Her Brother's Keeper - eARC Page 9

  “Hey, Wade,” Marcus said. “Come here. You’re going to love this.”

  * * *

  Marcus nodded to the man on the screen of his handheld. Broadbent, he said his name was. He was an imposing man with a dark complexion and a cybernetic ocular implant. Marcus couldn’t tell where his accent was from, exactly, but he was former Concordiat military.

  “Do you have any further questions, Mr. Winchester? How about you, Mr. Bishop?”

  Wade shook his head slightly. “No, I think that’s all I have. Thank you for your time.”

  “No, thank you both, gentlemen,” Mr. Broadbent replied. “Given both of your backgrounds, I believe you would make for valuable members of our team.”

  “I’m flattered, Mr. Broadbent,” Marcus said, “and I am interested. I need to discuss this with my family before I can give you a solid answer.”

  “I understand. What about you, Mr. Bishop? Shall I send you a contract?”

  “I’ll be in touch,” Wade said noncommittally. “I need to see to some things myself.”

  “Very well. Gentlemen, I’ll be waiting for your call. Be advised, however, that we lift off in nineteen local days, one way or another. I urge you both to consider this opportunity carefully.”

  “We will. Thank you for your time.”

  “Good day,” the spacer said, and the connection was severed.

  Marcus lowered his handheld. He’d been holding it so both he and his partner could see the screen. The two colonial marshals were sitting inside their armored patrol vehicle. “What do you think, Wade?”

  “I think that’s some goddamn good money, Boss. Half up front, too. I’ll take a year’s sabbatical from the marshals for that kind of scratch.”

  “So you’re all for this, huh? Why didn’t you have him send you a contract?”

  Wade smiled. “And leave you alone? No offense, but you wouldn’t last a month out here on your own, and Ellie would kill me if I let you run around with some other jackass.”

  “Better to stick with the jackass you know,” Marcus agreed.

  “Exactly,” Wade said. “And I don’t want to go on something like this without someone I’m sure I can trust, especially when the thing is being cobbled together on such short notice.”

  “It would be better if we could watch each other’s backs. You’re not wrong, either; that is really good money. The half they’re offering up front would be enough for Ellie to get another one of her claims up and running, with plenty left over to pay down debt. Damn.”

  “She’s not going to be happy when you tell her you’re thinking of leaving, even if it’s for a job. They said we could be gone for over a year.”

  “We get paid extra if it runs longer than that. It could be a win-win.”

  “Assuming we come back alive,” Wade mused.

  “Mm,” Marcus agreed. “There is that. You know what? What the hell, I’ll talk to Ellie when I get home.”

  “Why not just call her?”

  “That would be safer in case she wants to slug me,” Marcus grinned. “But I can take my lumps. I owe it to her.”

  “Let me know what she says, Boss.”

  Chapter 8

  Zanzibar

  Danzig-5012 Solar System

  Equatorial Region

  “Gentlemen! I’m so pleased to hear of your progress!” Aristotle Lang was beaming as he strode into the underground dig site. As usual, his entourage of bodyguards, flunkies, toadies, and female eye candy were in tow. “I had to come see it for myself!” Lang’s bodyguards fanned out around the chamber and glowered at the captives. They all wore face masks with oxygen condensers and filters and long gray coats with matching skull caps. The goons carried a mishmash of guns and knives, and wore body armor and load bearing equipment if they had it. In the dig site, most of them had their trademark goggles either dangling around their necks or up on their foreheads.

  Cecil Blackwood and Zak Mesa exchanged a knowing glance. This was the sort of thing that kept them employed and, by extension, kept them alive. Zak especially hated turning over priceless ancient alien artifacts to a warlord like Lang, but there was nothing he could do.

  The warlord didn’t look like much—a heavy-set, middle-aged bald man, broad and squat with a noticeable belly. Nonetheless Lang was cunning, ruthless, and a shrewd negotiator. A man didn’t keep his position as being the post powerful warlord on Zanzibar without being intelligent and being able to think on his feet.

  “Mr. Lang,” Cecil began. It was always better when Cecil did the talking. “Thanks to the untiring efforts of Mr. Mesa, we were able to confirm that this site was worth excavating. It’s not the vault we’ve been hunting for, but it may still prove to be a good find.”

  “Ah, Mr. Blackwood,” Lang began, “I’ve heard that sweet Bianca is being very nice to you?” Cecil nodded nervously. He knew that the old warlord did things like this to remind him he was essentially a house pet. “Good, good. I could give your counterpart a concubine as well; I have many, but he has refused. Pity. In any case,” Lang continued, trying to sound intellectual, “please explain what you have found.”

  “This was a storage site for artifacts when the Maggots hit this system over a century ago. It was, at the time, a closely guarded secret. Before the orbital bombardment began, they used explosives to blast the entryway and seal it before fleeing. They were worried that looters would clear it out before they were able to come back. Obviously, they never came back. Most of the records of this place were lost. Zak’s research led us here.”

  “Very good, Mr. Mesa, very good! What can we expect to find in there?”

  “I can’t tell you for sure,” Zak managed. Lang’s expression darkened, and Cecil visibly winced. “M-most of the records were lost,” Zak continued. “I’m not sure what’s in there, but there are alien artifacts in there. It’s listed as a contingency storage site, and that’s coming from multiple sources.”

  Lang’s frown turned back into a smile. “Ha! Excellent, my boy, excellent! An old dog such as myself could hardly hope for a better historian. Tell me, how soon until we are able to penetrate the sealed chamber?”

  The vault was at the end of a ten meter wide, hundred meter long tunnel that had been bored into the base of a barren hill, eroded smooth by eons of unceasing wind. The tunnel had been reinforced with composite braces that were still as strong as the day they had been placed, and had not caved in or crumbled in the time it had sat abandoned. It had been sealed by a deliberate cave-in at the mouth and another deep inside, at the end, to confound the efforts of looters. Air was condensed and pumped in to keep the tunnel pressurized so that the crews could work without getting winded, and to keep oxygen flowing deep underground. Lighting had been strung up all along it. At the very end, the tunnel widened into a large cavern, but the entrance was buried under tons and tons of rock.

  “I talked to your foreman,” Cecil said, indicating the crew of Lang’s men that were using machines and hand tools to remove the crumbling stone. “I very specifically told them not to use explosives. They might damage the artifacts or cause a cave-in.”

  “A wise decision,” Lang agreed. “But how long?”

  “He told me several more days. The rock slide goes deeper than we thought.”

  “I see, I see,” Lang replied, rubbing his chin. “I will talk to the foreman myself. I expect they can have that chamber open sooner than you think. Until then, make sure these fools don’t do anything stupid. I will not risk the artifacts! My men are replaceable. The artifacts are not.”

  “We will, Mr. Lang,” Cecil agreed nervously.

  “And you, Mr. Mesa,” Lang said, pointing a crooked finger at Zak. “Find me that vault!”

  “I guarantee that he will!” Cecil said, stepping in before Zak could say anything.

  Aristotle Lang’s demeanor darkened again. “For your sake I hope so. Good day, gentlemen.” He turned and left, his hangers-on in tow behind him. Cecil and Zak looked at each other again, and exhaled. Sooner
or later their luck was going to run out.

  Chapter 9

  New Austin

  Lone Star System

  Laredo Territory, Southern Hemisphere

  Eleanor Winchester was not happy. She kept herself busy making a nice, home-cooked meal for the family and their expected guests, but she barely spoke a word to anyone. Marcus knew the silent treatment when he didn’t hear it. He did his best to give her space.

  She had not been pleased when Marcus played back the conversation he’d had with a crewmember of a privateer ship called the Andromeda. Even knowing their financial situation full well, she was pregnant and Marcus was talking about leaving, for over a year! Nonetheless, Ellie had consented to his talking further to the spacers to see what the specifics were. She said she didn’t want to stand in his way, even if she disapproved.

  When the captain of the ship and a couple of her crewmen asked if they could come to the house to talk to Marcus, Ellie had even put on a big, fake smile and invited them to dinner. She was now busy in the kitchen, resentfully cooking a meal by hand for guests she really didn’t want, instead of just letting the kitchen appliances handle it. When Marcus asked if he could help, she just said she was fine.

  Marcus had been with his wife long enough to know that when she said she was fine, things weren’t actually fine, and that he was in trouble. He couldn’t really blame her, though. He had been gone a great deal when he was in the military, and had promised her—given his word—that after they settled on New Austin he would be there for his family all the time. He hated that he’d gone back on that promise, hated it, and hoped Ellie would forgive him.

  He knew that if, deep down, Ellie was truly, adamantly opposed to him doing this, she’d have said so, asked him not to go, and that would’ve been the end of it. She’d instead told him to do what he “thought was best” and had spun herself up into a good mad over it. But she understood their financial situation better than he did, and she understood what he was trying to do. This job offer could be the blessing the Winchester family badly needed.

  That didn’t mean she had to like it.

  So Marcus gave Ellie a wide berth while she made dinner, and took the time to reread the contract the crew of the Andromeda had sent him. It was pretty vague in the details of where they were going and why, but was very blunt about some other things. Hazardous conditions. Long spaceflight. Austere environment. Safety not guaranteed. Death or dismemberment clause. Lost in space clause. Long-term health effects clause. Some of that left Marcus wondering, but there was one part of the contract that focused his interest very well: half up front.

  If they were willing to pay half of the not-insubstantial salary up front, that meant they were serious. It meant that this was a legitimate job, not some shady operation that would just as soon screw a guy over as pay him. That part had made Ellie feel a little better, even if she didn’t want to admit it. Marcus freely admitted that it made him feel better.

  Annie, on the other hand, had surprised Marcus with her reaction. She seemed more excited than anything else, and jealous that he might be going on a space adventure without her. He had to remind himself that she had still been little when he got out of the Espatiers and the family emigrated to New Austin. She didn’t really remember him being gone all the time. She instead bombarded him with questions about the ship he might be departing on, and he repeatedly had to tell her that he didn’t know. Undeterred, she looked up the ship on the colonial network, since it was listed as being docked at Capitol Starport. She had practically memorized every detail about it, and Marcus hoped that the captain wouldn’t mind being bombarded with questions about her ship.

  Lone Star was sinking toward the eastern horizon when Marcus was alerted to the approaching air car. The house’s security system picked it up and sent a notification to his handheld. Dressed a little nicer than usual, in a jacket and slacks, Marcus headed outside to greet his guests.

  Annie followed on his heels, acting unusually sociable. Being an only child out in the deserts of Laredo Territory, she didn’t interact with other people face-to-face very much. She normally only saw her friends online, and Marcus worried that this was stunting her social development. She was usually shy, reclusive, and even disinterested when people came to visit, but not tonight. Tonight she’d even put on one of the dresses she very rarely wore, a dark blue one that her mother had gotten her last Landing Day. In keeping with her sense of style, though, Marcus noted that his daughter was wearing black leggings and combat boots that almost went to her knees. That was about as dressy as Annabelle Winchester ever got.

  The shrill whine of the air car’s ducted-fan engines grew louder as it approached. The small aircraft circled gracefully around the house and slowed to a hover. Its engine ducts flared outward, and the vehicle settled onto Marcus’ long driveway, kicking up a huge cloud of dust as it did so. The air car’s pilot had politely landed about fifty meters away from the house so as not sandblast it. Air cars generally made poor ground vehicles; this one came lumbering up the drive, lift fans retracted, reminding Marcus of nothing so much as a beached sea mammal. It rolled to a stop and cut its engine.

  The front doors opened and two men got out. One was muscular, dark-skinned, with a cybernetic implant replacing one of his eyes and a portion of the side of his face—Mr. Broadbent. The other, the one that had been flying the craft, had the pale complexion typical of spacers and blonde hair cropped into a buzzcut. He wore denim blue jeans, but had them tucked into combat boots, and wore a long leather coat and dark glasses. Definitely not from around here, Marcus mused.

  The oddly dressed spacer came around the vehicle and opened the passenger door. He extended a hand to help a woman climb out of the rear passenger seat. She was tall, and like her compatriot, had a fair complexion. Her dark hair was done up into a tight bun. Her eyes were concealed behind mirrored sunglasses, aviator-type, in the style of ancient Earth. A leather flight jacket with the traditional four bars of a captain on the shoulder boards told Marcus that this woman was the skipper of the Andromeda.

  She approached confidently, removing her sunglasses. She had strong, angular features and a hard gleam in her eye. The woman offered Marcus a firm, Earth-style handshake. “Marcus Winchester?”

  “Guilty as charged,” Marcus said with a grin. “You must be Captain Blackwood.”

  “Catherine,” she said. She turned to Annabelle and shook her hand as well. “And who is this lovely young lady?”

  Normally Marcus would introduce his daughter, since Annie had a tendency to be very shy during face-to-face encounters with people she didn’t know. But with Captain Blackwood, she seemed resolute. She kept her shoulders squared and looked the captain right in the eye. “Annabelle Winchester,” she said. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  “And you,” Captain Blackwood said. “Allow me to introduce my associates.” She indicated the oddly dressed fellow with the buzzcut. “This is Herr Wolfram von Spandau, my executive officer.” Herr von Spandau gave Marcus a single, crisp vertical handshake and a firm nod. “And this,” the captain said, pointing at the man with the face implant, “is my security officer.”

  The security man had a deep voice and a grip like a mechanical vice. “Mazer Broadbent,” he said.

  “Nice to meet you face to face,” Marcus said. “Now, if y’all are hungry my wife is preparing a nice, home-cooked meal.”

  Captain Blackwood raised an eyebrow. “By hand?”

  Marcus nodded. “She never has the appliances make dinner when we have company over.”

  “It’s never as good when the machines do it,” Annie added.

  “It certainly smells delicious,” the captain said. “We’d be honored to be your dinner guests.”

  * * *

  Despite her unhappiness with the prospect of Marcus leaving, Ellie was a great cook and a gracious host. She’d grown up on Hayden, and as crowded and crime-ridden as some parts of that colony were, hospitality was a deeply held social value there. Gues
ts at Winchester Ranch were always treated to a fine meal, prepared by hand, drinks if they wanted them, and a pleasant atmosphere. In any case, Ellie liked entertaining, and they didn’t get company very often living way out in Laredo Territory, so she was making the most of it. Marcus noted, as the evening wore on, that his wife seemed to be genuinely enjoying herself.

  His daughter was too. They hadn’t gotten around to discussing business yet, so Annie took the opportunity to ask the captain as many questions as she could. For her part, Captain Blackwood pleasantly and patiently told Annie just about everything she wanted to know. She could probably tell that Annie was completely enamored with her, and Marcus appreciated that she was nice to his daughter. It made him feel better about the whole proposition.

  After the meal was cleared away and drinks were poured, Ellie had Annie come “help her in the kitchen” so Marcus could talk business with the crew of the Andromeda. Captain Blackwood sipped the stout New Austin whiskey and studied Marcus for a moment before speaking.

  “So, Mr. Winchester,” she began, suddenly sounding very businesslike, “I take it you’ve had the opportunity to go over the information I sent?”

  “I have, Captain Blackwood.”

  “Please, it’s Catherine. I’m not your captain unless you join the crew. Tell me then, what do you think?”

  “You were a little vague on the details.”

  Catherine took another sip of whiskey. “Mm. We were. Posted on an open network like that, we kept the specific operational details to a minimum, for security reasons and to protect client confidentiality. I don’t expect you to sign without knowing some specifics, though, so allow me to explain. I originally hail from Avalon, Mr. Winchester. Have you ever been there?”

  “Just Marcus. No, I haven’t. I might’ve guessed from your accent. It’s subtle but you have a hint of ancient Scotland in your speech.”