Void Ship Page 10

  “Really, how much? I need to buy some new long-range equipment for my HD drive,” he said, using his cover story.

  “Probably close to two-fifty. Mechanicals are rare, and coveted. A remnant from the days before the Void. Very much a status symbol,” said the agent.

  “Great,” Renwick said, feigning enthusiasm for the sale.

  “I’m moving her to the top of the next hour,” said the agent. “Generate some buzz.” Renwick looked at his watch. Lieutenant Cain would come up in twenty minutes, just a few auctions in advance of Amanda/Yan.

  “That’s fine,” he said, acting casual.

  “Wanna say goodbye?” asked the agent.

  “Sure,” he went up to Amanda/Yan. “It’s been fun, old girl,” he said, making a show of it for the milling crowd, then he leaned in. “Our trading permit expires at twelve-hundred hours tomorrow,” he said. “We have that long to locate Captain Aybar and get her off the station.”

  “Understood,” said Amanda/Yan. “I will retrieve her and meet you at the skiff ten minutes before departure.” Renwick smiled, acting out his cover.

  “Thank you for your service, Yan,” he said loudly, then turned and headed back up to the pits without looking back at her.

  HE REJOINED MAKERA in the auction pits just one auction ahead of Lieutenant Cain. The pits were accurately named, a burgeoning mass of pure capitalism teeming with energy, lust, and the desire to possess. Whatever human desire a man (or woman) chose to indulge in could be fulfilled here. The richest of the rich stayed off the trading floor and bid from one of many shadowed boxes poised over the floor.

  Renwick registered himself as a bidder on Lieutenant Cain just five minutes before the deadline. The big money usually came in at the last minute, and he hoped to scare off as many potential challengers as he could in advance. He was the fifty-fourth potential bidder. One minute from the close of registration another bidder came on. In the last sixty seconds thirty-four bidders dropped off.

  “That’s a bad sign,” he said.

  “What?” said Makera.

  “A private bidder just registered at the last minute. More than half the other bidders dropped off,” he said.

  “He must be known, then.”

  “Yes, and feared,” Renwick looked around the room. “Did you spot anyone you recognized?” he asked. She nodded.

  “The old man from the bar was here again, but he left just before you came up. And I did notice him spying on me again. I restrained myself from challenging him, but it was difficult,” she said.

  “Just because we can’t see him doesn’t mean he’s not here,” said Renwick. He continued to observe the crowd but saw no one suspicious, or paying any overt attention to them.

  The auction scheduled just in front of Lieutenant Cain ended and the cage was vacated. Auctions continued in the other cages at breakneck speed. An auction was only open for ten minutes. Renwick looked down to see Lieutenant Cain entering the cage. She had been stripped down to just basic coverings of her body, she was very nearly nude. Detailed digital images of her were available to anyone who wanted to see her in the most explicit detail on the station network. Renwick had avoided those. He wanted to think of her as the talented pilot of the Phaeton, and a pretty young girl. She didn’t belong here and he intended to see she got out.

  Her hands were shackled in front of her and she looked terrified. The announcer read out her lot number and her listed skills, beyond her value as a pure sex toy for some sick slaver.

  “This is barbaric,” said Makera. Renwick still hadn’t made peace wither her earlier actions, but he couldn’t disagree with her assessment.

  “It is what the Void has brought us to, Ambassador,” he said in response.

  The auction started with a bid of ten thousand. Renwick used his bidding pad to immediately up that to ten-thousand five-hundred. He watched as the bidding moved rapidly to the fifteen thousand level, then paused. He waited almost the full thirty second bid limit before going to fifteen-five. This started another flurry that pushed her to seventeen-five, where it paused again. There were ten bidders left as those who found her price too rich dropped out.

  Renwick went to eighteen thousand, the projected high end of the bidding, and another four dropped out. The crowd started to buzz, Would someone go over? A roar of anticipation went up in the house as his thirty-second bid limit was about to expire. He looked at his pad.

  Someone had bid twenty thousand. He went to twenty-one. The crowd cheered, then it roared, much louder than the first.

  Twenty-five thousand.

  “What’s wrong? asked Makera. Renwick looked frantically around the room, there were just two bidders left now, him and the late-arriving private bidder.

  “Someone is gaming us,” he said. “I think we’re made.”

  “The gray haired man from the bar?”

  “Possibly,” said Renwick. “But I don’t see him.” Makera looked to the ceiling.

  “He’s in one of the boxes,” she said. “I can eliminate him.” She started for the doors. His firm hand on her arm stopped her.

  “No,” he said. The clock was ticking. He had ten seconds left.

  He went to thirty. The crowd roared again. Mischa was confused by all the activity swirling around her. She started to cry.

  When the bid went to fifty thousand the pits erupted. Trading was halted on the other two stages while everyone focused on the bidding on Mischa.

  “We can’t win this,” he said to Makera. She gripped the handle of her rifle. From his angle he could see she had the power pack fully loaded and charged.

  “I will end this,” she said. He grabbed her arm again.

  “No, you can’t,” he said. “It will blow our cover and we’ll lose any chance of recovering Captain Aybar.” He had to keep bidding.

  He went to seventy-five. The counter was at one-hundred. He had to go up twenty-five thousand just to stay in. He looked down at his card.

  He had twelve thousand credits left.

  “We’re out,” he said. “Let’s go,” he took her forcefully by the arm and led her off the pit floor as his bid expired and Mischa was sold for one-hundred thousand crowns.

  “Keep your head down,” was all he said as they retreated off the trading floor, the roar of the crowd echoing behind them.

  10.

  Renwick sat facing the floor, head in his hands while Makera paced back and forth like a caged animal. Kish sat in one corner, looking grim.

  “I don’t understand what happened,” Kish said. “I thought the highest it could go was eighteen thousand.”

  “That was the price projection,” said Renwick. “Not a limit. The mystery bidder knew we were there for Lieutenant Cain exclusively. Knew that we had to have her and he knew how much money we had and how high we could go.”

  “And you think it was this man who’s been trailing you through the station?”

  “I can’t think of who else it could be,” Renwick said.

  “Nor I,” said Makera while continuing her pacing. “I’m so angry I want to kill something,” she said. Renwick looked up at her.

  “You already did that,” he said. She turned on him, angry.

  “I did what was necessary, Senator, whether you believe that or not. I’m not subject to your human moral judgments and I would just as soon not hear them. You should be thanking me instead of condemning me,” she said. He stood up to face her.

  “I’m not condemning you,” he said. “But I’m not prepared to accept your moral judgment of the situation either.” She took a step closer to him.

  “We could settle this honorably,” she said, challenging him. He looked at her with disdain, then back to Kish.

  “We have to get out of here,” he said to no one in particular.

  “We haven’t finished our mission,” said Makera. “Are you running away?”

  “From the danger of superior opposition? Yes I am,” he said. “We’re going back to the skiff and waiting for Yan to return. Th
en we’re busting out of here and going back to the Kali. We still have a mission to complete, Ambassador. A diplomatic one, and that requires us to be on Raellos in less than three months. I intend to make that deadline. I also intend to come back here once that mission is complete and rescue Captain Aybar and Lieutenant Cain, with plenty of reinforcements, if necessary.”

  “We’re closer to them now than we ever will be,” she countered. “Running now solves nothing.”

  He put his hands to his hips in a show of resolve. “I’m not looking for solutions, I’m looking to survive. As long as I am in command of this mission, and I am, we’ll do things my way. Understood, Ambassador?” he said.

  She said nothing, but her face showed her acute displeasure with him.

  “Silence is acceptance,” he said. He waved his hand around the room, trying to rouse his companions to action. “Now let’s pack our gear and get back to the skiff as fast as we can, and pray no one takes us out on the way.”

  THEY MOVED CAREFULLY through the teeming crowds on their return trip to the skiff. Renwick stopped once to check the auction boards and found that Yan had gone for two-hundred seventy thousand crowns. He checked his credit account and found the full amount, minus commissions of course, had been deposited. Only now the money meant nothing, for there was nothing, or no one, for him to buy here anymore.

  They moved along the corridors to their ship, stopping only to pick up supplemental items they might need for the trip back. Kish was the most active in this regard. Renwick put a stop to that soon enough and a few minutes later they were heading down the dock arm to their ship. He checked his watch. 0800. Four hours until their station permit expired.

  Renwick punched in the code lock combination to enter the skiff. “Yan should be back with us in a few hours. Get the ship ready to move as quickly as possible, Mr. Kish. We may not have the luxury of preparing when the time comes,” he said. Kish nodded his acknowledgement as Renwick typed in the security key code.

  The combination came back with a negative beep. Renwick tried it again. A second negative.

  “One time I might make an error entering the combination. Twice is unlikely. Three times...” he tapped the combination into the keypad again. It beeped at him and the code reader turned red.

  “We’re locked out,” he said, looking down the tight gangway, then turning back to his companions while he raised his rifle. “I don’t like this. Get your weapons out.” Makera reached for hers just as a voice cut through from behind them.

  “I don’t recommend that,” it said. Renwick turned, rifle drawn. The gray haired man that had been tracking them stood at the entrance to the gangway, flanked by three guards, each of them with a Mark 7 coil rifle aimed at one of his crew. They were trapped inside the tight quarters, pinned against the locked door of their skiff. “Please drop your weapons,” said the mystery man.

  “We should fight,” hissed Makera in a tight whisper.

  “That would be a bad idea, Ambassador,” said the man before Renwick could even respond. At the distance the two groups were from each other he shouldn’t have been able to hear her, if he were Human or Raelen.

  “You can’t get in, Mr. Renwick, because I locked you out,” the man continued. “You see I’m the new owner of your ship, as well as several other things you value.” He waved his arm in a forward motion and three more guards entered the gangway, with pistols held to the heads of three prisoners; Captain Aybar, Mischa Cain, and Amanda/Yan.

  “Now that I have your attention,” said the man, taking a step closer, “I’m ready to begin.”

  “Begin what?” said Renwick, slowly lowering his coil rifle.

  “Why, negotiations, of course.”

  HE WASN’T REALLY OLD, not when you saw him up close. He had the face of a man in his forties, if he were human, but his hair was a steel gray/white against a distinctly crimson skin tone, giving him the appearance of greater age from a distance. It was a mistake Renwick vowed he wouldn’t make again.

  Physically, the man was very similar to any of the Known Races, with a lean and athletic appearance, and he held court now over his captives. They were all together inside the skiff; Renwick, Makera, Captain Aybar, Mischa, Kish and Amanda/Yan, all sitting in the passenger couches facing the pilot’s nest. The man, who said his name was Zueros, faced them alone, unarmed. The skiff doors were closed to the gangway and his thugs were locked outside, much to their consternation.

  “My name, officially, is Pal Zueros,” he began. “I’m a trader from the Arapesh Colonies. Officially.”

  “But in reality?” said Renwick. Zueros gave an affected sigh, as if he’d wanted to unburden himself of this information for quite some time and was now glad to do so.

  “What if I told you, Senator,” he said, “hypothetically of course, that I represented a race that was genetically very close to yours, to Humans, but also close to the Raelen and the Gataan?” Renwick contemplated him a few seconds before answering.

  “You’re speaking of the Preserver Myth,” Renwick replied.

  “Yes. I assume you understand the details of the mythology?” Renwick nodded his head before continuing.

  “Multiple races, genetically related to a parent race that knew that it was doomed, set out on various planets in this spiral arm of the galaxy to develop on their own and eventually encounter each other, hopefully in friendship and brotherhood. An interesting if somewhat quaint notion, but it has about as much validity as Atlantis or Eden or the Annunaki,” Renwick said.

  “So you reject it out of hand?”

  “I didn’t say that,” said Renwick, crossing his arms and sitting back in his couch. “I would require proof.” Zueros tilted his head to one side.

  “Proof is a difficult thing to come by,” Zueros said. “But let’s start with what we do know,” he started ticking off points on his hand, a very human gesture, one which Renwick assumed had been learned through close observation. “Humans, Raelen, and Gataan all share specific DNA, greater than ninety-nine point-seven percent, this much is well known by modern science.”

  “True,” admitted Renwick.

  “And the possibility of this happening randomly is?” said Zueros.

  “Highly unlikely,” agreed Renwick with a shrug.

  “So we agree on one point,” said Zueros. “A deeper analysis of this DNA comparison however shows that the differing combinations of the three race’s DNA, minus the redundancies, does not create a whole codex. There are variations in each of us. In fact, if you trace mitochondrial DNA, you find that the missing elements are about one quarter of one percent of each of the individual races. So, the conclusion would be?” he asked Renwick.

  “That we were all engineered from very similar stock,” said Renwick, remaining unconvinced by the arguments.

  “And what if I told you that there was a fourth genetically similar race out there somewhere. One that is yet undiscovered,” said Zueros. “One that shares this same point two-five percent variation from the norm?” Renwick sat forward at this.

  “Let me guess, you’re going to tell us where we can find this mystery race and ask us to join you in this quest so that you can write a book about it, and you’re willing to spend your entire fortune on this adventure. Am I far off?” he said sarcastically.

  “Quite,” said Zueros, his expression turning serious. “In fact what I was going to tell you was that I am a member of that mystery race, and there are many others of us here, and if you don’t help me, everything you have built, your entire civilization, could crumble in matter of months.”

  Renwick sat back again, suddenly sobered. “That is unexpected,” he said.

  “And unbelievable,” chimed in Ambassador Makera.

  “Less believable than an all-encompassing Void of dark energy devouring entire empires in just a few centuries, Ambassador?” Zueros said. Makera said nothing in response to that.

  “I’ll need more than your word,” said Renwick, pressing his point.

  “I’l
l be pleased to provide a fresh DNA sample. The android can run the analysis, if that is agreeable?” said Zueros.

  Renwick nodded. “The android has a name, by the way. In fact, she has two names, and two personas.”

  “And those would be?” Zueros said.

  “Amanda, the android persona, and Yan, the human persona,” Renwick said.

  Zueros looked to the attractive android.

  “And she’s further proof of my point, Senator. I’ve been searching this area of the Known Cosmos for the better part of two of your decades, and this android is the best example yet of the proof of my claims,” said Zueros.

  “And how is that?” asked Renwick.

  “Because she was built with Preserver technology, as was her ship, and the Void emitter station. In fact it is all Preserver technology, discovered by my race, the fourth race, and implemented in a strategic plan to knock down the Human, Raelen, and Gataan races.”

  “What?” Renwick stood from his couch. “If what you say is true-“

  “It is true, Mr. Renwick,” snapped Zueros. “The Void was not an accident, as you would suppose. It was the result of a set of intentional actions put in motion by my people and designed to literally throw your civilizations back into a Dark Age.”

  “Then I would say, sir, that your people have succeeded beyond their wildest hopes,” said Renwick as he sat back down in his couch, contemplating his new adversary.

  THEY ALL AGREED TO a fresh DNA test with Renwick and Makera representing their races, and Zueros representing his. Zueros produced a Gataan file sample for the fourth piece of the puzzle. Amanda/Yan ran the tests, allowing her android personality to do the majority of the work in the background while they continued their discussion. Renwick set the rest of the crew towards the job of preparing the skiff to depart, after first hugging Mischa Cain and shaking hands with Captain Aybar to welcome them back.