Dallas was troubled as they left Mission Adventure. When Sinsin declared his intent to explore the space port, he quietly went with him. His misgivings grew as he saw Evolution drones make way for them, allowing Sinsin to access parts of the space port that even the militia and Port Master were now forbidden from entering.
“We shouldn't be here,” he said, when Sinsin led them down into the bowels of the central structure. “This leads down to the reactor.”
“It's also where the New Dawn houses their local archives,” Sinsin said carelessly.
The geel produced the strange device he had used after dinner, the evening before. There was no projection of stars this time however. Rather, his hard little fingers worked its interface rapidly as they walked. They came up to a light door: a shimmering, translucent barrier that was, for all intents and purposes, impenetrable to anyone who didn't know how to open it.
Sinsin made a few more rapid gestures over his device, and the light door flickered and blinked out of existence, with a sound vaguely reminiscent of glass breaking.
“How did you do that?” Dallas asked.
“I told you. I've spent my whole life studying the New Dawn.”
Dallas's face wrinkled up unpleasantly. “That's not an-”
“Get out of here you light-damned scrap boxes!”
The shout came from within, from the Caretaker of the star port. He was a paunchy old man in a red-brown robe, emblazoned with the silver cog and gold starburst insignia of the Combine College of Archeotechnology. He shouted at them from above, leaning out from the control platform at the top of the reactor tower. Between them was a seemingly bottomless gulf: an enormous, round chasm that penetrated the planet down to its very core. The tower was at its center, and rose up out of obscurity, its base concealed by unfathomable distance.
“We aren't Evolution sir,” Sinsin shouted back.
The old man tapped the side of his headgear, and an ocular aid dropped down over his one eye; the other was a mangle of burn scars, much like the rest of his face. He had to cycle through several settings before finding a combination of lenses and filters that brought Sinsin and Dallas into focus. “Dallas!” he exclaimed.
“Master Grigori,” Dallas replied nervously.
“Was that you snooping around my network boy? Where did you get an omni?”
“That was me sir,” Sinsin replied. “I apologize for the intrusion. I assumed Evolution had taken over your dominion. I never would have trespassed in such a way otherwise.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Sinsin Cu, Tetra Gamma of the Omnicon.”
“A fellow cog head!” Grigori marveled. “I am Grigori Dune, Dana Gamma of the Omnicon, Grand Vizier of the Basement, Lord of the Pit and Scourge of Neophytes! Haha! Come in! Come in! I'll extend the bridge! What brings you to Ar Suft? Where did you get that omni? I've never seen its signature. Not Sosa, certainly not Halcyon. May I see it? I mistook you for Evolution. They can't go twelve hours without pawing at my door or molesting my network with their backwards attempts at interfacing. Are you here to replace me? I officially retired seventeen years ago and nobody from the College has ever bothered to reply.”
A light bridge pulsed into existence, connecting the tower to the perimeter of the chamber. Sinsin advanced across the chasm without a moment's hesitation, but Dallas needed coaxing. “Come on boy. I won't drop it on you,” Grigori promised, but of course, he laughed his sinister laugh when Dallas reached the midway point, and he mockingly lunged for the bridge control.
“That joke is older than you are,” Dallas said bitterly, once he was safe on the other side.
Grigori laughed again.
“It seems you're well known around these parts,” Sinsin said to Dallas.
“He was my neophyte for a summer,” Grigori explained. “His Aunt Kay had a notion he might be useful to me, but he's too stupid and lazy: even for grot's work. He was always good for a laugh though. I'm glad you're still afraid of heights!” Again, Grigori laughed, but this time, it was a modest chuckle, rather than a great guffaw. His chortling shifted to a grunt of wonder when Sinsin offered him his device: his omni.
“What's an omni?” Dallas asked. “You never showed me anything like that when I worked for you.”
“It's not for the uninitiated,” Grigori growled. “If you had stuck around for more than four months, you might have learned something.”
“I found it on Shen Azure,” Sinsin interjected, before Dallas could give voice to the angry retort forming in his breast.
“Rough rock,” Grigori replied. He gave up turning the device over in his hands, and began to cycle through the various layers, portals and pages of its interface. He resisted the temptation to open the personal archives he found, but only because Dallas was looking over his shoulder. “I was there in '59, before the syndicates turned it into a war zone. I was contracted to a nobleman's group out of Estali: over a hundred souls, including porters and guards. Only fifteen of us made it out.”
“I arrived in '61. There was a lull in the fighting at that time, but it was still dangerous: completely lawless just a few kilometers from any of the star ports, and of course, there were the ambrosia colonies. The caretakers were quite feral by then.”
Grigori grunted, and after much admiration, reluctantly returned Sinsin's omni. “A beautiful device brother. But tell me what brings you here.”
“I was hoping to examine the planetary archives.”
“Don't tell me you're here because of the rumors,” Grigori said with disgust. “There's nothing here. The Ancients never bothered with this planet.”
“So I keep hearing, and yet, the New Dawn were here,” Sinsin said, and he spread his hands to encompass their expansive, pearly surroundings. “And where you find the one, you find the other.”
“A common belief, born of Truth of Light dogma. The New Dawn was an empire of people, the same as anyone, driven by the same wants and needs. They were here for the farming. Nothing more.”
“And yet Tarantino asserts that they had no capacity to make their own metamaterial. All of this,” Sinsin gestured all around again, “is repurposed from what they salvaged from Ancient ruins. Do you suppose they brought it with them?”
“Why not? They were the ones who built the gate ships, if you believe the heretical musings of Ushio Sato. And you can see from the capacity of this facility (and others) that they were capable of moving cargoes on a remarkable scale.”
“It pleases me that you mention Sato. I honor him and his sacrifices for science. A pity he was burned for heresy.”
Grigori scoffed. “Truly, the man had more balls than brains, but I'd sooner believe that the New Dawn brought all of this with them than that the Ancients bothered with every dirt ball in the galaxy.”
Their discussion went on, and on, and on. It was a winding, circling torrent of thoughts and opinions – a never-ending hydra of tangents and asides. They cited great thinkers of bygone eras, conjuring up famous names (to them) to give weight and credibility to their assertions. They sometimes agreed, and they sometimes debated; their passions always ran high regardless, and their speech ran fast and loud.
Dallas found it all comforting. Seeing Sinsin negotiate with Deku Tahn: apparently indifferent to betrayal and corpses, had been gnawing away at him. Combined with the geel's penchant for lying, he had begun to fear that his instincts had been wrong: that he had brought a monster into Aunt Kay's home. But no villain could possibly be so tedious and boring as Sinsin Cu.
Dallas listened to their conversation with some interest at first, but he could hardly keep up. He didn't understand a fraction of the technical babble that they spouted. So he sat down to play a game of chance on one of the New Dawn consoles instead. It was one of the first things he had learned to do as Grigori's neophyte, and possibly the reason he hadn't learned to do much more. This was the opinion of Grigori at any rate, and when he noticed what Dallas was up to, he made a snide remark to that effect. He would have gone on haranguing Dallas, but Sinsin had pressed on with his side of the conversation, careless of Dallas and Grigori's judgments of him. What he said angered Grigori, and the Caretaker flew into a tirade. You didn't need spectral analysis to know there was a difference between New Dawn and Ancient construction. The former was opalescent-white and, the latter flat, lifeless gray; if there was no difference, you wouldn't be able to see the difference with your naked eye. Karuli Kane was an idiot!
The hours crept by for Dallas. The game he played was a simple one and could only hold his attention for so long. He silently endured the boredom, until the rumblings of his stomach grew unbearable. He finally interjected, and suggested going back to Aunt Kay's; it was almost dinner time. Sinsin marveled at how quickly the hours had passed, remarked on the needs of young stomachs, and graciously agreed that a break was in order. Grigori invited himself to supper: an excellent notion in Sinsin's view. Their dialogue continued in Dallas's car, all the way to the high rise, and was hardly interrupted by the mayhem of what awaited them.
The ice miners had finished their month-long shift at the northern shelf. They were in town for two days, waiting for the trans-expanse liner that would take them to their own homes, scattered around the planet. Until then, they would be Aunt Kay's guests. They were an altogether different sort of crowd from the ranting academics: rougher, courser, and much more fun. They bombarded Dallas with good-natured insults and jostling affection. The older miners had all known him since he had been in diapers; some had bottle fed him and burped him, and they would never let him forget how much of a troublesome baby he had been (and still was). They pumped him for local news, vented their frustration with Evolution, and snuck him snorts of their rotgut brandy and puffs of their cigars, whenever Aunt Kay wasn't looking. They all introduced themselves congenially to Sinsin, and some even tried to include themselves in his ongoing conversation with Grigori (ignorance can't stop an opinion from forming). Their contributions became a little frequently after the Caretaker lost patience with their vapid interjections and he threatened to cut off the energy powering their homes. The star port reactor being the primary supply for most of the planet, and Grigori being an infamously cantankerous old bugger, most took his threat seriously.
The din of conversation was so great that nobody noticed Aunt Kay's door chime. Her callers didn't have the patience or the manners to wait either. They admitted themselves after just the one ring, and came filing into the apartment with a clatter of metal feet. The raucous meal came to a sudden, silent halt as Par Com Sar came into the room. His compound eyes stared back at everyone simultaneously, and they alt felt it. His hideous, twitching smile had something of a leer's cant to it: as if he reveled in the discomfort he caused (he did). A pair of centurions followed, and posted themselves at the entryway.
“Well, don't stop on our account,” Par Com Sar declared with false conviviality. “Is this seat taken?” Nobody answered the cyborg: least of all the miners who had just been arguing for armed conflict with Evolution. But of course, it wasn't about to wait for a reply anyway. Par Com Sar simply took the seat across from Sinsin and leaned over the table, as if smelling the platters of mostly-eaten food. “Is that corn bread? I used to love corn bread.”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“What do you want?” Aunt Kay asked, as sternly as she could manage.
“We came to see our friend Sinsin,” Par Com Sar replied. “Your visit to Mission Adventure was a source of some concern to us, Professor. Surely you weren't thinking of leaving Ar Suft?”
“You must think me very foolish,” Sinsin replied.
“Deku Tahn is known to be a smuggler, and his ship was employed as a blockade runner in the Jacinto Wars. It looks to us as though you're wanting to make a dash for the gate ship. Almost like a cockroach scurrying away from a boot.”
“Truly Par Com Sar, you have a suspicious mind. Deku Tahn is many things, not the least of which a criminal and thug, but he's also an accomplished tech hunter. He's agreed to subcontract his services in the coming days. I'll send you a bill after dinner.”
Par Com Sar squealed: a short, tortuous bark. The noise made some of the miners flinch. And then it made the noise again. And again. As the squealing came faster and faster, it became apparent that it was meant to be laughter. It was disturbing: even to the other cyborgs. They actually turned their metal heads and looked at one another.
“Why would we hire Deku Tahn, dear Sinsin?”
“Efficiency,” Sinsin said simply. “He and his crew will reduce task times wonderfully.”
“We don't need him, his ship or his crew,” Par Com Sar growled.
“You don't need Ancient artifacts either,” Sinsin replied, utterly indifferent.
“You're very obnoxious.”
“I didn't interrupt your dinner.”
“On the contrary,” Par Com Sar replied. “Evolution and Ar Suft were getting on just fine until you showed up. It's you and your Andorran friends who brought conflict: creating the tension that has resulted in violence and death.”
“Well, I am sorry for my part in upsetting you, truly. It wasn't my intention and I had no way of knowing you would be here before me. Now, the question is, do you want my help? If so, you need to be accommodating and far, far more trusting.”
Par Com Sar leaned back. Its metal fingers dragged awfully across the tabletop as it did so. “We will want oversight of your activities. It will take more than a young twerp of the local militia to satisfy us.”
“Of course. Captain Tahn has already agreed to a security detail aboard his ship. You're more than welcome to join us yourself, if you like.”
“Me?” Par Com Sar replied, surprised.
“Why not? You seem to take a great deal of personal interest.”
There was a long delay. And then Par Com Sar stood. “All relevant data has been forwarded to your personal networking device. I expect a preliminary report on your first impressions and preparations tomorrow afternoon, at the Prefect's office.”
“I'll be there at three o'clock,” Sinsin declared.
Par Com Sar was sorely tempted to flex its power over Sinsin and dictate another time. Instead, it snatched up a piece of cornbread and stuffed it into its mouth. It had no taste buds, no tongue even, no throat and no stomach, and its brain hardly remembered the mechanics of chewing after several centuries of evolved being. It left, working its mouth components awkwardly, frustrated and unsatisfied that the gesture had failed to conjure up even a shadow of the former sensations and pleasures of eating. It left a trail of dry crumbs in its wake, trod on by the escorting centurions that followed.
Fearful silence reigned for some time after the cyborgs had gone. When Sinsin stood with his plate, it was as though he stepped on a landmine. There was an explosion of malice. Censure and accusations flew all around, and most of it was directed at him. They called him many things: snake, traitor, coward, and generic insults besides. Some few of them were merely hurt, and asked “how could he work with Evolution?” Some yelled at their fellows: called each other cowards for not doing or saying anything when they had the chance; though some of them had been advocating armed conflict with Evolution for most of the meal. Sinsin waited patiently for a lull in their violent tempers, eager to explain himself, but Grigori took him aside and ushered him out of the dining room.
It took some time to unruffle the miners' feathers, and Aunt Kay never fully succeeded, at least not that night. She was eventually able to bring quiet and something like calm back to her home however. She came knocking on Sinsin's door some time after this pacification, bearing a tray with coffee and cups. She found Sinsin and Grigori in a state of frenzied reading; the latter peering through the former's antennae, or over his shoulder, in order to see the small screen of Sinsin's networking aid.
Dallas was also there. He sat on the floor with Sinsin's omni in his lap, and a look of frustration on his face. He shot up and took the tray from Aunt Kay with a “Thank you!” and a kiss on the cheek. She stood by as Dallas served the coffee, unnoticed by the others, until a cup was practically forced into Sinsin's hand.
“Thank you Dallas,” he said absently, then became aware of Aunt Kay's presence. “Thank you madame. Your coffee is particularly restorative I find, and not just delicious. Don't you think so brother?”
Grigori grunted in thoughtless agreement, and carried on reading.
“I'm afraid I have to ask you for an explanation sir,” Aunt Kay replied, rather primly. “You didn't mention Evolution would be making social calls when we negotiated your rent.”
“I apologize, and I assure you, I was no more expecting, or pleased by their intrusion than you were.”
“Then why in Light's Creation are you working with them?”
“The short of it is that if I don't, they may destroy the city.”
“Why? What's the long version, if you please,” Aunt Kay requested, rather sternly.
“I'm afraid I wasn't entirely honest with you before.”
“You don't say,” she said dryly.
“It's not like that Aunt Kay,” Dallas interjected.
“You be quiet.”
“I didn't come here to immigrate. I'm here at the request of the Andorrans, or rather, at the request of a friend among them. I apologize for the deception, but given the circumstances, I could hardly be more forthright. Other than that, I have been completely honest with you. I assure you.
“As to my working with Evolution, I don't consider myself in their employ exactly. I prefer to think of myself as working for the Prefect.”
“What has he got to do with it?”
“Nothing much. He can't openly defy Evolution but he's doing what he can to offer a middle ground for me.”
“What is it they're looking for? What's here?”
“I don't know. It's been a matter of some secrecy. Perhaps after some more reading, I'll have an answer for you.”
“You'll tell me will you?”
“I will. I give you my word.”
Aunt Kay thought about that a while. Again, she wanted to boot Sinsin out into the street. Again, she found herself compelled to let him stay; this time however, it was more conscience than greed that turned the tide. She looked at Dallas. “I don't want Dallas mixed up in this.”
“Kay,” he protested, and hated hearing the whine in his voice.
“I hope you understand. It's nothing personal,” she told Sinsin. “But I want you to find someone else to drive you around town.”
“I'm afraid that's out of my hands. Dallas is under orders from the Prefect to escort me, as an officer of the militia.”
Aunt Kay blinked hugely. “Is that so,” she said slowly, enunciating every word, as if it was a death threat. She turned and left without another word.
“Poor Ed,” Dallas said morosely. “I wouldn't want to be in his shoes.”
“He should be used to it by now,” Grigori muttered. “Wait, go back damn you. I can't read that fast.”
“Why should he be used to it?” Sinsin asked. He hardly cared to know, but if he couldn't progress in his reading, he had nothing else to occupy him but conversation.
“Didn't Dallas tell you? They used to be lovers, until she found out about the other women. Well, some of them anyway.”
“Light Grigori,” Dallas hissed.
“What? It's the price you pay for being a prominent public figure: no secrets! Everybody thought they were going to be married. There was talk they would be the next Lord and Lady of Ar Suft.”
“When did you turn into a gossip?” Dallas asked bitterly.
“Ever since they shut down the hub. It's not like there's anything else to do.”
When she arrived at the Old Palace, Aunt Kay was a source of some embarrassment and discomfort for the sentries. They never imagined it would be her piloting Dallas's air car, and the sentries were rather perplexed by what to do with her. She had once had the run of the place, in happier times, and the Prefect had never countermanded the orders that had given his lover unrestricted access to his person. Besides which, she was Aunt Kay to them all: a prominent figure, as Grigori put it, whose actions had touched most of their lives in some way -most commonly by putting food on their tables. She was widely respected, even by those who didn't like her.
A responsible, wary sergeant eventually reported her presence to the officer of the watch, and so it was that Major Ellenstein was able to intercept Kay, just outside the Prefect's personal apartment.
“Sorry Kay, just a second if you don't mind,” the Major said. Aunt Kay was halted, more by the bodies of the guards who staunchly blocked her route, than the major's raised hand. “We need to scan you.”
“Are you serious Lana?” Kay asked incredulously. For answer, a corporal raised his device, and began probing her insides with a beam of energy that left her bones throbbing and nerves tingling: not unpleasantly. “This is ridiculous,” Kay said, a little tremulously.
“I know,” Ellenstein said sadly. “But it is what it is Kay. Times have changed.” She looked pointedly at the militia-uniformed cyborg 'standing guard' by the Prefect's door. Was it the same centurion that had driven his car? It was impossible to tell.
“When I kill Ed, it's going to be with my bare hands, not a body bomb,” Kay said peevishly.
A smile crept across the major's face. “We're just doing our job.”
“I know,” Kay sighed. “How's your pop?”
“Still coughing. You know how it is.”
“I'll bring him some soup tomorrow if that's alright. Can I go in now?”
Ellenstein nodded, and she and her guards made way. The centurion at the door knocked, waited to hear approval from Flea and opened the door for her. She walked past it warily, though its posture and demeanor was no different from any of the officious young soldiers she had passed getting this far.
“Kay!” Flea gushed, feigning surprise at her arrival. He just so happened to be loitering in the antechamber of his apartment, with a young officer standing awkwardly by, as if he had just delivered a report. The young man was a poor actor and obviously uncomfortable. He missed his cue to leave and had to be nudged along by the Prefect. “What a pleasant surprise.” She slapped him, and that was a surprise. His smile was quick to resurrect itself however.
“What the hell were you thinking? Why would you order Dallas to run around with a tech hunter?”
“You're hosting him in your own home my dear.”
“You don't have to tell me! I never would have let him through the door if I'd known he was going to hop into bed with you and Evolution!”
“He told you?”
“He didn't have much choice. The bastards interrupted dinner!”
“Did they hurt anyone?” Flea asked: genuinely surprised and concerned.
“Everyone is fine. But never mind that. I want you to assign someone else to work for Sinsin. There must be a hundred people better suited than Dallas.”
“No,” Flea replied. He went to a liquor cabinet and selected a bottle of swizzle he knew she was partial to, and poured two bubbling bumpers. “He's not a boy any more Kay. He's a man, with an adult's responsibilities.”
“He's a very young man,” Kay growled. She took the small glass and instinctively savored its fruity, candy-like aroma. She was about to drink it down when she froze and looked at Flea suspiciously. “Is this why you did it? To get me to come here like this so you could poor me drinks and lay on the charm?”
She saw that she was wrong. Flea was embarrassed, but not for himself. The feeling was awful. Humiliation couldn't even begin to describe the implosion in her insides: the utter crushing of her spirit. Kay wanted to crawl into a deep dark hole and hide.
“I did it because it's a good opportunity for Dallas,” Flea said. “I've done some checking into the professor and he's as legitimate as a tech hunter can possibly be. He's from a high-ranking geel caste, with ties to the their diplomatic and science societies. He's accredited with the Combine College of Archeotechnology and is, and I quote: 'a darling friend in the eyes of several powerful noble families, particularly the Elisara of Tahi.' No doubt it's just a coincidence they're the owners of the galaxy's largest private collection of Ancient curiosities,” Flea said, and couldn't help but laugh a little.
“You want him to apprentice to a tech hunter,” she said, disbelieving.
“You see the advantages Kay.”
“It's dangerous! Not only here, with Evolution but suppose he leaves with him. Suppose-”
“That's the whole idea Kay. Sinsin isn't just a ticket off world, but a chance at a better life, and a chance to do something other than servile drudgery. As to the dangers, well, nothing is ever truly safe: especially not here, especially not now.”
“I hate how you always wanted to interfere with him.”
“And I hate how you always treated my involvement like interference,” Flea replied with genuine bitterness. “You stopped me from being a father to him, but you can't stop me being his friend. My orders stand.”