Brian Stableford - Asgard's Secret

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the C.R.E. man said. “Didn’t anyone tell you?”

“You’re the one who’s supposed to be keeping me informed,” I pointed out.

“Am I?” he said. “Well, I didn’t know myself until the star-captain told me what 74-Scarion had told her. But as soon as I explained to her that you were here, caught up in some bizarre conspiracy, she decided to get you out.”

“She decided,” I echoed. “On her own?”

“Well, naturally I encouraged her to do exactly that— especially when she said that even if you’d already signed the contract to help some local gangster find whatever it is Myrlin’s presumably set off to look for, she had seven flame-pistols to make sure that you didn’t lift a finger on anyone’s behalf but hers.”

“How did he get hold of my truck?” I demanded. “It was securely locked up—and the keys were locked up too, in my room. Nobody knew the codes but me… well, except for…”

“How should I know?” Sovorov interrupted, a trifle impatiently. I still felt so good about the miracle that I forgave his rudeness instantly.

“Was Saul with him when they logged out of the lock?” I asked.

“I don’t know, I tell you,” the scientist told me, petulantly. “He’s not on the record, but if he was hiding in the back of the truck…”

I would have pursued the matter further, but I didn’t get the chance. The star-captain tapped me on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Russell,” she said. “You’re all mine. The Tetrax will collect their pound of flesh from the spoils of Salamandra. Thank your lucky stars I got here in time. Sign these.”

She presented me with a sheaf of papers. The forms were in English and Chinese; three copies of each. I looked at them uncomprehendingly. “What are they?” I asked, stupidly.

“Your conscription papers,” she informed me, drily. “The Star Force is about to make a man of you, you worthless piece of low-life shit.” She smiled as if she were joking.

I had a nasty suspicion that she might not be.

“I don’t want…” I began. I gave up as the smile vanished and her bright blue eyes took on the Gorgon stare she’d used on Jacinthe Siani. I stared at the papers, wondering whether I was entitled to feel insulted. I decided that I wasn’t; what she’d just done for me gave her a very healthy balance of moral credit in my memory-bank.

“No rush,” said Susarma Lear. “You’re drafted anyway, whether you sign them or not. No rush about signing on, that is—everything else is extremely urgent, so we’d better get going. Now”

“Didn’t you tell me that your race had abandoned slavery several centuries ago?” 69-Aquila enquired interestedly.

“My mistake, apparently,” I told him, by way of farewell. “I guess we’re not such barbarians, after all.”

I didn’t get a commission. I didn’t even get a uniform. Star-Captain Susarma Lear tucked my as-yet-unsigned conscription papers away in her trousers and led the way out of the Hall of Justice into the plaza. Basic training lasted about half a minute, and consisted of her pointing to one of her merry men and saying: “That’s Lieutenant Crucero. He’s second-in-command. Anything he orders you to do, you do. If you’ve got any questions, he or Seme will be happy to answer them, but not now. For now, I’ll ask the questions. Number one: how much do you know about the android?”

“What android?”

“The big one. Goes under the name Myrlin. Currently in possession of your vehicle.”

“He’s not human?” I queried weakly.

“He’s an android,” she said. “Now cut the crap and tell me what you know about him.”

I deducted a few points from her moral credit, but it still seemed very healthy.

“I’ve never even seen him,” I told her. “I talked to him on the phone, briefly, when he first came down the chain. Immigration wanted me to take him in. I suggested they ask Saul Lyndrach. I was grumpy because I’d just been woken up. When I went to see Saul to apologise, his doorman directed me into a trap. A Spirellan named Heleb, who works for a vormyran named Amara Guur, stitched me up for killing a Sleath. Heleb murdered the Sleath himself, because his boss wants my help—my expert help. Saul had contacted the C.R.E. asking for funding, because he’d found a way down into the lower levels. My guess is that Guur went after him to find out what he’d got, but something went wrong, and now Myrlin has it. He also has my truck, which some stupid Tetron AI passed out of lock five without a murmur of protest, presumably on the feeble grounds that the truck hadn’t been reported stolen and Myrlin wasn’t officially registered as a wanted man. Slight concern, I think 74-Scarion said, but no formal investigation. Merde! He’ll never get into my cold-suit if he’s as big as they say he is. That’s it. Where are we going?”

We’d paused outside the entrance to the Hall of Justice while I filled her in on the basics. We were attracting attention from the passers-by, not so much because of the black uniforms as the sidearms Alex Sovorov had called flame-pistols.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “You tell me.”

“Up the Skychain to your ship?” I suggested. “I’m not sure how safe we are down here, after the way Jacinthe Siani looked at me before she left.”

“We’re not leaving the surface until we catch up with the android,” she said. “You’re the local expert—it’s your job to lead me to him. As quickly as humanly possible. Starting now.”

“I can’t,” I said. “He’s out in the cold—and my truck’s out there with him.”

“In that case,” she said, “we’ll have to acquire another truck. Or two. Can’t doesn’t cut it in the Star Force, Russell. From now on, you’re a can do kind of guy.”

The euphoria of having been let off Amara Guur’s hook was still canceling out any bad feelings such rude treatment would normally have evoked.

“We could just wait till he comes back,” I suggested reasonably.

“And suppose he doesn’t?”

“In that case, you could stop worrying about him, couldn’t you?” I said, lightly.

Her blue eyes went steely again. Obviously, I hadn’t quite mastered the niceties of military discipline and protocol.

“We need to get off the street,” I told her. “You might not be a walking target, but I probably am. If Amara Guur couldn’t get me, he won’t want you to have me.”

Her bleak eyes bored into the nooks and crannies of my soul. It was more than just an act. I realised that she was strung out as taut as a piano wire. The war might be officially over, but she hadn’t stopped fighting. She obviously hadn’t even paused in her fighting for a long time. “Trooper Russell,” she said, “you’re in the Star Force now—don’t make me remind you again. Anyone who takes a shot at you takes a shot at all of us, and will be answered in kind. You seem to have enemies, but that’s nothing unusual to us. We’ve been on our present tour of duty for nineteen months, Earth time, and we have spent that entire time fighting enemies who had the resources of whole worlds to draw upon. We have nothing to fear from the petty criminals of this ridiculous backwater.”

“I understand that, Star-Captain Lear,” I said soothingly, “but Amara Guur might not.” I looked around for Aleksandr Sovorov, but he was nowhere to be seen. He obviously figured that he’d done his bit for the genocidal maniacs of his homeworld, and was free to resume his quiet and orderly life.

“Where can I get in touch with the local law-enforcement agency, Russell?” the star-captain said—which was a curious coincidence, because as she spoke the words my eye was caught by three Tetron peace-officers, who were making their way along the road-strip towards us with an ominously purposeful stride. Ordinarily, that would not have been a sight that caused me any anxiety, but these were not ordinary times—and they were looking right at me. I smiled at them; I still felt full of benevolence towards fate and fortune.