The Key of Astrea

by Nicholas Marson

  “Here.” The Avian set the tablet on the table.

  Jack looked it over and nodded. “Looks good. I’ll contact you when it’s ready.”

  “Thank you, thank you,” the Avian said as he backed out the door.

  Before the door slid shut, another man stepped in. The patches on his blue-and-gray uniform read TCS—the Terminal Courier Service, the premier delivery service of the Terminal Space Station. Behind the courier, a giant blue-gray alien called a Snibb held a large plastic crate in its massive arms.

  “You Jack Spriggan?” the courier asked as he thrust a tablet out to Jack.

  “Yeah, that’s me.”

  “Sign here.”

  “Who’s it from?” Jack asked as he set the Avian’s ignitor on the worktable.

  “Anonymous.”

  Jack was no stranger to receiving ship parts from clients, but usually there was some notice. “What is it?”

  “Look, you gonna sign it or what? I got more deliveries to make.”

  “I didn’t order…”

  The courier stared at him.

  Jack took the tablet and scribbled his name in the signature field. “Put it inside, I guess.” He moved out of the way and returned the tablet to the courier.

  The Snibb shuffled forward on four stout legs. He breathed hard through the slits of his nose. Massive muscles rippled under his thick, wrinkly skin.

  “Not there, you idiot,” the courier yelled and smacked the Snibb with the back of his hand. “You’ll block the doorway.”

  “There’s no need for that,” Jack growled at the courier. He believed in equal rights for all species. Which wasn’t a common, or popular, point of view in the galaxy. “Right there is fine.”

  The Snibb set the large black crate near the door. The station courier held his hand out for a tip. Jack dug around in his pockets and shrugged.

  “C’mon, let’s go,” the delivery man grunted to the alien and muttered to himself as he walked into the corridor. “Maybe there’s still time to watch the Elemental qualifiers.”

  The Elemental was a galactic racing event inspired by the evolution of human technology and represented by each of the four elements. The first race was carried out on boats and symbolized water. Next was a car race that represented earth. The third race was in planes and symbolized air. Last was a spaceship race that represented fire. Every four years, each of the nine stellar systems sent their best teams to compete. The prize money was astronomical and often tilted the winning system’s political power in their favor. Yet, with great reward there was often great risk, and the Elemental was no exception. Many racers died while competing, which of course made it more entertaining to the spectators.

  Jack tapped the Snibb’s shoulder and offered his hand. The Snibb reached out with one of his smaller arms and grabbed it. The alien’s eyes widened as Jack slid a handful of credits into his palm. Jack winked, then walked back to his tool rack as the alien disappeared down the hallway.

  Jack grabbed a crowbar from the rack and approached the crate. Time to see what’s inside, he thought. He hefted the thick steel bar in one hand and wedged it under a strap on the crate. He cracked his large, calloused knuckles and pulled up on the end of the bar. The band gave way with a snap. As he slid the bar under the next strap, he noticed a whip-thin man standing in the doorway.

  “Hocco.” Jack straightened his back with a crack. Jack and Hocco had served together in the military. Now they only saw each other at the Coffee Enthusiast meetings. Most recently, Jack had heard that Hocco was running errands for his ex-wife, Pepper. “What are you doing here? Don’t just stand out there, come on in.”

  Hocco stepped inside the workshop, and the doors slid shut behind him.

  Jack was intrigued by this surprise visit from an old friend. “It’s been months. Can I offer you something to drink, some coffee maybe?”

  “Another time.”

  “This must be serious. It’s not like you to turn down a cup of coffee.”

  Hocco only grunted in response.

  “What are you here for?” Jack rubbed his nose with the palm of his hand and walked over to the worktable.

  “I came by to offer you a job.”

  “I already have more work than I can handle.” Jack picked up the Avian’s part and waved it at Hocco.

  “I’m talking about a real job.” Hocco looked over at the Celestial Strider. “Wouldn’t you rather be out there?” He pointed up to the skylight where the curve of the Terminal cut a path across the stars.

  Jack looked up, then over at the hangar. Restoring the Strider had been difficult. With the war over, military parts were hard to come by. That had led him to the black market and a young woman who called herself Pepper. She was a dynamo who dreamed of running the black market on Lan Station. Using the Celestial Strider, they ran one successful smuggling campaign after another. It was the biggest thrill he’d had since the First Galactic War, and it fanned the flames of their romance. They were married in a casino at the end of the month.

  Their marriage began to suffer after Lan System began using its military forces to police illegal activities. Smugglers were being fined, sentenced to jail, and even killed. Fearing he would lose his ship, his shop, or his life, Jack quit smuggling. Pepper didn’t quit. She still dreamed of being the queen of the black market, so she doubled her efforts. She found a new ship and a new pilot.

  During that time, Jack and Pepper fought constantly, and after a couple of years, they divorced. Sometimes Jack missed that old life of excitement, but he was a different person now and had responsibilities to his clients. Not to mention a massive debt to Pepper to pay off.

  “You’re wasting your time here,” Hocco said. “Don’t you want some excitement in your life?”

  “I’ve got plenty of excitement,” Jack said defensively.

  “Look.” Hocco leaned on the large crate. “I know we haven’t been the best of friends lately, but we always helped each other in the past, right?” Hocco plucked the ignitor from Jack’s hand and fidgeted with it. “I know you miss the thrill, the uncertainty of battle. The—”

  “I’ve changed.”

  “Listen, just this once, and I’ll never bother you again.” Hocco tossed the ignitor to Jack.

  Jack caught the part and set it on the worktable. Then he walked to the back of the workshop, picked a thin rod of carbon from a rack and said, “Not interested.”

  “Just hear me out,” Hocco pleaded.

  Jack inserted the rod into one end of his milling tool and turned it on.

  Hocco raised his voice over the hum of the machinery. “This isn’t about smuggling. This is about uniting the galaxy.”

  “Are you with Unity now?” It was more an accusation than a question.

  Hocco shrugged. “C’mon, Jack, you believe in alien equality as much as anyone.”

  Jack took the tooled rod and set it next to the ignitor. He flipped the activation lever, held the spring down, and inserted the tooled part. As he released the lever, the spring held.

  Hocco looked over at the Strider. “I know you haven’t flown her in months.”

  “Exactly. You don’t want a rusty pilot for your job.”

  “You’re still a great pilot. Give yourself some credit.”

  Jack looked up from the worktable and smiled. “I always give myself credit, but it’s suicide to oppose Tyr.”

  “We know where to find Tyr’s secret to the defender’s teleportation.”

  “What?” With a twang, the lever and coupling blasted off in opposite directions. Jack gathered the parts from the floor and put them back on the table. If Unity figures out how to disable the defender’s teleportation, then they might have a chance against Tyr.

  “It’s true. This is the chance you’ve been waiting for. It’s a chance for all of us to win.” Hocco grabbed the crowbar from the crate. He slid it under the strap and pulled with a grunt. There was a twang, and the strap popped loose.

  Jack watched Hocco guide the cr
owbar under the last strap. It broke with a snap, and the crate panel fell open. Jack grabbed a large envelope from inside and read the package label aloud. “One military-grade negative-energy buffer.” Jack’s mind reeled. Negative-energy buffers (NEBs) were only used for traveling through a Terminal, and due to capacity limits, a limited number of buffers were available. Corporations bought most of the public registration numbers, making the waitlist almost infinite. The military, however, had its own registration numbers and didn’t use half of them. Jack looked at Hocco. “How did you get this?”

  “Trade secret.”

  “Why me?”

  “You’re the best pilot.”

  “You mean I’m the only pilot with a Harbinger.” Jack set the label on his work table and pulled the molded foam away from the package. He whistled. Underneath was a masterpiece of premium military hardware, black and red, polished and perfect. “So, what’s the mission?”

  Hocco pulled a sphere from his pocket and twisted it. A three-dimensional image of a pentagon-shaped vessel appeared in the air. “We need you to locate the Endeavor, a Tyran stellar lab.”

  “Why?”

  “When we find this ship, we’ll uncover the secret to teleportation.”

  Jack studied the holographic image and asked, “How do you know?”

  “Because we were the ones who stole it from Tyr in the first place. But, before we could get our engineers to study it, a group of nonhumans, called Selkans, hijacked it from us and fled through a Terminal.”

  “Selkans? Never heard of them.”

  “Neither had I, before this.” Hocco twisted the sphere, and a sturdy, brown-gray creature replaced the hologram of the Endeavor. Short, dense fur covered its broad, humanoid body. Sharp tusks jutting down from its upper jaw gave it a fierce appearance.

  Jack studied the hologram. “Selkans, huh? What system are they from?”

  Hocco shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Jack grabbed a shop towel to clean his hands. “So, if I take this job, Pepper will surrender her half of the shop?”

  “Don’t worry about Pepper,” Hocco said. “If you find that ship, you’ll earn enough credits to pay her off and more.”

  “And what’s my guarantee?”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Jack’s mouth dropped open. Hocco wasn’t the type to put himself in harm’s way. He narrowed his eyes. “If you’re lying, you’re gonna have to get used to eating without teeth.”

  Hocco grinned. “You have my word,” he said, extending his hand.

  Jack gripped Hocco’s soft hand with his calloused one.

  “I’ll be back at 09:00 with more details.” Hocco pulled away and walked toward the door.

  “What system did the Selkans flee to?” Jack called after him, but there was no answer. Hocco was already gone. Jack suspected that Hocco wouldn’t have told him anyway.

  4

  The Wedding

  Jenny had five minutes to get ready to meet her fortune-telling client, Rebecca. No fencing practice, Jenny thought, no fun, just work, work, work. I guess that’s my life, so I better get used to it.

  No time for this now, either. Jenny moved the silver VRGo puzzle to the floor. Its shiny surface was impossibly smooth, almost slippery. And warm. Her head buzzed, and twelve strange blue symbols lit up around the needle-equipped depression. Using her foot, Jenny pushed the puzzle all the way under the desk.

  “Computer,” Jenny said out loud. “Play music.” Radiohead’s “Paranoid Android” played from a pair of speakers on her desk.

  The buzzing in her head persisted. She opened a drawer and took out her prescription bottles. She twisted each cap off, shook out the proper dosage, and chased the pills with a swig of water. This buzzing in her head was familiar. It reminded her of a night six years ago. Jenny looked at Sally. It was the same night you came to me.

  Jenny walked to her bookshelf, where books of paranormal fiction, H. P. Lovecraft, Dante’s Inferno, Edgar Allan Poe, and Tolkien lined the shelves. The Rubik’s Cube she solved when she was nine years old sat next to an assortment of iron puzzles. She’d been obsessed with puzzles for most of her life. On top of her bookshelf was her most prized possession—a handmade, mechanical diorama of the Mad Hatter’s tea party.

  Jenny turned the toy over and wound it with a metal key. She flicked a tiny switch and set it down on her shelf. Teapot lids bobbed up and down to the tune of “The Unbirthday Song” while Alice, the Mad Hatter, and the March Hare hopped from one eccentric chair to another. It was the same night I received this diorama, and the last time I went by the name “Djangini.”

  Eleven-year-old Djangini Tripper played spaceplane out the window of her mom’s hatchback by moving her hand up and down in the wind. “It’s so beautiful out here!” she shouted at her mom over the road noise. “Where are we going?”

  “All I know is that it’s a wedding.” Ruby Tripper was a pleasantly plump woman with a perpetual smile in her eyes. Her long black hair had a hint of red in the sun that Djangini always found so beautiful. It framed her round face and prominent rosy cheeks. “We’re supposed to follow the caravan.”

  The caravan had led them north, out of the Gypsy Fair in Invercargill. Djangini smoothed her skirt, with fractal patterns in blue, yellow, and green, across her legs. She played the fiddler’s music in her mind and pictured the men wearing silk shirts twirling women in skirts of every color.

  The sun dropped behind the snow-capped mountains that zigzagged across the horizon. The caravan skirted Te Anau, taking a road that ran south and bordered Lake Te Anau. The lake’s glassy surface glittered from countless stars and the sliver of a moon.

  The hatchback skidded on the dirt road. Headlights and taillights jumped and swayed, leaving tracers in Djangini’s vision. The road became little more than a rutted trail, and Ruby’s knuckles turned white from gripping the wheel. Their front tire hit a deep pothole, making Djangini’s teeth chomp.

  The caravan turned off the bumpy road and onto a grassy meadow bordered by evergreens. People bustled around an enormous tent held aloft by tension rods and thick poles. Ruby gave Djangini’s hand a squeeze. The vibration of the road still echoed through Djangini’s nerves, and she let out a bubbling laugh.

  They were finally here, wherever here was. Djangini flung the car door open and jumped out. She rubbed her arms for warmth against the chilly April night and looked around. A waxing moon backlit the treetops, and stars appeared like tiny holes in a black satin sheet.

  Around the meadow were house trucks, houses built atop trucks of all shapes and sizes. Some were merely pickups, while others were converted school buses and lorries. Whimsical designs and bright colors adorned their sides.

  The driver’s side door of a vintage black lorry opened. A man wearing a bright floral shirt and a dark-blue vest stepped down. He looked like a lumberjack, with a thick black beard that hid all but his gentle eyes. His gaze locked on to Ruby’s. She smiled and waved him over.

  “Hey there.” His voice was deep and rich.

  “Hi.” Ruby twisted her dress with both hands.

  “And who’s this?” He looked down at Djangini.

  “Thatch”—Ruby sounded breathless—“this is your—this is Djangini.”

  Thatch smiled and held out a hand with grease packed under the fingernails. “Hello there, Miss Djangini.”

  “Hi.” Djangini’s hand wrapped around two of his calloused fingers.

  “So, uh…” Thatch rubbed at his beard like he might find something interesting to say buried deep within. “You in school?”

  “Yeah, sixth grade.” Djangini kicked at the back of one foot with the other.

  “You like it?”

  “I guess so.” Her gaze shifted to the tent and the colorful people bustling around it.

  “I have a daughter about your age, Ana. She goes to school in Wellington.”

  “Cool.”

  “I uh, would have brought her, but she’s with her mother this weekend.
”

  Ruby lifted an eyebrow at Djangini and nodded toward Thatch.

  Djangini rolled her eyes, looked around for something to talk about, and settled on his vehicle. The circular headlights and curved fenders gave it a lively, cartoonish appearance. The emerald-green dwelling trimmed with gold was beautifully crafted. “I like your truck.”

  The vehicle’s chrome accents seemed to sparkle at the compliment, and an infectious smile spread across Thatch’s face. “Alice is a real beauty.” He put a hand on her side. “She’s a converted 1962 Mack truck that I found abandoned at a farm. The owner sold her to me for five hundred dollars. Of course, she didn’t look this good back then.” He raised an eyebrow at Djangini. “You want to see inside?”

  “Yeah.” Djangini grasped her hands together.

  “Thank you, Thatch,” Ruby said. “We’d love to.”

  “Great.” Thatch opened the back door. A sign above the door read, “Nonsense.” Stepping onto the back fender, he hopped inside and lowered a ladder.

  The dwelling was roomier than Djangini had imagined, and it smelt pleasantly of pipe smoke. A loft with a bed sat over a kitchenette and dining area that doubled as an office space.

  Thatch looked at Ruby. “You remember how it all works?”

  Ruby ran her hand along the wall, and something clicked.

  Djangini gasped in wonder as hundreds of lights glowed from dozens of shelves that lined the walls. They were dioramas. To her right were scenes from a storybook. She saw the Three Bears, Humpty Dumpty, Little Red Riding Hood, and a dozen others. The mechanical creations hummed as their moving parts came to life. Goldilocks ate each of the bears’ porridges. Humpty Dumpty fell off the wall. Red Riding Hood talked to the wolf dressed in her grandma’s clothes.

  Dioramas from Alice in Wonderland filled the opposite wall. Djangini watched Alice, with her bright yellow hair and a sky-blue dress, leap from scene to scene. At first, she crawled into the White Rabbit’s hole. In the end, Alice fled from the Queen of Hearts and a pack of cards.

  Thatch smiled from ear to ear as he watched Djangini. “I want you to have one.”