Gentlemen,
I am an unsophisticated man. Simple as my face, as Garron said. The
realisation that I was on board a ship carrying the greatest treasure
of the last two-hundred centuries overwhelmed me. I left the
compartment, half-meaning to tell Garron what I’d discovered but
really just wandering in a daze, when I met him coming the opposite
way.
He was pale as a skee-goat and as expressionless as one of the Mikeda masks I’d left in the hold. We met in the hall, exchanged blank glances and stumbled on our separate ways. I looked back from the entrance of compartment two and saw him gazing at me. Suddenly his face took on the crafty aspect I knew so well. He was up to something, all right. I wouldn’t tell him about my findings, then. His eyes narrowed, but he left without a word.
He’d discovered something; that was obvious. But he’d looked shocked in a way I hadn’t seen since he learned it was a capital crime to drop melons on Agricorp 7. What could possibly have kindled this reaction? I hadn’t explored far when I saw my first clue.
On the hatch to compartment four was a nano-glue lock. Have you estimable robots heard of this? It’s an old style device that merges the atoms of a door and its frame so they form a single solid. The best lock in existence, but outlawed centuries ago. A minor bit of reprogramming on their safety protocols and they serve as a fearful weapon, capable of fusing any number of objects, a ship in flight, for example, or a living being, into a single mass. One of Garron’s antique devices then, from a collection I’d never been able to find.
Charmingly, he’d disconnected the old neural plug and installed a keypad. This was, as the saying goes, a piece of space-cake. I’d booted up my encryption app and started analysis when I heard a hatch slide open. Quickly I muted the interface and pretended to nonchalantly study the door.
'Look, Garron,'I said, turning.'What do you suppose the Graff’s got in here?'
He was now wearing his guileless innocent face. Inwardly, I sighed.
'I don’t know, and don’t tamper with that lock! Knowing the Graff it’s booby-trapped. Just leave it alone.'
He was pale as a skee-goat and as expressionless as one of the Mikeda masks I’d left in the hold. We met in the hall, exchanged blank glances and stumbled on our separate ways. I looked back from the entrance of compartment two and saw him gazing at me. Suddenly his face took on the crafty aspect I knew so well. He was up to something, all right. I wouldn’t tell him about my findings, then. His eyes narrowed, but he left without a word.
He’d discovered something; that was obvious. But he’d looked shocked in a way I hadn’t seen since he learned it was a capital crime to drop melons on Agricorp 7. What could possibly have kindled this reaction? I hadn’t explored far when I saw my first clue.
On the hatch to compartment four was a nano-glue lock. Have you estimable robots heard of this? It’s an old style device that merges the atoms of a door and its frame so they form a single solid. The best lock in existence, but outlawed centuries ago. A minor bit of reprogramming on their safety protocols and they serve as a fearful weapon, capable of fusing any number of objects, a ship in flight, for example, or a living being, into a single mass. One of Garron’s antique devices then, from a collection I’d never been able to find.
Charmingly, he’d disconnected the old neural plug and installed a keypad. This was, as the saying goes, a piece of space-cake. I’d booted up my encryption app and started analysis when I heard a hatch slide open. Quickly I muted the interface and pretended to nonchalantly study the door.
'Look, Garron,'I said, turning.'What do you suppose the Graff’s got in here?'
He was now wearing his guileless innocent face. Inwardly, I sighed.
'I don’t know, and don’t tamper with that lock! Knowing the Graff it’s booby-trapped. Just leave it alone.'
'But Garron,' I said, 'this is the only hatch that’s locked like this! Imagine what’s inside!'
'I imagine it’s something very dangerous. We’ll deal with it when we aren’t shooting through space,' he said, 'and that’s my final word on the matter. Now step away from there, boy. I’ve just discovered something that requires your immediate attention.'
'What’s that, sir?'
'The Graff’s galley. Come along, I’m starving.'
We established a routine. I inventoried the Graff’s treasures, compartment after wondrous compartment. It was hard work but I didn’t mind. There was so much history there, so much beauty. So much to think about. Most of it I could catalogue, but even a hypersearch failed to ident a few of the pieces.
There was a glowing cube whose material defied analysis; when I scanned it, it told me to bugger off, so I did. Some kind of paperweight for masochists, I suppose.
There was a black slab of memory plastic with an ornately carved frame:a ship’s registry. I couldn’t break its firewall to see what information it contained, but I did discover that it seemed to be transmitting. I wrapped it in dampening foil, just to be safe. Oh, I see that got your interest…
The robots were downright excited. Bob What A Deal clapped his hands and said, 'Yes! We compute a 97.6% certainty that this is the item we seek. It is vital that this object be found!'
'Yes, I gathered. Keep listening and maybe we’ll discover that together. May I continue?'
'Certainly.'
The strangest thing I found was an expensive but common chest full of woman’s clothes–shoes, frocks, swimsuits, undergarments, sporting gear. All very expensive, all the same small size and all seemingly never worn. An individual woman’s traveling trunk, but horribly packed, as if it had been thrown together during an emergency. I searched for clues but there were no tags or crests on any of the items.
'Don’t waste time with that,' said Garron through the speye he’d been using to monitor me.'Is that a jar of gold Kopeks I see?'
Ah, yes. I said we’d established a routine. That would be myself on the Graff’s ship, methodically cataloging the treasure, while Garron spied on me (for my ‘own good’) from the comfort of our shuttle. He grumbled about his injuries and assured me his constant hypercable surfing was not only essential business research but therapeutic.
We’d gratefully discarded the scratchy natural fibres of our Ribosian disguises. I was wearing a comfortable crewman’s overall and Garron was back in his usual costume of an ‘A low ha!’ shirt,‘Polly Esther’ slacks and black socks and sandals.
So, I stayed in the Graff’s ship, the Indomitable Prince, while Garron wiled away his time on the Connie. Only the universal port kept us connected.
I only saw him five times a day, at meals. I tried to broach the subject of the locked compartment but he waved it away; after we were docked and had an escape plan, then he’d allow me to remotely hack the lock, but only then. He wouldn’t even let me drill and send in a fibre-probe. 'The Graff might have thought of that. After all,' he said, 'it’s always safety first for Garron & Unstoffe.' He was half right. It was always safety first for Garron. I’m the one who climbs into the vault to see if the monsters are asleep.
You know, I never asked if I was his first apprentice.
There was no point in arguing. I was forced to concede. I knew the lock was his and he knew I knew, but I simply couldn’t outright accuse him and he knew that, too. I hope you follow.
The thing is, principle aside, it didn’t matter to me what was in the locked compartment. The treasures I’d already pocketed without him noticing were sufficient to set me up in comfort for several lifetimes. It nagged me that he was cooking a double cross, but that’s what I’d come to expect from him. I decided to assume a philosophical attitude.
It was in that enlightened spirit, a few nights later, that I sneaked a peek at his wrist top while he was sleeping off a bottle of invaluable, vintage 3048 Draconian Brandy from compartment two. I was pleased to see his old password (newmanredford, whatever that meant) hadn’t been changed and was soon studying his search history. Among the inevitable mature sentient sites and dealer inquires I found a puzzling exception. On the date he’d locked the compartment he’d visited the home page of the Verne-Burroughs royal family. They’re one of the staggeringly wealthy new monarchies that spun out of the collapse of the old empire, ruling a handful of systems bordering the Greater Cyrrhenic Empire. I remembered they were noted for the number of Schlangi mercenaries hailing from their realm. But there was something else... some news I’d heard in passing...
I was about to follow the link when Garron stirred and snorted alarmingly. I decided to not press my luck. Garron’s a light sleeper. Thirty year old brandy wouldn’t dull his senses for long.
I decided, as I wasn’t sleepy, to run diagnostics on the ship. I can’t remember if I mentioned it, but we were using the Connie for propulsion:Garron decided we’d not use the Graff’s in order to sell the unused fuel. Our ship had a bog-standard Ion drive from Earth, but it was strong enough to tow the Graff’s ship. Also, we weren’t on a course for anywhere in particular, so I’d set cruise control. What this means is that except for the initial burn and minor hazard corrections we shouldn’t have been using fuel. But we had. Sometime since my last check we had changed course and accelerated. I asked the ship who authorised the course change, fully expecting the answer to be “Master Captain Garron”
It wasn’t.
Less than a minute later I was shaking him awake. Thank goodness he’d fallen asleep in his clothes.
'Wake up, Garron! Wake up!'
'Wha...?'
'Please, sir! Wake up now!'
'Good Lord, Unstoffe! Stop shaking me!'
'You have to wake up now!'
'What’s the matter?'
'There’s someone else on the ship, sir!'
'What? How on Earth? I said not to tamper–'
'Someone’s altered our course! We have to–'
We both stopped talking and stared at one another.
Simultaneously, we said, 'Wait! What are you talking about?'
And that’s when you lot showed up.
Actually, wait. Something else happened first. You know how sound carries in ships, right? How a whisper in engineering can travel the conduits all the way to the bridge and, say, land you in the brig for five days, eight hours and thirty-seven minutes? Well, Garron began explaining that he’d meant absolutely nothing by his tampering comment, which was from a brandy dream he’d been having and certainly had nothing to do with the locked compartment and he was wounded by the merest suggestion, and I was trying to tell him that the ship was being remotely flown from somewhere on the Graff’s cruiser when we both stopped dead.
'Shh!' I said. 'Listen!'
'That’s on the Graff’s ship!' said Garron, bounding off his bunk.
What had we heard? Well, it’s hard to put into words. Imagine an audio portmanteau of a rusty engine cranking while someone is playing a Viccanese theriman and someone else is blowing down the neck of a porcelain jug. No? Never mind. All you need to know is we’d heard the sound on Ribos. It was the engine of a ship or travel capsule, one we agreed was the most advanced we’d seen.
'Is it them?' I asked, as we stumbled for the docking port.
'Of course it’s them, Unstoffe! I told you, didn’t I? I know a swindler when I see one!'
I’m sorry, I have to back up even further. There was a pair of security agents, you see, snooping around Ribos to make sure our deal with the Graff was on the level. One was a big fella called the ‘Doctor’, and he had an assistant, a cool, slim fancy named ‘Romana’. An odd pair. Oh, and they had a little robot dog. You’d have liked him.
'Yes, Garron,' I said, punching the airlock entry code. We passed through, so intent on investigating that we failed to observe basic safety 101 –no matter what, always seal the connection between two docked ships. 'I recall you also said we’d seen the last of him.'
'He stole my lump of jethrik and now he’s back for the Graff’s loot!'
You see, one of our recurring meal conversations was this Doctor’s real identity. I didn’t see much of him, but Garron did and he claimed the Doctor’s story didn’t jell. He risked his life helping the Ribosians survive the Graff and his soldiers but only, it seemed to Garron, because they stood between him and the chunk of jethrik. Then there was his robot, his travel capsule and his way with gadgets. Alliance Security is well equipped, but this was well out of their league. We’d even weighed the possibility he was the dreaded Mongoose.
'He seemed a friendly sort,' I said as we crept up the corridor, Garron bravely guarding the rear.
'Crooks are always friendly, Unstoffe! That’s how you know they’re crooks!'
As far as Garron was concerned there were two fundamental flaws in the Doctor’s story.
One, if he was an undercover agent why did he travel to a restricted, Class 3 planet in a blue, faux-wood capsule with ‘Police’ plainly written in Earth Olde English above the door? Two, and here was the kicker, this Doctor character was far too intelligent to be security. 'No way he’s a rhino,' said Garron.'His knuckles barely reached the floor.'
From the primary airlock of the Indomitable Prince a corridor runs straight for several meters, doglegs left, runs another few meters and then up a stair to another level. The hatches of storage compartments one through three lined the left wall, with the rest around the corner.
The Doctor’s blue box was straight down the corridor from the airlock. No sign of the Doctor himself. I heard an odd trilling from around the corner. 'The Doctor’s gadget!' said Garron.
'Garron!' I whispered. 'He’s messing about with compartment four!'
Garron made a strangling sound and started pushing me. when I felt a gentle vibration through the soles of my feet. It reminded me of the fields back home on Darwin, the way the ground trembled when harvester arrays would pass. 'Did you feel that? What do you suppose that is?' I said.
Garron was staring at the ceiling, as if he could see something through the hull. 'I think that wretched Doctor is not alone this time,' he said.
The trilling stopped and all the compartment hatches whooshed open. Our carefully stored treasures shook loose from the vibration. A few spilled to the floor. Someone groaned.
An unfamiliar voice said, 'Hullo! What’s all this then? Oh! And who are you, I wonder?'
The ship shuddered and my ears popped as a strong tow beam enveloped us.
'Blast, blast and double blast!' said Garron. 'Unstoffe! Stop groaning and listen! Are you wearing your secret belt with all the loot you’ve been squirreling away? Oh, don’t bother denying it , boy! Quick, back to the Connie! We’ve got to get out of here!'
That’s when, with a horrible ripping sound and a terrible chorus of alarms, the two ships violently detached and the cruiser’s power died. For the merest flicker of a moment we floated in sudden darkness and zero-G. Then, with a thin, terrible howl, the escaping air slapped us toward the gaping hatchway. Wet stumbled, leaves in a hurricane. Somehow Garron gripped the edge of compartment two and I frantically grabbed his legs as the decanted atmosphere pushed me toward open space. As we hung suspended, the open maw of eternity beneath our horizontal feet, our precious retirement treasure began to fly, tumble and roll into outer space. I saw the little rude cube, now glowing brightly, struggle against the current until a flying tapestry enveloped it. Both went out the door with shocking speed. Past their exit I saw our faithful Connie rapidly tumble away until with a bright green ion explosion it hit something –something huge and dark that eclipsed the stars.
In the failing air I heard myself say, 'This is it! We’re going to die!'
'Well, if you’d let go we might not!'
'Oh, Garron! How could you? I ought to-'
'No, you idiot! Let go and then use the emergency hand crank on the airlock!'
'Are you insane? What if I miss the door? What if–'
I didn’t have to finish protesting Garron’s lunatic plan, for at that moment I heard a dim, distant cry of, “Expelliarmus!” and suddenly emergency power was restored. The airlock snapped shut, gravity returned and we dropped to the deck. We just lay there for a minute, our gasps adding a back beat to the hiss of returning atmosphere. Then there was a subtle tremor, a distant hiss of sliding doors, and we heard heavy footfalls somewhere above.
We’d been boarded!