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Every Saturday I post a chapter or two of my young adult science fiction novel Star Song. Coming in in the middle? The whole thing starts here with Chapter 1 and an explanation.
Enjoy!
Star Song
By Edward Willett
Chapter 22
Kriss’s captors carried him to a dark warehouse at the edge of the field, through a creaking door and into a musty room, empty except for a few broken crates. They dumped him on the floor, then one closed the door and the other turned on the lights.
One of the men was bald and middle-aged, the other young and bearded. Neither was the man who had been following Kriss for a week, but he assumed his “shadow” was the one who had chased him into the trap. “So where’s Vorlick?” he demanded as soon as the younger man undid his gag.
“Who’s Vorlick?”
“The man you work for!”
“Never heard of him,” said the bald man.
Kriss struggled upright and glared at him. “You expect me to believe that?”
The bald man shrugged. “Don’t really care.”
“What are you going to do with me?”
“What we’re being paid to.” He looked at his watch. “Going to keep you here until an hour after midnight—then let you go.”
“Let me go?”
“That’s right.” The bald man sat down on a crate, leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. “You might as well make yourself comfortable.”
Kriss stared at him. He couldn’t be telling the truth. What did they really intend to do with him—kill him? “Where’s the touchlyre?”
The bald man opened one eye again. “The what?”
“I think he means this,” the younger man said, holding up the well-wrapped instrument.
“There you go. Now be quiet or I’ll put that gag back on you.” The bald man closed his eyes again and soon began snoring.
Kriss struggled uselessly with the cords that bound his wrists. Finally he subsided and lay still, fuming. Maybe they don’t know who they’re working for, he thought. Vorlick could be trying to cover his tracks. But I’ll bet he shows up in another hour or two.
It was a bet he would have lost. Precisely an hour after midnight the bald man’s watch started beeping frantically, and he opened his eyes and sat up, stretching. “Well, lad, that’s that.” He stood and nudged the younger man, who had also fallen asleep, with his foot. “Some guard you are!”
“Still here, ain’t he?” the other man grumbled.
“No thanks to you. Cut those cords, give him that touchlyre thing and let’s get out of here.”
Two minutes later Kriss stood on the landing field outside the warehouse again, while his captors vanished into the darkness. He stared after them, completely bewildered. Was somebody playing a joke?
Finally he set out for the Thaylia. They must have been searching for me since I failed to show up for the banquet, he thought. Nicora will think Vorlick got me. I thought Vorlick had me. He shook his head. “I don’t understand,” he muttered.
A young cousin of Tevera’s stopped him as he entered the ship. “The Captain wants you,” she said stiffly.
“Thank you.” They must have seen me coming, he thought as he made his way deeper into the ship. Nicora will be glad to see I’m still alive.
He wasn’t prepared for the greeting he received as he stepped out of the elevator at the Captain’s level. Nicora’s guards awaited him, and seized his arms roughly, ignoring his angry protest.
Nicora sat behind her black desk—with Rigel standing beside her. She spoke without preamble. “Crewman Lemarc, you failed to appear as ordered at the Coronach to play for the assembled captains and their officers. This has shamed the Thaylia.”
“Captain, I—”
“Silence!” The ice in her tone froze the words in his throat. “I know what you have done. Rigel saw you leaving the port, entering the city, at the very hour when you were due on board the Coronach. How dare you go to play in some worldhugger bar when Family captains await you? And worse, while you were confined to port?”
“But I didn’t! I was kidnapped!”
“Kidnapped?” The Captain raised a frosty eyebrow. “By whom?”
“I don’t know! Vorlick’s men, maybe.”
“And how did you escape?”
“I didn’t. They let me go.” Even as he said it, Kriss realized how ridiculous it sounded.
The Captain glanced at Rigel. “My report stands,” Tevera’s brother said. “He left the port alone, of his own volition.”
Kriss lunged at him, but the guards pulled him back. “Liar!” he shouted.
The Captain’s eyes transfixed him. “We in the Family do not lie.”
“But you’re saying I’m lying!”
“You were not raised in the Family.” She took a deep breath. “Crewman Lemarc, you are confined to your cabin for the duration of our stay in Try-Your-Luck, and for the duration of the next Jump, except for periods of special disciplinary duty. Nor are you to contact Crewwoman Tevera during that time. Dismissed!”
“But—”
“Escort him!”
Choking on helpless rage, Kriss was dragged from the room, his last view a glimpse of Rigel’s stony face.
Later he sat fuming in his cabin. Why was Rigel lying? He stood and paced, five steps from wall to wall. Had Rigel known what really happened, or had he just decided to take advantage of Kriss’s mysterious disappearance?
He stopped suddenly. Or had he set up the whole thing? What if Rigel were the one who had hired the men to hold him, knowing it would widen the gap between him and the rest of the Family?
Did Rigel hate him enough to lie to the Captain? Kriss shook his head. There had to be more motive than that.
But he still hadn’t puzzled out the answer when the intercom at the head of the bunk beeped, disrupting his thoughts. He banged the switch with his fist. “What do you want?”
“It’s Tevera,” came the whispered answer.
“Tevera!” He sat on the bed, as close to the intercom as though it were the girl herself. “How—”
“I’m alone in my cabin. I’m not supposed to even talk to you, but unless someone looks closely at the monitor on the bridge…what’s going on? Why are you locked up?”
Briefly and bitterly Kriss told his story. When he finished she was silent. “Tevera?”
“I’m…still here.” Then, in a rush, “Kriss, are you sure there’s no way Rigel could have seen what happened and just misunderstood? He’d never lie to the Captain…”
“I was bound and gagged! How could he misunderstand that? And if he saw it at all, why didn’t he help? We’re both supposed to be Family!”
“There has to be an explanation…”
“There is,” Kriss said grimly. “Your brother hates me.”
“But Rigel is Family. Family men don’t lie!”
“He’s human. We all lie.” Anger grew in him. “You obviously think I’m lying!”
“No…”
“But you don’t believe me.”
“Yes, I do! It’s just…I believe Rigel, too.”
“You can’t have it both ways!”
Another silence. “I need to think,” Tevera said finally.
“Think all you want to. But don’t call me again until you’ve decided to trust me!” He smashed the intercom switch closed, then hurled his pillow across the room and flung himself on the bed.
After a bitter time of black thoughts he drifted into sleep, but woke only an hour or two later when his cabin door opened.
He couldn’t see a thing—but he hadn’t turned his lights out before sleeping! He sat bolt upright. No light came through the door, either, though the corridor outside should have been filled with dim blue nightglow. “Who’s there?” he said into the darkness.
A hand suddenly clamped over his mouth. “An old friend,” a voice whispered, and something cold pressed against his temple. “That’s a beamer, so keep quiet. You’re leaving this ship right now—forever.”
Kriss didn’t have to see his assailant. He knew that voice.
“Get the touchlyre,” said Rigel.
#
Chapter 23
Rigel produced a hand-light, and, once Kriss had retrieved the touchlyre from its locked cabinet, led him quickly and quietly through the blacked-out corridors to the lowest level. They exited through the small one-man hatch and down the ladder Kriss had climbed on his first visit to the Thaylia. Once down on the landing field Rigel pointed him toward a beat-up, antique freighter near the perimeter.
“Where are you taking me?” Kriss demanded.
“Vorlick.”
Kriss stopped in shock. “But why?”
Rigel jabbed him with the beamer. “Keep quiet and keep moving.”
Stunned, Kriss walked on mechanically. It all made horrible sense. Rigel had hired the men to keep him from making it to the banquet on the Coronach. Then he had convinced Nicora Kriss had sneaked off on his own. Now he would deliver Kriss to Vorlick—and tell Nicora that Kriss had deserted. Vorlick would have Kriss, and the touchlyre, without having to worry about Family vengeance, and Rigel…No doubt Rigel will get an ample reward, Kriss thought bitterly. Plus the satisfaction of insuring that no hated worldhugger would succeed in becoming part of the Family, or involved with his sister.
A small hatch opened and a ladder descended as they neared the base of the freighter. Two tough-looking spacers met them. One took the touchlyre, then together they escorted Rigel and Kriss into the ship and up a series of ladders to a small, brightly lit cabin.
As they entered the room Carl Vorlick stood up from behind a smaller version of Nicora’s computerized desk. “Kriss Lemarc. How nice to see you again,” he almost purred.
Kriss said nothing.
One of the guards tossed the touchlyre roughly on the desk. “Careful, you idiot!” Vorlick snapped. He touched it almost reverently, then looked up sharply at Rigel. “You’re sure no one will suspect?”
“I’m sure.” Rigel’s voice sounded strained, and sweat beaded his forehead. “I’ve convinced the Captain that Kriss is a liar who will never fit into the Family.”
“The Family never lies,” Kriss repeated bitterly. “Except you. Why, Rigel?”
Rigel looked at Vorlick, who shook his head. Rigel’s shoulders slumped. “Ask him.”
“You’d better get back to Thaylia now and report his desertion,” Vorlick said coolly.
Rigel nodded and went out. Kriss folded his arms and glared at his enemy, though fear made a lump of ice in his stomach. “Are you going to kill me now or later?”
Vorlick laughed. “My dear boy, I have no intention of killing you.”
Kriss blinked. “What?”
“I have a better use for you. You’re coming on a trip with me.”
“Where?”
Instead of answering directly, Vorlick touched a control on his desk. “Captain, we can take off now.”
“Yes, sir,” a man’s voice came back. “Destination?”
Vorlick looked up at Kriss. “Earth.” Then he laughed at Kriss’s expression.
Kriss didn’t see Vorlick again during the month-long journey. But he felt more like a low-ranking member of the crew than a prisoner. His duties included cleaning and general maintenance, much like he’d been doing on board the Thaylia—dull, but better than being locked in a cabin.
He had a lot of time to wonder—uselessly—what Vorlick was up to. Vorlick had the touchlyre, so what did he need Kriss for, on a planet he had never even seen?
But however inexplicably, at least he was still alive, he thought as he swabbed a corridor early one ship’s day with a zero-G mop that cleaned the walls and floor and sucked up the grime without ever letting a droplet or particle free to float around the ship. He wondered again, as he had daily, what had happened on board the Thaylia. Had Nicora believed Rigel’s lies?
She believed them once, he thought bleakly. Even Tevera believed him. The thought that Tevera might believe he had deserted made him feel sick.
A bell shrilled. “Prepare for docking with Earth station,” said a disembodied voice, and Kriss hurriedly stowed his mop and pulled himself down the corridor to a nearby observation port. Maybe today he would finally get some answers.
He grabbed a hand-hold and stared out at the still-distant barrel shape of the space station, and the blue-and-white planet beyond: Earth, capital of the Commonwealth, homeworld of humanity—and, almost unbelievably, his birthplace.
The slowly spinning station drew nearer. Over more than a century micrometeorites and space junk had pitted and discolored its hull, but the symbol of the Commonwealth, a star enclosed in three interlocking circles, burned bright blue on the central, stationary docking cylinder.
The freighter’s bow steering-rockets fired and station and planet alike swung out of view as the ship turned its fat stern for the final approach. At the same moment a voice crackled over the intercom, “Kriss Lemarc, report to hatch two.”
Vorlick awaited him there. Kriss felt a faint vibration and a couple of bumps, then, “Docked and secured,” the captain reported. Vorlick acknowledged, then opened the inner airlock door, moved into the lock, opened the outer door, and floated into the cylindrical chamber beyond, Kriss close behind. “I’ve already cleared us both through customs,” Vorlick said as he drifted across the room and hit a switch, opening another door. Beyond, a tube-shaped corridor ran to their left and right. “We won’t be going into the spinning portion of the station. We’ll board my private shuttle in one of the other docking tubes.”
“Then will you tell me what you want with me?” Kriss demanded, following his captor to the right.
“Only when you need to know.” Vorlick stopped by another door, and they floated through two more airlocks, finally emerging into a room with deep gold carpet, dark wood paneling, crystal and silver lighting fixtures and velvet and satin-cushioned chairs and couches. “We’ll have artificial gravity as soon as we’re out of the station,” Vorlick said. “You’d better sit down.”
Kriss looked at him in astonishment. “Artificial gravity? In a shuttle?” Such a profligate use of energy in something so utilitarian was—well, “decadent” was the word that came to mind.
“Of course. A little luxury I can well afford which serves the dual purpose of impressing those I want impressed and making me more comfortable.” As Kriss settled himself in a padded corner Vorlick said into an intercom in the wall, “Take her down.”
After a moment of faint scraping and the beginnings of acceleration, the artificial gravity came on and Kriss sank into the cushions. “That’s better,” Vorlick said. He crossed to a cabinet and took out a cut-crystal goblet and matching bottle. He poured something blue-green and sparkling, then returned the bottle to the shelf.
He sipped from the goblet and turned toward Kriss. “Two months ago—even six weeks ago—I would have killed you on sight,” he said conversationally, sitting in one of the well-padded armchairs. “You thwarted me, with the help of the Family—temporarily, of course, but I’m not used to waiting for what I want.” He took another swallow, then set the goblet down on a polished marble drinks table. “But since then I’ve realized how you can still be of use.”
“What if I refuse?”
Vorlick shrugged. “I can still kill you. But why worry about such an unpleasant possibility? You won’t refuse.”
“Why not?”
“You want to know about your parents, don’t you?”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“I share your curiosity. In particular, I would very much like to know where they found that artifact of yours; or rather, mine, now, of course. And I know how we can both find answers to our questions.” He lifted the glass again and drained it, then set it aside and went to a large viewscreen in one wall. When he activated it it showed the view from the shuttle’s bow, and Kriss was astonished to see they were already inside the atmosphere; he hadn’t felt so much as a bump. Sparkling towers glittered near the distant horizon.
“That’s New Oxford, home of the Commonwealth Central Data Bank and Information Processing Center—usually called the Library.” Vorlick tapped the screen. “The Library is the nerve center of the Commonwealth. The actual administrative personnel are elsewhere, but every order, every law, every public communication, every bit of information gathered in the Commonwealth is stored and correlated here. Every planet in the Commonwealth, most ships, and many individuals maintain dimspace contact with it.” He glanced at Kriss. “Like your parents.”
“I don’t understand.” Kriss stared at the rapidly nearing city, now close enough that he could see the immense, complex system of antennae spread around it for miles.
“Your parents were in contact with the Library during their expedition. They may have told the Library where they were, or at least left enough hints for me to figure it out.”
“Then why haven’t you?”
“Because I can’t get at the records. That’s why I need you.” Vorlick frowned at the city. “The Library’s security is impenetrable, even by me. It’s overseen by the most advanced artificial intelligence in existence. It would never let me access your parents’ privacy-locked communications. But it will let you.”
“Why?”
“I’ve had your identity confirmed. You are now officially recognized in Commonwealth records as Kriss Lemarc, son of Jon and Memory Lemarc of Earth, born on this planet not quite seventeen standard years ago and therefore an Earth citizen. As sole heir of the deceased Lemarcs, you have the right to access their private records.” He spread his hands. “You’re going to give me what I want—and it will all be quite legal.”
Kriss stared at the viewscreen. For years he had longed to find out everything he could about his parents. Now Vorlick had given him that opportunity—but at a very high price.
The shuttle landed uneventfully, and they walked from the small spaceport into the city, a quiet place with few people in sight but a great many flowers, fountains and trees. The buildings, low and simple near the port, rose stair-step fashion to the towers at the city’s centre.
They didn’t have to go far to contact the Library intelligence, however. Vorlick led Kriss into a small white building, surrounded by flowering shrubs, and down a short corridor to one of several cubicles containing only a chair, a desk, and a holographic display cube. Vorlick pointed Kriss to the chair and stood behind him as he sat down. At once a disembodied female voice said, “Please identify yourself.”
“Uh…I’m Kriss. Kriss Lemarc.”
“Insufficient response. Commonwealth Citizenship Number?”
“I don’t—”
“Z9A-S0P-L9L-Y4K-1129746,” Vorlick put in.
“Applicant must give data himself,” said the Library.
With silent prompting from Vorlick, Kriss repeated the string of letters and digits.
“Place of birth?”
“Earth.”
A moment’s pause. “Scan complete. Identity confirmed. Second person, please identify.”
“I’m not applying for information,” Vorlick said.
“Immaterial. Current security programming requires that I confirm the identity of all humans within the Library. Please identify.”
“Carl Vorlick, of Earth. CCN A2A-E6V-W4R-N9A-0403998.”
“Scan complete. Identity confirmed. How may I help you, Kriss Lemarc?”
Kriss looked helplessly at Vorlick. “What do I say?”
But the Library answered first. “I am capable of conversing in all known human languages, in all dialects. I have full command of slang, metaphor and simile, and I am not confused by hesitations, speech impediments, improper grammar or other irregularities. No special syntax is required. Simply state your area of interest and I will request further clarification if necessary.”
“You know what I want,” Vorlick growled. “Get on with it.”
Kriss turned back toward the display cube. “I’d like to see the personal records of my parents, Jon and Memory Lemarc.”
“That information is privacy-coded. As their son, you may access it, but your companion, Carl Vorlick, may not. I cannot release it with him present.”
Vorlick looked down at Kriss. “All right, I’ll wait outside. But see you find out what I want to know—and don’t think you can lie to me, because you’ll be coming along on the search. Understand?”
Kriss nodded, and Vorlick went out—leaving him alone with his past.