Relic Tech (Crax War Chronicles) (17 page)

“I came across what appeared to be a maintenance technician. He calls himself Mer.” The XO didn’t respond, so I continued. “I borrowed this from him. I should have requested his assistance.” He seemed to be taking all of this in. I hoped he responded to my leading statement.

“And why would you need his assistance?”

“The gum-wrap is too far to reach by hand a find by touch, sir. When on the floor, the view is obstructed by the conduit piping.”

“Do you have a solution to this dilemma?”

“Actually, I do, sir. If you would be willing to direct me as I attempt to reach the wrap, we could commemorate the occasion.” It was worth a shot. The XO seemed friendly enough. “I would be willing to split it with you, sir.

“Is this how you mark your experience aboard each new vessel, Specialist?”

I detected a hint of skepticism. “Actually, sir, this is my first assignment aboard an interstellar vessel. My other assignments were in the Solar System.”

“I cannot chew gum while on duty, Specialist.”

“I understand, sir. Sorry to have detained you from your business.” I stepped out of his path and waited for him to pass.

“Can you be quick about it, Specialist? Wouldn’t want any rats, or crew with better equipment to run off with your valuable prize while you’re off seeking assistance. Would we?” He winked.

I smiled back. “No, sir.”

I bent down and went to work, not wasting any time. I’d played my hand as best I could. Besides, Lt. Commander Devans was very adept at providing directions. Appearing inept at following them didn’t seem wise. Within twenty seconds I’d retrieved the candy and stood at attention. “Thank you, sir.” I held out the gum wrap.

“You are welcome, Specialist,” he said before turning to leave. “Now I am off to see the security chief.”

I acted surprised at his statement, unsure how convincing I was. As soon as he was out of sight, I went looking for Mer. I checked my watch and estimated the XO’s delay to be almost four minutes. I hoped it was enough.

Ten minutes later I located the old maintenance worker inspecting a series of rivets along the wall. “Elmer,” I said, holding out the tool. “Thanks for the loan.”

“Mer,” he said. “Remember?” He replaced the tool in his belt and looked me over. “An R-Tech, and space faring too.”

“Not that unusual,” I said.

“What ships you been on?”

“Not many. What about you? Those don’t appear to be the accessories of your average computer engineer.”

“Hee Hee,” he laughed. “No, they ain’t.” He put a calloused hand on my shoulder. “It’s just you and me, Kra. The only R-Techs, ’till the passengers board.”

“We’re hauling R-Techs?” I asked.

He nodded. “That’s what I hear. I’m sure your boss’ll fill you in.”

“You’re not an official part of the crew. What are you? A passenger working off debt?”

“Something like that, but the other way around.” He pulled a rag and wiped the rivet. “It’d take a long time to explain.”

“You know this vessel,” I said. “Pretty well I bet.”

He puffed out his chest. “Sure do.”

“If you’re not part of the crew, then you’re not on duty.”

“That’s right.”

“Maybe you could help me out. Chief Brold suggested I take some time to get the
Kalavar
’s layout. I’ve studied the diagrams and blueprints, but I’ll still be stumbling around.” His face lit up. “Would you mind?”

“Not at all, there,” he said, removing his glasses. “Looks like you’ve had a rough time, and about due for a good turn.”

“That’s a long story, too,” I said. “I’ve got about two hours to get the layout. Whatever time you can spare.”

“That should be just enough time, and maybe get your story in. This way, Kra. We’ll start at the beginning.” He led me down the corridor. “The
Kalavar
is now classified as a medium class transport because she’s less than two-hundred and fifty meters long.” The word meter rolled stiffly off his tongue. “Still,” he continued, “she displaces over two-hundred thousand cubic meters. In her day, she was a top-of-the-line transport, ferrying important businessmen and the rich from Earth to Mars, and back.”

His voice had taken on a distant tone, but seemed to snap back. “That was before the war, and before the Phibs taught us to condense space. Nothing fancy anymore, especially after the armor plating.” He pointed and gestured as we continued. “We’re heading to the front of the ship. See these new conduits? The metallic red ones?”

“Yes, I noticed them earlier.”

“They run to the outer hull and power the anti-grav panels. They put in a space-condensing engine too. So now she’s interstellar.”

“Wasn’t the
Kalavar
in mothballs?” I asked.

“Yep,” he acknowledged. “During the Silicate War the
Kalavar
was converted. Part of her ventral section was gutted and turned into a cargo hold. Some of the passenger compartments were knocked out and turned into freight areas. Then, after the war, she was mothballed. Set in orbit around Venus.” He sighed. “That was a long dark time for me.”

I looked at him, but before I could say anything, he cut in, “We’ll get to that some other time. Anyways, she was set to orbiting Venus with all of the other obsoletes. Everything of value’d been stripped. Just a few controls for the secondary engines.” He looked to see if I was following. “They tore out the main, center engine.”

He seemed pretty spry, and walked at a decent pace. I wanted to ask how old he was, and why he was so familiar with the
Kalavar
’s history, but didn’t and, instead, kept looking around, familiarizing myself as much as I could. We passed few crewmen. Occasionally, I spotted recessed security cameras. “Why didn’t they take them all out?”

He looked at me blankly.

“The engines, I mean.”

“In case the military wanted to use her for target practice,” he said with muffled ire. “But the
Kalavar
got a second lease on life. About four years ago Negral Corp bought her, and rebuilt her. Like I said, made her interstellar.”

“Must’ve been expensive.”

“Sure was, but the shipyards are running full capacity. Years behind on their contracts.”

“Negral probably didn’t have the pull,” I agreed.

“True, but they got a deal. They don’t make them like this anymore.” We were past mid-ship and nearing the front of the vessel. He shifted to a business tone. “Like I said, start at the beginning.”

I was about to ask his connection to the
Kalavar
when a small hand-held radio hanging from his belt crackled. “Mer, this is Chief Brold.”

He grabbed the radio and held it close to his mouth. “Yes, Chief.”

“Send Specialist Keesay to Medical, immediately. I mean now! Understood?”

“Sure thing, Chief. Pronto.” Mer looked at me. “Sounds like he wants you there yesterday.” He signaled to me follow him. I jogged to keep up with his shuffling gait.

“I’ll show you the short cut,” he said, leading me toward the outer hull. “All of these red lines run together. Some places there are powered maintenance sleds along them. Faster than by foot and lifts.” He wasn’t losing his breath.

“The chief sounded a bit excited,” I said. “Out of character isn’t it?”

“Yep.”

Companies have tripped over themselves to explore and establish a presence just outside the relatively barren security zone. As the border region of space is not under explicit treaty restrictions, interstellar vessels of other races have been spotted and may be establishing a presence. Not all races are friendly to humans, and some are not hospitable toward other regional alien explorers. Galactic colonization is a dangerous game and humans are new to it.

We stopped under merging red conduits that carried power for the anti-gravity plates. “Up here,” urged Mer, climbing a recessed ladder with a penlight clamped between his teeth. “It’s cramped.”

I crawled after him between the deck levels, following the conduits. I focused my own pocket flashlight and watched him tap keys on a panel. He whispered, and the cramped section lit up.

“We ain’t supposed to use these except for emergencies,” he said. “And the chief sounded pretty urgent to me.” He pocketed his penlight.

There was a two-foot clearance. “They built this to maintain the anti-gravity system?” I asked, before sliding under paired, red power conduits, and moving up.

“Guess so,” he said. “They say failure of anti-gravity in condensed space can be a problem.”

“Fatal,” I agreed, happy I wasn’t claustrophobic. Mer stared down a recessed track running parallel to us, waiting for something. “Hey,” I said, “both of these conduits split off, but always into pairs, and run to the outer hull.” I shined my light. “See? If it’s a backup system, it doesn’t make sense to have them running parallel.”

“You’re right,” he said. “But engineers don’t get contracts for being stupid.”

“What does that mean?” He didn’t answer.

A humming announced two flat sleds approaching. He climbed onto one. “Get on, Kra. Strap yourself in good, and I’ll get us there.”

I was having second thoughts about the legitimacy of Mer’s route. I signaled and said, “Ready.” How much time were we really saving?

“Might want to turn off your light and hold your stomach,” Mer said while pecking at the control panel.

We shot off. Powered by a magnetic pulse, the ride was smooth, except for a section where we slowed, switched tracks, and sped a different direction. In thirty seconds we were at the other end of the
Kalavar
.

Mer muttered and tapped at a panel, providing lights. “Unbuckle yourself and hop down. Medical will be straight ahead a bit, to your right.”

As I slid down the ladder, I spotted Chief Brold standing outside Medical. I trotted up to him. “Chief?”

“Keesay,” he said with arms crossed, “just what the hell did you booby-trap your cart with?”

“A lock, Chief. Did somebody try to pick it?”

“Apparently. Explain.”

“It’s rigged to spray blue dye on anyone who tries to pick it,” I replied, in an even tone. “It also acts as a numbing agent.” I took a breath. “Who tried it?”

He ignored my question. “What if the lock is cut?”

I didn’t know if I should be angry or worried. “If it’s cut, Chief, an interior tube was installed in the loop. To deter the trespasser.” I wanted to say, nail the crook. “Severing the lock releases an aerosol containing a visual irritant, and a nauseating inhalant.”

“Is it lethal?”

“No. The airborne chemicals are extremely short lived.” I flexed my fingers. “Who broke into my cart?”

Before he could answer, a medical technician ran out of the lab. “Security Chief, get in here!”

I followed my boss and the white-garbed med tech through a small reception area to the treatment center. Med techs moved in all directions, but generally away from one of the rooms. A vaporous cloud hung outside the closed door, and from it a powerful acidic odor assaulted my eyes and nose. No Biohazard alarms had been triggered. A med-bot sped around, spraying a neutralizing agent. Still, I wasn’t too confident.

Chief Brold grabbed a med tech’s arm. “What’s going on?”

Before the tech could answer, a doctor stepped away from two assistants in protective gear. “Well, Chief,” he said, “our patient expired. Took part of my examination room with him.”

“Dr. Sevanto, what happened?”

Despite the commotion, the doctor remained calm. With an air of authority he directed the chief away from the traffic. “We had alleviated the respiratory distress and flushed out the visual irritant. The patient was still visibly agitated. Readouts indicated unidentified chemicals in his system. The patient sat up just after I suggested to Tech Gorborski that you might be interested in interviewing our patient.”

Dr. Sevanto halted his story for a second and spoke into his collar. “That will be sufficient.” He looked back at Chief Brold. “The room has been emptied of all potential hazards, and is safe.”

“What happened?” repeated the chief.

“Let’s take a look.” Dr. Sevanto led us into the room. It was small, plain and antiseptic, like any other medical examination room—except for the pitted remains of an examination bed with the emergency filtration system drawing in the remaining fumes.

“As I was saying, Chief, after your name was mentioned, the patient laid back down and closed his eyes. Within seconds, what I suspect to be an internal acid, began to dissolve his body.” He stepped closer, gesturing despite the ruined equipment’s lingering odor. “It stopped halfway through my examination table.”

My eyes would’ve been wide as dinner plates, if they hadn’t been watering. The chief seemed immune. “Did the decomposing begin in the torso?” he asked.

“Not exactly. The entire body came under the effect. At least to the ankles and wrists. All organic matter was consumed. It should have been recorded on your security network.” Dr. Sevanto looked around. “Know what caused this, Chief?”

“Possibly. Some aliens are known to have capsules imbedded in their bodies. Usually near a main circulatory artery. The capsule’s contents can be activated by a chemical entering the body.” Chief Brold scratched his head. “The Crax are reported to have a set up with a delayed onset that allows an inert acid to circulate though the body before a released enzyme activates it.” He maneuvered closer and examined the area. “Did a thorough job.” He retraced his steps. “Could’ve been worse.”

Dr. Sevanto asked, “Do you think Tech Stardz was connected to the Crax?”

“I wouldn’t rule anything out, yet.” The chief reached into a pocket and produced a small clip. “Specialist, do you recognize this man?”

I looked at the flat-screen picture. “No, Chief.”

“Doctor,” said Chief Brold. “Collect samples of the acid and anything else. Or at least have the xeno guy look over what’s left. See how it reacted to whatever it came into contact with.”

“Already requested, Chief.”

Chief Brold spoke into his collar. “Specialist Club, get to
Medical and assist the xenobiologist in collecting samples.” He nodded his head. “Dr. Sevanto will bring you up to speed.” He glared at me. “Come on, Specialist. We need to talk.”

The silent trek to the chief’s office gave me time to wonder if any of the chemicals from my lock had triggered the deadly reaction. It didn’t seem to fit the pattern Chief Brold had laid out. But I was neither a chemist, nor an expert in human physiology.

I sat patiently while the chief reviewed surveillance recordings. Half of my thoughts wondered what had happened and why. The other half focused on why my equipment had been tampered with, and why security had allowed it. After several minutes, I relaxed, figuring I’d know soon enough. Instead, I tried to identify the security measures the chief had installed on his desk screen and around his office. The method and setup could say a lot about a person.

From my vantage, I couldn’t see precisely what the chief had running on his desk screens, but a small readout to the right of the screens flashed a verification, indicating he used fingerprint and retinal verification. Looking around wasn’t exactly proper etiquette, but at this point, if the chief had a problem with it, he could say something.

Several Silicate War vintage pictures of the chief in Colonial Marine garb rested on a shelf. One showed Chief Brold and several other marines outfitted in servo-armor. It looked like the type designed for hand-to-hand combat with the Shards. The picture was fancy, but outdated. The trees in the background waved in the breeze, while everything about the primary figures remained stationary.

I spotted several recesses above the entry door. One probably housed a verification device, keyed to the chief’s iris or facial features. I’d have been willing to bet he had voice security as well. Layered security, various levels and complexity; the chief knew his business.

Chief Brold invited me to the other side of his desk. “Here’s Tech Stardz.” I watched the engineering tech lingering outside a hallway, looking around. Then, he turned a corner. “There,” interrupted Chief Brold. With a touch of his finger, the action stopped. From this vantage, I confirmed that the desk screen’s security was coded to the chief’s fingerprint with the flashing green light above the door confirming a secondary long range optical scanning device.

I refocused on the screen as he replayed the sequence in slow motion. “Yes,” I said, “he just pulled something from his pocket.”

“See how it’s concealed?” Chief Brold said, magnifying the area around the hand. “No help there. Now watch.” The tech continued around the corner. “This monitor should have picked him up.” The screen displayed an empty corridor.

“Pretty handy device,” I said.

“We didn’t find it after Specialist Club apprehended him.” The chief tapped the screen again. “See how he just appears?” A few seconds later the chief commented, “Here’s Club finding Stardz doubled over, just outside the area.”

I noted the elapsed time was just under four minutes. “How far away is that from my equipment?”

“One deck down,” he said, leaning back. “Specialist Club is what you might say, quite knowledgeable. She pegged your set up earlier, and put two and two together.”

Chief Brold sat forward again and indicated I take a seat. “I’ve got a couple questions for you, Keesay.” Brold’s demeanor appeared relaxed, except for his eyes. “I’d like you to speculate what happened during the time Tech Stardz activated his screening device. And, I’d like to know why he had an interest in your equipment.”

I wondered why the chief didn’t show me the storage surveillance, but it wasn’t time for my questions. “Chief, I would guess that Tech Stardz simply entered the storage area, and attempted to pick the lock. Apparently, he wasn’t as observant or knowledgeable as Specialist Club. He may have used some simple, or even electronic picks to open the lock. Didn’t find any on him?”

The chief shook his head, so I continued. “Well, the lock was set to spray a contact dye containing a weak corrosive and nerve agent. The corrosive to penetrate hand protections and assist the numbing agent in deterring further lock picking efforts. Apparently, Tech Stardz wasn’t deterred, because the lock released the aerosol I told you about. That’s why Specialist Club found him doubled over.”

The chief seemed interested. “See,” I explained, “most thieves are careful not to leave much evidence behind. But if they vomit, then a whole array of traceable evidence, including cells from the stomach’s lining, is left behind.”

The chief cracked a half smile. “Not bad. It might even catch a few professionals.”

Did the chief think Tech Stardz was a professional? “Tech Stardz tried to pick it,” I said, “and probably was unsuccessful. Panicked and tried to cut the lock and fled.” Now, was my turn. “I’d like to examine my equipment and determine if anything was taken.”

“We’ll get to that later.”

“If Specialist Club didn’t find tools or the screening device on Stardz, then he had an accomplice. Maybe a review of all the recent surveillance could catch someone else being screened?”

“Already being done, Specialist. It may narrow the list. But anybody walking in range of the scrambler would be screened.”

“How many crewmen would wander past a vomiting technician without assisting or reporting?” His smile indicated he’d thought of that. And that he was holding back.

The next part would be tricky. I hated to lie to my boss. Worse yet, getting caught lying. A shift in his eyebrows indicated I’d better finish.

“Why Tech Stardz had an interest in my equipment? He figured it an easy theft opportunity?” I shrugged. “Normally, there’d be little reason for an I-Tech to steal from an R-Tech cart.” I took a thoughtful breath. “There was an incident on the dock, prior to my boarding. That may be connected, but I don’t know how.”

“What incident would that be?”

“Well, there were actually two, Chief.” I was sure he knew of them. “I don’t think the incident with the marine would connect.” He gave an ever so slight acknowledgement. He knew, but how much? Hadn’t Simms referred to the chief by his first name? “If you were to contact Investigator Simms, he might have more information on any possible connection.”

Hiding any reaction, the chief said, “I’d like to hear what you have to say before I make any effort to contact him.”

“Apparently, there was an inside job attempted on the dock. Some baggage handlers, who weren’t company loyal, attempted a theft, or something. It didn’t work out as planned. I got caught in the crossfire and killed one of them.” Certainly, he knew that much. I scratched my head as if in thought. My bruised face made prolonged, thoughtful squinting a bit more painful than it was worth. “If Stardz was part of that organization, then there might be a connection.” A thought hit me. “Maybe he wasn’t trying to steal, but maybe plant something.”