Union of Souls (Gigaparsec Book 3)

by Scott Rhine

  Over the intercom, Roz said, “I’m dizzy. Something isn’t right.”

  Max drew his dart pistol. “Could be a sneak suit or someone else with PM. Reuben, close your eyes and walk through the hall with your staff. Invisible armor doesn’t work so well if you don’t look at it. If you detect someone, trigger the sonics.”

  I’m the bait. However, Reuben had absolute faith that Max would pop out of nowhere to back him up. Reuben grabbed a practice staff from the rack by the door and carried it like a blind man. As the hall opened up into the shuttle bay, he spun the staff like a propeller. When it clicked against something hard that wasn’t supposed to be there, he barked the trigger word, “Ambient!”

  Disorienting noises warbled above them. Drawing back for an offensive strike, he hit a second body at waist height behind him. “Multiples!” He performed a leg sweep, knocking the second figure down. The first target leapt on top of Reuben, pinning him to the floor of the hangar. The seat of his suit pants tore from the force, and the air rippled at close range where the illusion broke down. Reuben turned his opponent’s helmet sideways, deactivating it.

  Max appeared behind the floating head and held his pistol to the base of the woman’s skull. “Suspend.” The clamor fell silent. “Employing class-four tech aboard a foreign vessel is considered an act of war. Turn off your suits, or we’ll pull away from the docks and hunt you as pirates.”

  Five more sneak suits faded into view. Max raised his hands in surrender.

  Captain Onesemo stood beside Max with a wide-bore pistol. “Color me impressed. No one has ever detected my team before, let alone neutralized them. We have countermeasures for every known detector. Is this more secret Magi tech?”

  “Stone Age from Eden.” Max handed over his dart gun and clip after ejecting it. “You’re making my wife ill by changing probabilities near her. Please stop.”

  The corporate security leader addressed his men. “Standard sweep with no cloak. Ned, you wait outside.”

  One suit of armor left.

  The woman on top of Reuben stood and then held out a hand. “Give me your weapon.” As Reuben did so, she noted the hole in his pants. She struggled not to comment on the lightning bolt visible on his underwear. “I never had anyone bring a stick to a gunfight before.”

  “It was big enough to get me inside your suit,” Reuben said. He grabbed a strip of duct tape from the toolbox to reduce the breeze on his behind.

  Several of the troops chuckled.

  Max presented Onesemo with a map. “We’ve sealed the site from the rest of the ship. Just us two. Nothing lethal.”

  “Long-range scanners reported explosives and radioactives,” said the technician that Reuben had tripped.

  “Yeah. Forgot about that.” Max slapped himself in the forehead. “Ballast leftover from the mines to counterbalance the new defenses. The detonators are all stored in the armory. Harmless.”

  The tech examined his readout and nodded. “Confirmed.”

  Onesemo handed the dart gun to the female guard after verifying the contents of the clip. “Toss this in a locker until after the meeting.”

  A glance at the wall monitor showed about twenty men in black outside, lining the station hall.

  “Who’s the dignitary?” Reuben asked.

  “I’m guessing an old friend. He’d be about seventy by now,” Max said. “He snuck our rescue squadron in and out of some pretty tight places, including Mnamnabo.”

  “Churchill frilling Llewellyn?”

  Onesemo nodded a few millimeters.

  Max said, “I’ll go get the ecological samples we collected from the prison.”

  “We’ll take those directly to the terraforming department,” said the armored technician, escorting him from the room.

  Reuben stood by Onesemo, rocking on his feet. “Wow. So what’s the big guy like?”

  “I couldn’t say, sir.”

  “Never met him?”

  Onesemo raised an eyebrow. “My family has served his for four centuries, but we never talk about it.”

  A few moments later, a well-fed, jovial man, who appeared closer to forty, stepped into the shuttle bay. The curl of hair over his forehead was as distinctive as a nametag. He smiled and shook Reuben’s hand. “Mr. Black! I’m so glad you agreed to speak to me.” He had a faint British accent, rare in these days of galactic standardized English, which meant he lived in an isolated enclave. He would have aged at about half the normal rate due to his family’s unique telomeres. Max only appeared younger because of decades spent in stasis during transport on military missions. “My friends call me G.”

  “Your middle initial?” asked Reuben.

  “A family joke. I was the seventh fertilized egg that my mother, Laura, froze. If he had children to care for at regular intervals, my father would have a reason to stay alive for his projected 250-year lifespan. We were labeled A, B, C …” His father had been the Stewart Llewellyn, founder of Anodyne.

  Despite the recent threat, Reuben found that he liked the man. “Um … Max will meet us in the museum momentarily. I’ll show you the way, sir.”

  Noting the duct-tape patch on Reuben’s behind, G said, “A new Goat fashion?”

  The latest trend on Goat worlds was actually clothing knit from jetsam—a superyarn made from recycled materials that could be reconfigured and reused for generations. The yarn imitated a nylon-like Magi substance called flotsam, with lower quality and strength. Reuben couldn’t condone junkyard hand-me-downs that lasted centuries.

  “Our fault, sir. Jane was aggressive.” Onesemo trailed the CEO as they traveled to the decorated cargo hold.

  “I’ll send a tailor to make you a suitable replacement,” G promised.

  Once inside the miniature museum, the lone guard stepped to the side, as mute as one of the statues on display.

  G examined the first painting from several angles with a critical eye.

  Reuben tried to keep up small talk. “How many siblings do you still have in the freezer?”

  “State secret, I’m afraid. They thaw us when Anodyne is facing times of great adversity.” G moved on to the next piece.

  “How could your genes have possibly helped during the Gigaparsec War?” Reuben offered a platter of canapés that Alyssa had artfully arranged.

  “As an Index talent, I’m the only one who can allow access to the inversion fortress, Sanctuary.”

  Reuben offered the tray to his guest. “What does an Index do?”

  G smiled as he plucked a single canapé. “I can tell what talents another person has and how strong they are just by shaking their hand. Your Empathy-CU combination alone is about a 4.5 on their scale. As the dominant ability, your Quantum Computing has higher potential, but I can’t tell how much until you exercise it.”

  Reuben dropped the rest of the tray but managed not to swear in front of a head of state. This had all been a setup. “Please don’t tell MI-23.”

  After eating the selected treat, G replied, “Your people need you.”

  Dejected, Reuben sat on the viewing bench. “From your own admission, I appear to be below average for a ram.”

  “Not to worry. When you accept the title, they feed you a sort of royal jelly that bolsters your ability by two and completes the transformation.”

  “If there’s only one ram, what happens to the previous office holder?”

  “He retires to a resort far from any other Goats. The office ages the one who bears it, and MI-23 asks for a resignation when the scandals are too excessive. The Union Council has a tidy retirement fund set aside for those who serve with honor for at least eight years, with a million-credit bonus for every time he was asked to access the mass-mind.”

  Reuben shook his head. “I’m already rich enough, and I’d have to give that up to serve.” The Black Ram had no belongings of his own, but every need was cared for by his species.

  “You’re an anomaly. Most of them blow every credit they get. I think the Mnamnabonian Commonwealth could us
e your sort of fiscal advice, especially with their loans coming due.”

  “I’ll give them the name of Kesh, my accountant.”

  G sat beside Reuben. “My family cosigned your people’s loan.”

  “Don’t ask how I know, but I know we won’t be defaulting. I won’t lead my people at a time like this. I refuse to take the blame for reckless expansion, backroom deals, and buying votes with promises no sane person could keep. The people in charge made their bed. They can lie in it.”

  “I wish I’d been able to dodge my mantle that easily, but politicians are always greedy and shortsighted.”

  “There is more grief than you can imagine avalanching down on the Union.”

  G wagged his finger. “Over seventy years of internecine struggles, I’ve developed quite a vivid imagination. Tell me what you know, and maybe I can lighten the load.”

  Reuben raised his head. “Will you let me visit Ivy?”

  “No. Even I can’t break those traditions, old boy.”

  “At least tell me whether she was able to attend her great-grandmother’s planting ceremony.”

  “I have no idea what you’re referring to,” G lied.

  “Then you’ll just have to piss yourself like anyone else when you hear the news,” Reuben said.

  G changed tactics. “I must say, you’re also a bit of a late bloomer. They usually have your people catalogued by age fourteen.”

  “Yeah. Every time I’d get close to the moment of truth, my booster ability would kick in. The girl would suddenly realize her self-worth and run out.”

  G gave a deep, infectious belly laugh. He clapped Reuben on the back. “Here I thought I had problems in the romance department.”

  Reuben laughed, too, for a moment, until he realized Max was being delayed on purpose and the man was manipulating him with the Empathy talent. “Are you going to buy any of these renaissance works, or are you wasting my time?”

  “The value of my time is what you should be concerned about. I’ll accept the pieces here as payment for the initial consultation and environmental study. We won’t be able to execute any fixes until the prison colony achieves independence or the Bat throne world gives permission. Your company will receive a fair commission for the art and any subsequent terraforming contract.”

  “How will you transfer the credits to us? We can’t trust the banks.”

  “Is there anything portable your team needs that has a large price tag?”

  “Weapons and lightweight armor are always good,” Reuben said. “We broke or blew up most of ours over the last year.”

  “I’ll let Max look over our toy box for appropriate items. I trust his judgment. Daisy will hold the purchases in trust until you’re clear of the station.”

  After donning his protective gloves again, Reuben extended his hand to the CEO. “Then our business is concluded?”

  G grasped his hand and held. “I’ll withhold my report to MI-23 on one condition—that you meet with the current Black Ram in person.”

  “My partners and I have a timetable to keep.”

  G refused to release his iron grip. “He’s already flying from Satyrica to Shangri-La. You can rendezvous with him near the nexus. I just sent you the intercept vector.”

  Reuben glanced at his wrist unit to read the route information. Deep 6 would have to delay an extra six days to meet the slower vessel, leaving them only a few weeks of safety margin to reach the Convocation. Roz would have a cow. Stuff would fall off shelves onto him for weeks. Doors would accidentally smack him in the face. Still, that prospect was better than being trapped into the office of Black Ram. Objecting would give the CEO too much information about the subbasement drive. Reuben would wait as long as possible to tell the others. “Agreed.”

  Chapter 17 – Slow Boat to Shangri-La

  Between running new wiring to the defensive turret and visiting the hospital, Reuben barely had time to sleep. True to his word, the CEO sent a tailor, who presented Reuben with a top-of-the-line, resist-weave suit. The stylish outfit could stop bullets and shrapnel, as well as blunt the initial force of an energy weapon. The color could be adjusted on the inside panel, along with the warning sound emitted when laser sights, explosives, or sneak suits were detected. The card with the finished gift said, “To a future head of state.”

  Reuben refused to let the bribe sway him, but he did like how all the ladies stared in admiration. Roz insisted Max get fitted for one also, despite the outrageous cost. Given his history of collecting scars, no one could blame her. Kesh insisted on paying for the suit as his belated wedding gift to the couple and as thanks for reattaching his fingertips. The Saurian eventually broke down and had an outfit of his own made. Oddly, his white, pinstriped ensemble looked better on him than either of the mammals. Maybe it was the hat. Reuben’s battered, old fedora didn’t quite go with the new look.

  On the final afternoon at Laurelin, the team had a meeting in the dining commons. Since Gentles were vegetarians, Blythe made watercress sandwiches for the event, which everybody but Menelaus seemed to avoid in favor of the pineapple-and-melon platter. After polishing off half a plate of sandwiches, the Bat leaned over to glance at the newcomer in the kitchen. “Easy on the eyes and the tongue.”

  Reuben held up a finger. “Hey. She’s recovering from a coma. Keep your tongue away from her.”

  Roz said, “Don’t worry. She’s smitten with the saintly Mr. Black.”

  “How do you know?” Reuben demanded.

  “First thing she asked when she came aboard was where your room was. Her second question was how I snagged Max. I told her I hit him with a car on our first date so he couldn’t run away.”

  Everyone else laughed, including Daisy, who smiled and wore her hair exactly like Ivy. Reuben’s stomach knotted in a ball.

  Max brought the official meeting to order by thumping on a shipping crate. “Santa Llewellyn let me have my pick of used and outdated equipment from his armory as our commission for the art collection.” He opened the box up. “Since these are non-offensive, Daisy said we could open this present tonight.” He padded out a shield-shaped item to each of the partners.

  “A chest plate?” Kesh asked.

  “If we’d been wearing this on the Niisham raid, Ivy would still be with us,” Max replied. “You’ll get your weapons after we leave the dock.”

  Menelaus bounced up and down. “What did you get me?”

  Max shook his head in amusement. “A Saurian ceremonial blade … and a practice blade with the same balance.”

  The Bat’s eyes lit with joy. “Yes!”

  “I secured Reuben a replacement neural staff to help you spar.”

  Reuben sampled the fruit, fondly remembering how much his own training had stung. Now he would get to dole out the pain.

  “I also picked up a few sonic grenades for my ladies. In special forces, we used them to deafen Phib sentries before an assault. The weapons only stun or confuse other species.”

  “What about Daisy?” asked Reuben.

  “I brought my own toys, including some hot-burning nano with a crayon interface,” she replied. “Just draw the hole you want cut, sprinkle on the glitter, and bang—you’re in.”

  Reuben closed his eyes at the memory of Ivy this conjured.

  Roz took over the meeting and outlined the weeks of flight before and after the jump to Shangri-La, along with the rules about eating or alcohol before stasis.

  Reuben picked up the remainder of the fruit tray. “I’m heading to my hammock.” He headed for the jungle.

  “Can I see?” asked Daisy.

  The partners answered, “No,” in unison. Her badge would bar access to the jungle biozone.

  In the jungle, he left the platter out for Jeeves and backed away. The mimic still didn’t trust him completely, but from the shelter of trees, she said, “Tan oo, Oo-bin,” her version of, “Thank you, Reuben.” Her speech would never be right due to a lack of mother’s milk as a child.

  “My pleasure, swe
et thing. I’ll see about some cheese or milk later.”

  “Mmm. Ba’oo.”

  “Yes, a warm bottle.”

  When Reuben returned to the crew area through the biozone airlock, Blythe was lurking in the hall. “What did you do with my plate? I need to clean it.”

  “I’ll take care of that,” he promised.

  Blythe put a hand to her face. “Sir, it’s my job, my service for this journey. An important man such as you could never clean dishes.”

  Reuben snickered as he led the curious ewe away from the window to the biozone. “On a ship this small, everyone serves, or we would never get to our destination. I do electrical work, train our Bat emissary, and feed … the animals.”

  She seemed puzzled as they returned to the dining area. “Don’t you have people under you to handle all that? You’re a leader.”

  “Maybe. Roz is one of the best captains I know, but she would never ask me to do something she hadn’t done a hundred times before. She wouldn’t be in tune with the pulse of her ship if she hadn’t. I’m sure your father knows every employee’s duties at your inn. Right?”

  “Yes. If you don’t watch your investment, someone else will take it who does.”

  “Exactly.”

  The young female sighed and gazed at him adoringly. “You’ll be such a wise leader. My aunt was wrong about you being corrupt.”

  “Pardon?”

  “She had you investigated. She claims you’ve never paid taxes.”

  Dodging taxes was a favorite Mnamnabioan sport, which was why employers had to glean a quarter of their wages and send it to the government directly. Cash businesses and criminals rarely reported anything. Reuben cleared his throat. “Until recently, I worked for Turtle Special Forces. By the time our company left Bat space, the Bankers and Saurian mob stole the credits in our corporate account. For now, we get paid in things we can carry.” He failed to mention his fat personal balances.