A ring shaped space station orbiting a small, emerald green moon approached. Joe laid in the coordinates for Mr. Shenzhen’s antique shop.
As was his custom, he set the police cruiser down around back, out of view from any potential customers. With tired hands he unbuckled his gun holster, placed it into the glove compartment and just sat there for a moment. It always took him a while to work up the courage to go into the shop, mainly because Mr. Shenzhen was a crotchety old dickhead.
It was sometime around 19:00 in this sector and the lighting outside was artificially made to look like evening. The synthetic rain pattered on the windshield. Next door, at the noodle joint, the chefs sang Chinese folk songs as they prepared for the evening rush.
Joe entered through the back entrance of the antique shop, past the relics stashed on the shelves and hanging from the ceiling. Dusty old artifacts from the beginnings of the Space Age – Russian, Indian and American shuttle parts. Shaving kits. Toys. Kipple. Even some ancient Chinese figurines from Earth. Of all of them, Joe’s favorite was a little porcelain man in a boat, holding a bamboo pole with a tiny fish at the end of his line.
Joe had never told anyone, but the real reason he had chosen to clean this place – of all places he could have chosen to clean – was because of all the old stuff he got to be around, the sense of history that seemed to hang in the air and permeate the walls. It was like taking a stroll through time. And all these items had their own stories, like prisoners in a war camp. And by being here Joe got to be a small part of that.
Mr. Shenzhen was out front with a customer. The reception area of the shop contained the high-end items to impress visitors.
Joe approached the beaded curtain that separated his world from the other. Mr. Shenzhen sat perched on a stool behind the counter, his arms crossed, the smoke lazily floating up from the pipe in his lips. The customer was from Venus, judging by his flowing white clothes, and carrying an item to be appraised. The man spoke a few words in Venusian.
“Do you speak Venusian?” Shenzhen asked Joe, instinctively knowing he was standing there at the curtain.
“Only food and swear words,” Joe replied.
“Food won’t do me any good,” Shenzhen said. “I might need the swear words in a bit.”
The Venusian rolled his eyes. “I suppose we can take it in English then,” he said, without a trace of an accent. He unwrapped the leather case on the counter and presented the piece to Shenzhen. A small electronic tablet from late in the 21st century.
“Very nice item,” Shenzhen said. “Apple made. Generation K. Some scratching on the screen though, which hurts the value. I can give you seven hundred guanzi for it.”
“Seven hundred guanzi?” the Venusian exclaimed. “That’s half what it’s worth.”
“Scratching on the screen, my friend. Seven hundred is all I can offer,” Shenzhen said flatly. He hopped off his stool and took the cash from a bamboo box that sat beneath the counter next to the shotgun. With wrinkled hands he stacked the money before the Venusian.
The visitor blew air through his pursed lips. “Well, it is what it is then.”
Venusians famously disliked any sort of confrontation and Shenzhen knew it. The customer took the money, flung his silk scarf around his neck in a gesture of disgust and sauntered out the door.
Shenzhen chuckled to himself as he took the tablet and brought it to his desk to enter the purchase in his book.
“Where to make the entry... Joe! Why don’t any of these numbers add up?”
Joe went through the curtain and peaked into the book his boss was examining.
“Because you’re in last year’s records for some reason,” Joe said, taking the correct purchase book from the shelf and setting it before the old man.
Shenzhen nodded in thanks.
Joe couldn't help but notice that the tobacco his boss was smoking wasn’t the Praying Crane brand he always bought. Perhaps the old man was turning a new leaf.
Mr. Shenzhen recorded the purchase of the tablet for fifteen hundred guanzi – for tax purposes. He would cut whatever corners he could in order to pay less to the government and had somehow convinced the Treasury Office that he had been running the shop at a loss for twenty years straight.
This was not only because he was a cheapskate, he most certainly was, but because he hated the Chinese government more than almost anything. Joe had never bothered asking why.
“Mr. Shenzhen,” Joe finally spoke up. “I was hoping we could have a conversation.”
“About?”
Well, here goes nothing, Joe thought. “It’s just… I’ve been working here for a long while now, and I was thinking, it’s time we take...”
“Speaking of time,” Mr. Shenzhen interrupted. “You’re late... again.”
“What’s that?” asked Joe, his big speech deflated. He loosened the tie on his uniform and checked his compass. Six minutes past, big deal.
“This is a big issue, Joe.”
Joe nodded and leaned against the wooden stool in preparation for the lecture. Shenzhen glared at him through his small spectacles. The man had a bald spot like a hovercraft landing pad on the top of his head. And liver spots. How the hell did the guy have liver spots? Joe had looked it up once, Shenzhen was only 54.
Joe pried his eyes away from the man’s skull and looked down at his own feet instead, as a symbol of submission.
“You’re late again, and you don’t even seem to care. All I’m left to assume is that you don’t want this job. I can get someone else in here to clean up at the drop of a hat, you know?”
Joe’s armpits and forehead began to sweat, his stomach went hollow. He couldn’t afford to lose this job, not now. “Look, it won’t happen again.”
“No, it won’t. Because this is the last day you’ll be cleaning the shop.”
“What?” Joe snapped. This couldn't be happening.
“I’m getting Enming from the school to take your place.”
“You gotta be kidding me,” Joe said. “After seven years...”
“He’s cheaper than you,” Shenzhen said, crossing his arms.
“Well, what about taking me on as an appraiser or something?”
“What do you know about appraising?”
“What do I know? You should see me do evaluations in the neutral zone – I’m a big deal over there, you know?” Joe said. He couldn’t help but think of the collectors that had left and weren’t coming back.
Mr. Shenzhen was quiet for a moment. He seemed to be surprised at the news of Joe’s status. “How much do they pay you for this?”
“Well…” Joe said, a rush of embarrassment overcoming him, not because Shenzhen would know his secret, but over the fact that he had provided a valuable service for years and had nothing to show for it now. “I do it for free.”
Shenzhen chuckled to himself. “Something is only worth what people are willing to pay for it.” That statement hung there in the air for a while. “And it’s too late to do anything now, Joe. What’s done is done. I have clients coming with very important business tonight and I wanted you to have the place cleaned up before they came.”
“That seems to be all I’m good for apparently,” Joe said to himself.
“But while you’re here, you might as well help me with one last thing. These clients are bringing me a special item. And once they’ve shown me the item, and only once they’ve shown me the item, I need you to come out and say that my wife is on the phone.”
“Okay,” said Joe.
Mr. Shenzhen didn’t have a wife. He had never married. There wasn’t a woman in the galaxy who would put up with him.
“Because I don’t have the money now, you see,” Shenzhen went on. “But once I know they really have the item, I’ll be willing to go into the savings to purchase it. Understand?”
Joe nodded.
With a wave of his hand, Mr. Shenzhen excused him.
Joe went back through the beaded curtain, out of sight and out of mind. He breath
ed in the oldness. So much for the partnership he had been hoping for. And so much for his night job.
The pay on this side of the border was triple anything he could get back home. It basically equaled his monthly sheriff’s salary for the few hours he worked here in the evenings. And since Joe didn’t know Chinese, his options were severely limited.
He stared out the window at the customers in the noodle joint next door. Why couldn't he be lucky like them – growing up with the great economy, receiving an actual education and speaking the language like a native?
Joe filled a bamboo bucket with piping hot water and began to mop the floor in a four count rhythm. If this was to be his last time cleaning the place he might as well do it thoroughly. The antiques deserved that much.
When he was halfway done with the back room Mr. Shenzhen called out from the front. “My contacts are here.”
Joe set the mop down and took his position beside the beaded curtain, waiting for his moment to shine. The jingling bell at the front door indicated that the mysterious visitors had arrived. Two pairs of footsteps entered.
“Where’s the item?” Mr. Shenzhen asked, skipping pleasantries altogether.
“Right here. Where’s the payment?” a woman asked.
“No payment until I see the item,” Mr. Shenzhen insisted.
“No item until we see the payment.”
‘God these idiots,’ thought Joe.
“Joe, come out here,” Mr. Shenzhen shouted.
Ooh, he was improvising.
Joe walked through the beaded curtain only to come face to face with the fake waitress and the substitute line cook, now dressed in street clothes. The woman held the black box at her side. She took one glance at Joe in his sheriff’s uniform and look of shock poured over her face.
“It’s a setup,” she gasped. From a holster behind her back she whipped out a pistol and opened fire.
Joe dove back through the beaded curtain – the shots ringing in his ears and blasting through the cheap plaster walls. He reached to his side for the gun that wasn’t there. Helpless, he looked to his boss.
Mr. Shenzhen grabbed the shotgun from beneath the counter and took aim at the woman. She ducked for cover behind a precious antique couch. Mr. Shenzhen held his fire, probably because the item was worth over 20,000 guanzi.
The substitute line cook took an automatic laser cannon from his coat and blasted a flurry of shots in Mr. Shenzhen’s direction.
The old man crouched down with his eyes closed. Fortunately the front desk was reinforced for this type of situation. Some of the laser shots blew through the wall to the backroom, destroying a collection of antique pots.
Joe considered helping his boss, but without a firearm he wouldn’t last a second.
Eventually, the laser cannon overheated and the line cook punched at the barrel. Mr. Shenzhen popped up and blasted a shot into the line cook’s chest. The man was flung backwards into an expensive suit of Japanese armor.
“No!” yelled the waitress and Mr. Shenzhen at the same time, but for different reasons.
They looked at each other for a moment then exchanged fire. Shenzhen took slugs to the chest and throat. He managed to send a shotgun round into the waitress’s shoulder and cheek. She toppled to the floor. The newly created cavity in her face leaked blood over the wooden boards.
Joe scrambled to Mr. Shenzhen. The wound in his throat was bleeding heavily, and he held a shaking, white hand over it. He coughed through the blood in his windpipe.
“Are you okay?” Joe asked.
“What does it look like?” Shenzhen answered with a raspy voice.
“I’m going to call an ambulance.”
“Joe, shut up for a minute.” He pointed to the black, gilded box on the floor next to the waitress. “Do not let the government get that.”
“What about all the other stuff?”
“Do not... let them... take the box.”
“Should I sell it somewhere?” Joe asked.
The old man just stared off into space. A look of calm came over him. “I see grandfather.”
“What should I do with the box, Gary?”
“I see the old farm... before the regime change... I’m going home…”
Joe sighed and pushed the old man’s eyelids closed so he could see better. With a shudder, Mr. Shenzhen expired.
The bell rang as the front door opened once more. Joe looked up.
Tammy stood at the entrance, a look of profound shock on her face.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Joe asked.
“I should ask you the same thing,” Tammy answered.
“I work here,” Joe said. He looked down at Mr. Shenzhen. “Or at least I used to.”
“What happened?”
Joe pointed to his boss’s body. “Uh… he died.”
“No – I mean, what happened in here?” Tammy shouted, flailing her arms around at the devastation.
“Your mystery box came back,” Joe said, eyeing the black container on the floor.
He looked back up to his deputy but couldn't help noticing that the happy scene at the noodle bar next door had gone to hell. The customers were hiding beneath the tables, the waiters were closing the blinds and the manager was on the phone, presumably to the police. It seems they had heard all the commotion. Suddenly, Joe could make out the wailing sirens of the Red Dragon police force in the distance. They were not to be trifled with.
“We should probably get going,” Joe said, springing to his feet.
“Shouldn’t we wait to talk to the police?” Tammy asked.
“Definitely not,” Joe said.
“Why?”
“I see one dead Chinese citizen and two living foreigners. I don’t like our odds.”
“What do you mean?”
“Execution is considered a light sentence here.”
“So what are you suggesting then?” Tammy asked, visibly nervous.
Joe picked up the gilded box. “We run.”
A red police vehicle with yellow dragon decals came flying recklessly into the parking lot out front. The craft was sleek and designed to get to crime scenes with devastating speed. Officers in red body armor sprung from the vehicle.
Joe grabbed Tammy by the arm and dragged her through the back room. His Crown Vik was still parked out back. Luckily, the police hadn’t noticed it, otherwise it would have already been clamped.
He ran up the loading ramp, dropped the box on the kitchen table and hopped into the front seat. Tammy followed suit. Once he started the engine, he blasted up into the artificially pink evening sky. Down below, two more police craft were landing in the front parking lot. A third incoming ship changed course and shot up after the Crown Vik with tremendous speed.
“They’re much faster than us,” Tammy noted.
“I see that,” Joe said, glancing in the rear-view.
“Then what are you going to do about it?”
“Let’s see if they can keep up with American engineering,” he said, pressing the gas to the max and setting course for the circular highway entrance. His body pushed back into the springy cushion of his seat.
The Red Dragon ship pulled up next to the Crown Vik a few seconds later. Over the loud speakers they asked politely in Chinese for them to pull over. Joe pretended he couldn’t understand, pointing to his ears and shaking his head.
He drove on, his eyes firmly fixed on the highway entrance only ten kilometers ahead. The on-ramp was a massive boxy ring, large enough for the largest of ships to fit through. The space inside the portal was pure white. Once they made it to subspace they couldn’t be tracked and it would be smooth sailing from there on out.
The Crown Vik’s defense system notified Joe that the canons on the Red Dragon ship were targeting them.
The officers asked again politely for them to pull over.
“Joe, they’re aiming at us,” Tammy said.
“I know.”
The procedure must have been to just shoot foreigners no
wadays. But Joe wasn’t about to break, he was approaching the entrance.
“We’re almost there.”
“I think they know that too,” Tammy said.
The Red Dragon ship fired! An electronic pulse surged through Joe’s vessel, before fizzling out into nothing.
Joe laughed nervously.
“What was that?” Tammy asked.
“They’re used to dealing with more advanced vehicles,” Joe said.
“And?”
“My ship is gas powered. It doesn’t have an electronic brain.”
“How can they stop us then?”
“I don’t think they can.”
Suddenly, the Crown Vik was jerked to the side violently. Joe checked his sensors to see they had fired a grappling hook into his rear cargo hold.
“Or maybe they can,” he said.
His ship shuddered, but kept on plowing.
The two connected vessels made it to the entrance, crashing over the other vehicles waiting patiently in line and entered the interstellar freeway.
Everything appeared to be still and white, even though they were now traveling at thousands of kilometers per hour. This was the on-ramp, but not true subspace yet.
“We can’t go anywhere stuck together like this,” Joe said. “I’m pretty sure it will tear us to shreds.”
He examined the rear-view to see where the other ship was in relation to the Crown Vik. They were positioned at the thickest portion of his vessel.
“How heavy is a Red Dragon cruiser?” Joe asked.
“Um.. um..” Tammy said. “We had a specs class at the academy and...”
“Too late,” Joe replied. He swung his steering wheel to the right.
The Crown Vik smashed into the Red Dragon cruiser, knocking it out of warp. The grappling line was fizzled into nothingness in the subspace field.
Tammy looked back in shock. “They could have gone out in the middle of a star, or a settlement... or a black hole.”
Joe’s gut dropped. “There’s not a black hole around here is there?”
Tammy just stared at him. “I mean theoretically.”
“No, I’m serious!” Joe exclaimed, his pulse surging at the mere mention of those black space-time anomalies. “Is there a black hole around here?”
The Star Collector Page 6