The Borrega Test Page 9

  “Always happy to help.” Cortez said in a mocking tone.

  Stanislaus looked for a brief moment into Cortez’s artificial eyes and then turned to Hoffman. “I am honored to present Lord Commissar Noga, Arch-Commander of the Vallia Prime Fleet.”

  A huge stooping form emerged from the airlock; as it stood up fear gripped Cortez’s guts. The alien stood almost two and a half meters tall. The Naati wore loose fitting red pants and a harness over its body. Though it walked upright, its arms were as long as its legs. The creature’s feet were bare, covered only with short black hair; four massive toes on each long, narrow foot supported most of its weight and a long claw tipped each toe. The hands had two long fingers and two opposable thumbs with long claws. The Naati’s chest was a broad expanse of rippling muscle, the upper arms as thick as its legs, the shoulders wide, the neck corded with muscle. The short hair on its body had a black and brown pattern not unlike a giraffe. Cortez saw several large scars on its chest and flank. Its eyes looked like large red orbs with black pupils set beneath bushy eyebrows and above a short snout. The ears were upright triangles that touched the ceiling of the compartment. A mane of long yellow and brown spines and rough black hair covered the top of the creature’s head between its ears, and extended down the center of its back, the spines and hair becoming shorter and less dense toward the creature’s rump.

  The upper left side of its snout looked deformed; a large fleshy gash cut across the creature’s face.

  The Naati looked around, sniffing loudly. Three agents in black body armor followed, their weapons shouldered. The Naati looked at Agent Hoffman and then stepped toward her, thrusting its snout down at her head. Hoffman stood perfectly still as the creature sniffed around her neck and shoulders.

  The creature spoke a stream of barks and growls. Hoffman’s pockcomp translated. “Agent Hoffman. I am pleased to meet you.” It held up a piece of cloth. Cortez realized it was a scarf. “Thank you for sending your scent.”

  It then turned to look at Cortez; the Naati leaned forward, sniffed a few times, and looked down into the mirror finish mask.

  “Agents tell me you are Captain Cortez,” the translator said over the creature’s yips and growls.

  Cortez would have soiled his pants if he still could, and he was glad he didn’t have many sweat glands anymore; he detected Hoffman’s sweet perspiration flood the air as the creature sniffed her.

  “Yes, Arch-Commander.”

  “You were at the Battle of Anuvi III?” The voice was like the sound of gravel under the smooth spoken words of the translator.

  “Yes, Arch-Commander.”

  “Commander of the Merlin?”

  “Yes.”

  The creature’s head moved back and it started to bark, sharp teeth flashing in the light. Cortez stepped back and raised his hand to summon the Marines, but Hoffman touched his shoulder. “It’s laughing, Captain. Take it easy.”

  “What is the word you humans have?” the translator said, but the next word the Naati spoke with a loud howl. “EYE-RON-YEEEEEeee!”

  Cortez puzzled it out and spoke aloud. “Irony?”

  “Your assault on the Kreegan class battle carrier killed Lord Commissar Moosta of the Bork and destabilized the Command Authority. It helped set the Hegemony on the path to civil war.”

  Hoffman looked at Cortez and smiled. “It’s here because of you, Captain. Your assault on the Bellicose carrier killed one of the most powerful members of the Naati Command Authority; it is a large factor in their present difficulties.”

  “You knew this?” Cortez asked.

  “Of course,” Hoffman replied. “That’s why I requested your ship for this mission.”

  The Naati turned to Hoffman. “Yu hoomans fferrry kleffer!” it growled. He then stood up straight, looked around, and bowed low, its ears flat against its head. A stream of guttural growls and barks emerged from its mouth, and Cortez could just barely make out the words.

  “I um Ark-Cummunther Noga, Cummuntherer uff the Fallia Preem Fleet uff the Na’ateeee Heejeemuny, und I rekest sunctu-urry.”

  Beckenbaur

  Dr. Hans Joseph Beckenbaur suffered from a recurring nightmare; several General Intelligence Directorate agents, each of their faces a mass of tentacles, chased him down a long and star-filled corridor. He woke, relieved to find himself in his small cabin, lying on the uncomfortable bunk. He rose and splashed water on his face. The image in the mirror showed a thin face, deep-set brown eyes, and thinning hair.

  “Dr. Beckenbaur?”

  He jumped at the female voice on the intercom and then cursed under his breath. “Yes, Captain Talbot,” he managed to say with a steady voice.

  “We’ve docked on Corona Station. I plan to be here at least twelve hours to get supplies. I hope that gives you enough time.”

  “Yes, Captain. Thank you.”

  “Did you want an escort on board station?”

  He thought for a moment. “Yes, please, that would be most helpful.”

  “I’ll send Jake around to your cabin; he’s been here before and can lend you a hand.”

  “I appreciate that, Captain.”

  He dressed in coveralls, work boots, a utility vest, and a cap. He looked like any other starship crewmember looking for a little diversion. He clipped his pockcomp on his belt, looked at his blaster pistol, and then put the weapon back in his duffel bag. He heard a soft knock on the door.

  He slid open the panel and saw Jake leaning against the wall. The man was in his late twenties: he was the same height as Beckenbaur and had thick long black hair tied up in a ponytail, a thin face, olive colored skin, and dark eyes under bushy brows. He wore similar clothes to Beckenbaur, the cap reversed on his head.

  “Hey, Doc, Cap’m Talbot says you want some company.”

  “Yes, Jake. I appreciate this.” Beckenbaur exited the cabin and slid the panel shut.

  “No problem, Doc. I need to stretch my legs.” The two men walked down the stateroom corridor. “You been to Corona before, Doc?”

  “No, Jake. If you could, please call me Hans.”

  “Okay, Doc, er, Hans.” The named sounded awkward in Jake’s mouth.

  Beckenbaur sighed. “Whatever, Jake. You can call me whatever you want.”

  “Okay, Doc.”

  Beckenbaur and Jake entered the mess area. Two men, the twins Dylan and Danner Tyce, wore dirty coveralls and sat at the small table drinking coffee.

  “Would you gentlemen like to join us?” Beckenbaur asked. “We’re going on station.” Beckenbaur sincerely hoped so, since these two were the weapons and combat specialists aboard the Trieste.

  The twins looked at each other and grinned, but only one spoke. Beckenbaur didn’t know whether Dylan or Danner replied; he still couldn’t tell them apart. “Naw, can’t do it Doc. Captain’s got us on maintenance duty.”

  “Haha, suckers!” Jake smiled.

  “Fuck off, Naki,” the other twin said with a grin, flipping him the finger.

  Jake and Beckenbaur exited the mess and moved toward the forward end of the vessel.

  “How long have you been on the Trieste, Jake?”

  “Cap’m Talbot hired me on at Vastila three years ago, after I was let go by TransStellar. I like it here a lot; the pay’s not as good but it’s not as boring. Plus, the Cap’m pays bonuses if we have a good run.”

  They stepped into the airlock and were about to exit the ship into when Beckenbaur heard a gravelly voice behind him. He turned to see a two-meter tall reptile, its large eyes staring at them from beneath prominent brow ridges, its sharp teeth poking out from its blunt snout. The creature looked odd in coveralls and a utility vest, its long and heavy tail lying on the floor behind it. The cap on its head looked almost comical.

  “You stay out of trouble, Jake,” the creature said. “Don’t let anyone make fun of your hair.”

  “You would say that, Krenny,” Jake replied. “You’re just jealous; you Fendl can’t grow any.”

  “Krenlar,”
Beckenbaur said, greeting the creature, “would you like to join us?”

  “No thanks, Dr. Beckenbaur,” the Fendl said, “I’ve got to find out the cause of that power fluctuation in the environmental controls. You know, that model…”

  “See ya later, Krenny!” Jake said and stepped into the docking boom. Beckenbaur followed. The docking boom had an oval cross-section about six meters wide and three high. There were several other docking collars along the length of the boom, almost all with a ship attached. Several other people walked up and down the boom. Beckenbaur saw the place had seen better days; some of the lights flickered, there was graffiti on the walls, and trash was piled in the corners.

  “Where are you from, Jake?”

  “Olumba, ‘The Asshole of the Core Worlds’,” he said, laughing. “I hired on with TransStellar right out of secondary school. What about you, Doc?”

  “You’re a technician?”

  “That’s right, Doc. I like to tinker with things, you know?”

  “What did your parents do?”

  “My father died when I was little; mom sent me to live with my aunt.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry,” Beckenbaur said, blushing.

  “That’s okay, Doc. I got to do pretty much anything I wanted as a kid; got into a lot of trouble.”

  Embarrassed, Beckenbaur changed the subject. “What’s Corona Station like?”

  “It’s smaller than many other stations along Victory Road, and a little out of the way. We’re a few hundred light years rimward of New Kargopol. Not as many Imps hangin’ around.”

  “Imps?”

  “Imperials. The Security Service likes to stick with the larger stations; any trouble there gets on the vidcasts almost immediately. Out here, things are a little wilder, and a little freer. They don’t scan your ID when you board; they don’t care who you are, as long as you don’t make trouble.”

  I made the right choice. Beckenbaur hoped that was the case; the last thing he wanted to see was an “Imp.”

  They approached the end of the docking boom. Two station guards flanked a security station; they looked thick-limbed and big bellied with bushy moustaches under their noses; they wore faded blue coveralls, armored vests, black caps and blaster pistols on their belts. Beckenbaur and Jake waited in the short queue to enter the station.

  “No weapons allowed on the station,” one of them grunted. “Goods to be sold must enter the station through the merchandising docks. You fellas aren’t carrying any weapons are ya? Don’t have a little something you want to sell in the local bars?”

  “No, sirs!” Jake said.

  “Step through the scanner; one at a time.”

  Jake stepped through and one of the security guards looked at a monitor. “Whoa, there! What’s that you got in the back of your coveralls?”

  Blushing, Jake pulled a long metal blade from his coveralls. “Sorry, guys, I must have forgotten about this.”

  “That weapon is subject to confiscation,” the guard said and snatched the blade from Jake’s hand. “Hold up your pockcomp. There. If you want it back fill out that form and submit it to Station Security.”

  “Sorry about that, guys.”

  “You’re next, skinny,” one of the guards said to Beckenbaur.

  Beckenbaur passed through the scanner with no problem, and the two men found themselves on the wide and curving promenade of the station. They stood on the bottom level, and four balconies rose above their heads on either side of the promenade. The ceiling above was transparent, and Beckenbaur saw a distant rusty-green gas giant. Banners and flags with varying designs hung from the ceiling and the balconies. Large video screens and holographic images bathed the space in multi-colored light. Narrow shops crowded on both sides of the promenade, the neon signs and holographic images casting a multi-colored glow on the people below. The place looked worn; Beckenbaur spotted some graffiti, and a few lights flickered or were missing altogether. Worn metal benches sat scattered about the place, mixed in with several large containers holding ragged looking artificial trees. Hundreds of homs in all styles of clothes milled around, plus representatives of a few alien races. Beckenbaur felt a little more secure.

  “Whatchya wanna do, Doc? I know a great place to eat, if you’re tired of starship rations.”

  “Maybe later, Jake,” Beckenbaur said, looking at his pockcomp. “I need to find the High Galaxy Hotel. I’m meeting someone.”

  “Right this way, Doc.” Jake turned left and Beckenbaur followed.

  “Tell me about Captain Talbot,” Beckenbaur asked.

  “She used to be Exploration Service. She’s traveled through almost all of the Justified Conquest and the Far Frontier, I think.” Jake looked at him. “What about you, Doc? You’re short and skinny like the people on Rutana. You talk like them to.”

  “I used to live and work there, a long time ago.”

  “The Cap’m says you’re looking for something.”

  “I’d rather not talk about that right now, Jake.” A few paces later Beckenbaur pointed ahead of them. “There’s the hotel.”

  They walked further along the promenade then turned left into the hotel lobby. Despite several video screens and holographic projectors casting a flickering light through the space, the place looked dim. The hotel had the look of faded grandeur: thick pillars on the walls curved up to a high vaulted ceiling set with intricate patterns. A large glass chandelier with missing lights hung from a faded metal chain. Two sets of elevators flanked the front desk, and there was an actual person, not a ‘bot, dressed in a faded black jacket attending the counter. Beyond the lobby was an expansive lounge with large ports looking out to space. Only a few people occupied tables in the lounge.

  “Don’t look, Doc,” Jake said quietly, “but there’s two security guards that have been scopin’ us out since we left the docking boom.”

  Beckenbaur suppressed the urge to look. “We’re being followed?”

  “Pretty sure, Doc; they’re outside the hotel.”

  Beckenbaur reached into his pocket. “I need you to stay down here, Jake. Keep an eye on them and call me if they enter the hotel.” He gave the young man several hundred credits. “Buy yourself something to eat and drink. I may be a few hours, so don’t get drunk.”

  Jake looked at the credits with wide eyes. “Sure thing, Doc.”

  Suppressing the urge to turn around and look, Beckenbaur stepped to one of the elevators and pressed the button. When he entered the elevator car, he turned around and looked out of the entrance. Jake was right: two men stood in the promenade under the far balcony. They looked directly at him as the elevator doors closed.

  Beckenbaur emerged from the elevator on the fourth floor, and then turned right and walked down the two-meter wide hall, the hotel room doors set into the faded and discolored walls. He looked at his pockcomp, raised his head, looked at the numbered doors, and turned left. After several paces, he found his destination. He knocked on the door.

  After a few moments he heard a female voice he had not heard in a long time. “Is that you, Hans?”

  “Yes. I didn’t dare send you a message; my pockcomp says there are packet sniffers all over this station.”

  Silence, then “I need to be sure.”

  “Of course.”

  “What did we talk about on the moon, when we went out into the field together? There was no one else with us.”

  “The moon was probably a zoo or a preserve, because of the diversity of life to be found there.”

  The door opened and Dr. Heather Ferrel grabbed his arm, pulled him inside, and shut the door. For a long moment, they just looked at each other in the dim light. Her face had grown a little wider, but she was still as beautiful, with her long blonde hair and blue eyes. After the fighting near the Harbinger tower, she had turned to him for comfort, but he had refused. All these years later, he still regretted that decision. Why did I refuse her? He had told himself afterward that it would have complicated his life, but he soon learned that life gets co
mplicated, anyway. Maybe it’s not too late.

  He cleared his throat. “Dr. Ferrel. How long has it been?”

  She hugged him, hard. He heard her crying and felt her warm breath and tears on his neck. He gently put his arms around her. After several minutes, she pulled back and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I still think about what we all went through,” she said, turning into the room. She sat on the faded couch.

  Beckenbaur sat down beside her. “I wasn’t sure you got my message; you didn’t reply. I could only hope that you would be here.” He leaned back on the couch. “I’m sorry to drag you all the way out here. How are you?”

  “I came as soon as I got your message and the money you sent. I don’t know why, but I wanted to see you so badly. I’ve been so alone since what happened on the moon; I can’t talk about it with anyone. No one would understand, anyway.” She took his hands in hers. “It is good to see you. I’ve missed everyone from the Bering so much.”

  He looked at her. “I’m sorry it’s been so hard. That event changed our lives forever.”

  “For the worst; the GID watched me for years, ever since we returned to Earth together. They followed me everywhere, tapped my communications.” She looked away. “You saw how they crucified Captain Bandele.” Her body shook with sobs. “They said he was responsible for the Bering’s destruction, even though it was that bitch Batista that forced him to go. He was a broken man when they led him off to prison.” She looked at him. “Then you left. I tried to contact you at Milidas Polytechnic a few years later, but they said you had resigned. I went back to San Diego, back to my work.”

  “I didn’t want to tell you where I was going; it was too dangerous.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Heather,” he held her hands a little tighter, “I found another one.”

  “Another what?”

  “Another Harbinger artifact; at least, I think I know where one is. I just need one more piece of evidence.”

  She looked at him with horror, her eyes wide. “I was afraid of this.”