by mikel evins
“What kind of meat?” said Jaemon.
Pearl shrugged.
“I don’t pay too much attention to food.”
Jaemon raised his eyebrows at Zang. She shrugged.
“You’re the boss,” she said.
Jaemon grinned.
“What was it your robbers took?” said Pearl.
“An old archive,” said Jaemon.
“Creche archive, you mean?” said Pearl.
“Yep.”
“How old?”
“Maybe four, five thousand years.”
Pearl made a soft whistling sound.
“What’s in it?” she said.
Jaemon looked at me.
“A human-mech hybrid,” I said. “A soldier, probably.”
Pearl whistled again.
“Viable?” she said.
“Don’t know yet,” I said. “All the parts are there and it looks intact, but it was stuck to the side of an asteroid for who knows how long.”
“That would be something,” said Pearl. “If you could wake it up. You know who it is?”
“Not really,” I said.
“Maybe I ought to keep it for myself,” said Pearl. “If I can find it.”
“You wouldn’t do that to us,” said Zang.
“Nah,” said Pearl. “I already said I’d do business with you. There’s Jerry coming up the stairs. Tell him what you want.”
Later, standing outside on the street, Jaemon stretched and looked around.
“That was a bust,” he said. “Lunch was good, though.”
Zang said, “She’s come through for me before.”
“What did she mean about swinging her way?” Jaemon said, looking at Zang sideways.
Zang flushed again.
“You know what she meant,” she said. “But I’m not interested.”
“Got something against mechs?” Jaemon said.
Zang glanced at me.
“No,” she said. “Do you?”
“I’m off,” he said. “Don’t need the distraction.”
“Off?” I said.
“He means his, ah, romantic impulse,” Zang said. “Mine’s off, too. Same reason.”
“Oh,” I said. “Of course.”
“I guess Pearl’s isn’t,” said Jaemon.
“Nope,” said Zang. “She’s a player. Always has been. I thought you were, too, Lev, when I first met you.”
“No,” I said. “I’m off, too.”
“Sure, I know that now. I don’t know why I thought otherwise.”
“Maybe I reminded you of Pearl?” I said. “We’re from the same model line.”
“Hmm,” said Zang. “Maybe that’s it.”
She looked me up and down.
“What do mechs need a sex drive for, anyway?”
Jaemon said, “Esgar says ancient humans made them that way.”
“Why?” said Zang.
“You know,” said Jaemon.
She stared at him for a moment, then said, “Ew. Really? What’s the point?”
“Have you ever been turned on?” Jaemon said.
“Yes,” said Zang, “Not that it’s any of your business. I mean, what’s the point of making mechs with a sex drive when there are already so many humans?”
Jaemon shrugged.
“Esgar says it might have been the mechs themselves.”
Zang shook her head.
“That makes even less sense,” she said.
“How do you figure?”
“Why would you invent a sex drive if you didn’t already have one?”
“Curiosity?” said Jaemon. “People obviously have a lot of fun with it.”
“So why’s yours off?” Zang said. “You’re all about fun.”
Jaemon looked sideways at her.
“Not worth the trouble,” he said. “There are simpler ways to have fun.”
“He wasn’t always off,” I said.
“Oh?” said Zang. She studied Jaemon. “Sounds like there’s a story there. You’ll have to tell it to me some time.”
“No,” said Jaemon. “He won’t. What do we do now that we’ve learned exactly nothing from your big-deal contact?”
Zang shrugged. She said, “We talk to my other big-deal contacts.”
Jaemon grimaced.
“What?” said Zang. “You got something better to do?”
“So many things,” Jaemon said. “Trouble is they’re all less important. Where do we go next?”
“Right around the ring,” said Zang.
Jaemon looked up.
“I hope that’s not an omen,” said Jaemon.
Zang looked at him quizzically.
He gestured, tracing the Ring overhead with a finger.
“Around in circles,” he said.
20.
Cheerfully Pyrite and Oleh Itzal were at Kestrel’s hatch, hands on their sidearms, when we got out of the car.
“How’d it go?” said Py, as brightly as her name suggested. “You’ve been out a long time.”
Jaemon groaned.
“That well?” said Py. She was a humanoid mech. Her design was similar to mine, but from a different fab. She was a little shorter, thicker, and rounder. Her carapace was white gold with dark blue trim. Her head was vaguely helmet-shaped.
“Did you learn anything?” said Oleh Itzal.
“Not really,” said Jaemon. “Had some good barbecue. Now I could use a nap.”
Oleh was a slim human of middling height. He was native to another time, a crewman on a failed starship who had been delivered to our world by the strange rules of relativity. He had lately discovered the cosmetic possibilities presented by the Fabric and had gone a little overboard. His skin was a deep mauve color and his eyes were bright orange and catlike. He had replaced his hair with a deep blue crest of feathers. He looked like the fever-dream offspring of a cat and a parrot.
“Interesting look,” said Zang.
Oleh looked embarrassed.
“It doesn’t really work, does it?” he said.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” said Zang.
“Nah, you’re right,” Oleh said. “I should stick with something normal. I just can’t seem to leave it alone.”
“What does Angela say about it?” said Jaemon.
Oleh shook his head and smiled.
“She just eggs me on,” he said.
“Well, don’t worry too much about it,” said Jaemon. “As long as you can stand your watch, you’re good.”
“I feel kind of silly, though,” Oleh said.
Jaemon broke into a grin. “Okay if I laugh, then?”
Oleh cracked a smile and they laughed together.
After we got to the lift Jaemon floated for a moment with eyes closed, then sighed and said, “Captain’s mess.”
“Right away,” said Kestrel, sliding the lift gate closed.
The Captain was already there waiting for us, idly pushing a floating bulb of coffee back and forth between his hands.
“You look beat,” he said as Jaemon led us in to his table.
“Thanks,” said Jaemon. “You look great, too.”
The Captain half-smiled.
“What did you learn?” he said.
“Not one damn thing,” said Jaemon. He pressed himself into a chair and then laid his head down on his crossed arms.
“Really?” said the Captain. “I figured somebody would have heard something. How are they going to sell the artifact if they don’t talk to anyone who wants to buy?”
“Maybe we haven’t given them enough time yet,” I said. “We could go out again tomorrow—”
“Augh!” Jaemon said into his arms. He sounded like I’d stuck him with a probe.
“About half the people we talked to will ping us if they hear anything,” said Zang.
“You sure?” said the Captain.
“Yeah.” She sighed. Both of my biological colleagues were exhausted. We had traipsed around the Ring for hours.
“This bugs me,” Zang said. “Some
body should have heard something. It doesn’t add up. They should have talked to somebody about selling already. Why steal something if you don’t already have a market for it? And why would they sit on it? The longer they have it, the more time we have to talk to informants, and the greater the risk we’ll catch them with it. Unless...”
She frowned, then shook her head.
“What?” said the Captain. Jaemon lifted his head and looked at her.
“Never mind,” she said. “It’s nothing.”
“Spill it,” said Jaemon.
Zang frowned at him uncertainly.
“All right,” she said. “But it’s nonsense. I was just thinking for a second, what if they don’t mean to sell it?”
Jaemon looked at her and waited. She shrugged and lifted her hands.
“That’s it,” she said. “I told you it was nonsense.”
Jaemon turned and frowned at the Captain.
“What if they don’t mean to sell it?” he said.
“Well,” said the Captain, “Then nobody’s going to hear anything about it, are they?”
Jaemon looked at Zang again.
Zang scowled at them both.
“If they don’t want to sell it, why did they take it?” she said.
“They work for an avid collector?” I said.
They all stared at me.
“That’s crazy,” Zang said finally.
“Compared to what?” said Jaemon.
“Come on,” said Zang. “Who’s crazy enough to hire a team of commandoes to murder a ship’s crew so he can collect an ancient artifact? That’s not an avid collector. That’s a nut job. Besides, when would they arrange it? Nobody knew we were going to be bringing an artifact to Solomon.”
She looked at the Captain. His gaze was on some invisible distance.
“Oh no,” said Zang. “No, no, no. Don’t say it. The Church of the Makers did not gun us down so they could take our ancient artifact and add it to their goddamn museum collection.”
The Captain looked at Zang.
“So,” he said, “You thought of that, too, did you?”
“Why don’t we ask them about it?” said Jaemon.
Zang turned and stared at him.
“Exactly what is that supposed to accomplish?” she said. “What do you think, the local Host commander is going to say, ‘Oh yes, Mister Rayleigh, we have commando teams specializing in commercial robbery?’”
“Not exactly,” said Jaemon. “I was more thinking that if we go around and ask enough awkward questions then eventually we might irritate someone enough to get them to make some kind of mistake.”
“You mean, poke enough nests and eventually maybe some hornets will fly out of one of them?” said Zang.
“Something like that,” said Jaemon. “We don’t really have any idea who was behind the robbery. All we have is a few coincidences. So we annoy people connected to those coincidences. Maybe we’ll shake something loose.”
“That’s your plan?” said Zang.
“You got a better one?” said Jaemon.
“Yeah,” said Zang. “My plan is to get some sleep and then think about it when we have some working brains.”
Jaemon blinked at her.
“Good plan,” he said.
“Take scans before you do,” said the Captain.
“Come on,” said Zang. “Really?”
“You want to have to spend another whole day going around the Ring?” said the Captain.
“We’re not going to get killed again,” Zang said.
“I love your optimism,” said the Captain, “But they’ve killed us once already, and they’re still running around loose.”
He pointed at Jaemon.
“His plan is to find a way to annoy them until they do something. If you were them, what would you do?”
“Come on,” said Jaemon, laying a hand on Zang’s shoulder. “We can sleep in the creches.”
Zang shook his hand off.
“Maybe you can,” she said. But she followed him.
21.
“How can I help?” said the smiling priest. He was a Martian, thick-bodied and ruddy. His name was Rodrigo Schulmann. He sat behind a massive wooden desk with ornate scrollwork, his thick hands folded together, fingers interlaced. On the third finger of his left hand was a gold ring that bore a complicated glyph. The Fabric said it was the sigil of a Church service organization called the Promise of Tithon.
Jaemon, Zang and I sat in chairs arranged in a line in front of the desk. Jaemon smiled back at the priest.
“What happened to Mother Inez?” said Zang.
“Mother Inez?” said Rodrigo Schulmann.
“She was the Community Relations officer here for ten years.”
“Yes, she was,” said Father Schulmann. “Closer to twelve years, actually. She was reassigned, I believe.”
“Reassigned,” said Zang. “Where to?”
“I’m not sure,” said Father Rodrigo.
Zang glanced at Jaemon.
“How many commandoes do you have here, Father?” said Jaemon.
“I can’t talk about deployments or personnel levels,” said the priest, smiling happily at Jaemon. “As a veteran yourself, I’m sure you understand.”
“Can you talk about them if Commander Erdos asks?” said Zang.
Schulmann turned his smile on her.
“No,” he said. “If she asks, then we’ll have a discussion about what kinds of operational information we are obligated to share with each other. But if she wanted to know, I doubt she would send you to ask for her.”
Zang scowled at him.
“Don’t be too sure,” said Jaemon. “We’ve been working together lately.”
“Oh?” said Father Rodrigo. “Solomon’s chief of security and the crew of a trader? I admire her attention to detail.”
“Have you met Erszbet Erdos, Father?” said Zang.
“I haven’t had the pleasure,” he said. “I’ve seen her in images and once or twice at public functions. We haven’t met. You bear her a strong resemblance. If I may ask, are you relatives?”
“You could say that,” said Zang.
“Do your commandoes conduct covert operations aboard Solomon, Father?” said Jaemon. He spoke conversationally, as if discussing sports scores, or the weather.
Father Rodrigo’s smile grew a little tighter.
“The Holy Church of the Makers and the Consortium for the Defense of Jove are longstanding allies. Operations of the Sacred Host aboard Consortium vessels are always undertaken with scrupulous attention to the letter and spirit of our agreements.”
Jaemon scratched his head.
“I’m not sure that’s really an answer,” he said.
Zang said, “Did you know there wasn’t always a Host office on Solomon?”
“Really,” said Father Schulmann. “Is your observation relevant to a question I can help you with?”
“Is the Host involved in collecting artifacts, Father?” said Jaemon.
“Artifacts?”
“You know,” said Jaemon, “Archaeological finds. Ancient relics. Really old stuff.”
Father Schulmann cocked his head at Jaemon.
“What a strange question,” he said.
“Does the Host collect them?” said Jaemon.
“We sometimes provide support to agencies in the Church who are tasked with historical research,” he said.
“Again, that doesn’t really answer my question,” said Jaemon.
“I imagine that members of the Sacred Host might sometimes be called upon to handle ancient artifacts in the normal course of their duties.”
“See, I was thinking,” said Zang. “If the Host didn’t always have an office on Solomon in the past, maybe it won’t always have one in the future.”
Father Schulmann’s smile disappeared. He frowned at Zang.
“What’s that?” he said.
“Your garrison on Solomon,” said Zang. “You might not always have it.”
Schulmann looked askance at her.
“What are you suggesting?” he said.
She lifted her hands.
“Exactly what I’m saying,” she said. “Things come and things go. One week you have a big honking garrison on Solomon, the next week nothing.”
“What in the world are you talking about?” said Father Schulmann.
“This installation,” said Zang. She gestured around her with both hands. “It’s a cooperative venture, you know? The Host got its offices on Consortium dreadnoughts by being helpful. I hope you still want to be helpful.”
“As helpful as I can, but...” He gave Zang a strange look. “You’re not trying to be threatening, are you?”
He smiled and gave her a look.
“Is the Host interested in Kenjiro Isono?” said Jaemon.
“What?” said Father Schulmann. His smile disappeared again. He stared at Jaemon.
“If someone found an archive or a relic of Isono, would the Host be interested?” said Jaemon.
“Well, of course,” said Father Schulmann. “But then so would any number of other historical institutions. If you have questions about ancient artifacts, perhaps you should take them up with Director Harken at the History Office.”
“So the Sacred Host is a historical institution?” said Jaemon.
“We have a command charged with the protection of antiquities,” said Father Schulmann. “What is all this about? I have to say, if you can’t make your interests plain, I’ll have to excuse myself. As much as I enjoy bandying words with you, I do have pressing duties.”
“Maybe we can lighten your load,” said Zang. “I bet you’d have less to do if you didn’t have a Solomon garrison to look after.”
“Spacer Zang,” said Father Schulmann, “I really wish you would stop that. You must know it isn’t credible. We’ve been aboard Solomon, and all the other dreadnoughts, for seventy standard years.”
“And before that you weren’t,” said Jaemon. “And you were invited aboard because of cooperative agreements. And if the Consortium decides the Host isn’t being cooperative anymore...”
“You, too, Mister Rayleigh?” Father Schulmann chuckled. “You can’t expect me to take any of this loose talk seriously.”
“How about I ask my father about that?” said Zang. “Arnim Erdos. You know, the Captain-General of Solomon?”
Schulmann’s expression went blank.