The Clock Winked (The Sagittan Chronicles Book 2) (11 page)

“I see,” Chair Rizinski replied. He stepped forward, but was
launched into the air and floated slowly towards the console.

One of the pilots reached out his hand. “Please sir, stay
back.” He pulled a rod from the center of the console and poked the Chair back
with it, so that he now floated towards the glass wall. Misty held tightly to a
handrail next to the door, her pencil safely stowed behind her ear.

“How... how many of these rooms are there?” the Chair asked
tenuously.

“Five,” Samson replied.
“Four for piloting—one
on each side of the station—and one for pleasure.
When we start having
more regular shipping, we’re going to offer vacation trips for a lot of money,
so we can start earning our keep.”

“Sir,” one of the pilots said, turning towards Samson. “We
have a Legends ship docking at oh-eight hundred, sir.
Request
to empty chamber by oh-seven hundred.”

“Request granted.” Samson nodded to the pilot. “We’ll only
be a few more minutes.”

“May I watch the docking procedure?” Chair Rizinski asked.

“No, sir, you may not,” Samson replied. “No unauthorized
personnel are allowed near the docking bays except when loading and unloading
themselves.”

“How am I unauthorized?” Rizinski demanded. “I’m the
Administrative Chair of Pomegranate City and the surrounding counties!”

“It is quite simple, sir. There is no observation area on
this station. When you visit the Semper fi-1980, you can watch from the
observation lounge by the docking area.”

“They have had deadly accidents on that station,” Chair
Rizinski replied.

“Yes. That is why we have no observation area. Only the
staff members that are assisting the dock are allowed in the area.” Samson
crossed his arms and watched as the Chair pushed against the glass wall and
began to float back towards the entrance.

“Well then. Explain to me what happens here.”

“These men monitor communications between surrounding ships
and planetary transmissions. Station processes are also monitored here,
including environmental controls, engine systems, and fuel use and generation.”
Samson reached out to grasp Rizinski’s hand and help him through the door into
the vacuum tank.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Samson said, waving to the pilots as
the door slid closed behind them.

Hissing sounded over their heads as the gravity swap turned
on. Rizinski cringed as he suddenly felt the weight of his body settling down over
him. Misty let out a sigh of relief as they stepped out into the hallway, and
then slipped the pencil out from behind her ear, and began to scribble again.

“I think I will have a glass of wine,” Chair Rizinski
stated.

“Of course, sir.”
Samson smiled to
himself. He guided them back to the main lounge and offered the Chair a chair.
“I will go prepare the drinks.”

“Misty, go help.” Chair Rizinski leaned back. “Leave your
notes here.”

“Of course, sir,” she said, and spun around to follow
Samson.

“So I hear Arthur is vying for my job,” Samson said as he
and Misty entered the kitchen.

“Yes,” she said. “He’s quite good and would have your job if
he could.”

“What is he good at?”

“When he speaks, heaven leaks.
The
things he makes never break.”

“So he’s a good at manipulating and inventing. Do you think
he’d do my job better than I?”

“You’re not a sot, and you’re smart, so probably not with
his heart.” Misty leaned against the counter and watched Samson pick a bottle
of wine from the wine cabinet.

“Could you grab some glasses from that door over there?
What’s wrong with Arthur’s heart?”

“Word on the street says that it’s weak.” Misty pulled two
wine glasses down.

“What happens if he dies while working here?”

“Control is switched without a hitch to the office of the
Chair. He’ll take care from down there of the processes here that need to be
steered.”

“Fascinating.
Well, keep me
informed. I’m sure that the Chair knows best,” Samson said, smiling thinly. He
lifted the two glasses of wine. “There are two plates of crackers prepared in
that cupboard there. Grab those please. I’ll meet you out in the lobby.”

He walked smoothly towards where the Administrative Chair
relaxed.

“Your wine, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lebron,” Chair Rizinski replied. “If you
could bring Heloise and Arthur here, that would be most helpful.”

“But of course. Let me ring Marge. I will need to meet with
my managers shortly as well, to make sure all of our processes are still
running smoothly.”

“Of course,” Rizinski replied. “Glad to see you’re doing
your job.”

Samson dialed Marge.

“Could you bring Heloise and Arthur here to the lounge?”

“Of course,” she replied and hung up.

“They will be here momentarily,” Samson replied.
“If you will excuse me?”

“Please,” Chair Rizinski replied.

“I will return shortly.”

Samson strode rapidly towards his office. He nodded and
greeted Heloise and Marge as they passed. Throwing open the door to his office
revealed a tidy mess. Papers, bills, and receipts lay in piles everywhere. He
sighed and shook his head. She probably bugged the room, too, and Arthur
probably bugged everywhere else.

He pulled
the de-bug
from his
pocket and pressed the button. Supposedly it let out a sonic signal so sharp
and high that it drowned out any other noise that bugs might pick up.

“Officer Holder,” he said into his phone. It rang.

“Sir,” Officer Holder answered.

“I need information on Arthur Robspar’s heart problem.”

“Of course,” Officer Holder replied.

Samson hung up and dialed again.

“I see it is me you have missed,” the raspy voice answered.
“Succeeded in catching girl-intern, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Have you more than this?”

“Arthur Robspar has a bad heart.” Samson stated. “Where is
Stryker?”

“He is alive.” Samson could hear the voice grinning over the
phone. “This is enough.”

“If I die, or Arthur dies in my position, control of this
facility goes immediately to the Chair.”

“I see.
Is good.
Not enough.” The
line went dead.

Samson rubbed his eyes and sighed. This was probably not
going to get any easier.

*****

POMEGRANATE
CITY STAR

WILLIAM
OLIPHANT, BOOKSELLER: CURSED!

By
Sauvignon Pincer, journalist

Shattered glass in the
street, a raving madman,
whispers
of a long-lost
ghost: all of these intriguing things happened this week at William Oliphant,
booksellers. Since the auspicious arrival of Auvek Oliphant, XXXVII, a myriad
of strange and intriguing events have occurred. An ill-timed sonic blast of an
improperly installed security device shattered all the glass windows on the
street except for Mr. Oliphant’s. Some claim that the device was triggered by a
shadowy figure creeping through the forest of shelves housing as much dust and
mystery as an old shop can hold; others claim that the ghost of the famed
Oliphant monkey of old has returned.

Over the shop, an
intriguing image of a monkey is carved deeply into the wooden sign—carved by
the great Ishmael Oliphant, the last of his line—may he rest in peace. The
monkey is famed for his penchant for reading stories to children, knowing where
each and every book belonged, and being able to speak. Has this intriguing
piece of history resurfaced? Or are bad luck and irony playing games with the
famed establishment of William Oliphant, bookseller?

*****

“This is the worst thing I’ve ever read!” Salve’s boss
slammed the piece of paper down on the table.

“You wanted something juicy!” Salve protested.

“Juicy, yes.”
His boss scowled.
“But juicy like an armed robbery is juicy—juicy like a watermelon or a
pineapple! Not like a… a watered-down glass of baby food puree!”

“What’s a watermelon?”

“That’s not the point!” his boss roared. “The point is, get
your act together! If you’re going to spear a marshmallow, you spear it right
down the middle and turn it slowly until it’s a nice, roasted brown. You don’t
throw the thing in the fire and hope it tastes good after it’s been burnt to a
crisp!”

“But…” Salve’s sputters went unheard.

“Quite frankly, I’m surprised at you. Look at this—you’ve
used the word ‘famed’ three times, and the word ‘intriguing’ four times! You
don’t cook the garlic and season it with chicken! This sounds like a trashy
article from a trashy magazine that’s full of trash! I don’t find my meals in
the garbage can, and our readers don’t either!”

Salve plopped down in a chair and crossed his arms,
scowling.

“We want to write stories that will whet their appetites and
leave them begging for more! We want roasted tomatoes and steaming hot pork
fried rice! We want the ribs of an Elusion cow turned slowly over a spit of
sun-ripened flames! We want juicy and tender and steaming and rich—all of which
you have failed to do.
Again.”

“How do I do that, then?”

“I don’t know, Sauvignon, I don’t know. But I can tell you
what I do know: I want you to leave. Don’t come back until you have a real
story. That’s final.” His boss held up the piece of paper; a match materialized
in his other hand.

Salve watched as his story turned into tiny pieces of ash
and a thick tendril of smoke.

“But—”

“No,” his boss interrupted. “Get out.”

Salve sighed, stood and walked slowly towards the door.

All of a sudden he turned around.

“I hate your food metaphors! I don’t like this job! And when
I do find a story, I won’t be bringing it to you!” He turned, opened the door,
and would have slammed it behind him—except that it was a very slow-moving door
and seemed to want to move at its own pace. Finally, he let go of the handle,
and stomped down the hall.

His boss chuckled and shook his head. He popped a piece of
chocolate between his rather large lips. “He’ll be back,” he said to himself,
and sat down to read the next reporter’s not-so-good story.

*****

Auvek and Bronwyn stared with anticipation as John began his
story.

“As you know,” John said, “the Oliphant family is quite
large, with many specialties. William Oliphant the first arrived from an
entirely different planet many thousands of years ago.”

“Another planet?”
Bronwyn gasped.
“I thought interplanetary travel was illegal.”

John and Quin glanced at each other and chuckled.

“Well,” Bronwyn amended, “illegal for regular people, people
who don’t work for the government.”

“Technically it is.” John nodded.
“Although
it happens all the time.
Also, it wasn’t illegal thousands of years ago.
The regulations are new, relatively speaking. This type of travel is quite
important, however. Do you understand the concept of the Doors?”

“A Door is an inter-dimensional object which allows matter
to traverse great lengths of space with only a very small amount of energy,”
Auvek recited.

“Correct. William Oliphant the first was one of a small
group of people on Opheliar to experiment with this technology. In fact, he was
the researcher and historian. His research, observations, and writings have
helped us make great strides towards fully understanding the process.”

“He was a writer?” Auvek asked.

“A writer and a great scientist.
I
have read nearly all of his work. Don’t worry—I gave it back!” John chuckled.

“What do you mean you gave it back?” Auvek frowned.

“Come this way,” John replied, moving towards the back room.
“The science of Doors also gave us a different sort of technology—the ability
to create space on top of space.”

Auvek and Bronwyn made similarly confused expressions.

“We call it extra dimensional. You can configure a Door to
take you to another place, or you can create space behind the Door—like, making
the Door itself
extend
without an exit.”

Auvek and Bronwyn’s faces didn’t change.

John chuckled. “Let me show you.” He led them towards the
curtain.

“That just goes upstairs,” Auvek said.

“Sometimes, when the wind blows through the open window,”
John said, reaching for the curtain, “pieces of the curtain seem to disappear.”

He pulled back the curtain.

“There’s nothing there except wall,” Auvek said. “I was
going to take that curtain down and put it over the windows in the back
hallway.”

“Ah, but there is something here.”
John gestured towards the wall. “Do you see this sort of blue fuzzing over the
wood of the wall?”

Auvek squinted.

“Look at this wall.” John pointed at a different section.
“Now look here.”

“Oh, I see it!” Bronwyn exclaimed. “Weird. It looks so
weird! I never would have noticed it if you hadn’t pointed it out to me.”

“I still don’t see it.” Auvek shook his head.

“All you have to do,” John continued, “is think about what
is behind the Door—in this case, books—and step through.
Watch.”

He turned and walked through the wall and disappeared.

“Leaping blennies!”
Auvek
exclaimed. “He disappeared! Where did he go?”

John’s head poked back out through the wall. “Hey,” he said,
grinning. His hand holding his tie appeared as well. He
flopped
it around. “Like my tie? This is fun! Does it look like my head is mounted on
your wall?” He grinned and disappeared again.

Auvek spun around to look at Quin.

“What is he doing?”

Quin shrugged. “He always does that.”