Gate Crashers

by Patrick S. Tomlinson

  Eugene had been honest about the compensation as well. Felix’s first payday had been an eye-opening experience, not that he had any idea of how to spend it. People accustomed to lean times generally reacted in one of two ways to a sudden cash windfall. Either they take great care to ensure that it lasts, or they spend it as quickly as possible to get back to more familiar financial territory.

  Considering his fondness for numbers, Felix intended to be the former. Still, he was glad to leave the old college apartment behind. He splurged on a new, larger two-bedroom closer to the Stack, after clearing out his college loans and printing out the discharge papers just so he could piss on them.

  He’d fallen into a surreal routine after a few days. Scanned and searched on his way into work every morning, he ate lunch in a cafeteria filled with scientists, bureaucrats, soldiers, politicians, and spies, and frequently conversed with people many trillions of kilometers away.

  Felix was tired. It had been a nonstop sort of day. The words of Ridgeway’s report weren’t going to change by themselves, and there would be no new information until a cradle was finished for their ill-behaved artifact. He shut down his display and locked the system.

  He made his way out of the building and said good night to the door guard. Exiting security was always so much easier than entering. Felix had almost reached his car when he spotted Jeffery.

  “Still here, Jeff?”

  “Just called it a day. How about you?”

  “Same story.”

  “Say, Felix. I’m meeting Thomas for a drink. Want to join us?”

  Felix pondered this for a moment. “Eh, why not? Where are we going?”

  “Some place downtown called Captain’s Mast. We can take my car.”

  They arrived a little past nine to a scene already in full swing. The overall theme was nautical, with anchors, chains, and netting throughout the décor. At the bor’s center was an impressive gray steel mast, on which were mounted a variety of radio and radar antennas, some of which spun. The clientele consisted mainly of young service members and young people hoping to service members.

  At the bar was a choir of Royal Navy sailors drinking grog and loudly singing lewd sea shanties. Sitting quietly next to them was Sergeant Harris. Jeffery and Felix slid in next to him.

  “Hi, Jeff. I see you brought Felix!” Harris shouted over the din. “Glad you’re here!”

  How long is your yardarm …

  Felix pressed his mouth next to Harris’s ear. “You, too, Tom. So what are you having?”

  How thick is your barrel …

  “Leinenkugel’s. Let me buy you one.”

  How much brass in your bells …

  “All right. Thanks!” shouted Felix.

  How deep is her harbor …

  “Just one rule: no office talk, okay?”

  And can she stay for a spell!

  “No problem. I came out to escape, after all.”

  The bartender delivered Felix’s beer, and Harris thumb-scanned it onto his tab. By then, the Royal Navy sailors had broken into a moving rendition of “Is That Rust on Your Foghorn?”

  The well-lubricated crowd cheered, danced, and sang. People shouted at a blown baseball call, argued politics, and performed the sort of unintelligibly complex mating rituals that gave anthropologists fits. Then the entrance’s double doors burst open, and the din died down as every head pivoted to investigate. A man in a striking white, perfectly tailored and pressed AEU Navy dress uniform stood astride the doorway. He lingered a moment, feeding off the crowd’s gaze.

  Physically, there wasn’t much to distinguish him from the average sailor. He certainly didn’t possess Harris’s stature, who was once afforded a respectful distance by a bull rhinoceros in musk, but the newcomer’s presence was another matter entirely. As he looked around the quieted room, he seemed to take ownership of it. Once satisfied that everyone had seen him, he strode toward the bar.

  “Who’s that?” Felix asked in a hushed voice.

  “You’ve gotta watch the vids more,” Harris said. “That’s Commander Maximus Tiberius. He drives a subcarrier. Got two unit citations for valor already.”

  Commander Tiberius arrived at the bar and reverently put one hand in the air, the other over his heart. “Ladies, the next round is on me. Sorry, gents, but I’m not here for you.”

  This was met with a chorus of exited cheers and disappointed groans.

  Felix wrinkled his nose. “Seems a bit of a manicured caveman to me.”

  “Don’t be jealous, Felix,” Harris said. “That caveman saved a lot of marines’ lives last year in Indonesia.”

  Instead of arguing, Felix occupied his mouth with a pull from his beer.

  There are only two ways a child saddled with a name like Maximus Tiberius turns out. He either becomes confidence personified, or he ends up trapped inside the name like a cruel irony. This child, who already had a beer in each hand and a girl under each arm, had settled on the first option early in life.

  Maximus looked down the bar and took stock of Harris. Experienced bar patrons make it a point to become fast friends with the bouncers and the biggest guy in the room. It wasn’t Maximus’s first time in a licensed establishment, so he pushed past the girls ensnared in his personality orbit to introduce himself.

  “Evening, Sergeant.” He pointed to Harris’s beer. “The leathernecks I drink with usually handle heavier stuff than that.”

  “We’re just unwinding from a long shift, sir. Besides, I don’t see anything stronger in your hands.”

  “Well, there’s a fix for that. Barkeep, scotch! Leave the bottle.”

  Several hours and a precarious pyramid of empty shot glasses later, Felix, Jeffery, and Harris sat in a large booth being regaled with tales of Maximus’s recent South American exploits. A group of onlookers clung barnacle-fashion to his every word. Much to Felix’s surprise, Jeffery had leaned over to rest his head on Harris’s shoulder, who did not object. Were they on a date? Felix hadn’t picked up on any signs of a budding romance at work. Then again, with his abysmal romantic record, he probably wouldn’t have known if he had.

  “And by the time he came to, he was stark naked save for his belt, covered in seaweed, and tangled up in a rusty old buoy.”

  The crowd roared with laughter.

  Jeffery leaned over to Felix. “What’s a buoy?” he asked quietly.

  “An anchored float used to mark territorial boundaries, shipping lanes, and navigational hazards in the days before integrated GPS piloting.” Felix spotted a bulbous white-and-orange contraption among the collection of navigational paraphernalia suspended from the ceiling and pointed to it. “That’s one there.”

  Maximus, who’d paused his monologue to allow the Brits to begin a new set, followed Felix’s index finger but picked out the wrong target.

  “Well, go ask her to dance,” Maximus prodded.

  “The buoy?” asked Felix.

  “What? No, the girl.”

  Felix looked down from the ceiling and spotted her. She sat patiently while her friend was chatted up. She was striking, yet unconventional.

  “Oh, no. I wouldn’t want to embarrass her. I’m not much of a dancer.”

  “Then you need another shot. Everyone can dance with enough liquor.”

  “I … wouldn’t know what to say,” Felix objected weakly.

  “What does that have to do with anything?” asked Maximus. “Just talking to them is the point; it doesn’t matter what you say. Here, watch…”

  Maximus stood up from his seat and pushed past the throng. He walked up to the young woman and leaned over to speak into her ear.

  As he spoke, her eyes went wide. She slapped him smartly across the face.

  Spectators love a good crash-and-burn, regardless of the context. The crowd burst into applause as Maximus took a small bow and walked back to the table.

  “What did you say to her?” asked Felix when Maximus returned.

  “I said, ‘Are you a french fry? Because your
starch stiffens my collar,’” he said through a smile and a rapidly reddening cheek. “It’s easy. See?”

  “See what?” replied Felix. “You were shot down. And assaulted, I might add.”

  “It’s the rule of twenty-three, kid. Provided you aren’t catastrophically ugly or disfigured in some humorous way, you only need to talk to an average of twenty-three women before you find a taker. It’s all in the numbers.”

  “And get slapped a dozen times in the process?”

  “That’s what the alcohol is for. It makes you brave enough to do it, and it numbs the sting of rejection.”

  “What if they throw their drinks at you?”

  “Open your mouth and catch as much as you can,” Maximus said with a grin. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’re at least sixty ladies still in here. I can get a three-way together before bar-close if I’m quick enough.”

  With that, he grabbed his drink and dove back into the gyrating mass of people. Felix watched him go and shook his head.

  “Unbelievable. He’s like a chauvinist parody. A hack wouldn’t write that dialogue.”

  “He’s just comfortable in his own skin,” Harris said as he absently twirled a finger through Jeffery’s hair.

  “He’s even more comfortable with other people’s skin,” Jeffery quipped as they watched Maximus approach his next quarry, apparently with more success. When this didn’t elicit a response, Jeffery nudged Felix. “Hey, you okay?”

  “Hmm? Yeah, fine. I was just thinking about buoys.”

  “Oh.” Jeffery smiled. “I had no idea. That’s great, Felix. I know just the guy to set you up with.”

  Felix rolled his eyes. “Not boys. Buoys, with a u. You know, that thing you asked me about like five seconds ago?”

  “Right! What about them?”

  “Not sure, but something about them is bugging me. Almost like déjà vu, except backward.”

  “You mean you have a strange feeling you’ve never seen one before?” asked Harris. “That’s what us non-geniuses call not knowing something. I can see how that could be confusing for you.”

  “Funny man, Thomas. It’s not that. More like … like I’m going to have seen one before, but I haven’t yet. Does that make any sense?”

  “How many have you had?” asked Jeffery.

  “I guess not,” said Felix. “It’s not the alcohol.”

  “Right, because scientists always experience vague feelings of causality-violating temporal paradoxes when they’re sober,” said Jeffery.

  Felix continued, “Anyway, no. I’ve only had the two shots and this beer.”

  “You’re still on the same beer?” asked Harris.

  “Yeah.”

  “Should I hire a babysitter for it?”

  “Fine. You know what?” Felix grabbed the bottle of Leinenkugel’s and pulled down the remainder. Then he stood up and marched straight as a yardstick toward the bar.

  “What’s he doing?” asked Jeffery.

  “I think he’s just getting another drink,” answered Harris.

  “No, he’s … oh no. He’s talking to that girl who smacked Tiberius.”

  “Hmm, didn’t think he had it in him. Not enough of it at least.”

  Jeffery looked away. “I can’t watch. What’s happening?”

  “Well, she hasn’t leveled him yet, so that’s an improvement.” Harris paused. “In fact, they seem to be heading for the dance floor.”

  “Really?” Jeffery turned to see for himself. “I thought he said he couldn’t dance.”

  They both watched Felix with rapt attention for a few moments until the song hit its stride and the pair started to move.

  “Well, at least he’s honest,” said Harris.

  To be fair, it wasn’t that Felix lacked coordination or rhythm. The problem was that his body had been calibrated for lunar gravity and hadn’t really adjusted to Earth, despite the last three years. What they witnessed didn’t resemble dancing so much as an arthritic flamingo in combat boots trying to dance.

  There are different ways to be the center of attention. One tends to inspire envy; the other tends to generate sympathy. Felix charged ahead heedlessly until his partner could bear it no longer. She stopped him, gave him a peck on the cheek, whispered something to him, and then walked back to rejoin her friend. Felix returned to the booth and sat down.

  “Well,” Jeffery said, “what did she say?”

  “Her name is Chianti. She said I was very sweet and should come back and find her again when I have a matching set of feet.”

  “It beats a sharp stick in the eye,” said Harris.

  “Or a slap in the face, for that matter,” Jeffery added. “Are you going to be all right in here, Thomas? I should run Felix home.”

  “No, you guys have fun. I can get a cab.”

  “Are you kidding?” Harris said. “Go get some rack time. These are my people. I’ll have more friends in here by the end of the night than you can count.”

  “All right. See you at the office tomorrow.” Jeffery stood up and realized he was a little worse for wear. “I think we’ll let the car drive home.”

  Felix walked out into the beautiful autumn evening while Jeffery used him as a portable lean-to.

  “So, you and Thomas are a … thing?” Felix ventured cautiously.

  “I wouldn’t say that, yet. We’re enjoying each other’s company. But please keep it private. The office doesn’t need to know.”

  “I understand. I’m happy for you.”

  For those inclined to see them, the stars above put on a dazzling show to rival the city’s skyline. As frequently happened, Felix found himself lulled by their spell. They were little islands of heat and light in an incomprehensibly vast, frozen ocean of darkness. Anchors of hope.

  Then he had another thought.

  “That’s it!”

  “Sure is,” Jeffery said with inebriated gusto. “What are we talking about?”

  “It’s a buoy. The artifact isn’t a probe. It’s a buoy. That’s what was bugging me.”

  Jeffery experienced the sudden jolt back to sobriety usually caused by red-and-blue lights in the rearview mirror. He straightened up.

  “How do you figure?”

  “Think about it,” Felix said. “Magellan found it just sitting in the middle of nowhere. The only thing it was doing was broadcasting a signal to empty space. It wasn’t running away from the chief engineer’s attempts to open it; he’d already thrown everything in the book at it without as much as a scuff mark. It only acted when Magellan moved away from where they found it. That must have been its assigned anchor point. It thought it was drifting. It wasn’t running, it was trying to maintain its position.”

  “All right. Sounds good so far. Then why did it stop and open itself up for them?” asked Jeffery.

  Felix wrestled with the question for a few steps, but then the answer fell into place. “Because it broke.”

  “Broke? It’s been sitting out there for who knows how long already, and it’s impervious to a determined redneck wielding a plasma cutter, yet it picked that exact moment to break?” He shook his head. “Too convenient.”

  “Not necessarily. Maybe something knocked loose when it hit the bulkhead. Maybe it burned out its drive. A space buoy would only need the equivalent of station-keeping thrusters. Maybe it was overwhelmed by how fast the Magellan accelerated and shut down.”

  “If that’s true, it would also explain why the message changed,” said Jeffery. “It’s probably squawking to the aliens who put it there that they need to come and fix it.”

  “Which is why the hatch opened, in preparation for the maintenance crew it’s expecting,” Felix concluded. “I’ll wager a week’s salary that the hatch leads directly to a gravity drive system and that it’s burned out.”

  “No dice. I know a bad bet when I hear one.”

  They were almost to Jeffery’s car by then. He squared to look at Felix.

  “Now comes the scary question,” Jeffery said. “If it
’s a buoy, was it put there to warn ships about some unseen danger, or to mark territory?”

  “I’m not sure. It could even be a bread crumb to mark a trail. We don’t know enough yet to cross anything off the list.” Felix stopped for a moment. “We’ve got to get a message out to Ridgeway regardless. She needs to know that somebody may come looking for that thing.”

  “Agreed. Looks like we weren’t finished at the office, after all.”

  They climbed into Jeffery’s waiting Volkswagen Swift, which smelled the alcohol molecules wafting off of them and promptly locked the manual controls.

  “Sorry, sir,” said a sultry feminine voice, “but I am too young and pretty for the scrapyard.”

  “If you’d waited a moment, I would’ve asked you to drive,” Jeffery said.

  “Where would you like me to take you?”

  “The Stack, please.”

  “You just had to spring for the ‘edgy attitude’ upgrade,” said Felix with a snort.

  “Just shut your door.”

  With that, wings deployed, turbines spooled, and the Swift sped away from the parking hangar into the sky.

  * * *

  “We’re finished here, Captain,” Nelson said. “The artifact’s all strapped in.”

  “Good man,” said Allison. “Helm, resume course. Get us the hell out of here.”

  “Resuming acceleration along present course, Captain.”

  “Com, how are we coming with jamming the signal?”

  “We should be ready to test it within the hour, ma’am.”

  “Well done. Let’s just hope it works.”

  Magellan’s reactor surged, gravity projectors tricked the space ahead, and both ship and crew pulled away deeper into the black abyss.

  As the white hull of Magellan piled nine hundred meters per second onto her speed, a wrinkle in the darkness accelerated to keep pace. It appeared no more substantial than the flicker of heat above a stretch of highway in summer. An impressive array of recording devices and passive sensors switched on and started taking notes.