The Jolo Vargas Space Opera Series Box Set

by J. D. Oppenheim

  “We’ll be okay for a long spell, but let’s see what the black box says before we jump to conclusions.”

  That night after dinner Jolo stopped by Katy’s room. After the attack on Montag everyone had decided to stay at Marco’s. Katy had turned a tiny storage bay into a livable space complete with a pull down cot and some plants from the atrium. Merthon had installed a grow light so they’d stay green. Jolo found her reading up on the Argossy spec and repair manual. “I didn’t mention it at Bertha’s, but I’m sorry you had to float out there in space. I should have been more careful.”

  “We made it home. That’s what counts. None of us were expecting a monster ion cannon on a UFP freighter.”

  Jolo sat down on Katy’s one piece of furniture, a metal box with a pillow on top for a seat. “The BG is up to something and I think things may get worse, but we’ll do what we do and lay low and not stick our necks out. Let the Feds and the BG kill each other.”

  Katy looked up from her manual, “Jolo, if you don’t want to get involved, then why go back for the manifest.” said Katy.

  “Self preservation,” said Jolo. “I don’t trust the BG or the Fed. We need to know what they’re up to so we can protect ourselves. So we don’t end up dead or on a work planet like Barthelme.”

  “Do you miss him?”

  “Honestly, I didn’t know him for long, but yeah, in a weird way, I do. I want to help him.”

  “You know we can’t get past the outer patrols in our little Argossy, sturdy she may be.”

  “Yeah. I know. Maybe there’s another way. I’m gonna talk to Marco about it.”

  The next day, after getting cleaned up and feasting on some of Marco’s atrium spinach and butter squash, everyone met in the computer room where George had been busy.

  “We’re here to suss out exactly what our black metal friends are up to,” said Jolo. “They’ve been installing listening stations on Duval, which is part of their mandate to protect shipping lanes, but their actions lately don’t add up.”

  “There’s too many of the damn things,” said Marco.

  “Yeah, and they’re too close to each other for a planet this size,” said Jolo. “Add that bit of dodginess to the attack on a Fed boat they were supposed to protect, then the theft of a black box, and something ain’t right.”

  “And the fact they killed Fed citizens,” said Katy.

  “They wanted to make it look like a pirate attack,” said Marco.

  “But we don’t operate that way,” said Koba.

  “We don’t. But some have,” said Jolo. “Which brings us to the logic array. George?”

  “Well, it took a long time to crack the Federation encryption, but once I got through that, it was just a matter of time before I found the manifest list, including the contents of the black box. Federation encryption is the finest in this corner of the galaxy so it did take some time…” George paused here for effect and gave everyone a look with his glass eyes. He waited some more, smiling. “Long time,” he said. “Long time.” Everyone stared at him blankly, clearly missing the point.

  Finally, Katy got it. “Oh, so George, how long did it actually take? Must’ve been hours and hours.”

  George smiled. “Yes, you would think. But it only—”

  “What was in the dang box a’ready?” yelled Greeley.

  “—forty-two seconds,” said George. “Not my best time, but fairly respectable.”

  “The box?” said Jolo.

  “Yes, of course. The box contained 182 metric tons of galaxite.”

  “Galaxite?” said Jolo. “The rocks the astral projectors use?” Everyone stood around and pondered exactly why the BG would think to steal galaxite, a shiny rock that had little value in Fed space.

  “I used to have a polished galaxite rock my father gave me,” said Katy. “It was smooth and would heat up in your hand and stay warm for a time afterwards. It was a dark colored rock, but it looked like multi-colored stars in a tiny galaxy if you shined a light through it.”

  Computer, thought Jolo, what is galaxite used for?

  Currently, in Federation space, it is used by astral projectors who claim to forsee the future, though there is no scientific proof their prophesies are valid. Mostly the rock is used, in a highly polished form, as a trinket to carry in one’s pocket. Some believe the rock brings good luck. In old Earth time, the rock was used for fuel storage before the modern Federation fuel cells were created.

  “So the BG killed most of a freighter crew to steal a box of pretty rocks?” said Koba.

  “The rocks were used for fuel storage on old Earth,” said Jolo. “But that still doesn’t solve the riddle. What do listening stations have to do with galaxite?”

  For the next hour the crew tossed around different ideas about what the BG might be up to, but the session ended with no revelations, so everyone decided to sleep on it. George concluded there simply wasn’t enough data.

  Certain Things We Didn’t Want To Know

  Duval

  That night Jolo went to the library. Even though he could pull data from his own embedded computer, he liked using Marco’s large projection computer and surrounding himself with information. It was almost visceral, like he could touch it. He searched for data on listening stations. Each tower would pull in any electronic signal it could find within range, archive it, then send the data to a centralized computer in orbit for processing, the curated bits of were then sent on to the end user for analysis. Each tower then, could theoretically “hear” bad guys and potentially curtail pirate activity. Or that was the idea.

  He tried to find instances where listening stations were placed closer than necessary, maybe for signal boost, but nothing. Then he searched for planets with large numbers of listening stations. Duval was not on the list, but would be soon, he figured. Most planets with a high number of towers were on the fringe: the Fed wanted to know if a threat was coming.

  Jolo laid down on the floor next to the table, put his hands behind his head and stared up into the data. “Computer,” he said, “pull up the Fed planet with the most listening stations.”

  Frixion IV on the outer edge had the most towers of any planet. It was a well-used jump point to the uncharted bits of the galaxy. He pulled up the planet and had the computer mark the listening stations. Each tower was separated by hundreds of kilometers. Why were Duval’s towers so close? He was just about to give up, then issued one final query. “Computer, are there any planets, Federation or not, that have more listening stations than Frixion?”

  “There are no other existing planets that have more listening stations than Fixion,” came the computer’s reply.

  “What do you mean existing?”

  “To exist, verb, to have actual being; to be real; to have life; to live; to live at a minimal level. Do you want an example sentence?”

  “No. What do you mean by no other existing planets?

  “Query parameters include existing planets only.”

  “Computer, are there any planets existing or not that have or had more listening stations that Frixion?”

  “Yes. The extinct planet called Vellos.”

  Jolo jumped up, hitting his head on the edge of the large, circular table that held the computer. “Show me!” he said, rubbing his forehead, heart pounding.

  A 3-D image of the planet Vellos appeared and Jolo cleared the other data away. “Computer, pinpoint all locations of last known listening stations.” Small red dots began popping up all over the planet. There were thousands. “Computer, how far apart are these towers?” said Jolo.

  “Tower separation is about 100 kilometers.”

  “Why?”

  “Please clarify.”

  “Why position towers closer than necessary?”

  “There is no data to support any valid theories. One could say redundancy, but the concentration is too high.”

  Jolo ran out of the room and headed down to the deepest bay at Marco’s, the one where he used to hide the Argossy. Merthon h
ad taken up residence there and had created, with the help of the old man and a few pirate trades, a makeshift lab to work in. Anytime Jolo found a bio-med box on a freighter he would grab it for Merthon, mainly to please Marco.

  Jolo was still angry at Merthon, though he couldn’t exactly come up with the right words to describe his anger. He wanted to scream at him, but only stupid lines like: “Why did you save me?” came to mind. Lines that most would figure deserved thanks. Marco treated the old frog like royalty.

  When Jolo finally made it down to the lower level, he found the tall, green humanoid throwing glass bottles across the room. The lab reminded him of the synth production facility on Montag, only smaller. There were three large tanks, each with the odd blue water that Jolo had seen before. Merthon even had a bot hovering over with a long tube stuck down into one of the tanks, an L-shaped thing growing inside.

  “What’s that?” said Jolo.

  Merthon stopped throwing bottles and took a deep breath. “An arm,” he said, like it was normal to grow an arm in a tank of blue water. “So you’ve decided to speak to me? Or have you come to take me out of my misery.” Jolo hadn’t said much to the Vellosian since Montag. Katy said to give it time and one day he’d be ready to talk. Maybe today was the day, thought Jolo.

  “Do you remember the listening stations on Vellos?” Merthon just stared at Jolo, his mind still working on water properties.

  “Jamis left me the key, but I am too much of a fool to see it,” said Merthon. Another reason Jolo hadn’t spoken to Merthon that much was that the old frog was constantly working on The Problem. Marco told Jolo that Merthon was working out a way to kill off the Jaylens. That there was an easy way to do it if you just knew what that easy way was. Another reason for Jolo to grab a med-box, but now he needed answers.

  “Merthon!” yelled Jolo. And the Vellosian went suddenly calm, big eyes blinking. “Do you remember the listening stations on Vellos?”

  “Yes,” said Merthon.

  “Who put them there?”

  “The black plague,” he said, meaning the BG.

  “When?”

  “Right before the end.”

  “Why’d they put so many of them in and why were they so close?”

  “I don’t know. They said it was for our safety.”

  “That’s the line they’re feeding us here in Duval.”

  Merthon stopped, took off his gloves and sat down. He stared at the floor for awhile. “It was spring in Arlas, where my parents had settled years before, and everything was green. Jamis and I were leading the synth production in the city, in the beautiful Vellosian facility. We created wonderful synthetic humanoids that could cook meals for little Federation families and clean Federation homes and take care of little Federation children. All without any human hangups, no pride or jealousy to get in the way, no thoughts of anything grander. They were sublime and simple. I bet the Feds secretly miss them. What synth uprising? That was the BG.”

  “What about the towers?”

  “I saw the first one from the upper level of the facility. A few hundred meters off. Then another. And another. And we went about our work. And then one day it was all gone and Jamis and I had been off planet so were saved. Only later did we learn it was because the BG wanted us alive so we could create for them.” Merthon looked up at Jolo. “And now they’re planting towers on Duval.”

  “I think we gotta go and check out one of these towers up close,” said Jolo.

  “If I came do you think I could kill one of the metal bastards?” said Merthon.

  “I think you should stay here and figure out how to kill the little blond devils.”

  “I’m stuck. I need something to shift my brain. I’m coming.”

  “You ain’t gonna last out in the sand.”

  “I’ve created a hydration suit.”

  “Can you fire a gun?”

  “You mean can I pull a trigger? I’m a creator, not an idiot. Let’s go now while it’s dark and cool.”

  Thirty minutes later they were heading due east to a tower 300 kilometers away. Jolo woke up Katy so she could pilot Marco’s little three-seater G2 Scout so he’d be free to babysit Merthon. The small hovercraft was quiet, wouldn’t draw attention, plus it had excellent scanners.

  “Is Marco gonna be pissed we stole his little boat?” said Katy.

  “No. He’s gonna be pissed we ran off with his little frog,” said Jolo. Merthon sat in the rear seat wearing a thin, black hydration suit. He was holding Betsy in both hands like it was going to explode. “And Greeley’s gonna be pissed we nabbed Betsy.”

  “Is there anyone we haven’t pissed off?” said Katy.

  Jolo leaned into the back seat eyeing the sawed-off shotgun. “You sure you can use that?” Merthon held out the gun, left hand on the forestock, right hand easing down to the trigger guard. He held it away from his body and had it pointed right at Jolo.

  “Okay. Rule number one: Don’t point that thing at me or Katy.” Merthon aimed it down, then reconsidered, and pointed it right. “Good,” said Jolo. “Now when you pull the trigger hold on tight cause Betsy’ll give you a good kick.” Jolo settled back down into his seat, then thought of one more thing. “Don’t aim for the head. Go for the sure shot: center of the chest plate. Rock that worm inside!” Jolo found himself grinning like a kid at the thought of the gangly, black-suited Vellosian wielding a sawed-off shotgun and going toe to toe with a BG warrior. But he also had decided, before they even left Marco’s, that he would take down both of the BG himself. Let the frog shoot the worm inside once Jolo takes out the head. He wasn’t going to take any undue risks with Merthon.

  The Scout’s scanners picked up several towers on the way. Each listening station generated enough heat to register on the screen. They were laid out in a perfect grid, each one 100 kilometers apart. Jolo had decided to hit one a good distance from Marco’s so the BG wouldn’t come nosing around. Soon they were at the doorstep of a large tower. Katy stayed a good distance off in the Scout, Jolo and Merthon headed for the tower on foot. From a distance it didn’t look like much, but the closer they got, the larger it rose into the dark sky.

  Soon the half-synth and the Vellosian were standing there at the front door staring up at a monolith. It had four smooth sides, slowly tapering down to a point high up in the night air they could not see.

  “Shall we knock politely?” said Merthon. Jolo wondered if he was joking, but couldn’t think of anything else to do, so he waved him back and rapped on the smooth door with the butt of the Colt. Jolo stepped back and waited, expecting the first of two black metal warriors to emerge.

  Suddenly a small door opened ten meters above his head and a camera eye popped out. “This is Bakanhe Grana and Federation Alliance listening station number 4927, revision 2945.45. Citizens loitering within 50 meters of a listening station will be taken into custody and conscripted. Minimum 1 year of labor at a Bakanhe and Federation approved work release facility.”

  Jolo put a bullet through the camera eye and waited. “Might want to take a few more steps back,” he said to Merthon. “They usually have a few mechs in a listening station.”

  Suddenly out of either side of the tower, two armed hover bots popped out. They both had laser weapons that couldn’t pierce the hull of the smallest of boats, but could cut a man, even in Fed issue battle gear, in half. The bots gained altitude, found their target and quickly descended on Jolo. He jumped, and before they could change trajectory, shot one down. The other backed off quickly, but then came a loud BOOM as Merthon took a shot with Betsy. The bot zoomed high and headed away from the tower.

  “What’d you do that for?” said Jolo. “Marco’s gonna be pissed at me if you get yourself killed. Now that little bot is gonna come back from God knows where and try to take out the biggest gun.” Merthon made a little squeak noise and started running around in the dark. But there was nowhere to hide. “Relax,” said Jolo. “I’ll take it out. But now you’re gonna have to stand next to me because—”
But he didn’t get the last word out. A round, metal flash came hurtling in from behind them, a tiny red laser line extending down to the ground was cutting a path straight for Merthon.

  Jolo knew he only had one shot. He led the fast moving piece of metal and fired, the bullet tearing through the bot’s covering just above the red dot that marked the laser emitter. It went off course and bounced off the ground out of sight.

  Merthon picked himself up and brushed the sand off his sleek hydration suit. Jolo stood in front of the door with his head tilted to one side. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. Why couldn’t they just have two warriors inside like usual, he thought. Merthon stood beside him and for a moment there was silence.

  Then from the other side they heard a door opening and a rumbling sound. A large metal ball, about as tall as Jolo, rolled out from an opening on the back side. It stopped and suddenly four legs popped out, raising the metal body taller than a warrior, and it started walking. Jolo could see the red ocular lens on the front and just above that, a small cover opened and out popped a gun turret. It took aim at Jolo and he jumped out of the way, faster than the machine anticipated. The shot missed and Merthon ran to the side, keeping the tower between him and the bot.

  Jolo fired off a few shots. Each bullet bounced off with no damage to the mechanical beast. The cannon was now fully extended and mounted on a 360 degree swivel. It started tracking immediately. Jolo knew it would find his heat signature and if the monster got one shot on him there’d be nothing left. He landed near the back side and noticed the tower door was still open. He dove inside just as the bot located him. It took another shot and destroyed the corner of the door. Jolo landed inside, slid across a smooth floor and pressed his body against the wall. He could feel heat coming up from the floor and hoped this would hide him. There were no other doors to escape through. Nothing in the room except the listening station computer.