“I may have the wrong place,” the man said, “I was looking for Skywalker.”
Terry caught his breath in surprise. “You’ve found him,” he said unhesitatingly. He had used the name of his ship as a screenname, wondering if anyone on Ciencia would recognize its origin.
“I’m Elrond,” the visitor said. “Can we talk?”
“I’d like that,” Terry told him. “Come on in.” He offered him the room’s one chair and sat down on the bed himself, trying to contain his excitement. He was familiar with comments signed “Elrond”—a screenname taken from Fellowship of the Ring—in the secret files.
“You’re not careful enough,” Elrond said. “You should have known you could be traced if you always logged on from the same location.”
“I knew,” Terry said. “I just took a chance that someone would find me before the police did.”
“You want to get in deeper, then. You know what the penalty for hacking is?”
“Not really. But I haven’t got a lot to lose, you see. I’ve already lost the things that mattered to me—something happened that I can’t speak of. And I care about spreading new ideas around. It has to do with a promise I once made to some people I’ll never see again.”
“I’ll be frank,” said Elrond. “Getting in’s not just a matter of risk. We have to pay the source, the local captain, and sometimes the courier. We take up a collection.”
“I figured that someone was paying. How much do you want?”
“Three hundred?”
It was a week’s salary. “Okay,” Terry said. “How do I transfer it?”
“From your phone to an anonymous chip. On your account it will show as a personal gambling debt.”
That was appropriate, Terry thought, inserting the blank chip handed to him into his smartphone and moving the funds. He was certainly gambling on this stranger’s integrity—the man might not be paying the source at all; he could be collecting a protection fee. His telepathic sensitivity told him otherwise.
“You’re too trusting,” Elrond informed him.
Terry decided to take the plunge. “It’s not blind trust,” he said. “There are ways of knowing not yet widely disseminated. And the source has a lot more to offer than what’s on the Net so far.”
Elrond stared at him. “You represent the source?”
“No. As a matter of fact I’m trying to get in touch with the source. But I know a good deal about other worlds.”
With obvious dismay Elrond burst out, “How do you know more than the rest of us? What assurance do I have that you’re not a government agent?”
“Trust goes two ways, Elrond.”
After a pause the man said, “I wasn’t expecting this. I assumed I was looking for a typical newbie. But I can tell you’re something else, something we haven’t encountered before.”
“If I could reach the source,” Terry said, “I could select a lot of important material very fast. I don’t know how much we’d have to pay for it, but there’d be no courier’s fee.”
“You’d be willing to act as courier? Do you know what you’re saying? It’s illegal to deal with offworlders even through a go-between—it would mean a prison sentence, not just a fine, if you were caught.”
“I suppose it would, so I’d avoid getting caught.”
“We’re short a courier,” Elrond admitted. “You couldn’t reach the source; our people only meet the incoming ships. The captains run little risk beyond what they’ve already taken by carrying cargo, and they have to accommodate us because we’re in a position to expose them. But as for selecting material, if you know keywords you could hand over a list for the next trip when you make the pickup.”
And he could hand over a message for Arthur Bramfield along with it. He hadn’t dared to hope it would be so simple.
“Okay,” he said. “When?”
“We never know exactly; it depends on how long they spend at the source. There’ll be several people on call, in case the one first in line is at work or unreachable when the signal comes in. You’ll be a backup to begin with, and you’ll have only an hour’s notice. We’ll have a groundcar ready for you to use.”
Terry frowned. There was something odd here; what did it matter how long the shuttle spent aboard the starship? It would be there continuously except when sent to the surface, which would have to be scheduled so that the cargo would be available when it arrived. And how could that be in the daytime when people were at work, the time when it its descent and liftoff were most likely to be observed? “Maybe I should check the place out beforehand so I won’t have trouble finding my way,” he said.
“You’ve never driven to the spaceport? I suppose you’re not a space buff like most of us—of course there’s no reason you should be, though you mentioned other worlds—
“I’ve always gone there on the bus,” he said quickly, not mentioning that he hadn’t driven a groundcar since high school. The public spaceport in the middle of the day, in full view? “How will I recognize the ship?”
“Just by its name. It will be an ordinary mining ship, one of the small ones; we don’t know which until its landing request to the spaceport is detected. A lot of the freelance captains deal with the source.”
An ordinary mining ship! It had never occurred to him; all the starships he had piloted used shuttles, so he hadn’t stopped to think that smugglers might rendezvous with local ships instead. No wonder the Elders had made it impossible for him to fly with the asteroid miners.
~ 52 ~
He prepared his message to Arthur Bramfield after long thought, taking care to make sure that it couldn’t be viewed as a hoax; nothing was more likely than a smuggler trying to extort money from a wealthy man by presenting a fake note that promised payment for its delivery. There was also the problem of its form. An ordinary voice message would not do, since his voice had been changed, and he could not include a picture or even a DNA sample. He would have to rely on a written message mentioning facts only he could know. But he dared not refer to anyone by name, in case it should fall into the wrong hands.
“Dear Arthur,” Terry wrote. “This message will come as a shock to you, as I’ve had no means of sending it before now. The bracelet in which I’m placing it may remind you of the inlaid one I sent you from the moon as a hospitality gift. The captain who carries it may have had considerable difficulty in reaching you and I have promised him generous payment.
“As I expect you know, I left the home of our aged friend on the morning after my formal commitment to the goal we share. I had become aware of the presence of a ship that might interfere with her plans. I encountered that ship and was captured by its crew, but found that it was not sent by anyone connected with the pirates who held me before. It posed no threat to us. Its crew had strong reasons for secrecy, however, and in order to silence me I was taken to the colony world Ciencia, which has no accessible ansible and allows no starships to approach. I have no way to escape unless you can persuade its government to turn me over to you, as, given your connections, I pray may be possible. I go by the name Terry Rivera; tell them to arrest me if I’m not already in their hands. My deepest love to you and to my wife, who I expect still visits you from New Tahiti.”
He knew enough of Ciencia’s government by this time to believe it was likely that if a powerful billionaire offered them enough money, they would comply. In any case, he could think of no other way to reach a starship if Arthur sent one.
He bought a data bracelet unique enough not to be accidentally mixed up with some other, yet not valuable enough to tempt a thief. After transferring the text message to it from his tablet, he wore it day and night. When the weekend came he rented a groundcar to refresh his long-unused driving skills and make sure he knew the quickest route to the spaceport; there was no telling how soon he would hear from Elrond, and he wanted to be ready. As time passed the suspense mounted until he found it hard to sleep. He continued to comment on hidden texts, but now he did it from various locations s
uch as restaurants and the library rather than from his room. He no longer had a reason to let his wireless transmissions be traced, and it would be disastrous to be arrested before the bracelet had been dispatched. As for the possibility of later arrest, it didn’t worry him. If the message got through and Arthur was able to ransom him, he would have to be picked up anyway—and if it didn’t, to be behind actual bars wouldn’t be much worse than to be permanently barred from going home.
He was getting ready for bed on the night he was finally called. Grabbing his phone, he stood half undressed while he absorbed the instructions: the location of the car he was to use, the names of the ship and captain, the address to which the delivery was to be made. On the way to the spaceport he breathed a sigh of relief. His worst fear had not been realized—he had been haunted by the thought that it might be Renssalaer, unlikely though it was that a captain who was dealing with smugglers would have considered hiring a copilot he didn’t know. To encounter Renssalaer would mean arrest for sure and the end of his hope for rescue.
There were just a few lights around the perimeter of the spaceport and the ships on the ground were illuminated only by their frosting of new snow. But as he watched, the ring of landing beacons around one of the empty pads blazed into life, and the brilliant star that was the incoming ship grew and grew until the whole area was brightened. So many times, on so many worlds, he had seen this, Terry thought, and the ache in his heart became a stabbing pain he was not sure he could bear. For many weeks he had been numb, but that had been wearing off lately and now he was struck anew by the agony of his exile. Never to fly again would be past enduring. . . .
He jerked himself back to the present moment. His job was to meet with the captain who had just landed, accept a data chip, spot-check the content for authenticity, and then send a prearranged signal indicating that money was to be paid into the captain’s account. There was no danger that a captain might force him to do so without delivering in order to avoid paying the source, as Elrond was in a position to expose anyone who tried. The smugglers’ main concern, he supposed, was making payment to their cargo suppliers without inadvertently paying a government spy. They were therefore wary of being approached by strangers, who might be undercover agents watching for dealers. Terry had been provided with the necessary passwords, but he knew that if he made a wrong move he would be turned over to the police.
Contacts were made in the bar of the spaceport hotel, a rather sleazy establishment, as he knew from having spent his first two nights on Ciencia there. Aware that he must look like an asteroid miner, he had dressed appropriately; it was important to mingle with the patrons without calling attention to himself. Elrond had given him a shirt that would be recognized by the captain. Once he identified himself he would be told the man’s room number and expected to make his way there for the actual transaction; it would be unsafe to conduct it in public. With dismay, Terry realized that smuggling transactions were not the only reason a man might be invited to another man’s room in the middle of the night and that to avoid suspicion he should let observers misinterpret his purpose. He wondered if the courier for whom he was backup had been a woman.
The miners drifted noisily in from the field, eager for food and drinks before heading to their own rooms. The captain, of course, would be last, after securing his ship; probably he would contrive to come alone. Captain Darrow, Terry had been told—he was a big, gruff man and would be wearing a dark blue flight jacket and black skullcap. Terry sat at a small table from which he could see the door and waited.
When Darrow appeared he rose and approached him openly. “Captain Darrow of Bonanza?” he said. “I’ve heard you’re hiring crew.” If only it were true, he thought sadly—but then, no hold he might gain over the captain would compensate for the nature of the alleged charge against him.
“I’m not,” said Darrow, “unless you’ve shipped with someone I know.”
“I may have,” Terry replied. “Do you know Ernie Dryweather?” It was a fictitious, pre-arranged code name.
“Come along to my room after I’ve had a drink, and I’ll look him up in my log,” the captain said. And then in a low voice, “Room 137.”
“I’ll buy you that drink,” Terry said. This was improvisation; it seemed to him that the less furtive he was about it, the less noticeable he would be to observers. And if they went to the room together, their avoidance of companions would be more likely to be misinterpreted.
“You’re too cool for an amateur,” Darrow said when, after conversation over drinks about asteroid mining, they were behind closed doors. “Perhaps pickups are a sideline—do you by any chance deal in cargo?”
“No,” Terry said, wondering what he had gotten into. “Are you looking for someone who does?”
“Maybe. If you ever have any to offer, let me know.”
“The only thing I can offer beyond the agreed payment,” Terry declared, “is the chance to do an errand for me. It’s nothing to do with cargo, and there’s no money up front except what I’ll give you here and now to split with the starship captain. I want a personal message delivered on Earth.”
Darrow’s eyes narrowed. “What contact could a man who doesn’t deal in cargo have on Earth? Even if you did have one, you’d be subject to arrest for pursuing it.”
“I’m subject to arrest for making this pickup,” Terry said. As an afterthought he added meaningfully, “Just as you would be, if it were to become known that you’re in the cargo business.”
“Okay. You’ve made your point, and I’ll ask no questions. What’s the message?”
“This bracelet,” said Terry, handing it over along with a preloaded credit chip that Darrow plugged into his phone. “It’s to be delivered to Arthur Bramfield, who as you may or may not know, is one of Earth’s best-known billionaires. He’ll be pleased to get it, and who ever hands it to him will be compensated accordingly.”
“What proof do you need that I’ve followed through?”
“Bramfield will provide the proof—I think I can assume that the prospect of a reward from him will motivate you. I’d advise you not to mention his name until the starship captain promises you a share.”
They proceeded with the delivery of the expected data chip, which Terry inserted into his own phone and read parts of; it appeared to contain a number of ancient texts with which he was familiar, including portions of The Power of Myth by Joseph Campbell, an article about yoga, and a chapter of the Christian Bible.
He then transmitted the arranged signal to the server that had been surreptitiously programmed to transfer funds. They were not stolen funds, he’d been assured. The hacking was necessary only to protect the identities of the parties involved. The transfer having been verified, he handed over his list of requested files for the next delivery and left the room without attempt at concealment, heading for his groundcar with a sigh of relief.
As he made his way across the deserted parking lot, however, he became aware that a woman had followed him out of the hotel. Her tight, skimpy clothes and heavy makeup left little doubt as to why she was pursuing him, unless—oh, God. Could she be an undercover agent? Had he somehow attracted the wrong sort of attention after all? He remembered now that he’d seen her in the bar.
She approached him, smiling provocatively. “Looking for company?” she asked.
“No,” he replied shortly, opening the car door. Something about her convinced him that this wasn’t her normal persona, and there was only one other thing she could be. To assault an agent would lead to worse trouble than to submit to arrest, but could he lose the data chip somehow before he was searched? He was glad he’d taken the precaution of removing it from his phone and carrying it in the pocket of his flight jacket.
The woman went around the car and unhesitatingly climbed into the passenger seat.
Terry did the only thing he could think of. He reached into the pocket and palmed the data chip, with his other hand punching the wrong code into the car’s ignition so as t
o trigger a starter alarm. He then opened the door, thereby shutting the alarm off, and as he did so he dropped the chip onto the pavement. “Sorry,” he said, “but you need to get out.”
“You’re sure don’t want to come to my room?”
“In the local lockup? I think not, at any rate not voluntarily. If you’re planning on forcing the issue you may as well show me your badge; I assume you’ve got a gun to go with it.”
She said quietly, “You’re cautious, I see. We didn’t need to worry about the chip being well protected.”
“Chip? Don’t waste your time hunting—you won’t find one on me, or in the car either.”
“Oh my God, Skywalker! You mean you didn’t get it after all? Did Darrow try to con us?”
He stared at her, perceiving that her dismay was genuine. She was not a government agent—she knew his screenname and was, strangely enough, on his side. “I ditched it,” he said sheepishly, “because I could tell you weren’t what you seemed to be. What are you, anyway?”
“I came from Rivendell. Did you think we wouldn’t check up on a new courier?”
“You mean I wasn’t trusted?”
“We didn’t know anything about your background. And we couldn’t be sure you were competent. Meaning well isn’t enough.”
“Did I pass muster?” he asked, trying not to be angry.
“Admirably. I can tell you’ve had experience.”
“Not this kind. But I’ve—been around.” It was too bad, he thought, that he couldn’t mention his experience with pirates, which might attest to his ability to handle a crisis. “I don’t know anything about your background either,” he pointed out. “For all I know, you could have heard about Rivendell and be hoping I’ll lead you there.”
The Rising Flame: Box Set: Defender of the Flame + Herald of the Flame Page 32