Mapped Space 1: The Antaran Codex (4 page)

A sultry, over-sexed female voice
sounded over the intercom. “Hello Captain. I’m pleased to inform you that
engine shut down is now complete. You’ll also be delighted to know, the energy
plant will be dormant in seven minutes.”

“What was that?” Jase asked
incredulously.

“Tamph humor?” I suggested before
activating the intercom. “Thanks Izin. Ah . . . not sure about the new vocalizer
settings.”

Again, the ridiculously sexy
female voice sounded on the flight deck. “My research indicated you boys would
find this tonal combination stimulating, even arousing.”

I shut off the intercom a moment.
“I swear, he’s trying to get even with me for crashing the shield.” The voice
might have been stimulating coming from a female
Homo sapien
, but as we knew it was coming from a one point two
meter high amphibian with an oversized head, large bulbous eyes and small
triangular teeth, it was simply unnerving. “We liked your voice the way it was,
thanks.”

“As you wish, Captain,” Izin replied
in his standard male voice.

“Log the cargo,” I said to Jase
as I climbed out of my couch. We were carrying data dumps to synchronize the city’s
update level and one of the vacuum-radiation-sealed containers we were towing was
full of supplies for Hades. “I’m going into the city to see what contracts are
open.”

“No problem, Skipper,” he said
without looking up. He was hurrying through his post-flight check list with a degree
of concentration that told me he was keen to go
moonside
for a little recreation.

“And try not to get arrested this
time.”

Jase gave me a wounded look. “Who
me?”

“Any fines come out of your cut.”

Jase raised his hands innocently,
“Only wine, women and song, I promise. No fights this time.”

“That’s what you said last time!”
Doubting his sincerity, I headed for the airlock.

It was a short walk through the pressure
bridge to our berth’s gate. It DNA scanned my hand before letting me into the
spaceport, where to my surprise, I found the air didn’t have the stale metallic
smell I remembered – a sure sign they’d upgraded their environmental systems
since my last visit. Powered walkways carried many human and a few non-human
passengers between the terminal and the ships, giving me an opportunity to practice
using my threading’s sensors.

The bionetic filaments read and
amplified impulses passing through my nervous system that normally went
unnoticed by the human brain. The threading then selected and displayed
information it decided I needed to know, or in answer to my queries. The
sensory amplification was augmented by microscopic, biological machines
designed to be indistinguishable from human bio-matter. The most useful of
these was my DNA sniffer. Providing I had line of sight, the sniffer could
sense DNA sequences at short range, enough to identify a contact in a large room
or on the street.

The sniffer scanned every person
I passed, checking their DNA codes against a database of the Orion Arm’s most
wanted. Not surprisingly, I got a hit every few minutes. Hades City’s distance from
Earth made it an ideal hiding place for humans on the run. To most alien law enforcement
agencies, it was an obscure human backwater, which was why there was also a
disproportionately high number of unsavory non-humans in the city.

Little did they know how easily
they could be discovered, irrespective of disguises or appearance altering
surgery. The hits ranged from petty criminals, escaped prisoners and missing
persons to a few hard cases that the local Unified Police Force detachment would
have locked away in their deepest, darkest dungeon – if they’d known they were
here. The non-human criminals were all known Orion Arm species whose DNA codes
had been passed to UniPol by their representative governments. Handing fleeing
criminals to our neighbors was a good way to build trust, but keeping bionetic
technology a secret was more important than making friends, so I let the Orion
Arm’s mad and bad walk free.

The terminal was lined with
screens listing every ship docked and their current status. There were personal
data nodes everywhere for travelers to make enquiries or reservations, or contact
ships directly. UniPol was supposed to watch all such communications on every
world, but Hades City suffered from profound blindness where money making
activities were concerned. It was a common trait among remote outposts.

It was why a precondition of
renewing contact with Earth had been the merging of local police forces into
UniPol. Integrating civil law enforcement into a single collective effort was
officially intended to ensure local criminals didn’t commit Treaty violations
and unofficially designed to ensure Earth’s enlightened interpretation of law
was spread to every corner of Human Civilization. Local governments retained nominal
influence over their police forces, but the direct link to Earth – and to the
EIS – quickly became more important. Joining UniPol was a sign of commitment to
working within the Access Treaty, bringing with it huge benefits, while refusal
meant continued isolation from the rest of humanity. Very few refused. In time,
every major center became committed to UniPol. Only at the most remote stations,
far from oversight, was there an opportunity to bend the rules, and Hades City
was about as remote as it got.

Outside the spaceport, I hopped a
silver commuter tube to the central commercial cavern, the largest in the city.
It was a well lit expanse filled with a mix of historic carved stone and
shining metal and glass spires surrounded by genuine Earth transplanted trees
and flowers. Hades had started out as an uninhabited robot mining base eighteen
hundred years ago, but centuries of digging had created abundant empty space
which the Hadians had turned into a surprisingly comfortable habitat. The
curved ceiling several hundred meters above was covered by simulated blue sky
and drifting white clouds, creating an illusion so real I almost forget I was
deep underground.

The surface might have been a
charred cinder, but the excavated interior was remarkably amenable for human
life. Out of necessity, mankind had made constructing such habitats an art form
because the galaxy’s prime real estate had been snapped up long before we
entered the market. Interstellar civilizations had been emerging throughout the
Milky Way for hundreds of millions of years, colonizing the garden worlds,
leaving the late comers like us with a selection of barely habitable rocks no
one else wanted.

It was the unavoidable fate of
being the youngest interstellar civilization in a very old galaxy.

* * * *

The Bazaar was a rectangular cavern several
kilometers long, south of the main business complex. The ceiling was smooth
rock, not simulated sky, and the air was more like I remembered, breathable but
metallic. Tailors, miners, workshops, hot food vendors and merchants galore
were packed tightly together, all eager to sell me everything I didn’t want. I
hadn’t been there in two years, but it had changed little. Aggressive peddlers
still swarmed after me like insects, trying to shake my hand so they could get
my attention and my credits, while a few shadowy types watched me pass,
wondering if they could take me. Fortunately for them, none tried.

Emporium Zadim was right where I
remembered it. Hideous outside and in, it was a gaudy place drenched in gold
paint and heavy red drapes with a glowing sign out front flashing its name at
every passerby. Two swarthy, muscle modded Berbers with uninviting demeanors
and dressed in bright silks stood either side of the entrance. Judging by the indiscreet
weapon bulges in their clothes, they were obviously guards, not doormen. When I
passed them, their eyes followed me suspiciously, but they made no move to stop
me.

The emporium’s walls were hung
with elaborate tapestries depicting the history of the vast expanse of land encompassing
parts of Asia and all of Africa. The theological empire known as the Second
Caliphate was the weakest of Earth’s four great collective-governments, known
for trade and conservative values rather than the technology and pluralism that
characterized the immensely rich and diverse Democratic Union. Not surprisingly,
there were no tapestries recalling the terrorist attack on the Mataron
homeworld in 3154, almost fifteen hundred years ago. Even after all these
centuries, the Calies still tried to forget the disaster a few of their number
had inflicted upon mankind. Ironically, that history now made them the least
likely to violate the Access Treaty, so great were their own social taboos
against causing such a calamity again. In front of the tableaus were polished sim-wood
tables laden with glittering gilded garbage. The real merchandise would be
hidden, out of sight of UniPol investigators and robbers alike.

“Sirius Kade! My dear friend, I
thought you were dead!” A basso, accented voice boomed across the room. He said
it with such conviction, yet I knew his spies would have reported the arrival
of the
Silver Lining
before we’d even
berthed.

Ameen Zadim was a Caliphate
merchant; corpulent, bearded, black bushy eye-brows and a hideous purple sash
that held in his stomach and concealed the small, but highly effective stinger
he always carried. Cali merchants like Zadim were found in most Union affiliated
settlements, mostly because the Caliphate had established few colonies of its
own, preferring instead to take advantage of the Union’s openness and
tremendous expansionist energy.

He advanced towards me, arms wide
and embraced me warmly. Naturally, I kept one hand on my credit stick, so he
couldn’t steal it. “Ameen,” I said returning the embrace with less enthusiasm,
“You son of a camel thief, you’ve lost weight!”

Zadim stepped back, laughing,
patting his expanding girth. “Yes, it’s true, my wives feed me too well.” He
nodded reassuringly to the Berber muscle-jobs at the door. They hadn’t taken
their eyes off me for a second, but once Zadim vouched for me, they returned
their malevolent gaze to the street outside.

“Come! I have coffee – not that
terrible
synth
-bean poison the Chinese are selling!
This is the real thing, all the way from Lam Dong Habitat, premium grade Viet
beans. You should buy some. I know where you could double your money, only a
week from here in your fine ship.”

“Really? And what do you know of
my fine ship, considering you thought I was dead?”

Zadim laughed, unconcerned that
his little white lie had been unmasked. “It is only good business to know what
my competition is doing, or which traders are looking for cargo. You wouldn’t
be looking for cargo by any chance? I could use a ship as fast as yours.” His
eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Would you consider selling her?”

“You’ll be the first to know,
Ameen.” I promised, lowering my voice, “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

Zadim’s eyes suddenly glowed as
he sensed opportunity. “Certainly my friend, this way.” He led me deep into his
emporium, stopping at a dark red drape which he pulled aside, revealing a room decorated
as a Bedouin tent. A hookah stood smoking in one corner, an urn boiled in another
and silk cushions lined the floor. Zadim poured us each a strong coffee, then
we took up positions within reach of the hookah. He sucked on a pipe, then
exhaled a toxic cloud that hung in the air like a cloud of gray poison.

I took one polite puff, then
didn’t touch it again.

“Now tell me, my dear Sirius, how
may I help you?”

“I’m looking for a man, a Republic
broker by the name of Mukul Sarat. Ever heard of him?”

He scowled dismissively. “If you
are looking for cargo, I have some particularly interesting opportunities for a
man like you.”

“Not this time. I’m looking for Sarat.
Do you know him?”

Zadim shrugged. “I know of him. A
little rat among weasels. There is no profit in dealing with his kind. Why do
you want him?”

According to Lena, the Indian
Republic broker had arrived in Hades City almost a month ago. Two EIS agents
had tried to make contact with him. Both were now dead.

“It’s a personal matter.”

Zadim studied me thoughtfully. “Ah!
He has knowledge you seek. There is always opportunity in knowing the unknown.
What is this information?”

“Nothing I can share.”

Zadim looked crestfallen. “You do
not trust me, Sirius? Me, your oldest and dearest friend?”

“You sold me a cargo of Iridian
Spice that was rotten before I even took delivery–”

“Let us not trifle on the past,
old friend!” He said quickly, then poured himself another coffee. “This Sarat,
he pretends to be a man of taste, but he is a nasty little thief. He is not
like us. He thinks he is above all of us . . . and he is a killer.”

“You know that for a fact?”

“I know his kind.” Zadim sobered.
“You and I, we are brothers. We trade, sometimes we win, sometimes we lose, but
we always have love and respect, even if we have an . . . occasional
misunderstanding.” He gave me a meaningful look which I took for an apology.

“Help me find Sarat and all is
forgiven. The Iridian Spice deal, the time you stiffed me on payment for the Eden
Jewel, even the
Askari
swindle.”