“Why are you here, Tika?” Richard said. “I’ve got plans for my cot tonight, and they don’t include you.”
Richard was so tired he doubted even a soggy pillow would keep him from falling asleep.
“Sheeta,” growled Tika. “Spirit-horse. Ride. More practice.”
Jerad raised his eyes quizzically at Richard.
Richard told him what Tika had said. Then he gave Jerad a brief description of his experience with Tika’s so called spirit-horse.
“A horse that can travel through dimensions?” said Jerad. “It could come in handy sometime, buddy.”
“I guess,” Richard said noncommittally. “But if you saw it, you might think otherwise. It makes Tika here look like a friendly lapdog in comparison.”
Tika growled. Richard had always suspected the dolgars understood a lot more Empire-standard than he understood dolgar language. Nickelo had told him the dolgars probably just sensed his emotions more than his actual words. But Richard wasn’t so sure. Tika certainly seemed to understand him.
Also, Richard often had the impression the dolgars interacted with him as if they’d been around him for a very long time. But of course, that couldn’t be the case because he’d only met them last year.
No, he corrected himself. They’ve been with me on three missions for ‘the One’. That adds a few months, but it’s not enough to account for the dolgars’ actions.
Richard looked at the reclining dolgar. “I can’t do anything now, Tika,” Richard said. “Tell Sheeta practice will just have to wait. I’m too tired right now.”
“You tell,” said Tika. “I go.”
Without waiting for a reply, the dolgar shimmered and dropped through the cot and disappeared into the ground below.
“Interesting friends you have,” said Jerad.
Richard nodded and smiled. “I assume you’re talking about Telsa and Tam.”
Jerad laughed. So did Richard.
“You’ve come a long way in three years, Rick,” said Jerad. “A very long way.”
Reaching out with his left hand, Richard clicked off the lights. He stretched out on his cot and fell fast asleep; soggy pillow notwithstanding.
Chapter 25 – Dren
_____________________________________
The music slowly built in volume until Dren could ignore it no longer.
“Okay. Okay,” Dren said. “I’m awake all ready.”
Even at the grand old age of thirteen Earth standard years, Dren still hated leaving her warm bed until the very last minute. Being a responsible adult wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Dren wished once again she was just a normal teenager.
Dren allowed a few moments to let her heart ache for her parents. But she was too mature to linger on the thought for long. They were dead; murdered; and there wasn’t anything she could do to change it. Dren pushed their memory to the side, at least for the present. She had a busy day ahead.
Her computerized personal assistant, or C-PAST as it was called, lowered the music volume until it became a more pleasant background sound.
A feminine voice said, “You have a meeting at 0900 hours this morning with Keka and Draken.”
Keka was her adopted father. Draken was his longtime assistant. Keka had insisted on Draken’s assignment as part of their scientific team last year.
“Thanks, Kathy,” Dren said as she threw back the cover and jumped out of bed.
While Kathy was not her C-PAST’s official name, Dren thought names were much easier to use than impersonal serial numbers.
Dren touched a button at the head of the bed. The bed disappeared into the wall. It would appear all neat and tidy when she needed it next.
“Is Brachia out of bed yet?” Dren asked.
Brachia was Dren’s kid brother. He had the intelligence and memories of a super genus. However, Brachia still had a habit of acting like his seven years of age more than the prodigy he was.
“Your brother stayed locked in his lab all night,” said Kathy. “He left strict orders he wasn’t to be disturbed. Your brother even locked out his C-PAST. It’s all very hush-hush if you ask me.”
“Oh, he did, did he?” Dren said. She gave a mischievous smile as she began thinking of various ways to circumvent her brother’s security. “We’ll have to see about that, won’t we?”
Dren rushed through her shower and morning routine. However, after picking out her nicest lab-technician uniform, she spent an extra ten minutes brushing her hair until it was just right.
“You look very nice this morning,” said Kathy. “I’m sure James’ heart will skip several beats when he sees you.”
“Oh, poo on James Dawson,” Dren said. “He means nothing to me.”
James Dawson was the sixteen year old son of the head of maintenance in section seven. On a planet with few humans, James was a handsome and witty lad. Dren thought he would be handsome and witty even if the planet Storage had been populated entirely by humans instead of the hodgepodge of races it currently housed.
Storage was a well-guarded secret. The planet was deep in the Tresoris sector. To the best of Dren’s knowledge, no living creature knew its exact location. All residents who weren’t born on the planet were put in hyper-sleep during spaceflight to the planet. With only a few exceptions, personnel leaving Storage were given a selective mind-wipe before departing. In the entire eleven hundred year history of Storage, no living creature had ever betrayed its secret.
Dren went to the kitchen and grabbed a metal container from one of the cabinets. She didn’t bother reading the label. She needed fuel for the day. Dren cared little for what it was as long as it sustained her. Her mind was already deep into the teleporter sequences she’d been working on the previous day.
As Dren unscrewed the container’s top, she felt the familiar warmth of the can heating up. By the time she made the last twist and lifted off the lid, the food inside was hot. The aroma hit Dren, and her mouth started salivating. She was hungrier than she though. Dren tried to remember if she’d bothered eating yesterday. She wasn’t sure.
“Yuk,” said Kathy. “Chicken soup for breakfast? When are you going to start eating healthy? I went to all the trouble to create a dietary plan for you, and you won’t even–”
“Tomorrow,” Dren said attempting to cut her C-PAST off. “I’ll start eating healthy tomorrow.”
With those words, Dren headed out the door of her apartment drinking the soup straight out of the can. She had things to do.
* * *
The tube-train shot through their hyper-rings at supersonic speed. Each ring was fifty meters off the ground and two hundred meters apart. As Dren’s car passed through each ring, the magnetic charge propelled the car forward at a high velocity. Fortunately, the potential bumps and gyrations from such a propulsion system were counterbalanced by an elaborate system of shock absorbers. By riding the tube-train from the city to her assigned warehouse, Dren could make the four hundred kilometer journey in thirty minutes flat.
Dren didn’t notice the scenery as it flashed by her car’s window. She’d seen it hundreds of times over the past year. Ever since her adoptive father, Keka, her brother, Brachia, and she had been assigned to Storage last year, Dren had made the trek almost daily.
When Dren first arrived on Storage, she’d been amazed at the efficient blending of manufacturing facilities and agricultural systems. Everything on Storage was designed for one purpose, to support the 6,321 warehouse facilities spread across the planet. And, every adult resident of Storage had a purpose designed to directly support the operations of those warehouses. Whether maintaining equipment in a warehouse or growing the crops needed to feed the population, everyone had a purpose. As far as Dren could tell, everyone was happy with their position in the planetary hierarchy.
Anyone who wasn’t was given a selective mind-wipe and shipped off planet. But Dren didn’t think there were many who were forced out. She knew Brachia and her were certainly happy on Storage. They had exciting and importan
t work to do. They had a purpose.
Dren reached into her backpack and pulled out a pair of interface-glasses. Putting them on, Dren thought, “Let’s get started, Kathy. Do I have any messages?”
“You have two hundred and thirty-nine pending messages,” said Kathy. “Most are routine. I can handle them if you want. But I think you’ll be interested in the first one.”
Dren gave the thought to display her list of messages. The first one was from her adoptive uncle, Rick.
“Play the message,” Dren thought.
“I can’t,” said Kathy. “It’s addressed to both Brachia and you. It’s encoded. Both of you will have to decrypt it together using your individual security keys.”
“Hmm,” Dren said. “That’s strange. Uncle Rick usually hates dealing with security stuff. He has more of a frontal-assault type personality.”
Dren smiled at the thought of her uncle. Next to Keka, he was the closest thing to family Brachia and she had. Her Uncle Rick had saved Brachia and her lives the previous year. They’d been together through a lot of tight places in a short space of time.
“A frontal-assault type personality?” said Kathy. “Yes. I think that aptly describes your uncle. However, I seriously doubt the message is from him. A more likely source is his battle computer.”
“Nick?” Dren said. After thinking about it for a little while, she had to agree. Double-keyed encryption was more Nickelo’s style than her uncle’s.
“Could be,” Dren said. “I guess we’ll soon see.”
The tube-train slowed as it approached section seven’s warehouse area. When the train stopped, Dren joined the throng of exiting workers. As they left the car through one door, a throng of tired looking nightshift workers entered from the other side.
As Dren started to head towards the exit ramp, one of the workers near her stopped and turned around. The worker was an octopod, one of the octopus-looking lifeforms who were the original occupants of Storage. Dren hadn’t yet figured a way to determine their gender other than asking. Her traveling companion must have seen someone he or she recognized entering the car from the other side.
“Any activity last night?” Dren heard the octopod say over a translator as it raised two of its tentacles in greeting.
“No,” replied one of the nightshift octopods just entering the tube-train’s car. “I heard a rumor sector thirty-two had some requests, but I can’t confirm.”
The door of the car slid shut cutting off any further conversation.
As Dren continued on towards the exit ramp, the octopod took up a pace that kept it even with her.
“That was my friend–.”
Dren’s translator made a noise that sounded like static. Apparently, even ‘the One’ didn’t have a translation for the octopod’s name.
“He’s lucky,” continued the octopod. “He works in the small-arms division of warehouse fourteen. The only division that comes close to their activity is food supplies and cooking utensils.”
“Yes,” Dren said trying to sound agreeable. “It must be nice.”
“No doubt,” said the octopod. “I work in heavy weapons. And when I say heavy weapons, I mean heavy weapons. We’ve never gotten an approved request in my division. Of course, we’re one of the newer warehouses. We’ve only been in existence for fifty-three years. Still, you’d think we’d see at least some activity during that time.”
“I’m sorry,” Dren said as she speeded up to escape the talkative octopod. The octopods were a talkative race. Dren had a feeling it would keep jabbering away all the way to the warehouse if she didn’t get away.
“Oh, it’s nothing to be sorry about,” said the octopod as it picked up its pace to match Dren’s. “Keeping U.H.A.A.V.s in topnotch shape is interesting work. Did you know parts wear out even if something’s not used if you don’t keep it maintained?”
Dren nodded her head. She picked up the pace even more.
Undaunted, the octopod matched her step for step. Dren recognized a hopeless cause when she saw it. Her two legs were no match for the octopod’s four ground tentacles. She slowed her pace to a more normal walk as she resigned herself to listening to the octopod.
“You’re in research and development, aren’t you?” said the octopod.
With a nod of her head, Dren said, “Yes, I’m in R&D. I specialize in dimensional teleportation.”
“Ah,” said the octopod. “Both of my hearts go out to you.” One of the octopod’s eyes rotated on its stalk and looked at Dren. “Please don’t get me wrong. I’m sure it’s important work in its own right. Still, it must be hard never seeing a piece of equipment you’ve toiled over get selected for an activity request.”
Dren smiled. The octopods made up the majority of the workforce on Storage. From Dren’s observations, it seemed their ultimate reward was having one of their pieces of equipment selected as part of an activity request. It mattered little what the equipment was or how it was used. All that mattered was that one of their pieces of equipment had been used. They took pride in ensuring every piece of equipment was perfectly maintained when and if it was ever called for.
The octopods had an intricate reward system that was so complicated even Dren’s super-genius brain failed to grasp all the little nuances. Suffice it to say that everyone from the warehouse worker who placed the item on the teleporter pad to the farmer who grew the food that fed the worker was all rewarded in their own way.
The octopod stayed quiet for a while. Dren hoped he would remain so until they parted ways. She was soon disappointed.
“I was thinking,” said the octopod. “Since you’re in R&D, you might know the answer to a question that’s been bothering me for some time.”
Dren groaned inwardly. Most octopods could take several minutes to ask a single question. Fortunately, this particular octopod appeared to be an exception to the rule.
“My division hasn’t had a new acquisition in over six months,” said the octopod. “And, I heard the last warehouse was completed over two years ago. But there are no pending requisitions for more. Do you think our purpose is ending?”
Even through the translator, Dren thought she detected a tinge of nervousness in the octopod’s voice. She’d been on Storage long enough to know that having a sense of purpose was everything to the octopods.
“I don’t think you have to worry,” Dren said hoping against hope to stave off further questions. “Perhaps we now have an adequate supply of equipment to sustain our purpose.”
“Perhaps,” said the octopod sounding unconvinced.
Dren was saved from further conversation by a split in the sidewalk. The octopod waved two of its tentacles and went to the left. Dren headed to the right.
Within minutes, Dren was standing inside the primary laboratory of warehouse four’s R&D section. Dren didn’t bother heading to her office. She weaved her way through the maze of corridors towards a different destination. Various pieces of equipment littered the corridors making movement a slow process. Occasionally, Dren passed other R&D technicians going about their daily business. Dren’s translator squawked greetings in a dozen languages from various races before she reached the door she sought. The door was adorned with a poorly drawn skull and crossbones.
Passing her hand over the door’s security monitor, Dren pushed on the handle. It remained locked. She touched the intercom key.
“I know you’re in there, Brachia,” Dren said. She was in no mood for her brother’s childish games. “Either let me in, or I swear I’ll bring a Warcat up here and blast the door open.”
“Go away,” came the voice of her younger brother. “I’m onto something. I can’t stop now.”
“Open the door, Brachia,” Dren said. “I’ve got things to do myself.” When the door did not unlock, Dren tried a different ploy. “I’ve got a double-encrypted message from Uncle Rick.”
A dozen heartbeats later, the door opened. A small boy with a mass of dark hair grabbed Dren by the front of her technician coat and pull
ed her inside. The door slid shut behind her.
“If the message is double-encrypted,” said Brachia. “I seriously doubt it was sent by Uncle Rick. Sounds more like Nick’s work to me.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Dren said as she glanced around the large room. Pieces of equipment were stacked on every table and flat place in the room. Dren was sure an unobservant eye would think the room’s appearance chaotic. But Dren knew her brother. The room had a cluttered organization to it.
“You know, you could cleanup every so often,” Dren said. “You might get more accomplished.”
“Says you,” said Brachia. “It’s just the way I like it. Isn’t it, Omar?”
The mechanical voice of Brachia’s C-PAST answered, “Yes, my captain. You run a tight ship.”
Dren rolled her eyes. Like her, Brachia had a super-genius IQ. And like her, he’d undergone a knowledge transferal on the night their parents had been murdered. Their parent’s had used a prototype knowledge transferal device to transfer their knowledge and experience into their children. Dren had acquired the knowledge of their mother, and Brachia had acquired that of their father. But in spite of her brother’s advanced knowledge and IQ, he was still a seven year old boy. The combination made her brother’s world a strange place sometimes.
“It’s bad enough you pretend you’re a pirate, Brachia,” Dren said. “Do you have to pull your C-PAST into your childish world as well?”
“Whatever,” said Brachia using his uncle’s word to end a conversation. “You said you had a message.”
“Yes,” Dren said. “We’ll talk about your behavior another time. In the meantime, we both need to decrypt the message.”
“Kathy,” Dren said. “Coordinate the decryption with Brachia’s C-PAST.”
“Affirmative, Dren,” said Kathy.
“Brachia,” Dren said. “You’ll need to order your C-PAST to decrypt your part.”
“That’s Captain Brachia to you, ya swab,” said Brachia with a laugh. “Avast, Omar,” he said to his C-PAST. “Assist yon damsel with the decryption.”
Wizard Scout (Intergalactic Wizard Scout Chronicles Book 3) Page 27