Galaxy's End: Book One Page 23

  “Yes. Now, suppose you know this man’s fear and you want him to place all his money in a bag and hand it to you—or else you will open the container in your hand and release five tensi-spiders. He may not want to give you his money, but he will.”

  Damn. I’d never thought of such a thing.

  Chance said, “No, I’ve never done that, but I have convinced people to do something they might not normally do. That was just an extreme example.”

  A good example. No, a bad one because even though I didn’t know what a tensi-spider was, I instinctively understood what he was telling me about empathy, although taken in the light of the story he’d told, empathy seemed the wrong name for a power that could be used in such a devious manner.

  Instead of responding to his partial apology, I allowed my mind to consider what he’d told me. No wonder people were so afraid of us. In the past, there had probably been individuals who had done such things and maybe worse.

  An idea formed. Without thinking it through, I asked, “Does empathy work on other races?”

  He shook his head. Then he relented and nodded slightly. “Maybe. But only within their races, I think. Mine works with humans but not others. I can tell you that for a fact, but not that yours won’t work on others—or which ones it will work on.”

  “You’re talking in circles.”

  “There are not places where they teach this stuff. It’s all gathered as life goes on, from rumors, hints, lies, newscasts, street corners, and strangers. I’m guessing. I suspect it is just within our race and I’ve never heard of it in another. Not a great answer but all I have.”

  “There are a lot of different races,” I muttered more to myself than for his ears.

  “There’s your problem with your question, Kat.”

  I looked at him in confusion.

  He sighed and said, “We have a couple of thousand stars in our sphere, the human sphere they talk about. It sounds like it is so large. Two thousand planets, so many we haven’t heard the names of most. That does not count the various Habs, asteroids, and moons with populations. All those places, races, and so on. It’s hard to imagine. Impossible to comprehend.”

  “Because there are so many races, we don’t know what they are capable of doing? Is that what you mean?”

  “No. I was being sarcastic. Two thousand is nothing. There are about fifty billion stars in an average galaxy. There are far more galaxies than that. Let’s just say that if you added a hundred zeros, the total number of planets would still be greater. So far, about one in five stars have habitable planets. One in a hundred has a star-faring civilization.” He paused, then added, “As I said, the numbers are too large to comprehend.”

  “What are you getting at?” I asked.

  He closed his eyes and waited while I took several long breaths. He finally said, “Back on Roma where you lived, suppose you bent down and took a pinch of dirt between your fingers, a small one. Can you imagine that?”

  I nodded.

  He smiled. “Now, that dirt is the human sphere, all the area our race has explored. The rest of Roma is equivalent to our galaxy. We know only what is in that tiny pinch of dirt.”

  I met his gaze and understood.

  If we have empathy, even a small number of us, others do too. Other races, some perhaps at impossible distances. Our attempts to communicate with our minds might be weak. There might be entire civilizations that exist and use only empathy to communicate. There might be hundreds of races like that. Hell, there probably were.

  We were infants in a world populated by adults. Sooner or later, we’d encounter those adults.

  I felt a massive headache coming on.

  I also needed to get away from Chance and let some of what he told me sink in.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Captain Stone

  Captain Stone watched the three of them return the smaller containers snugly inside the larger cargo pods, still confused at finding the unexpected and unknown contents. They had expected to find innovative technologies, valuable gems, or even rare documents. Perhaps star maps that were created by a dead civilization that would open up new worlds to explore. Anything worth a fortune greater than the cost of a starship.

  Dejected and confused, McL rummaged through a toolbox and offered them a pair of old functional container locks. They had done their best to replace everything exactly as it had been for the upcoming inspection by the Bradley Concord military that was certain to happen unless the military base attacked and destroyed their ship first.

  Most of the work had been done in silence as each tried to think of a possible explanation for what they’d found inside. The gel in the cargo containers didn’t seem to have importance—and at the excessive cost of shipping it begged the question of why. Moreover. To send a pair of ships to follow them and more ships to try capturing the Guardia, was inconceivably over the substance. It made no sense; therefore, they didn’t know all the facts.

  Captain Stone was doubly disappointed because she had been hoping to use whatever they found inside to buy their freedom from the approaching military outpost when they exited the wormhole. Now she would have to think of some other reason.

  It seemed that the idea of opening the cargo had not been productive. She asked Bert to subspace radio her First Officer and have him open the equivalent cargo pod on the Guardia to see if it held the same. Even then, if it did, what more information did it provide? If it didn’t contain a gray gel, the same answer.

  She was puzzled. As a trader, she recognized value was determined by the buyers. It was that simple. Sellers could place whatever price they wanted on an item. The buyers determined the value. Trying to think like a trader brought her to a partial answer. The cargo was considered valuable by someone wealthy enough to pay for transport, to at least, three worlds using two ships to get there.

  Therefore, the pair of ships following were either chasing them to ensure the cargo arrived intact—or to destroy it.

  Bill said, “It looks just like when we first came in here. I’m satisfied no casual inspection is going to find anything out of place.”

  That pulled her out of the funk. She told the engineer, “Pull the air out of the cargo bay and expect a military inspection to happen soon after we exit the wormhole. Two days away.”

  “Do I get to keep Bill for that time?”

  “How’s he doing?” she asked as they resealed the hatch.

  “Good eyes and learns quickly. Not afraid to get his hands dirty.”

  She paused, knowing Bill stood at her shoulder and listened to every word, “Would you have him on your crew?”

  “With pleasure.”

  “I’ll notify you if I need him.” She spun and stalked from the engine room into the relative quiet of the rest of the ship. She ordered a bowl of soup in the galley and carried it to the bridge, where she found only Fang.

  That was odd. There were not a lot of places to be on the ship and she had not been in the galley. Kat might be sleeping.

  Fang updated her on the status of the pair of ships. They had closed to an intimidating distance at the last juncture, making certain that she, or the old captain, knew of them. They no longer tried to hide at the extreme edge of contact.

  Intimidating was a good word that came to mind. That was precisely what they were doing. They were letting whoever commanded the ship know that when it reached an exit nexus, they would be right behind, and in real space, they would travel much faster. It was a wordless warning not to attempt running because they would catch up and things would go worse.

  She said, “When we drop out, how long before they will follow?”

  Fang said, “They know there is nothing at the nexus we are going to use. They believe we will continue because the wormhole leads nowhere. There is nothing we can use to defend ourselves, no help, so they will not be prepared for the jump. It will take them a short while to reprogram and follow us.”

  “Define ‘a short while.’”

  Fang laughe
d throatily. “I would think we could drop out, enter normal space, order and devour a leisurely meal before they burst forth after us. Before we could eat again, they’d catch up to us.”

  She smiled and looked up at the speaker grill on the ceiling. “Bert, I want a series of messages created for my review. You know what we’re doing so I’ll let you have your head and not insult you by telling what you already know. I’ll listen to them later.”

  Bert sounded his ping before responding. “You want me to incriminate the two ships?”

  “Not so they are destroyed. Dangle bait about valuable improved technology aboard to them. Then try to figure a way that will allow the Bradley Concord to release us.”

  Fang interrupted, “You do realize that killing us or destroying this ship would allow them to keep their new secret, right?”

  Bert said without a ping to announce him, “Not necessarily true. We can forward an encrypted subspace message to the Guardia and also to other known traders. Nobody will know what it contains. Not even if it is garbage. They will discover that we sent it, and when. They’ll have to consider it authentic and that it contains the secret as a ransom for our release.”

  Captain Stone laughed out loud.

  Fang growled under his breath and hissed, “Incredible solution, my friend. If we are destroyed, they will know their secret will be released to all worlds. The only way to keep it to their advantage will be to trust us. Bert, you are a devious genius.”

  Captain Stone was still chuckling. How had she been lucky enough to meet and recruit these beings? Her mind flashed on each for a brief time and ended with her last trip to the communications center. Bert was a digger and had managed to wad paper, clothing, linens, and a dozen other things to fill the room from floor to ceiling.

  Inside all that cuddled Bert with his beloved computer inputs. When asked, Kat had told her she only saw him on occasion, often weeks between them. But he was always there when she needed him or wanted to talk, although he rarely emerged.

  She imagined that Bert had interfered and mitigated the usual trouble homeless teens get into. What Kat and Bill considered as “lucky” finds of needed meals, clothing, and even the police deciding not to put the pair in jail had probably been Bert working behind the scenes.

  She wondered why. It was inconceivable that a member of another race, one far more intelligent than humans, had “adopted” the two. There was more to the story and only Bert could share it.

  Captain Stone had asked Kat, who had just entered the bridge, “How did you meet Bert?”

  Kat had stumbled over an answer. Not that she lied or was looking for a story, but because she didn’t know. Bert had always been there, she’d said.

  Stone persisted, “Then you should ask him about your parents.”

  “I have. He doesn’t know anything. I once asked him to perform a computer search. Nothing.”

  That was one of the few inconsistencies she’d found. It was also a puzzle to resolve. Perhaps a private conversation with Bert would help. She might do a little background research herself before broaching the subject.

  She didn’t think Kat was lying. And Bert may be telling the truth—or withholding a few facts. She suspected the latter.

  Bert was protective of Kat. Yes, he was friendly with Bill, but Stone detected a slight difference in their relationship. Bill seemed to be a physical protector for Kat, and Bert dispatched him to rescue her in any situation that might turn against her. Bill often kept her from doing dangerous things or that might get her captured by the police. Or worse, by gang-lords.

  It could be that each had taken on their roles as a natural evolution as they grew older, but she suspected otherwise. The roles were too defined. Bert was behind their relationship.

  Kat and Bill appeared to be on the lower side of the standard eighteen years of adulthood. Not by a lot. They might have been older, but she doubted it. Humans change right about that age. They mature suddenly. She suspected that Bert was ancient.

  The case had been made through DNA or similar indicators that Kat had been raised on Prager Four until reaching Roma at about age four or five. Maybe six. A child of four cannot take care of itself. It would need help. A child of six might survive, especially if it had help from a Digger. Bert could guide it and supply a companion to protect her.

  That idea suggested they had been together since Kat arrived on Roma.

  Thinking logically, why would an incredibly smart Digger a couple of centuries old align itself with an orphan child of that youthful age? Why had it taken the girl under its care? It was a question that defined her uneasiness. She suspected there was an unknown to explain it.

  Subtracting four from their estimated age of eighteen, there were a little over a dozen years to investigate, especially those fourteen years ago. While finding Bill’s history was more problematic, it may have been connected all that time, meaning his parents might have been associated with Kat’s.

  However, the fact they now knew Kat had lived on Prager Four showed there should be a loose thread or two that could unravel her history. So, few people left from the sparsely populated Prager Four that there may be records on the planet of travelers—and how many traveled with a four-year-old?

  Stone decided to ask Bert to do a background check on Bill’s early life. If he lived on Prager Four, there may be more clues to follow. If he didn’t, that might also lead to added information.

  Captain Stone made her rounds of the ship, visiting every space she could enter without invading privacy. Even then, she knocked and entered most. It was technically her ship and her father had taught her well. There are no private places on her ship. It was her duty to know what happened everywhere. Even the smallest incident could endanger a ship, so she made her rounds.

  The receptions were uniformly favorable, the crew was anxious to speak with her or show their workspaces with pride. The dead captain had not made routine rounds, she’d found out, but he had instilled a sense of pride in them she found inspiring.

  She reluctantly knocked on the door of the steward who had killed him. He called flippantly, “Come on in.”

  She opened the door and found Kat sitting with her back to the wall, knees pulled to her chin. She had left the bridge and they had been talking, it was plain to see. Kat excused herself and departed. It was too crowded. Stone took her place on the floor.

  Chance asked in a tone that almost sounded amused, “Is there something I can do for you, Captain?”

  Captain Stone shifted her position slightly and said in a matching tone, allowing a slight smile to grow as she spoke, “Attempt to get into my mind again and I’ll gut you. Last warning.”

  His amusement faded with each word. He said, “You can tell?”

  “Yes.”

  He waited before speaking. “So, it’s true? Some sensitives can tell when an empath is nearby?”

  “When an empath attempts to sway what I think, yes. It’s sort of a tickle in my mind, not a funny one if you understand.”

  “There are rumors.”

  “Consider what I tell you factual. Do not try to ever use your powers to make me like you, let you go free, or any other thing that you believe might help your situation. I’ll know it and punish you.”

  “Then, again I’ll ask, why are you here?”

  Captain Stone didn’t know the answer to that question. She decided to withhold the information that they all shared background on Prager Four. Instead, she said, “You use your powers to get your way. By that, I mean you enter into business deals and use empathy to achieve the results you want.”

  “Don’t say it like that.”

  “Like that? What do you mean?” she asked.

  “You say it like it is bad or something criminal.”

  “Isn’t it?” she asked calmly.

  “No. Not at all. You’re the captain of a ship that travels from star-to-star trading goods. You buy here and sell there. You also carry cargo, I hear. When you buy cargo, you use your background
, experience, and knowledge of the product, as well as what you know about possible buyers. You buy cheap. You plead a possible loss or anything to lower the cost. When you arrive at the next port, you wear your good uniform for the meeting and plan a strategy with your crew. You arrive at his location in an expensive Town-Car to impress the buyer or seller of goods. I could go on. But my point is that you do all that to achieve the highest profits and see nothing wrong with it.”

  “I don’t manipulate the minds of people.”

  “Of course, you do. All those things I mentioned are intended to give you a mental edge over whoever is sitting across the table from you. I see no difference.”

  “I do not use empathy.”

  “However, you do use expensive perfume, you smile at their tawdry jokes, and when you see a weakness, you pounce and pay less when buying. When you sell the same products, you do the opposite. Do you deny that?”

  She was sure he was twisting her words. He made it sound like what she did was worse than using empathy to buy and sell. And worse, he was correct on each accusation. She had done all those things and more. Instead of answering and embarrassing herself, she sat and thought.

  Chance’s expression rightly said that he believed had made his point. She ignored him as she allowed her mind to reconsider the entire conversation. He had a point, but it was one she could ignore. Bartering, bantering, negotiating, dickering, and driving hard bargains were part of her trade. It was the essence of how traders as far back as those carrying their goods on the backs of camels across endless deserts survived. They found a product that people in a distant place wanted. If they wanted it badly enough and were willing to pay enough, traders took it to them.

  It had nothing to do with empathy. If one of the traders had empathic powers, he or she might have made better deals when buying and selling, which was what she intended to do.

  No, she was using her abilities to find a chink in the armor of the military she was about to face. She needed something that prevented them from blasting their ship. It had to be instantly valuable to them. Such as modern technology to win the war.