Shackleton's Folly (The Lost Wonder Book 1) (6 page)

Gray looked at the golden doors on the far wall. “It’s time to crack those doors.” And, with that, he turned and retreated from the room.

Technicians placed charges on the doors and frame as Gray stared at the floor’s design, kicking at it with his boot. Only moments transpired between the technicians’ signal that they were ready, Gray’s nod, and a remarkable cacophony of destruction. Gray entered what was now a door frame, leading into a tight corridor with a low ceiling. The museum’s curator appeared in front of him. “I am the museum’s curator. What is it you would like?”

Gray snickered. “A holographic recording to do what? Scare off the scavengers? You’re nothing more than a security system left on for thousands of years. Do we really need to do this?”

The curator looked Gray over. “Not very clever, are you?” The curator vanished. The walls had grown darker and denser, and the door before Gray opened.

Gray raced down the empty, dusty cases. The entire vault showed signs of plundering, but the most recent tracks were of a biped and a centaur — ending at a smashed-open case.

Gray ran his hand over the empty interior and the impression of a triangular piece of material. “When did this happen?” Gray shoved it to the floor. He shook with rage.

“Shackleton!”

“Small opportunities are often the beginning of great enterprises.”

Demosthenes (381 BC – 322 BC)

The
Quest
dropped from FTL just far enough away from the frontier planet Ferrar so as not to set off any systemwide alarms. The ship’s course changed again to minimize contact with any ships that patrolled for the local “authorities.” A petty tyrant of a warlord had gotten his hands on a couple of light Yoder frigates. The short-range ships wouldn’t last five minutes with a real warship, but, out here, they could command respect with the typical freighter or smuggler ship. Planet-bound, the
Quest
hit the outer atmosphere, heating up its shields.

“Brown and arid” would best describe the landmass directly ahead as the
Quest
burnt its way down, slowing only as distances became short and the ground became defined with the scars of tectonic movement measured in geologic periods. The continent’s desert ecosystem was perfect for the only port of call in ten light years. The land was flat and devoid of indigenous creatures that could harm the life forms inhabiting Gallardo, the port of call. The
Quest
slowed as it came in for a landing at the spaceport. The ship’s hull glittered even brighter gold in the rays of the twin stars of the setting suns. The thrusters fired, slowing its fall. The landing gear deployed. They gently touched the ground, the thrusters cut out, and the landing gear adjusted, taking the weight.

The
Quest
was surrounded by all manner of spacecraft. Spaceport security vehicles were flashing and whizzing in from different directions, encircling the
Quest
. Security staff deployed, weapons armed and ready. A smaller, more conservative yet authoritative ground-craft came from the Spaceport Administration, a complex of low, heavy cement buildings, and stopped outside the circle of firepower. The heavy wide-body of the skimmer settled on the tarmac so that the well-hidden armored body panels would be detected only by a security expert. A tripedal pewter-colored droid with an air of self-importance exited the skimmer. Dacal’s head tipped slightly back and a little to his left as it bobbed. He shuffled his pads through the security barricade being established by his staff.

Quest
’s airlock whooshed open; Alec stepped out with a crate overflowing with cleaners, waxes, polishing cloths, and a pack of orbital buffer mini-bots. He looked back into the
Quest
and yelled, “Dancer, I’m not going around with the
Quest
looking like she does. I promise — not more than an hour.” Alec ignored Dacal and went to the forward landing gear. He put down the crate and inspected the struts leading up into the hull. He stepped on the footing and clambered up into the compartment, leaving Dacal below, walking the perimeter. Alec slowly reappeared, climbing down the gear. The mini-bots scurried across the ship’s hull and started to clean and polish the surface. Alex bumped into Dacal as he bent over to pick up a spray bottle of fast-acting foam cleaner from his crate. “Yes?” Alec bent down and picked out a polish rag and a squirt bottle from the crate.

Dacal looked incensed. “I am with the port authority, sir, and you have to register your crew, your ship, and your cargo with us. Port fees must be paid immediately. No exceptions.”

Alec took a peek Dacal’s way. “You’re new around here, aren’t you?”

Dacal pulled out his datapad. “That has nothing to do with the fact that you must register, Captain Shackleton.”

Alec turned to Dacal. The distinct sounds of cocking weapon bolts came from security staff encircling the ship. “Now hold on. I am not going to be part of the next Jackson Pollock. I am just cleaning my ship.” He moved carefully and deliberately to allow the security staff to see he was not holding a weapon. “Look, I apologize. It was my fault entirely, and I should have introduced myself on arrival. I am Captain Alec Shackleton. You are?”

Dacal considered Alec. “Dacal.”

“I’ve been here before, and I know the regulations. I just got here and haven’t had a chance to go see you.” Alec nodded. “Why the heavy weapons?”

“You have a bad record of causing trouble, Captain Shackleton.” Dacal took a step back. “Very bad.”

“I’m here for a few drinks, some cards, and a little entertainment. I assure you I want nothing to do with starting any trouble. I just finished it.” Alec put down the rag and cleaner slowly so as not to startle any of the hired help. “I’ll go with you right now if it’s that important, and take care of everything. You don’t need them.” Alec looked down the muzzles of the weapons pointed at him and the
Quest
. “Who told you I was trouble?”

“Lucas said you were an undesirable and to run you off planet.”

“Well, your Lucas owes me a lot of credits from the last time I was here, so yeah — he’s not happy to see me back.”

Dacal considered it. “I will check this out, Captain. If you have been misrepresenting this, I will take immediate and extreme action.” Dacal turned to his security team. “Put down your weapons and return to your posts.” The weapons were lowered as the security forces returned to their vehicles.

Alec shouted into the airlock, “Hey, Dancer!”

“What?”

“They want me to do the paperwork now. I’ll be back as quick as I can. See what you can do for the
Quest
, will ya? We need to take care of her.”

“Okay.”

Alec sauntered with Dacal over to the skimmer. “What changed your mind?”

“First, you were more concerned with your ship than taking a shot at me for calling out the troops, and, second, Lucas owes me five hundred credits.”

“Oh, that explains it.” Alec and Dacal hopped into the skimmer and headed to the administration building.

*

The Vember, a bipedal covered in black oily hair, clicked the digital recorder on the night viewer as Alec and Dacal stopped the skimmer outside the administration building. He played back the recording and froze the picture of Alec. He called up the “information wanted” file from the viewer’s memory, and it ran a facial comparison of the two pictures and indicated a match. He removed a communicator from under his robes with a squeal and made a call.

*

When the skimmer with Alec and Dacal arrived back at the ship, it was after dark. Dancer deftly leapt down from the top of the
Quest
. “Anything I need to know about?” he asked Alec as he scanned with his night vision the droid returning to the administration building.

“Not really. We just talked shop. Remember Lucas?”

“Sure.”

“Not one of my best character references.” Alec started toward the gate.

Dancer put the cleaning equipment back inside the ship and brought out a fancy cane. He had reproduced one after the first time he watched Fred Astaire’s film
Top Hat
. He activated the security system. “Now for some relaxation, right?” Dancer twirled the cane with finesse with one hand, tossing it from arm to arm to arm to arm and catching it under the armpit with bravado. “You can detail the struts tomorrow. I’ll join you,” Dancer said as he pulled a rag from his shoulder and threw it through the force field into the
Quest
. Dancer caught up to Alec.

*

Dancer — or his designate EXPLORB5B26354 — had been created for exploratory missions but was never used for this purpose when budgets were cut. The company he was to work for went bankrupt, and he was “lost” in the shuffle. The company asset liquidators were on their way, and he had to get out of there.

Dancer had managed to do some hacking before they arrived and acquired an anonymous bidder number at his salvage auction. He was up on the latest acting methodologies and gave a credible performance as a dysfunctional brainless idiot whenever a bidder came in to preview him. Dancer communicated electronically from an outside line when his lot came up for bidding. Needless to say, there wasn’t much interest in the strange-looking android that looked like it was going to need extensive upgrades. He bought himself as salvage. Dancer’s company data record was changed to “Sold as salvage.” He had inserted his name in as a buyer. No one looked at the bill of sale too hard, and he was off planet.

Dancer worked his way out of the system, getting as much distance between himself and the liquidators as he could manage. He had been out on the badlands for ten cycles when he bumped into Alec’s father, Jack. He had heard about humans but never had met one. Jack treated him as an equal and helped Dancer through some tough times with upgrades and replacements. Dancer blamed himself. He asked Jack if they could visit the planet to experience a dig. He was created to be an explorer, and he wanted to see what he could find. Jack agreed, and that’s where they ran into the pirates who eventually murdered Dancer’s human friend.

*

“Right.” Alec looked toward the front gate in the distance. There were gaudy lights outside the coffee shop across the street, drawing his gaze. They strode across the tarmac with a purpose.

The four security guards at the gate tensed as they approached. Alec and Dancer stopped and waited patiently as the guard in the security office made a call. He nodded to the gate operator. The gate swung open. They were scrutinized as they passed through the gate, but they passed without incident.

Alec checked the street casually for anything out of the ordinary. After all, Lucas might have thought of a more direct approach in getting Alec off planet, a more permanent solution. Alec didn’t see anything and led the way across the street to the coffee shop. The blue neon sign of the shop pointed the way down a narrow stairway to the entrance. A couple of avian creatures came from the stairway squawking something about taxes.

They arrived at a battered door, and Alec reached for the thruster nozzle that was the doorknob. They entered the Temple Coffee Shop and momentarily stopped at the landing that overlooked the main room and stage. When the owners of the establishment felt like they needed more space, they hired a subterranean beast to burrow out more room. There were other rooms jutting off at odd angles from where Dancer and Alec stood. The smoke-filled main room resembled beatnik coffeehouses from the 1950s, though life forms from at least two-dozen alien worlds filled the tables, and a four-piece band trilled on stage.

Alec took a deep breath. “I love a good coffeehouse.” As they descended to the main floor, the bouncer, a very large, shaggy-haired creature with a huge weapon holstered, looked noncommittally at them as they passed. Alec took in the sights, sounds, and the smell of coffee, watching the patrons ignore the clamor and cries from the band, holding their own loud conversations to drown out the music.

Dancer twirled the cane with such precision that the bumping and movement around him seemed not to have any effect on his manipulation of the cane. Alec stopped by the stage to look for a table. Dancer stopped at a sign-up board near the stage. It had a few items crossed off, leaving only one other item. “I’ll be just a sec.” Dancer picked up a pen hanging from a string attached to the board and scrawled his name in the local dialect.

Dancer had explored the entertainment library included in the LAP material. What tugged at his imagination was the film genre musicals. The brilliance of music, dance, and story became his first choice when he was considering what he wanted to watch. He had adopted his new designation — “Dancer” — from his new love. The open-stage night gave him a chance to become a performer, a dancer.

Alec made his way through the tables toward an empty one at the back. James Canfield, walking evil human trash, stood at the bar with his alien partners. The group was a living nightmare straight out of the horror comics Alec had read in his youth, but when Alec glanced James’s way, he brightened up. It was an opportunity he wouldn’t miss, and Alec was going to go big, really big, at James’s expense.

“James Canfield, as I live and breathe!” This outburst turned more than a few heads. Two humans in one room was truly an unusual sight, and Alec bumped into, tripped over, and stepped on every outstretched appendage he could manage. Alec wanted every eye in the place on them as he arrived at the bar, with seven to ten patrons in his wake crying out in anger and fury.

“Give us a big hug; it’s been such a long time.” Alec was making a big show of it, his arms outstretched, rushing to Canfield. Canfield backed into the bar behind him, unsure of what to make of Alec just as Alec stepped up and gave him a hug. He kissed Canfield on each cheek. “Love you, man. Really I do.” Canfield’s partners looked from Alec to Canfield.

Canfield shook off the shock. “Get off!” He separated himself from Alec quickly, pushing him away and brushing himself off.

“I know you, James. See
you
later.” He winked at Canfield and turned, bumping into a few of the other patrons wanting to discuss Alec’s earlier clumsiness.