Dark Space (17 page)

   “Need a refill?”

   Melissa withdrew another
stack of silvery credits and tossed it into the air. One of Grib’s hands
snatched it while the three others prepared a new round of drinks. “As long as
the service is still good,” she said.

   “The service is only as
good as the credits provide.” One pair of eyes counted the credits while the
other stared over Shawn’s shoulder at the stage and grinning madly. When
Melissa thought she perceived Shawn’s body beginning to spin around again, she
quickly reached down and spun the stool, knocking Shawn’s knee into the bar.

   “Ouch!” he yelped, but
Melissa paid him no mind.

   “And what kind of service
will we get with that?” she asked Grib.

   Both heads turned to one
another and smiled. “More than adequate, I’m sure.”

   “Good,” Melissa nodded with
a smirk. “Now, about this ‘old coot’ you mentioned …”

“Two heads
are never better than one when they’re attached to the same body.”

-Unknown remark attributed to any and all
Thesians

   Grib, one head staring at
Melissa while the other scanned his recently acquired credits, seemed impassive
to her request.

   “Surely there’s something
you can tell me about him and this robot of his?” Melissa asked.

   Both of Grib’s heads bobbed
and swayed, as if the Thesian was looking for an answer that would satisfy her
request. Each pair of arms came up, scratching and rubbing the two faces in
contemplation. “There’s not much to say about his droid, other than it’s a
bumbling hunk of tin,” the left head began.

   “Yeah,” the right one was
quick to agree, “it cost us two tables and three chairs last time it blundered
in here.”

   To this, the left head
nodded, then looked to Melissa. “As for the man, there really isn’t much to
say.”

   “There’d better be,” Shawn
said defiantly. “Or I’ll be taking those credits back with or without your
consent.”

   All four arms went up in a
gesture of surrender. “No need to get touchy, human. I’m just trying to
remember the last time I talked to him.”

   “How long ago was it?”
Melissa asked, her tone more sociable than Shawn’s, but no less insistent.

   “A week … maybe two,” the
left head answered.

   “Where?” Shawn asked.

   “Here, of course,” the
right head said.

   “Did he say anything?”
Melissa asked.

   The left head looked to the
ceiling for a moment as it recalled the encounter. “Not much. He hardly ever
does.”

   “What’s his business here?”
Shawn asked the right head.

   “I think he’s some kind of
prospector. When he does talk—which is mostly to himself—he babbles on about
digging for things.”

   “What kind of things?”
Melissa asked.

   “How in name of the Pillar
of Chomar am I supposed to know?” the left side said. “Rocks, dirt, the odd
tuber. Things that people dig for, I assume.”

   “What’s he look like?”
Shawn asked.

   The right’s eyes rolled.
“What am I, a camera? I don’t make it a habit of memorizing every detail of
every face I see around here.”

   “Just the basics, please,”
Melissa countered.

   “Average height. Average
build. Bipedal. Couple of arms and legs.”

   “Helpful,” Shawn muttered.

   “He’s human … I think,” the
left side said. “Got that pink skin like the rest of you.”

   “And he’s old,” the right
side said. “All wrinkly, like he’s been out in the suns too long.”

   “I keep telling you,” the
left said to the right. “That’s why he’s loony. Too much time under the suns.”

   “You got that right,” the
right side said.

   “Ha! That never gets old,”
the left side remarked, and the right side began to laugh hysterically.

   Melissa quickly reached out
and grabbed the chins of the heads and pulled them closer to her. Their
laughter abruptly ceased. “I’ll need you boys to focus for a few more seconds.”
Both heads nodded in unison, the four eyes wide in surprise.

   “That’s better,” she said
soothingly. “Now, can you tell us if he has a ship?”

   “A small one,” the left
head said. “Little thing, and older design.”

   “Kind of sad looking,
really,” the right side added. “Nothing I’d be proud to fly.”

   “Make and model?” Shawn
asked.

   “Hey, we’re not the
Department of Interstellar Vehicles here,” the left said, but Melissa still had
a firm grip on Grib’s chins. She yanked down, pulling the Thesian off his
balance, leaving his chest resting on the bar top.

   “Nothing?” Melissa
continued in a sweet voice, her grip tightening slightly.

   “Jidoan, I think,” the left
head grunted. “A Jidoan shuttle.”

   “With an extra engine
mounted on top,” the right added. “Gray hull, looks like it’s been through hell
and back.”

   The eyes in the left head
shifted to the right. “And how do you know that?”

   “Information comes my way.”

   “How can it come your way
and not make it into my ears?” the left side asked incredulously.

   “Maybe your face isn’t as
trusting as mine.”

   The left side looked at the
right, aghast. “And I thought we were friends. Here you are, hiding things from
me … again! This is just like the last time, when you said—”

   “Boys,” Melissa bellowed,
gripping the chins tighter. “Focus!”

   The argument immediately
ceased and the two looked at her once more.

   “Where does he park it?
Which platform?” she asked.

   “No platform,” the right
head answered.

   “But, for a price—” the
left side began, but was cut off by Shawn.

   “Yeah, no. I don’t think
that’s going to happen. Just be a pal and tell the lady what she wants to
know.”

   “What’s the incentive for
us?” the heads asked in unison.

   “Ever heard of a guy named
Cal Vross?” Shawn asked quietly.

   The heads nodded out of
sync. “Small times arms smuggler. Dangerous,” the left said.

   “Word is, someone put him
in a box,” added the right.

   Shawn tilted his head
toward Melissa. “Meet the lady who put him in that box.”

   The two heads looked to one
another, muttering something in the Thesian language. The conversation became
louder with each passing syllable as the discussion became a full-fledged
argument. Melissa was about to put a stop to it when the left looked at her
abruptly. “There’s a dock, down on Rella Street. It’s got a couple of spaces.
I’ve heard he parks there from time to time.”

   Melissa released the chins,
and Grib reeled back, four hands rubbing the two faces. “Thank you,” she said,
then turned to Shawn. “Best we get going.”

   As the two got up from the
bar, Melissa grabbed the exotic dancer’s discarded glossy shorts and tossed
them at Grib. The garment hit his chest, then fell to the floor.

   “Be a good boss and tell
your employee she forgot something. She’s probably cold.”

%%%

   Stepping outside the bar,
Shawn looked around the deserted street. There was the occasional passerby, but
it looked as if most of the night life had shut down for the evening. He
briefly entertained the idea of returning to their transport and getting a good
night’s sleep when he noticed that Melissa had begun walking in the opposite
direction.

   “Our ship is this way,” he
said, hooking his thumb over his shoulder.

   “But the ship I want to see
is in this direction,” she countered.

   “We don’t even know if he’s
here. The barkeep said it’d been weeks since he’d seen the old man.”

   Melissa was far from
convinced. “We also don’t know if he’s
not
here, Shawn. It’s worth
taking a look.”

   “How do you even know where
the landing bays are?”

   She turned and began
walking away from him. “Because I have map,” she called over her shoulder.

   He looked to his wrist. In
his haste to get out of the transport earlier, he’d forgotten to put his
computer on. They’d taken so many twists and turns to get to the bar, he had begun
to have doubts that he’d be able to find his way back to the administrative
building. Sighing, he rushed to catch up with her.

   Rounding a final turn onto
Rella Street ten minutes later, they came to the loading dock that Grib had
mentioned. The area was little more than a hollowed-out, long-abandoned space
freighter, with the top and one side cut away to allow for access. Some of the
former vessel’s innards, namely the lower hatches, had been permanently welded
open, with brightly lit signs denoting where the openings led to. One section
of a remaining bulkhead had been cut away to reveal a large compartment that
was now being used as a repair bay. The half-dozen craft parked inside were
laid out haphazardly, giving Shawn every indication that this parking was first
come, first serve, with no officials present to see that operations were held
in any orderly fashion. Among the small vessels, in a dimly lit corner of the
bay, was what looked like the Jidoan ship Grib had earlier described. 

   Nodding his head in the
direction of it, he indicated for Melissa to look at the craft. It was small,
perhaps a dozen feet on each side. Overall, it was a typical Jidoan design—egg-shaped,
with pairs of pivoting thrusters on each side, smaller ones placed in front of
larger ones. The rounded front of the craft had five windows: a large central
one flanked by smaller ones on the sides and even smaller ones placed above the
centerline. Behind the upper windows was a third engine, similarly cigar-shaped
to the larger ones near the stern. At their current position above and a
hundred yards away, any further details were obscured by the darkness.

   “Let’s go down and take a
look,” she said, heading off for the far side of the dock.

   Shawn’s eyes followed her
projected path and saw a brightly lit sign for a magnetic lift at the opposite
side of the dock. The hatch opened, and two turtle-faced Temkorians exited,
their leathery scales reflecting what little light they could catch. Not known
for their love of humans, Shawn decided that discretion was the better part of
curiosity. “Hey, slow down a minute,” he called after Melissa. When she stopped
a dozen yards away, he walked slowly to catch up with her. “What’s the rush?”
he asked as he stepped up beside her.

   “I’m curious to see if he’s
down there. This could be an important lead in our investigation.”

   It was then that Shawn
noticed the Temkorian vessel—a military-style transport that was overtly armed
and quite dangerous-looking—parked beside the Jidoan shuttle. Based on the
Temkorian’s markings, Shawn guessed it was some type of patrol craft, and the
pilots were like militia. “What if, like Santorum, this guy’s been infected? It
could be dangerous,” Shawn offered with an unnecessary whisper.

   “Are you suggesting we call
in the Marines?” she asked mockingly. “It’s just one man.”

   “
Supposedly
it’s
just one man,” Shawn corrected. Looking at the lift, he could no longer see the
Temkorians. “Look, I know you can take care of yourself. Let’s just be smart
about this, okay?”

   Melissa’s green eyes
scanned Shawn’s skeptically, then nodded. “So, what would you like to do?”

   “Just … let me take the
lead when we get down there.”

   “Chivalry?”

   “Let’s just call it caution
and leave it at that.” He then scanned her tight-fitting body armor, which drew
a puzzled look from her. “Unless you’re hiding something someplace I don’t know
about, I’m the only one of us who’s armed.”

   “Would you care to put
credits on that?” she asked. The perplexed look he gave her, mouth gaping open,
caused her to smile. “Fine. You go first.”

   When they got to the lift,
Shawn was silently thankful it was empty. It took only a few seconds to get to
the ground level of the port. Heading off to the distant side of the bay, they
arrived at their destination a few minutes later. Nearing the craft, Shawn held
his left arm back, giving Melissa a wordless instruction to stay put.

   “What are your sensors
telling you?” he asked.

   Melissa held her wrist
computer up. Tapping at the controls, she aimed the unit’s built-in instruments
at the shuttle. “The hull’s been modified to reflect probes,” she said with
frustration.

   This bit of news elevated
Shawn’s trepidation. Pulling out his pistol with his right hand, Shawn
cautiously neared the craft.

   The ship was much like Grib
had described. The hull was pitted in a number of places, and the welds and
crevices were caked in a fine layer of rust. Given the fact that the air of
Torval was too dry for the oxidization process to elicit this much effect on
the Jidoan vessel, he knew this craft had seen its share of a very damp
atmosphere recently. Below the craft, several umbilical lines had been
attached, and they hummed softly as they transferred their respective payloads
into the shuttle. Stepping over them, Shawn neared the single, man-sized hatch
in the starboard side of the ship. Turning back, he saw that Melissa was still
behind him, but at a discreet distance. She nodded at him, and he turned back
to the door. Using the butt of his pistol, Shawn rapped at the hatch and
stepped back quickly.  

   There was no answer.
Another series of knocks produced the same response.

   “Looks like no one’s home,”
he said, scanning the vessel from fore to aft.

   Melissa stepped around him
and looked in the front view ports. They were darkened, shielding the inside
from curious onlookers. “It looks like whoever this belongs to, and whatever’s
inside, is going to remain a mystery for now.”

   “I don’t like mysteries,”
he protested.