head. “Class three, the kind that hides until you’re in it.”
“They’re sucking us in?”
“Not so much as hiding and waiting to grind us to atoms.”
“And getting us to toss their kack in the meanwhile,” Atom growled. “How do we go about meeting our ends and theirs on a path that gets us where we need to be?”
“You ask too many questions,” Daisy replied with an easy laugh as he reached up and adjusted a few switches overhead. “You’re the cap. You’re the one that gets to make all those tough choices.”
Atom opened his mouth to speak, but Daisy continued. “But if I know you, we’re headed to fulfill the contract. Something about the code.” He held up his hands to mime a person talking. “Blech, I think you just get your jollies putting yourself, and us by association, in harm’s way. It has to be about the code, because it’s not about the money.”
“How about you just get us to Lassiter in one piece, and I’ll worry about the killing.” Atom slapped the back of Daisy’s seat.
“Better you than me,” Daisy grumbled in reply.
“Let me know when we’re on approach, I want to check in with Byron on the state of the ship. It’s been a couple months since anything went wrong, and I’ve that feeling in my gut that we’re due.”
“Last thing we need at the moment.”
Atom ducked out of the bridge and trotted straight through the commons and quarters, only stopping after ducking into the upper hatch of the mech bay. Machinery hummed in pulsing rhythm that always made Atom think of what a baby heard in the womb. As a young commander, he had spent many hours among the ship’s mechs, finding it the most relaxing part of any ship.
“By, you in here?” he called out over the thrumming.
Not hearing a response, he headed deeper into the inner workings of the ship. Life support, recycling, and eventually the power-plant intertwined with the ease and charm of a writhing snake-pit.
Atom cupped his hands to his mouth and called out, “Byron, where are you?”
“Here, darl.” He emerged from a tangle of pipes and tubing like a grease smeared xeno. “I’ve been torquin’ on this ‘ere converter an’ I en’t likin’ what I’m seein’. I’ve slipped a bypass, but that puts strain on the scrubbers.
“See these burners tracin’ the seam.” He held up the part for Atom’s inspection. “I’d recommend a full switch-out on the rack or we’ll watch a cascade roll the line.”
“We’re coming up on Lassiter.” Atom took the part and traced a finger over the corroded seam. “Think they’ll have what you’re looking for?”
Byron shrugged and smeared grease around as he tried to wipe his face clean. “I’d assume. If ‘ey don’t ‘ave it exact, I’ll try a ‘and at ticklin’ a couple dirtside converters.” He took the piece back and threw it down the open well to land
on the floor between his worktables below. “Might even be, I can salvage some of what we’ve got, if’n they en’t been chewed up too bad. I’ll clean ‘em up and see.
“If ‘ey work I’ll toss ‘em in store fer a rainy day on the Black.” Byron thrust his hands in the pockets of his coveralls and closed his eyes to listen to the heartbeat of the ship.
Atom watched the boy, sensing a communion between man and machine. He turned and slipped from the mech bay. Taking the aft stairs, he headed for the hold. As he reached the empty floor, he stopped and looked around.
“Koze, we need to pick up a legitimate run, sooner than later. People might start getting suspicious.” He smiled as a soft buzz whispered through the air near his head.
“Will that interfere with our current goals?” the AI asked.
“You mean treasure?” Atom looked around, trying to follow the faint sound of the toy dragon.
“Presumably.”
“We don’t even know what the treasure is.” Atom wandered toward the far end of the hold where half-a-dozen storage crates sat tucked under the edge of the fore stairs
“I’ve accessed the limited records and can find no manifest for that voyage.”
“I know. It was either scrubbed or never logged to begin with.”
Kozue changed tack. “Why are you so intent on finding this treasure?”
Atom slowed as he approached the crates and peered between them. Margo rested in the protected cubby, curled in her pram with a cocooning blanket. Above her head, the tiny dragon whirled and soared.
“I’m intrigued,” Atom whispered as he backed away from the nest. “Any time people are willing to shed so much blood, there is usually a reason for it.”
“But nothing on record.”
“Exactly.” Atom grinned as he mounted the far steps to head back up to the living level.
***
Daisy tucked the ship down in the same hangar they had occupied on their last visit to Lassiter. A small, battered rock-hopper sat dusted in icy crystals on the next pad over. Atom stared at the craft from the cockpit canopy for a moment before a smile crept over his face.