The Eridani Convergence

by Alastair Mayer

  “Oh? We’ll have to see if we can turn that to our advantage.”

  Roberts wasn’t sure how. An immigration ship meant thirty or so passengers, most of them having made the trip in hibernation pods to reduce life support and, more importantly, living space requirements. They’d be awakened in batches, keeping families together where applicable, and reconnected with whatever luggage they had. They would all be feeling a little hung over from the hibernation, a little dazed at arriving on a new world, and confused about the whole process, no matter how many briefings they’d had before departure. She was very familiar with the routine; she had been an officer aboard such a ship for most of a standard year before moving on.

  Most of the immigrants would already have an idea of where they were going and what they would be doing. There would be ground transportation arriving for them. But there were always a few who chose to wing it, hoping to head out to unsettled land and do some prospecting, or farmsteading, or just disappearing and living off the land. The survival rate of the latter tended to be low. “Terraformed” didn’t mean “park”—as the crocodilians in the swamp near town attested.

  The space port would be busy with people and vehicles for a while, and cargo handlers and service techs seeing to the Speedwell. It didn’t make money sitting in port any more than she did. The port was scaled to handle it, since they probably got one of these in every week or two. But all that could make for good cover to get Burnside’s package in and loaded. All she had to do was find a way to get it here from the warehouse.

  She turned to Carson again. “You know, Hannibal, worst case, we attach handles to the crate and you and Burnside can carry it here.”

  “Twenty-five kilos each, hand carried rather than a back pack? Won’t that be fun.” Carson thought about it a moment. “Maybe with a carrying pole or something, or even a dolly. The drawback is if we run into trouble, we can’t move very fast, and we wouldn’t want to just drop it and run.”

  “I wasn’t being serious.”

  Carson grinned. “Hey, you never know when you’ll need a Plan B.”

  CHAPTER 35: TEVNAR

  Harp City, aboard Sophie

  “SOPHIE, EMERGENCY! This is Burnside.” The watchword “emergency” on the suit-to-ship channel automatically triggered Sophie’s comm system to answer and put the comms on speaker.

  Roberts answered immediately. “Burnside, what’s your emergency? Where are you?” she said, heading toward the cockpit to begin prepping for immediate departure, if needed.

  “Gunshot wounds. Not me, my contact. Critical. Near the warehouse, squawking location.” There was a brief blip as Sophie’s computer intercepted the data and routed it to a map display on the secondary console. “I can’t call local EMT, how soon can you get here?”

  Roberts didn’t waste time asking why he couldn’t contact the local emergency services. She trusted him to have his reasons. If he wasn’t in the middle of town she’d just fly the Sophie to him, to get the patient in the traumapod as soon as possible. That wasn’t an option here. It was a good thing she’d already picked up the ground cruiser. “Carson!” she yelled back to him. “Grab a first aid kit!” She heard commotion aft. The comm was still on speaker; he’d reacted as soon as he heard. She checked the map. “Three minutes if the road is clear. On the way.”

  “Roger that. Burnside out.”

  Roberts rapidly hit the controls to make the Sophie safe to leave, but left some systems on standby. They might yet have to make a quick get-a-way. She left her seat to exit the cockpit, yelling again, “Come on Carson, let’s go!”

  The ground cruiser was parked adjacent to the ship. Carson and Roberts scrambled into it, Roberts in the driver’s seat. Being designed for overland expeditions, it had manual overrides as well as the standard autonomous navigation. It was worn—clearly it had seen significant use in the field—but she’d been assured that all the important things worked. She powered it up, ignoring the minor complaints of the self-diagnostics. She eased the vehicle around the Sophie toward the spaceport exit and began to accelerate, only to slam on the brakes at the crowd of somewhat bewildered looking civilians, some shouldering packs and bags, with at least one carrying a small child. Passengers from the Speedwell.

  “Dammit!” To the left was the boarding stair for the Speedwell. On the right they straggled off toward a fenced area with a gate that led to the spaceport office. The passengers were either heading to immigration control, such as it was, or waiting for their ground transportation. Or both. What they weren’t doing was moving out of the way. She edged toward them, tapping the horn button. It made no sound. Great, broken like half the other things on this vehicle.

  Carson threw his door open and jumped from the car, running in front of Roberts, waving his hands, and yelling “Out of the way! Emergency! Coming through! Make way!”

  The group got the idea and slowly split into two smaller groups, letting her pull the car forward between them and toward the exit. As she cleared the crowd, Carson quickly scrambled back into the vehicle.

  “Thank you, Moses,” Roberts said as she floored the speed controller. Shabby as the exterior was, the electric motor still had it where it counted, and the car surged forward with a whine.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Jackie didn’t know the streets, but the car did. It took care of the navigation while she expressed her urgency with the foot pedal. Three minutes later they were rolling down an alley in the warehouse district, Carson on his omni to let Burnside know they were in the area. A figure stepped out from behind a waste pod and flagged them down. Burnside.

  “We were ambushed. She was shot, one in the leg, one in the lower left chest. Bleeding badly. I’ve been applying pressure.”

  “I’ve got quick-clot in the first aid kit,” Carson said as they moved back to the pod, where a figure, much smaller than Burnside, lay on the ground, wrapped in a blood-soaked cloak, with blood pooled on the ground.

  “So do I, but I didn’t want to use it. I don’t know how she’d react to it.”

  “What? Why?”

  “She’s a timoan.”

  “What?” said Jackie. That raised all sorts of questions, none of which mattered right now.

  Carson was just as surprised, but said “Doesn’t matter, timoans are okay with it.” He flipped open the first aid kit and pulled out a small spray can. “Clear the wounds, it’s not good through cloth.” He started to peel the cloak back with his left hand while shaking the can in his right.

  “Yeah.” Burnside had his omni in his hand. He pressed something on its side, and a blade instantly extruded from it. He began cutting the clothing away from the wounds.

  “Nice toy,” Jackie said.

  “It comes in handy.”

  Carson inverted the can and pressed the nozzle, which squirted a stream of foam into and around the wound.

  Carson said something that sounded to Jackie like “Pravit blacktash babble babble”. He wrapped a sensor cuff around the victim’s left arm and fastened it. The timoan’s eyes, which had been half closed, widened. She nodded, then closed her eyes.

  “What did you say?” Burnside asked.

  “I told her we had it under control and we were getting her to a traumapod.” He looked around, assessing the situation. “Jackie, pull the cruiser around, we’ll slide her into the back.”

  Roberts was already in the car and moving it as he finished talking. The vehicle had separate seats in the rear as well as the front. The rear cargo area would be the best place to lay the timoan down. She got the car turned around and backed up to them.

  As she arrived, Carson said: “Okay, Burnside, you take her left side, I’ll take her right. Under her neck and knees.”

  “Got it.”

  Jackie opened the back then stepped aside while the two men carefully lifted the timoan female into the vehicle, laying her down gently. It was a good thing timoans were shorter than humans, there was enough space to let her lay flat. Carson climbed in with her and put a
pad under her head, then covered her with a reflective, insulating blanket.

  Burnside got into the back seat, turning to lean over it and check on his contact.

  “Okay, Jackie, let’s go.”

  She floored the pedal.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  “How is she?” Jackie asked as she drove.

  Carson checked the display on the first aid kit, which was picking up the sensor readings from the cuff. He muttered something, and tapped a control on the display. The numbers and lines changed. “Could be worse. She’s not in shock. All due speed, but try to avoid bumps or sudden swerves.”

  “Problem?” asked Burnside.

  “The thing was set for humans. I changed it to timoan.”

  “Ah.”

  “There’s internal damage, obviously, and the bullets are still in there. I don’t want them moving around, although the quick-clot will help.”

  “Field medic? And how do you have a first aid kit that can handle timoans? Let alone speak timoan?” Before Carson could answer, Burnside muttered “Now I know why Ducayne sent you.”

  “Yeah, field training and army reserves in my youth. I have a timoan colleague. I only speak it a little, and only his dialect. But she understood. Who is she?”

  “Her name’s Tevnar. She found the artifact. Can the Sophie’s traumapod also handle timoans, then?”

  “It can,” Jackie said. “Among others. Mammals have a lot in common, at least as far as trauma surgery goes.”

  They were nearing the spaceport. Jackie could see that the small crowd had thinned, but with their curiosity already aroused by her hasty exit, she didn’t want anyone trying to look in the windows. She turned toward another entrance farther down the field.

  “Almost there.” As the ground cruiser pulled through the far gate—thankfully there wasn’t a lot of concern with security here, and a wave of her omni opened the automatic barrier—she glanced around the field. There was activity near the Carcharodon. The ship in front of it was being towed out of the way, and there were people moving about it, perhaps doing a pre-flight inspection. Well, that probably explained who the shooter was, or they were. She gave them as wide a berth as she could without being obvious as she steered toward the Sophie.

  She parked the car near the starboard entrance, away from the Carcharodon, and keyed the unlock sequence for the airlock.

  “We’re here, guys. I’ll go prep the traumapod. Do you want a stretcher?”

  “We’re good, she’s not heavy,” Carson said. Burnside grunted agreement.

  Roberts hit the override to let both the inner and outer lock doors open at once, and went back to get the traumapod opened up and configured for timoan anatomy and physiology. Its computer was theoretically smart enough to figure out the species it was treating by itself, but it didn’t hurt to give it a strong hint.

  Carson and Burnside carried Tevnar from the airlock and laid her gently on the traumapod’s patient table. They removed her cloak and further cut away the clothing from her wounds. Her eyes flickered open at that, and she looked around, taken in the surroundings.

  “Ship? Whose?” she said in hoarse whisper.

  “Mine,” Roberts said. “The Sophie.”

  “Ah, female. Good. You have good boys.” Her eyes shut.

  “All right, get her in and let it do its work,” Jackie said.

  Carson touched the control to retract the table into the pod, and the pod console lit up with diagnostic information and status lights.

  “Is she going to be all right?” Burnside asked, concern clear in his voice.

  “The leg shot missed the bone and the femoral artery; that should be fine,” Carson said. “Not sure about the chest wound. Breathing seemed okay so it probably missed the lungs. I’m not sure what else is thereabouts on a timoan.”

  “What was that about female and having good boys?” Burnside asked.

  “Timoan society is highly matriarchal. They’re descended from a species something like meerkats, so that might have something to do with it. She would know humans better than this, but having a female running the ship with males doing her bidding would seem natural to her. Although usually the males would be mates or offspring.”

  “Ah. I knew the meerkat thing, but haven’t had really any contact with timoans until a few weeks ago.”

  “Yes, about that . . . .”

  There was a beep from the traumapod. Roberts checked the display.

  “Trouble?” Burnside asked.

  “No. It looks like we got her here in time. She’s stable but with considerable blood loss. The pod is working on her leg but still checking her thorax. Nothing else we can do now but wait.” She looked up from the pod at the two men. “By the way, it looks like the Carcharodon is getting ready to leave. They were moving another ship out of the way and doing a pre-flight.”

  “Crap,” said Burnside, disgusted, “they’ve got the artifact.”

  “So, how do we stop them?”

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Burnside looked at Jackie. From all he’d heard, she was a very good pilot. Good enough? “Ever hear of Jason Curtis?”

  The range of emotions that crossed her face was nothing that Burnside had expected. Her eyes widened. Her face paled, revealing freckles he hadn’t realized she had. Then she closed down, eyes narrowing, frowning, her face reddening. “No fucking way am I pulling a Curtis Maneuver, especially not with passengers and a patient in the traumapod. And don’t ever mention that man to me again!”

  “Uh, okay, just a thought.” What was that all about? Burnside wondered. Carson looked as though he really wanted to ask what a Curtis Maneuver was, but held his tongue. The two of them could discuss that later. What other options did he have for stopping Vaughan?

  “I’ve got gadgets for stopping a ship going to warp, but not with me. Damn. Jackie, uh, Captain Roberts, can you check the port’s data, see if they’ve filed a flight plan?”

  “Sure,” she still sounded angry. “But I’ll be surprised if they’ve filed one. A real one, anyway.” She stormed off to the cockpit, shutting the airlock doors on her way, and sealing the cockpit door behind her.

  Carson rose and started pacing. He kept punching his right fist into his left hand. His face grew redder. Then he stopped and turned abruptly. “I don spaceport coveralls, get to their ship, grab the crate and run.” Carson said, making for the airlock.

  Burnside grabbed him by the collar and jerked him back. “Don’t be an idiot. You wouldn’t get near their ship. You said Vaughan would recognize you. Even if you did, you’d never make it off with the artifact.”

  Carson pulled himself loose, turning to Burnside, and raised his voice. “Fine. I’ll crash the ground cruiser into the Carcharodon’s hull. They won’t be going anywhere for a while.” He turned back and headed for the airlock again.

  Burnside had half a mind to let him do it, it would be effective. But Carson was valuable, and likely to get himself shot. The resulting police response would blow their cover and still wouldn’t get them the artifact. “That won’t end well,” he moved to block the airlock, struggling with Carson. “And you’ll still get yourself killed.” He was shouting now; Carson was crazy. Then Burnside heard himself saying: “I’ll do it.”

  Just then an alarm sounded, an indicator above the airlock turned red, and the cockpit door slid open. Jackie Roberts stood there looking even more angry than before.

  “Knock it off! Nobody is going anywhere; I’ve sealed the hatch.” She looked ready to hit someone, but pointed back to the galley. “Get back there and sit down! One word out of either of you and Sophie will knock you both out.”

  As if to emphasize that, a robotic female voice announced: “System armed.”

  Carson looked at her, then back at Burnside, before relaxing and nodding. Burnside let him go, and they filed back to the galley.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Captain Roberts stood at the galley table, looking down at both of them, disgusted. “I leave you two alone for two m
inutes and you’re fighting over who gets to kill themselves first. Are you both insane? We’ll find another way.”

  They both had the good grace, or good sense, to look sheepish.

  “I just don’t want them to get away with—” Carson started to explain.

  Roberts raised her hand to silence him. “Enough. I know you Carson. You’re a smart man with a tendency to do stupid things when someone has pissed you off.” She turned to Burnside. “And I’m not sure you’re any better.”

  Burnside started to say something, then thought better of it.

  She glared at them both for a while longer. “And if that weren’t bad enough, you were fighting on my ship. You’re lucky I don’t make you walk home.” The incongruity of that last struck her as she said it, but she bit down and managed to keep a straight face. “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Captain,” Burnside said.

  “Yes, Ja . . . Ma’am. Sorry about that.”

  “Good. Now,” she continued in a calmer tone, “perhaps you’ll be interested to hear where they’re going. It turns out they have filed a flight plan.”

  “What?” Carson and Burnside said, almost simultaneously.

  “Yes,” Jackie continued, her tone normal now. “Frankly that surprises me. Unless you’re a commercial flight, nobody cares if you file or not. They only care if you file a false plan; it confuses things.”

  Any ship would arrive at its destination long before a copy of the flight plan did, if the ship arrived at all. Periodically, as network traffic was updated by other incoming ships, flight plans would be correlated against recorded arrivals and departures. Flags would be raised if a ship had gone missing, but nobody was going to launch a search party; space was too big. The main point was, if the ship turned up somewhere else, a little more checking would be done to make sure that the ship hadn’t changed hands without the agreement of the registered owner. Hijacking didn’t happen often, but it wasn’t unknown either.

  “So, where do they say they’re going?”