I switch my faceplate configuration to a mostly empty screen. Nothing more to look at, really, or do. Just sit and wait until we arrive.
Then a message scrolls across my faceplate. Pilot, switch to comm channel seven.
I do so. “I am here, Leader.”
“I’m about to delete all the data each of the suits has recorded during our operation,” he says. “Do you want me to save Engineer’s recordings?”
Geen. He’s cargo now, wedged in between the cradles, strapped in place. I really had expected Leader to jettison him, and his question catches me by surprise. I gather my thoughts. “Would keeping them be too much of a risk?”
“Can’t really tell unless I listen to them. I don’t think he’d’ve blabbed anything...incriminating. But I can’t be sure.”
While it’d be nice to keep the recordings, I don’t wish to jeopardize everything we’ve accomplished. Plus there’s those final moments of his. “Erase them. I’ll make do with my memories.”
“Very well.”
“Leader–”
After I’m silent for a moment, he asks, “Yes, Pilot?”
I struggle to formulate my question. “The man we found. Is– What do you plan to do with him?”
Leader is silent. My hearts beat fast. Then, “What did Engineer tell you about the outpost’s last occupants?”
Again, I order my thoughts before I reply. “Enough to know I should be afraid. But– But I really need to see... This man–” I slow my breathing. “I just want to know.”
Leader’s reply comes after another pause. “Pilot, I don’t know what happened to this man. I’ve never seen anything like it. I may just have to put him somewhere safe, make some discrete inquiries. Something tells me the Sha-Ho are involved, and they’re the last group I want looking in my direction.” He pauses. “You understand, yeah?”
“Of course. And you’ll take care of G– Engineer?”
“What? Oh, yes, yes. Of course. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some arrangements to make.”
* * *
A series of jolts shake the cargo container. My inner balance tells me we’re moving again, slowly, by crane. There’s no countdown timer for this part of the trip. However long it takes to get where we’re going I can only follow by watching the mission timer.
We’re carried for about a half hour, twice as long as when we left.
A crackle rises from my helmet speakers. “Just another minute,” Leader says. “We’ll have a small victory ceremony, a toast, then I believe all of you have your schedules.”
Schedule? I tap my forearm plate and scroll through the data. A lot of what was on their before has disappeared–erased by Leader. There’s no list. No schedule.
Withered dyst! Not again!
Then a message scrolls across my faceplate: Pilot, stick around after the ceremony. I may have some news.
My racing hearts slow. There I go again, assuming the worst.
The cargo container thumps down hard. The red dots circling the hatch turn green. The data streams along the container’s insides disappear. The hatch swings open.
We’ve arrived.
Steps rise from the container floor. I detach my suit from the port-pack slot, climb down, and remove my helmet. We’re in a medium-sized space, air cold and heavy with the smells of oil, lubricant, and maybe sweat, illuminated by a pair of bright overhead lights. Equipment in various stages of disrepair line three walls. Cranes lurk against the ceiling. Carts on thick wheels hunch in the shadows. Two small flatbed trams are parked a short distance away, aimed at a closed hatch large enough for their passage. A small table with ten glass tumblers and two buckets filled with ice stands in a clearing. Jammed into the ice are two bottles of amber fluid.
It’s nice to have the bright whites. Breathe in familiar smells.
I remove my gloves. An odor rises from my suit’s chestpack. It’s enough to make me turn my head and swallow. I keep walking to make room for the men behind me.
Some of them cough. There’s a couple of groans. A muttered, “God damn that stinks,” I think is from H-4.
The scrawny human, Escort, stands among a group of seven others, each wearing gray long-sleeved tunics beneath dark blue overalls. They move among us, gathering helmets and gloves and stowing them on pushcarts. Escort shakes hands with Leader.
“Congratulations, sir,” he says.
“Everything went better than I could’ve hoped,” Leader replies.
No assistants enter the cargo container.
Leader steps to the other side of the small table and spreads his arms. “Gather ’round, my friends, gather ’round.”
Two assistants pour the amber liquid into the waiting tumblers. I walk close with the rest of the men. The smell from the drink hits me. Pult. A byveri drink.
My lips curl all on their own.
Leader notices me, sees the look on my face. He leans to one of the assistants and whispers into his ear. The assistant pauses at the last two tumblers, nods, reaches beneath the table, and produces a small bottle of light yellow liquid. He pours it into a tumbler and offers it to me.
“Lascal,” he says.
I sniff. The smell is ranker than my suit’s–they don’t call this rotted kavax piss for nothing. “My appreciations.” This is a true kavax drink. Knowing Leader and his “spare no expense” attitude, that small bottle was probably imported from my home world at tremendous cost. The assistant pours lascal into the final tumbler.
Leader raises his glass. The three humans and four kavax beside me do the same. “To a successful and lucrative job well done,” he says, giving each man a look. When his gaze meets mine, he raises his glass a touch higher. “And to our friend who didn’t make it. I honor his sacrifice, and salute all of you.”
As one, the seven men say, “Salute!” and toss back their pult, along with Leader.
“Salute,” I say, a beat behind. Geen never told me about this. It has the feel of a tradition. I throw my lascal to the back of my throat, swallow hard. It burns going down, but sits like ice in my guttards. The coolness spreads outward in a refreshing wave.
Then my guttards gurgle. The drink is fine, but dyst do I need solid food! My knees tremble slightly. My neck feels cool.
The men place their empty tumblers on the table as they walk past. Leader shakes hands with each, slaps the shoulders of a few. Two of the assistants help H-4 to one of the flatbeds. He says to one, “Grab those bottles before we leave, eh?” His comment draws laughter.
The first flatbed, with the seven men and half the assistants, drives off.
Leader catches me looking at the second tumbler of lascal. “In honor of your friend and mine. You can drink it if you like.”
I take the tumbler and throw back the contents, then raise the glass. To you, my friend, my tiy-ki. Then, to Leader, I say, “Thank you. He would’ve appreciated this.”
Leader nods, then turns toward Escort. “Have all the arrangements been verified?”
“They’ll have time to grab a big meal before their flights depart.” Escort watches the flatbed disappear through the large hatch in the room’s far side. “My boys’ll make sure they’re all on their way. Even the gimpy guy.”
“Good, good.” Leader faces the open cargo container, hands on hips. “Now, let’s get our unexpected prize out, and you can tell me what you think.”
Escort waves at two of his men, who step into the cargo container and climb onto the sled. A moment later they emerge carrying the frozen human between them. They set him down on the remaining flatbed. All of us gather around.
“He was hidden up in a chute on the operations deck. Something that wasn’t on any of the schematics,” Leader says. “Found him just like this. No telling how long he’d been there.”
A couple of the assistants poke at him. “What’s that over his skin?” one asks.
“Like there’s a film or something,” says the other.
“I simply don’t know,” Leader says. “I just ain’t s
een nothing like it.”
Escort looks thoughtful, then he scowls. “Oh, shit. Wait. I think...” He crouches, squints. “Yeah, I think I’ve seen this before.”
Leader’s eyes go wide and his mouth opens. “What? Where the hell could you have seen something like this before?”
Escort straightens. “My cousin, over at the research and development lab. She tells me shit, how they’ve been working on this new thing, like putting people in some sort of suspended animation.” He jabs a finger at the human on the flatbed. “She showed me once. An animal–raccoon, I think. Couple years back, maybe. Kinda showing off. But… cruks if it didn’t look something like this.”
Leader studies him, glances at the human, then back. “Well, how about you give your cousin a call? Maybe she can shed some light on this.”
“Yeah, sure.” Escort pulls a dataplate from his pocket. “Just give me a second. Let me see what I can do.” He steps away, plate to his ear.
I lean over and touch the human for the first time. His skin is cold, but not with the deathly chill of vacuum. And it’s hard, solid. Strange.
The assistants jabber at Leader. “You found him like this?” “He was there, alone?” “How long has he been all froze, do you think?”
I tune them out, except for that last question. How long has he been there? I frown. Could he have been there before the Black Diamond took up residence? If so, he might not be one of them.
The tension in my guttards uncoils slightly.
Escort returns, snaps a picture of the human, then taps his dataplate. “See? Just like that raccoon you showed me.” He presses the dataplate back to his ear. The voice on the other end is tinny, but excited. Escort nods. “Yeah, just like this. No, I can’t say where.” Another excited reply. “Yeah, we can do that. When?” He listens a bit more, than nods. “See you then. Oh, and I don’t have to tell you to keep your yap shut, right?” Another reply. “Good. Ten-thirty. Be alone.”
Leader arches an eyebrow. “Well?”
“She wants us to bring this fella here to one of her labs,” Escort says. “She thinks based on the picture I sent that she can help us. But is going to want some answers in return.”
“Can you trust her?”
Escort shrugs. “She’ll keep her mouth shut. Might need some financial incentive, but we can trust her after that.”
“Good, good.” Leader looks at me. “Maybe we can figure this out without jumping through any hoops.”
“She says we can’t meet until about ten-thirty tonight,” Escort says. He checks his dataplate. “Little over ten hours from now.”
Leader claps, once. “Time enough to get out of these suits, stuff our faces, and grab some decent shut-eye.” He smiles at me. “What say you, Pilot? Ready to get out of that suit?”
* * *
In the locker room, an assistant assists me, then wheels the suit away. “For proper cleaning,” he says, nose wrinkled.
The back of my knee is bruised and tender. Otherwise, I’m doing well.
I shower, dress in my clothes, and use my dataplate to find a kiosk serving old-fashioned kavax food. Along the way I check my account balance, and nearly drop my plate.
More credits than I’ve ever had in my life.
But I’m not quite in a celebratory mood.
I’m careful not to over-indulge. The grains and tubes and noodles aren’t the best I’ve had, but they are damn delicious. Afterward, I return to my room. Before I settle into my hammock, I dig a diaper from my duffel. Just never know.
My memories wash over me. I let my candle burn down to a stub.
In the dark, a wave of exhaustion drags me down. The last thing I see before I close my eyes is the shadowy outline of the empty hammock across from mine. Geen. I wonder about him, there on the sled, his suit probably caught tight in the pseudo-gravity from the cradles. Maybe Leader or one of his lackeys has disposed of his body by now. Junked his suit. I’m sure that little task has been given a certain priority. And discretion.
Leaving me with nothing but memories. And a deep appreciation for all he’s done, all he tried to do.
My nap doesn’t last nearly long enough. The aches that haunted me over the final hours of the operation remind me of the pain I endured. I drink my fill of sweetwater and throw on a simple tunic, my turrel, and casual, lace-up boots.
My hearts beat a little fast. This human we found... Maybe we’ll get answers tonight. Maybe the mystery’ll be solved.
I follow directions on my dataplate across the station to where I’m told to meet Escort. He’s there, leaning against the rock, arms across his chest. He stands as I approach. “Need the refresher again, or can we get on straight away?”
I resist the urge to wring his scrawny neck and hurl him down the corridor. “We can go.”
He leads me through the dark quiet passageways to an open space at one of the tram platforms. Leader is there, standing behind a pushcart. There’s a large rectangular cargo pod on the pushcart. Large enough for the human.
Leader smiles. “You look rested, Pilot. Good, good.”
“Fed and rested.”
Escort says, “We’ll take the next tram.”
The research and development center is all the way across the station, near the Unity Fleet’s docking bays. As we disembark from the tram, we’re surrounded by Unity Fleet personnel going in all directions. It’s brighter here, more alive than back in the mining area, with all sorts of tempting scents wafting in the air. From overhead speakers comes the drums of a Huckbar symphony. Escort leads the way around a half-circle of restaurants and shops, then down a long metal-and-rock-wall, dimly lit corridor. Leader follows with the pushcart. I stay a step off his heels. We leave the noise and bustle behind.
Escort’s cousin waits at a hatch down a couple levels. She’s taller than Escort, with curly shoulder-length hair, but just as scrawny. I see a family resemblance. She looks at the cargo pod on the pushcart. “Can I–”
“Not out here, stupid,” Escort says.
She frowns. “This way. There’s only the night crew hanging around, but they’re on the upper level. Just keep the noise down.”
She hurries us through darkened hallways, with open hatches leading off to shadowy rooms. Lights on control plates blink in the gloom. The air is stale, and reeks of ozone. Different types of buzzing come and go, a symphony of machines large and small competing with each other.
At a large hatch, she uses a key on a chain around her neck to unlock a control pad, where she enters a several-digit code. The hatch unlocks with a clunk. She waves us inside, then seals the hatch behind us. Half the lightpads overhead brighten, revealing a room laden with control stations, workstations, tool stations, and an open, circular space at the far end.
“Over here,” Cousin says. “If you have what I think you have, we’ll need to put him in the chamber there.”
We stop by the circular space. The floor inside is a flat gray slab. Overhead, a series of rods speckled with blue crystals of some sort crisscross the center. Power hums from unseen generators.
Leader uses a dataplate to unlock the cargo pod. Escort opens it. Inside, the human lies on a bed of foam padding.
“Ho. Lee. Shit.” Cousin crouches by the pod. “You weren’t kidding.”
Escort grunts. “It’s the edges of that glaze on his skin, the way it catches the light. Just like that raccoon you showed me. Remember?”
“Yeah. The raccoon. Yeah.”
Leader clears his throat. “So you know what this is? You know what’s happened to this poor fella?”
“He’s been deanimated,” she says. “This is exactly what it looks like. I’m not aware of any testing on humans just yet. But we’re not the only labs working on this. So yeah, he’s been deanimated.”
“Well what the hell does that mean?”
“I’ll tell you that if you tell me where you found him,” Cousin says, looking over her shoulder.
Leader scowls. “How about I pay you not to ask any
questions, and you do what you gotta do to fix him?”
“Come on, cuz,” Escort says. “I warned you you can’t be asking questions. Let me see your dataplate.”
Cousin stands, fishes her dataplate from a pocket, and hands it over. Escort produces his, then holds the two close together. Her plate beeps. Escort returns it.
“That ought to answer all your questions,” he says.
She checks her plate, then her eyebrows rise, her eyes open wide, and her lips scrunch like she just sucked on a lemon. “Holy shit. Yeah, okay. Enough with the questions.” She returns the plate to her pocket. “So. Let’s stand him on the platform.”
The four of us lift the human from the cargo pod and stand him in the center of the platform within the circular space.
“How long will this take?” Leader asks. “Whatever you’re doing.”
“About ten seconds,” Cousin says. She leads us around the platform to a pair of control plates on waist-high consoles. “I suspected you fellas didn’t want anyone else to know about this, so I disabled some of the security protocols.” She taps her pant pocket. “This makes up for a lot of that risk.”
Leader grunts. “I appreciate it. Just hope it works.”
Escort asks, “You’re not going to lose your job over this, are you?”
“Nah. I helped design a lot of the watchdog subroutines. I can make them look the other way while we’re busy.” As she speaks she flips switches and turns dials on the control plates. Somewhere out of sight, several machines grumble to life. “I just need to bring the micro-Tatum up to speed. Takes about fifteen seconds.”
Through the tinted glass of the window straight ahead, the man is visible. The lights within the circular chamber dim.
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