Her Brother's Keeper - eARC Page 26

  “What’s there to do in this place?” Wade asked.

  Halifax chuckled over the armor’s PA system as the machine lumbered back up the gangway. “More than there is to do on the ship. They locals will probably let people take a tour of their town as well.”

  “Enjoy it,” Marcus said. “This is the last time we land until we get to Zanzibar. Get out and stretch your legs. Just be careful.”

  * * *

  Standing in the shadow of the looming trading post, Devree Starlighter took in her surroundings as she waited to board a small bus. The spaceport, though small, still covered a vast area cut out of the dense alien jungle. The trading post itself was a prefabricated building that reminded Devree of a bunker, ugly and square, decorated with huge, gaudy advertising screens.

  Opal was a bluish-green world, colors that oddly clashed with the orange light of the star she orbited. Still, the rich biosphere of a truly living world reminded Devree her homeworld. The life on Opal was completely different, but it felt similar enough.

  With Devree was a small tour group from both the Andromeda and the Ascalon, which wasn’t due to lift off for another thirty hours. This was probably the last chance she was going to get to walk on an actual world before reaching Zanzibar, and she didn’t want to miss the opportunity. It was also the only chance she was going to get, on this trip, to see an actual alien.

  With her was Wade Bishop, the only other member of Captain Blackwood’s hired guns that wanted to go, Annie Winchester, and a couple of other crewmembers from the Andromeda that she hadn’t really gotten to know. Marcus had told the team not to go anywhere alone (especially where his daughter was concerned). Being there to look after Annie was the excuse Wade had used to come along, but Devree was beginning to suspect the demolitions technician had a bit of a crush on her. She was still embarrassed about her drunken, flirty behavior with him back on New Austin, and hoped he hadn’t gotten the wrong idea about her. Still, he was kind of cute, in a weird, awkward way.

  Annie, on the other hand, was adorable. She wore sunglasses and a respirator to help her cope with Opal’s harsh atmosphere, but she was just bursting with excitement. She hadn’t stopped talking about how amazing it was to be on another planet and maybe seeing an alien since they’d left the Andromeda’s cargo bay.

  The only other person from the Andromeda she really recognized was Kimball, the cargomaster. He was easy to pick out of a crowd, given his short stature. It was kind of sad that she’d been cooped up on a ship with these people for weeks and still couldn’t pick most of them out of a lineup, but she was really bad with names. She’d meet someone, shake his hand, then immediately forget his name. The doctors told her that short-term memory problems were one of the things she’d have to learn to live with, after her brush with death. She’d accepted that, but it was still frustrating. It made people think she was a ditz.

  “The bus is finally here,” Wade said, his voice wavering in the sweltering heat. Rolling up the only highway on Opal was a small bus, its electric engine whining shrilly in the morning air. As it pulled to a stop, Devree was surprised to see it had a human driver, one of the colonists.

  “Good morning travelers!” the man said eagerly. He, too, wore sunglasses, and was dressed in a bland, beige outfit that seemed to wick away moisture. This part of Opal was hot and insufferably humid, and Devree was sweating heavily just from standing outside. The bus was mercifully cool as the spacers-turned-tourist boarded one by one. “Sit anywhere you like,” the driver said. “I am Slevin, your guide. Welcome, welcome to Opal!”

  So much for the frosty reception Halifax warned us about, Devree thought. This Slevin character seemed personable enough, but then again, he was moonlighting as a tour guide, so he pretty much had to be. Devree found a window seat and sat down as Slevin read a very long list or rules about visiting the colony on Opal. Annie plopped down next to her, and she realized how small the seats were. Wade sat just across the narrow aisle. I hope Wade can’t smell me from over there.

  The bus pulled slowly away from the spaceport, heading back down the long road to the nameless colony. “As you can see,” Slevin said, speaking over a PA system, “Opal is utterly teeming with life. It has a rich, fully evolved ecosystem of a type rarely found in explored space. Native life abounds here, on land, in the seas, and even in the sky. I must insist, however, that should we encounter any native life-forms, that you be respectful and keep your distance. Please remember that this is their world, and that we are the aliens here. If you start to feel faint or sick, let me know, and I will provide you with supplemental oxygen. The atmosphere here is not toxic, but it takes some getting used to.”

  The tour wasn’t especially interesting at first. The human colony on Opal amounted to little more than a small city. The buildings were the same boxy prefabs you’d find on a hundred colonized worlds, though they had been added onto over the years in a haphazard fashion. Some looked downright ramshackle, but others had native pseudo-trees growing out of them and were very beautiful. Aside from Slevin, none of the locals acknowledged the tourists, not even so much as a nod. Devree still took dozens of still pictures with her handheld. How often do you get to visit another planet?

  Compared to what Halifax had told her, Slevin was pretty sparse on the details of the history of the colony. He mentioned that they had been here since the time of the Second Interstellar War, and seemed proud that the tiny colony was completely independent. (He claimed it was completely self-sufficient, too, but Devree wasn’t buying that.) He showed them the massive, domed greenhouses where they raised their crops, and boasted that everything they ate was completely “natural.” What that meant, exactly, escaped Devree, considering that food crops intended for planetary colonies had been genetically modified for centuries, but she didn’t feel like nitpicking the poor man. He was just trying to show them around, after all.

  After an hour or so of leading the tourists around the colony on foot, in the sweltering heat of the day, Slevin brought them into what he called a fair-trade bazaar, where they could purchase or barter for locally made goods. “We have no use for your money on Opal, of course,” he said proudly, “but we pool it into a common fund and use it to trade with off-worlders from time to time. We ask that you either pay in hard currency or barter with material goods. Electronic banking is unavailable here. All goods in the bazaar are handmade by local artisans, who simply want to share the fruits of their labor with travelers such as yourselves.”

  Once the doors had cycled, Devree took a deep breath and sighed with relief. The cool air inside was refreshing. “Wow,” she said, looking around the bazaar. More than a dozen colonists had set up stands or displays, with goods for sale or trade. “My mom would love this place. I should get something for her.”

  “Your mom emigrated to New Austin with you?” Wade asked, wiping his brow.

  “She’s my only living relative, and she was in danger too, so they sent her with me. Oh, look at those pots! I’m gonna go look.”

  “I want to see!” Annie said, following on her heel. As she and Marcus’ daughter browsed the merchant’s wares, Devree caught Wade rolling his eyes and smiled to herself.. He wasn’t the least bit interested in shopping, but was letting her drag him around to be nice. It was kind of sweet, in a sad, pushover kind of way. He stood nearby, idly looking around with his hands in his pockets as she haggled with a local over a beautifully painted clay pot. Annie browsed a table full of handmade bead necklaces and charm bracelets.

  Wade tapped on Devree’s shoulder as she exchanged a handful of hard currency with the woman selling pots. “Devree?”

  “Just a second,” she said, not looking up.

  He tapped harder. “Devree, look.”

  She stood up, pot in hand. “Holy hell, Wade, what—oh my God.”

  Wade grinned and put his hands back into his pockets. “Thought you’d want to go see.” At the far side of the room, surrounded by the bulk of the visiting tourists, were two of the short, leathery
creatures that called Opal their home. One had skin that shaded from brown to blue. The other, slightly taller, was green with reddish patches. Their round eyes were shiny and red, and their pointy teeth gave them an unsettling look. With them was a human woman, dressed in baggy, moisture-wicking garments. She was skinny and sickly looking like most of the other colonists. She communicated with the aliens in sign language and translated for the visitors.

  “Hold this,” Devree said, shoving her newly acquired pot into Wade’s hands. “I’m gonna go get a picture! Come, on, Annie!”

  One of the creatures signed rapidly to the translator with its clawed fingers. She replied to them, then turned to the cluster of off-worlders surrounding her. “He says greetings, strangers, and welcome. He and his partner have been chosen by their tribe to meet and trade with strangers. They have brought some trade goods for this purpose. Please be advised, though, that they won’t accept currency. They may accept items of yours for trade, however.”

  A crewwoman from the Ascalon raised her handheld. “Is it okay if I take a picture?” she asked.

  Before the translator could reply, the two aliens noticed the device in her hands. They stood close to each other, putting their arms over each other’s shoulders in a remarkably human manner, and very obviously mugged for the camera. Their mouths hung open in a ghastly approximation of a smile. “Yes,” she said, smiling herself. “They enjoy being photographed. Just make sure you show them the pictures after. Sometimes, we trade hard copies of photographs with them.”

  Annie stood next to Devree, seemingly mesmerized. She didn’t even take pictures at first. “Devree,” she said quietly, “this is so incredible!” The girl then raised her handheld and began to snap a barrage of still pictures.

  “You’ll have to send me those when we get back to the ship,” Wade said. He’d caught up to her, still holding her pot in his hands.

  Stepping through the crowd, Kimball slowly approached the small beings. Intrigued, Devree raised her handheld and set it to record video. The aliens seemed utterly fascinated with Kimball. Unlike most humans, the Andromeda’s cargomaster didn’t tower over them. One of the creatures raised a clawed hand to the top of its head, comparing height. It then signed rapidly to the translator.

  “He wants to know what you are,” she said apologetically. “Please take no offense. They’ve never seen one such as you before.”

  “Offense?” Kimball asked. “Gentlewoman, rest assured that I am as fascinated with them as they are with me. I am from a world with high gravity, and it tends to leave us shorter in stature. Would you be so kind as to relay this to them for me?” The translator did so, pausing as she thought about how to translate gravity. The two aliens spoke to each other after she had finished. Their language was a series of huffs, puffs, clicks, and grunts to human ears, but it worked well enough for them.

  The being closest to Kimball had a crude belt around its midsection, attached to which was a sheathed knife. Taking the hilt into a clawed hand, the alien drew his weapon, which had a blade of black stone, and presented it to Kimball.

  The translator seemed as surprised by this as Kimball was. She signed to the other alien briefly, then turned to the cargomaster again. “He wishes to offer his knife, if you have anything you’re willing to trade for it. This…this is fascinating. They’re normally so shy around humans. We’ve warned them about how cruel and exploitative humans can be.”

  “Perhaps, Gentlewoman, that that is the reason they are so shy,” Kimball said. “I don’t have much on me, I fear. However…” He pulled a folding knife from where it had been clipped to the pocket of his coverall. Very slowly, so as not to startle the aliens, he opened the blade, and presented it, handle-first.

  “What…what is that?” the translator asked, her eyes wide.

  “It’s a knife of course,” Kimball said. The alien took the blade eagerly, and showed it to his companion. In turn, he let Kimball take the obsidian knife. “A blade for a blade,” the cargomaster said, examining his new acquisition. “He seems happy enough with the trade. That knife is well used, but it’s made of the finest alloys and holds its edge. My new friend will get many years of service out of it.”

  The translator looked aghast. “You brought a weapon here?” She stepped back timidly, as if she expected Kimball to leap up and slash her with alien stone knife.

  “Gentlewoman,” he said levelly. “There is no need for any alarm.” He indicated his blade, which the aliens were opening and closing repeatedly, having figured out the locking mechanism. “It’s a tool for these fellows to use. They offered me one of theirs, so I offered one in kind. It only seems fair. I mean no one any harm.”

  “But you were told!” she stammered, stepping back further. “They said you wouldn’t have any weapons! Why are you carrying weapons?” She looked around at the rest of the tourists, eyes wide.

  Devree stepped forward, but kept recording with her handheld. Things were going sideways in a hurry and it was best to document it. “Hey, look at me. It’s okay. This is just a misunderstanding. Please calm down. We’ll leave, we’ll go back to the spaceport.”

  “I…I have to report this,” the translator said. Before anyone else could say anything to her, she hurried off. She took the driver of their bus in tow and disappeared into a small room off to the side of the bazaar. The two aliens, no longer able to communicate with the humans, seemed just as confused as the spacers.

  Kimball nodded to the creatures, then turned to the group. “Gentlefolk, I fear I have caused a drama. I apologize for this. If any of you are carrying pocket knives, I suggest you keep them hidden until you get back to spaceport. It seems these people take their no weapons rule well into the realm of the absurd. Mercenary Bishop,” he said, handing his alien knife to Wade. “Please hold onto this for me. Having a simple blade is apparently cause for alarm in this strange place. It makes one wonder how these people slice their vegetables without succumbing to panic attacks.”

  The other colonists at the bazaar were hurriedly packing up their things and heading for the airlock. Before the spacers could decide what to do, the translator returned, leading a trio of security men. Instead of the plain garb worn by most of the colonists, they wore blue uniforms with armor and helmets. Their faces were concealed behind respirators and goggles. The first two appeared to be carrying stun batons, but the third had a flechette gun in his hands.

  “That’s the one!” said the translator, pointing at Kimball. “He had a weapon in the presence of the protected ones!” The two aliens’ faces couldn’t be read by humans, but for all that they looked bewildered as the translator hurried them away and the security men moved in on the group of tourists.

  “You are coming with us,” one of them said, pointing at Kimball. His voice was disguised with a modulator, making him sound robotic.

  “Gentlemen,” Kimball said, hands raised in the air. “There is no need for this. This has all been a misunderstanding. I meant no one any harm. If you’ll just let me return to my ship, I’ll leave your world and there won’t be any issues.”

  The security man stepped forward and shoved Kimball down to the ground. “Place your hands behind your head. Comply!”

  The other drew his stun baton, crackling the electric shock device in warning to the group of spacers. “Do not interfere. Interfering with Peacekeepers in the discharge of their duties is a crime.” The spacers from the Andromeda stepped forward anyway. Devree put a hand on Wade’s arm; he looked like he was going for a gun.

  “Stand down, all of you,” Kimball grunted as he was roughly restrained. “Do not make this worse than it is. Mercenary Starlighter, you recorded this, correct? Please send the video to the captain and return to the ship. This will get sorted out.”

  “But,” Devree began.

  “No buts!” Kimball interrupted. The security men were already leading him away. “Notify the captain!”

  Annie looked up at Devree, fear in her eyes. “We have to do something! We can’t ju
st let them take him!”

  “I’m sending the video to the captain now,” she said quietly. “This is bullshit.”

  “Captain Blackwood will do something,” Wade said. “She doesn’t fuck around. This won’t stand. Send it to Marcus too, just in case.”

  “My dad won’t let this stand,” Annie said defiantly.

  Devree put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “No, sweetie, I don’t expect he will.”

  * * *

  Captain Catherine Blackwood sat up straight in her chair on the command deck of the Andromeda. She smoothed the wrinkles out of her coverall and made sure her hair was all in place. Appearances counted for a lot in these sorts of dealings, and she wanted to be the very picture of the master-after-God of her ship. Standing behind and to the left of her chair was her executive officer, Wolfram von Spandau, with his hands held neatly behind his back. Marcus Winchester stood off to the side, arms folded across his chest, so that he couldn’t be seen on screen. The normal watch-standers had been dismissed from the command deck for the call. Taking a deep breath, Catherine tapped the controls on one of her several screens and waited for the call to connect.

  After a moment, a young man in the drab gray outfit with a stand-up collar appeared on her screen. Like most of the colonists on Opal, he was almost sickly thin. “Greetings, Captain,” he said, speaking Commerce English with the unfamiliar accent the colonists all seemed to share. “My name is Desh. I am an appointed speaker for the Council of Elders. My word comes directly from them, and anything you tell me is the same as telling them. What is it you’d like to discuss?”

  You know damned well what I want to discuss, Catherine thought. She didn’t say that, though. Losing your cool doesn’t help your negotiations any. “Greetings, Mr. Desh. I am Captain Catherine Blackwood, commanding officer of the privateer ship Andromeda. I’d like to discuss the status of my cargomaster, one Jason Kimball. There was a misunderstanding at the trade bazaar this afternoon, and he was taken into custody by your security forces.”