by G J Ogden
“That’s great, but it sounds like what you’re really saying is that you don’t know what the hell it is,” said Hudson. He wanted a concrete answer out of the dealer, one way or another.
“No, I don’t know what it is, not with any certainty, at least,” the dealer admitted. He appeared to be both embarrassed and annoyed with Hudson for pointing that out. “But I believe that it may be some form of transceiver,” the dealer went on. “Or at least a core component of a device that the alien vessels may have used to communicate with one another. Perhaps even through the very portals themselves, as it appears to share a similar signature.”
“That’s some hypothesis,” said Hudson. He was genuinely intrigued as to the crystal’s function, but he was also keen to learn whether it was actually valuable. “But is that worth anything?”
The dealer looked at Hudson as if he’d asked, ‘is fire hot?’. He ran his hand over his smooth head and smiled, “My dear sir, we may be talking about the ability to communicate almost instantaneously with all the portal worlds. No relays, no time delays. This could perhaps be the key to live, real-time communications with people dozens of light years away, as if they were no more distant than you are from me right now. It may even be able to control the portals in some way.” The relic dealer wiped his hand over his mouth, as if someone had just put a juicy steak in front of him. “I would dearly love to study this some more.”
Hudson raised his eyebrows and blew out a low whistle. “So, it’s pretty valuable then?”
The man smiled politely. “Somewhat, yes.” Then he powered down the equipment and removed the crystal from its clamp, placing it delicately on the counter. Hudson observed that the dealer had placed the crystal closer to himself than to Hudson. “However, it also appears to be damaged, or at least incomplete.”
Hudson frowned. The fact that the dealer had kept the crystal close to him told Hudson that he was definitely interested in it. This meant that the suggestion it was damaged could simply be a bargaining tactic. Hudson was no stranger to bartering, having been forced to barter for fuel, spare parts, landing permits and more during his many years flying around the galaxy.
“Looks fine to me,” said Hudson, refusing to fall into the dealer’s trap. “Besides, you’ve never seen one before, so how can you know it’s damaged?”
The dealer pointed to a section at the top of the crystal and then highlighted a scan of the area on his screen. “There…” he said, pointing his carefully manicured finger at the screen. “You can see a lip around this area and a small indentation. It appears to me that there is a piece missing.” Then he shrugged his shoulders and did his best to appear disinterested, “Which of course affects its value…”
Hudson smiled, recognizing the tactic well, but the bald dealer’s poker face was worse than his own. “Even if that’s true, this is still the only example in the entire universe. So, I’d say it doesn’t affect its value at all.” Then Hudson hit back with some barterer’s logic of his own. “If there was only one Monet left in existence, would you turn it down because of a little tear in the canvas?”
“Personally, I would,” replied the dealer, snootily. “I detest Monet.” Hudson rolled his eyes. “But… I do enjoy alien relics, even damaged ones,” the dealer was quick to add. “So, I am prepared to personally offer you four hundred.”
Hudson actually laughed out loud; the offer was worse than a slap in the face. “Four hundred? I just gave you five!”
The dealer smiled, “Four hundred thousand…”
Hudson’s eyes almost popped out of this head. Four hundred thousand would set him up with a new life, or even buy him his own ship. He was sorely tempted, but the dealer had offered too much, too quickly, which told Hudson that the likely value of the crystal was far higher. If he could confirm the dealer’s hypothesis then he realized it could be worth significantly more.
And he also found himself thinking about the dealer’s suggestion that the crystal was perhaps incomplete. What if I could find the missing part? Hudson thought to himself. What if I could unlock its secrets? He realized that he found the prospect of discovering more crystals and secrets far more exciting than the money. Money would buy him things, but he didn’t care for things. What he truly needed was a calling. He felt a tingle run down his spine at the thought of adventuring throughout the galaxy. Finding the missing part of the crystal would mean Hudson hunting for it himself inside the alien wrecks. It would mean he’d have to become a relic hunter. The only problem was that he didn’t have a ship, and the only way to get one was to sell the relic.
Hudson sighed and then reached over the counter. He grabbed the crystal and placed it back into the compartment inside his jacket. The dealer’s face fell as he did so, as if he were a kid and Hudson had just taken away his favorite toy.
“I’ll think about it,” said Hudson, tapping his breast pocket. “Thanks for the information.”
“You are declining my offer?” the dealer replied, his polite smile suddenly vanishing.
Hudson could sense that the dealer’s demeanor had shifted. He realized that he’d misjudged the bald man’s sudden change of mood. He wasn’t saddened that Hudson had taken back the relic, he was outraged. It was like a cat suddenly switching from being friendly and playful to lashing out with a frustrated claw.
“I said I’d think about it,” replied Hudson. He appeared calm on the outside, but inside he was mentally steeling himself in case the dealer decided to pounce.
“Very well. Then I will just buzz you out,” the dealer continued, reaching down beneath the counter top.
Hudson followed his hand down, watching as it slid underneath the right-hand side of the counter top. This was the opposite side to where he had activated the button that locked the door initially. Whatever the dealer was doing, he wasn’t letting Hudson leave.
The dealer then sprang a weapon from under the counter top, but Hudson was ready. Before the bald man was able to aim the barrel in Hudson’s direction, he’d already caught his wrist and stripped the weapon from his grasp. The dealer’s mouth fell open with a sudden, shock realization that his plan had been foiled. However, his gaping jaw was quickly shut again as Hudson clocked him on the chin with a hard left cross. The dealer went crashing backwards into a metal shelving rack, before crumpling into a heap on the floor. An assortment of oddities tumbled on top of him.
Hudson recovered the weapon that the dealer had pulled on him and examined it. It was a shock pistol; non-lethal, but it packed enough charge to have put him down. After that, who knew what the black-market dealer had in mind. Hudson shuddered, knowing that he’d again come close to a grisly demise.
Hudson reached over the counter and pressed the correct button. The door unlocked and the tint was removed from the window. “On second thoughts, I’ve decided to decline your gracious offer,” said Hudson, as the dealer pulled himself back up, covered in glass and broken curiosities. Then Hudson grabbed the five hundred hardbucks he’d handed over earlier from the metal tray. He wasn’t a thief, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let the vulturous dealer keep his money. “This is for trying to rip me off,” said Hudson, waving the money at him. “You’re lucky it’s all I’m taking.”
“I conducted your assessment!” the dealer protested, “That money is mine!”
Hudson smiled and then flipped the safety off the taser pistol. “No, this is yours…” he replied, tapping the frame of the pistol with his free hand. “And you’re going to get it.” Then he aimed at the dealer’s chest and pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER 30
The barman quietly sidled up in front of Hudson, who was sitting on a stool at the bar. It was a different watering hole to the one he’d visited before heading to the Antiques and Curiosity Shoppe. However, it shared the same neon-lit exterior and slightly sticky floor.
“Give me something wet and strong,” said Hudson, catching the barman’s eye. “And leave the bottle.”
The barman’s eyebrows raised u
p, before he fetched a bottle of bourbon and a single tumbler. “I think I’m going to need to add to my next wholesale order of liquor…” he said, placing the items down on the solid oak counter top.
Hudson smiled, “What can I say, I’m a barman’s best friend.”
The barman filled the tumbler and left the bottle, which had barely returned to the counter top before Hudson had necked the shot.
“You look like you have a few stories to tell,” the barman said, while topping up the glass.
Hudson looked at the timid contents of the chunky tumbler. He yearned for a few shots of Ma’s volcanic whiskey instead. “I don’t suppose you have anything stronger?” he asked, glancing hopefully at the barman.
The barman raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, I do, though I mainly only use it for de-greasing the grills.”
“Sounds perfect,” said Hudson, before necking the second shot.
The barman’s other eyebrow lifted, “Okay, son, it’s your funeral,” he said, and then disappeared below the counter. There was the sound of glass bottles chinking together, mixed with a few curt profanities as the barman struggled to reach whatever he was looking for. Then he finally re-emerged and blew a layer of dust off a dark-colored, square bottle. He fetched two clean glasses and poured a couple of generous measures.
“Let me guess,” the barman said, picking up his glass. “You’re just back from the portal worlds. Relic hunter, right?”
Hudson sighed, before picking up his glass and downing the contents. It was like liquid fire, though still not a patch on Ma’s insane elixir. He placed the glass down and thought about how to answer the question, “Yeah, something like that.”
The barman frowned and then downed his shot, though unlike Hudson, he spent the next few seconds thumping his chest and wheezing. Hudson smiled, “It’s good stuff, right?”
“Only if you like killing brain cells,” replied the barman. He then slid the bottle towards Hudson as if it were a deadly poison he wanted out of his reach. “Help yourself, there’s no-one else in here crazy enough to drink it.”
There was a call from the other side of the room, and the barman waved a response. He then grabbed a credit scanner and dropped it in front of Hudson. Hudson frowned at the scanner, knowing he didn’t have a credit to his name. Instead, he pulled out the stack of five hundred hardbucks he’d reclaimed from the dishonest dealer. He separated out a few of the notes and placed them on the counter.
The barman picked them up and looked at them like they were alien artifacts, “Well shit, I don’t see these much anymore. I might struggle to find you any change.”
“Hudson tapped the square bottle on the counter, “Don’t worry, we’ll call it even.”
“Hardbucks and hard liquor, huh?” replied the barman, shoving the notes into his breast pocket. “It must be some kind of crazy-ass life out on those portal worlds. When do you head back out?”
Hudson poured himself another drink from the dark bottle. Despite everything, he really did want to get back ‘out there’. Perhaps the whiskey had nulled his sense of danger, but he wasn’t afraid. Even the close-shave with the dealer, or the knowledge that Griff and Cutler were still gunning for him didn’t deter him. The thought of heading out to a distant portal world and seeking adventure inside an alien wreck was no less intoxicating than the liquor in his glass. He’d joined the RGF because he believed it was what his father had wanted. Since then, he’d had plenty of time to ponder his choices. He now knew that he’d confused his father’s message. ‘It doesn’t matter what it is, just make sure it matters to you, okay?’ his father had said. Make sure it matters to me…
“Well, I kind of have a transportation problem at the moment,” said Hudson, finally answering the barman’s question.
“What sort of problem is that?”
Hudson grinned and then necked the shot, “I don’t have any transportation.”
The barman laughed, before grabbing an epaper, and sliding it next to the anonymous bottle of liquor. “You’re in luck, there’s a shipyard out by Hunter’s Point with a sale on.” Then he tapped a finger on the epaper to activate it. “You can read the details in here.”
“Thanks,” said Hudson, drawing the epaper closer. He swiped through the pages until he found the advert the barman had mentioned.
“Owner is a damn crook, of course,” the barman went on, “A guy called Swinsler, if you can believe that. Swinsler!” There was another impatient shout from the other side of the bar, and the barman yelled back, before turning again to Hudson. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to your de-greaser. And if you do make it back out there, good hunting.”
Hudson poured another shot and raised the glass, “Good hunting,” he repeated with gusto, before downing it. The effects of the potent beverage were beginning to take their toll, and he was starting to lose feeling in his toes.
The barman left and Hudson found himself alone with a half-empty bottle. For lack of anything else to do, he read the ship sale advert in the epaper again. It irked him that he had no hope of affording anything without selling the crystal. However, selling it would deny Hudson his chance of discovering its mysteries. Maybe it was because of Ericka, or maybe it was for some other reason he couldn’t yet comprehend, but uncovering the crystal’s secrets actually mattered to him.
He flipped idly through the other pages of the epaper until he found a departure board for Ride Spaceport. He scanned through the list of ships’ names and captains, wishing that his name could have been among them. Then one entry caught his attention. It read, ‘Ship Registry: Hawk-1333F | Captain: C. Wendell | Departed: 22:54 | Destination: Unspecified.’
“I hope you crash and burn, you bastard,” Hudson said out loud. Then he remembered that Tory was most likely also on-board and mentally retracted his wish. He knew he shouldn’t do, but he really liked her. Perhaps that’s just the whiskey talking again… he mused.
Hudson took the bottle and the epaper to a table and slumped down on the comfier, padded seats. He removed his leather jacket and dumped it on the seat to his side. The jacket flopped open, revealing the inner compartment and the tip of the strange alien crystal, and he cursed himself for being so careless. He tucked the crystal back inside, but then noticed that another, much smaller object was also peeking out. Hudson reached in and removed it.
“I’ll be damned,” said Hudson, turning the object over between his fingers. It was a high-grade alien CPU shard; one of the relics that he’d smuggled off Brahms Three. Hudson guessed that he must have missed sending it to auction along with the others because of its size. Based on the prices the other shards had fetched he reckoned that the little high-grade processor was worth a good amount. Maybe even enough for a small ship. It wouldn’t be anything fancy, even compared to the stripped down RGF Patrol Crafts, but it would be a start.
Technically the profits from selling the CPU shard belonged to Ericka’s brother, Kelvin. However, Hudson was content that he’d settled Ericka’s debt in full. Kelvin and his family were going to be just fine, but what about Hudson Powell? Didn’t he deserve another chance?
He slipped the shard back into the compartment, pulled the jacket back on and wandered outside the bar. It was close to midnight and the sky was clear and pitch black, save for the bright pinpricks of light piercing the veil of nothingness. He wandered along the road, head swimming. This was partly because of the liquor, but mainly because of the choice he’d just made. He stopped near a junction, before the road descended towards Hunter’s Point. A ship had just launched from the RGF base and was quickly soaring out of sight. Reaching inside his jacket, Hudson removed the little CPU shard again and looked at it.
“Do something that matters to me…” Hudson said, soaking in the chilly sea breeze. He then carefully placed the shard back inside his jacket and fastened it up to block out the cold. “Hudson Powell, relic hunter…” he spoke into the night air, testing to see how it sounded. It sounded pretty damn good.
Hudson turned away from Hunte
r’s Point and began to stroll down the middle of the deserted street towards Mission District. He had no destination in mind, but hoped to stumble past a hotel or guest house along the way. If nothing else the walk would give him time to sober up, because tomorrow he would need a clear head. Tomorrow, he would sell the alien CPU shard. Tomorrow, he would head back to Hunter’s Point to buy his own ship. And tomorrow, he would finally do something with his life that he actually gave a shit about. Tomorrow was the day that Hudson Powell would become a relic hunter.
The end.
EPILOGUE
The pulse of Shaak radiation emanated out from the Antiques and Curiosity Shoppe, and began probing through space. Drawing energy from the power lines and sub-stations spread across San Francisco, the intensity of the pulse grew exponentially. And then it was abruptly shut off.
Deep in space above Earth, a portal began to resonate in unison with the crystal’s alien rhythm, before passing its beat to another. Soon, every portal that humankind had ever found sang in harmony with the crystal’s song. As did all of the portals that had remained undiscovered.
Within a matter of hours, the pulse had travelled throughout the galaxy, passing through portals like neurons transmitting impulses through synapses in the brain. Eventually the signal had permeated deep enough into the galactic core to reach a vessel that had lain dormant for eons. Greater even than the titanic hulks that lay broken across dozens of sterile worlds, this goliath vessel was not a ruin. And its task was not yet done.
The pulse seeped into the vessel’s circuits, like rain water filling cracks in the desert. Gradually the great ship was restored. After countless millennia, it finally knew where it was. More importantly, the great ship also knew where it must go.
At last it would fulfil its function. At last it would purge the corporeal species that had infected system 5118208. The rage that had been trapped within its cavernous shell for thousands of years could finally be unleashed. It once again had a purpose.