“We lost them,” Saburo said.
“Lost them?”
“They made it to the interstellar highway.”
“And?”
“We can’t track them on the highway.”
“There’s more than one way of tracking somebody,” Applebottom said. This younger generation was so dependent on their screens and sensors that when the electronics didn’t work, their brains stopped working as well. “Think outside the box!”
The Chairman would not be pleased. The finance minister was the last person to have screwed up so profoundly. They said he was now working in a slave labor camp on New Shanghai. Applebottom coughed and loosened his tie.
Outside, a black Mercedes Star Runner landed. David was there to save the day.
“Well, where might they be heading with the item?” Applebottom asked Saburo, eager to get things going before David arrived. Eager to show that he had things under control.
“There’s over a million dealers in the galaxy who would die to get their hands on that piece,” Saburo said. “Let alone the energy companies, the militaries... even terrorist groups. The artifact could be headed anywhere, and we have nothing to go on.”
Applebottom groaned and looked around. An American deputy’s vehicle sat in the front parking lot. They could probably find out to whom it was registered, couldn’t they?
“That deputy’s vehicle out there,” David announced as he entered the shop. “It’s registered to the Sector 121 Outpost, to a Tammy Rosario.”
Saburo looked up at the man with admiration in his eyes. “Good instincts, David.”
Another point for David, Applebottom thought.
"Okay, we’ll put a bug on the outpost’s incoming calls,” Applebottom interjected. “Whomever we’re dealing with wouldn’t be stupid enough to call, but at least we can get some information on them. My gut would tell me they were headed for Falsterboo, but that would be too obvious.”
“You do that,” David said, putting on his sunglasses and walking out of the shop. “I’ll go and pay the outpost a visit myself.”
8
Out on the far end of the galaxy, a mega-city wrapped around the equator of an orange stone planet, like a twine thread around a bowling ball. It looked somewhat ridiculous, but the equator was the only place warm enough for settlement. They said the skiing and hunting in the southern hemisphere was astounding, so it was a popular vacation spot. The north had nothing but a bunch of woolly mammoth farms. They had been brought back from extinction and domesticated for their meat and fur.
Joe awakened from his slumber, showered and helped himself to a hearty breakfast of kelp eggs and astronaut bread and washed it all down with some strong coffee. It made him feel cheerful and optimistic despite the hopeless situation.
Tammy was stirring to life as he parked the ship in the capital region of the city.
“I’ll be back in about an hour,” Joe said. “Is it okay if I borrow a couple credits?”
The girl gave him a thumbs up from the bed.
Joe took some cash from the wallet in her uniform and hopped off the ship with the black box in tow. Soon he found himself amid the cigarette smoke and aromas from the Martian and Indian restaurants, the screens hocking goods and reminding everyone which soft drinks they should be drinking and the street musicians playing Lunar Reggae. It was an assault on the senses. It made Joe feel alive.
There had been terror attacks lately – Vegan Extremists – so there was more security around the town than usual.
Joe made his way into the heart of the city, with its white stone church and courthouse and countless ornamental skyscrapers and towers that pierced the upper atmosphere.
Falsterboo was the wealthiest spot on the planet which made it the wealthiest spot in this part of the galaxy. Joe had heard a rumor that this was the place where Alma Peterson had set up shop. He just had no idea where exactly.
There was only a couple of hours before the Chinese got wind of where he was. The transit system charged your account when you took an exit from the interstellar highway. Normally, this ledger was encrypted, but the Chinese, without a doubt, had the means to crack it.
Joe asked shopkeepers and passersby as to Alma’s whereabouts, but none of them had a clue. The rich people weren’t on the ground level, and you needed to be rich to know who Alma was.
Finally, at a small cafe a few blocks off the main square, the waiter said a woman who matched Alma’s description came in for her daily tea.
If it was the same old Alma, her apartment wouldn’t have a kitchen. She preferred it that way.
Joe ordered an artichoke stew, a traditional Falsterboo dish, served with black bread and paired it with a Tritan Ale as he waited, watching each and every customer who came and went. One hour passed, and still no Alma.
“What time does she usually come in?” Joe asked the waiter finally.
“That’s her over there,” the waiter said, pointing to a nearby table.
The woman sitting there wasn’t Alma, but the description matched. Mid-sixties, professional clothes, hair dyed dirty blond and cut short around a circular face.
“Well, thanks anyway,” Joe said and went to pay his bill. As he was waiting for his change, he looked over at the older woman. She leaned in to whisper something to her high-society friend.
“That’s Alma Peterson over there,” the woman said, loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear, quiet enough to make it seem unintentional. Joe followed her nod to see his old boss reading the paper on the front patio of the restaurant next door. “She sells antiques. My cousin bought a rune stone from her and the thing broke within a week. Cheap goods.”
“Her business is shut down now, you know,” the other woman responded. “Rumor has it she couldn't make as much as she used to.”
“Well, that’s hardly surprising considering the rune stone.”
“I can hear you,” Alma said to them, not lifting an eye from her paper.
The high-society women’s faces went red with embarrassment and they looked away. Joe couldn't help but grin. The thing is, Alma wasn’t from Falsterboo so she had never developed the heightened social anxiety. It gained her a lot of enemies and a few admirers.
Alma looked up to enjoy the awkward situation she had created and her eyes met Joe’s. Without a word, she hopped from her seat and scrambled for the cafe’s exit, stopping at the waiter to pay for her tea.
“Hey, Alma,” Joe said, approaching her.
The woman acted like she couldn't hear him as she left the establishment.
Joe shook his head in confusion. What was her deal? Unless… was this some sort side effect of the Archibald Syndrome?
He followed her past the small canal that ran down to the river, where the bamboo boats bobbed calmly in the water.
“Alma, it’s me, Joe,” he said.
She looked back at him with a scowl on her face.
“Alma, don’t you remember me?” he asked.
She ducked into an alleyway. “Of course I remember you, you jackass,” she snapped under her breath. “But I can’t be seen with you.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve really shut down,” he said.
“I have a new life now,” Alma hissed.
“By the sound of it, it’s not going so well.”
“I’m doing fine.”
“You seemed a little defensive back at the restaurant.”
“It’s not what they were saying,” Alma said, “it was the inaccuracy. Joe, what the blast are you doing here anyway?”
“Well, I have something I need you to look at,” he said, patting the black box he carried with him.
She started walking away, albeit a little more relaxed. “Jesus Christ, Joe, you almost gave me a heart attack. I can’t handle surprises like that. You should have at least called and let me know you were coming.”
“Would you have really agreed to see me?”
“No, of course not, but it would have at least given me the chance to hid
e.”
“Alma,” he said catching up with her. “You and me are gonna be rich. This is the ultimate piece. A real five star item, it checks all the boxes. I’m not even exaggerating this time.”
She shook her head. “If anyone saw you here I would have my license revoked.”
“You don’t need a license for your clients.”
Alma rolled her eyes. “That’s besides the point, Joe. I have privacy now, and a fancy clientele. A fancy clientele – like I’ve always dreamed of. I haven’t lost the proverbial ‘it’, or failed to make enough money or ever even sold a bloody rune stone for that matter. I’ve been on sick leave. Plain and simple. Yet people hear that you’re taking less clients and they think it means you’re slowing down.”
She turned onto a small alleyway, but abruptly came to a halt and put her arm up to stop Joe. An older gentlemen in a brown wool suit was getting into the elevator at the end of the lane.
“It’s complicated,” was all Alma said to Joe.
They took the next elevator and Alma scanned the long list of buttons before pressing 452. It was amidst the others, quiet and nondescript.
The elevator shot up with tremendous speed. One wall of the shaft was clear glass presenting an open view of the city. It gave Joe a slight headache. Alma closed her eyes and leaned against the railing.
“Is it your heart?” he asked.
“No, it’s just the meds I’m on,” she said.
“What are they?” Joe asked, knowing full well what they were. He was the one paying for them after all. He simply wanted to make sure Alma wasn’t on to that fact.
Archibald Syndrome was a side-effect of subspace travel and Alma’s years of smuggling were to blame. About ten years ago she stopped running items herself and only paid people to run them for her. But it was too little, too late – the damage had been done.
“Just cholesterol medicine,” she said, looking down over the city at the little ants below.
“Nothing to be concerned about?” Joe asked.
“It’s all temporary,” she said.
Either she hadn’t admitted it to herself, or she didn’t want to say, but her condition was terminal. Joe knew that, according to her medical records, she had less than a year to live.
The elevator dinged and opened to the 452nd floor, the office of Alma Peterson, the best antique dealer on this side of the galaxy. Her plaque needed updating, Joe thought. She was no longer the best on this side of the galaxy. The death of Shenzhen hadn’t affected her ranking, however.
There were no antiques in here. Only an amateur kept their goods on display, Alma would say. The only exception in this office was a black and white room separator from Ceres, a personal acquisition.
And of course, there was the strong smell of Lotus incense – Alma’s favorite. It used to bother Joe, now he found it oddly nostalgic.
Outside the window, the bustling city sprawled out as far as the eye could see. Caravans of starships dotted the pale blue sky, growing smaller and smaller until sparkling into nothingness on the horizon. The distant orange mountains were hazy in the evening sun. A gigantic Panda Cola ad on the building across the street lit the room pink.
Alma led Joe towards her desk that sat before the large window. She took a cigarette from a brass holder from the early 20th century. It was Alma’s favorite piece. She’d sooner die than part with it. The way things were going, she’d probably get her wish.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” Joe said. He almost tripped over a trapdoor on the floor in the corner of the room. “And what’s this?”
“None of your business, that’s what,” Alma said as she sat in her chair. “My plan was to sit here and read the newspaper for the rest of the afternoon.”
“Sorry for throwing a wrench in your plans,” Joe said. “But this is worth it.”
“Five star item, huh?” Alma had look of sympathy on her face.
Joe couldn’t tell if it was from current feelings, or if she had reached into the past. The woman had made the mistake of serving as a relationship counselor for him and his ex, while also being a business partner and a sort of mother figure. It was a combustible combination.
“Joe, you’re like the boy who cried wolf, but instead of wolf you cry ‘five star item’.”
He smiled and tried to hide the fact that that comment bothered him. He couldn't help being enthusiastic from time to time.
Alma lit a cigarette and took a drag. “You know I never thought I’d see you again. After everything that happened.”
“The universe has it out for me,” he replied, setting the box on her desk. “What can I say?”
“Don’t you think you’re a little too young to be so jaded?” Alma asked. “You’ve still got time, Joe. Why not go out and live a little?”
“I did, that’s what made me jaded.”
“Uh-huh... you were just unlucky.”
“It only needs to happen once.” He looked out the window, but it wasn’t the city he was seeing now. Visions of his past with Cassandra clouded his mind. Fights, making up, their inside jokes. These flashed before his eyes. For some reason, the feeling of the electric when their hands would touch danced upon the skin of his fingertips.
“What's the item?” Alma asked, finally.
Shaking his head Joe came back to reality. With excitement, he flipped open the latches on the box.
“I take it I shouldn’t ask how you’ve come across this?” Alma asked, leaning up and taking out her glasses.
“An extra no questions asked recommendation,” Joe said.
“Stolen?”
“Let’s say I found it.”
“Stolen from important people then,” Alma said with a nod. “Never mind. This is all too much for me, I’m afraid.”
“What do you mean too much for you?”
“I mean I don’t want anything to do with it.”
“Don’t you deal on the black market anymore?” Joe asked. His stomach suddenly went hollow with the feeling you get when your one and only hope goes up in smoke.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but no. I don’t have the energy to deal with getting arrested anymore.”
Joe sighed. “But I’ve got nowhere else to go with this.”
“I’m sorry, Joe. It’s been a long time since I ran, so I suppose I could give you some contacts, but like I said, I’m not in the game anymore so I’m not sure how good they’d be. Most of them are probably dead anyway. Folks like your Shenzhen are few and far between these days. Say, why didn’t you go through him?”
“Oh, uh... he’s dead,” Joe said.
“Aha, well, there you have it,” Alma said with a sigh. “I suppose I should see you out.”
Joe nodded, latched up the box and took it towards the elevator. A dark cloud came over him. It was the end of the line.
For half a second, he considered dropping the bomb that he had been paying her medical bills, but he decided against it. Alma was a proud woman and would have sooner killed herself than let Joe take care of her. He had to instruct her doctors to inform her that her previous insurance company had forgotten to cancel her plan and now she was being covered for free.
“I was just hoping we could have one last adventure together,” he said finally, hoping to cash in on the fact that Alma was dying and knew it.
“Why don’t you let me see the item?” Alma sighed.
Joe froze at the door. He turned to make sure she wasn’t joking.
“It might help me think of somebody who might be interested,” she added.
Joe walked back, with a smile. The plan had worked. He placed the box on her desk. “Just a warning,” he said. “It's a little weird.”
“I like weird,” Alma replied.
“So it was found at the Talashaa ruins, in the Dyson Sphere, where I was working.” Joe opened the lid, reached in and grabbed the orb. As usual, it began to glow. He held it before him. Alma squinted with a hand in front of her eyes. “Pretty weird, huh? Now watch this.�
�� He let it go. The orb stopped glowing and hung weightlessly in the air between them.
“I see,” Alma said. “Weird was an understatement.”
“Yep,” Joe said. He noticed now, outside of the noisy ship, that there was absolutely no sound coming from the artifact. And no movement either. That meant there was no motor or interior force. It almost felt as if the artifact was not part of the surrounding space-time.
“Feel it,” Joe said. “It has no weight whatsoever.”
Alma kept her hands to herself. Joe remembered she used to say that it was the mark of an amateur to touch the items you were appraising.
“What else can you tell me about it?” she asked.
“There was some sort of science crew on an archaeological dig. The Martians were involved and surprise, surprise there was a shootout.”
“The Martians were excavating?” Alma asked. “That doesn’t sound like them.”
“Well, it was the Chinese doing the actual excavating,” Joe said.
“Okay, Joe, time for you to go,” Alma blurted out, picking up the box and shoving it into his arms.
“They’ve lost track of it, I promise,” Joe said.
“I’ve heard that one before. I can’t believe you brought that thing in here. Now I’m going to have to move again.”
“Take it easy. We made it to the highway, they don’t even know where to look.”
“Are you sure, Joe?” she asked, a serious worry in her eyes.
“I’m positive,” he said. “We disappeared. Up in smoke.”
Alma scoffed and went to close the blinds. Then she stood there with her fists on her hips, shaking her head slowly. Finally, she turned and came back in to inspect the item properly. “I always knew you’d be the death of me, I just never knew how... until now.”
“I figured we could take it to the Karachi market,” Joe said.
“I thought there was nothing there. At the ruins, I mean.”
“Yeah, well, that was the company line,” Joe said. “But apparently they were making a dig without telling anyone. Who knows what made them go back after all these years.”
“Actually, I’ve heard of an item like this coming onto the market,” Alma said. “The Chinese were looking for somebody to smuggle it out of the neutral zone for them. They settled on the Martian mob. Shenzhen was supposedly on the other side, the side that wanted to steal it.”
The Star Collector Page 8