The Princess of Caldris (11 page)

Neil Thacker

As it turned out, not for long. Hammerstein
quickly rooted out a shop of masks and what a shop it was-much to
Tokushima’s chagrin, the place was a wonder of fabulous items. I
chose a Ripjackle mask-a particularly fierce beast from Opa-locka’s
world. Hammerstein selected one of Mercury, the Roman god of
travelers, merchants, and thieves. Tokushima found one bearing a
stylistic feel for Japan, and we made a quick return to the
Hammerhead to lose the flight helmets and bore the weary look of
Parsons.

He was wise enough, however, not to say
anything.

Then we were off along the canals again,
masked and ready. No one spoke, Hammerstein trolling on sorting his
distant memories against the realities of the present. Things are
always smaller or bigger in our memories.

He was heading for a waterfront nightclub.
The masks didn’t cover one’s mouth, so if we wished we could even
eat and drink with them on, such was the custom of the place.

It wasn’t long before the sight of a bare
face would have been shock-when in Rome, as they say.

It was day so the club was
virtually empty. There were all manner of arched and carved ways
and rooms, decorative plants, hologram art. A bunch of screen with
games from the Empire. Various hypercasts. It was a small galaxy,
it seems. I knew some of the channels.

We sat and were promptly approached by a
bejeweled and masked waitress. Supple-beautiful, and centuries old
I realized-a cloner, this was her third clone incarnation.
Somewhere behind her mask, and behind the frivolously attractive
clone lay a personality of a woman from worlds away, and
generations before.

I was, in my way, suddenly awed. Behind an
ordinary façade, an extraordinary history.

“
Welcome,” she offered
brightly, placing chilled water glasses and bread before us, “I’m
Sasha.”

The table glowed presently with images of
food for us to choose from.

Fish, fish, and more fish.

Tokushima selected a bread soup.

“
I’ll have the fish” I
said, “Caldrisian Salmon. With a garlic butter, and crab cakes on
the side.”

Hammerstein selected a steak.

We ate quietly. Waiting for something to
happen.

When it happened, it was a balding slight of
a man, dark skinned and masked with a strange golden happy Buddha
face.

“
Travelers from a far?” he
hovered and swayed in a faux attempt at grace and light heartedness
he did not feel. He was a trader, eager to overcharge
tourists.

“
Indeed. Indeed. Very far.”
Hammerstein was always like a well oiled trap ready to
snap.

“
My name is Hugo,” he
smiled behind the Buddha, “if there is anything I can do to assist
while you stay here at…Langley Stay?”

He said it like a question even though it
was an incomplete sentence that wasn’t a question.

Now Hammerstein smiled beneath the Mask of
Mercury,“Indeed. Indeed. We need an aircar. But not just any
aircar, no, no. We require an exquisite ride of early model,
retrofitted with the most contemporary appointments and
technologies, security of course being no small issue for my wife
and son.”

Tokushima blushed, but with a distinct
pleasure at that. Sensing it, and all it implied, I too blushed,
thankful for the mask of a sudden.

“
Ahhh, yes, of course!
Nothing but best!”

An impression was coming across then from
the Buddha man. An older version of Herbivore. Hammerstein knew
this gig like a well practiced drill. I was in awe.

“
You know then where we may
find such an aircar?” Tokushima asked coyly.

“
Yes. I do.” He replied
smugly. “And I shall be delighted to take you there immediately
after your lunch!” He bowed.

Hammerstein showed his teeth in a forced
smile.

“
Thank you.”

Now hit the road ‘till we’re done
eating.

It was a delicious lunch. Then Buddha was
back, sporting a long brocaded coat and an effected casual
saunter.

He gave a momentary pause and Hammerstein
didn’t miss a beat, “Five percent?”

“
Done.”

An open aircab drifted down
and we all piled in. Buddha leaned over to the driver, “Herb.” was
all he said and all that was needed to be said.

We were aloft, below us the boat filled
canals and shops suddenly falling away, above us security fields
glimmering transparent. The sky was abuzz with all manner of
vehicles. I traced very few traffic control guide beams but there
didn’t appear any urgency or concern from Buddha or the driver.

We careened about the city and then finally
the was a large stone warehouse with numerous roof levels. Row of
vehicles and servicemen and bots tending them gleamed in the sun. A
wonderland of styles, aircars from all corners and ages of the
galaxy.

My eyes widened beneath my
mask, “Whoa…” I said stupidly and Tokushima chuckled a little at
that.

We landed and Buddha took Mercury about the
rooftop of a collection of aircars the like of which I had never
imagined.

I began to wander when Tokushima took my
hand, “SON!” she said, “Remember, Daddy is on business!”

She was so awesome, even
when chiding me I took little notice of the chide. So were the
aircars however, and I was getting my first taste of decadent
luxuries in an exotic place. With a sporty female officer, and
there was not even a peer on the planet with whom I could flaunt
it.

There was, however, a
serious matter of a kidnapped Princess-my Princess, and I sought to
pull my delight over the delicious design excesses of centuries of
artistry back into some manner of perspective relative to the
scenario.

I managed.

Herb had arrived. Older. I synchronized the
images Hammerstein’s memories had conveyed-Herb the mighty Navy
officer, bane of star legions, with an ordinary appearing aircar
salesman.

Herb leaned forward toward Hammer. They
recognized each other’s jaw lines across the decades, even
masked.

Soldiers forever.

“
Hammer!”

“
Herbivore.”

Herb chuckled, “Herbivore…yeah. Long time
ago. I’m assuming you’ll need the best and all the special
extras.”

“
Of course.”

“
The Altair. Comes with a
droid. Seats seven. Can make escape velocity and will go a full
parsec before you need to…refuel, dock, or die.”

“
Prefer to dock than
die.”

“
Me too. You’ll want the
Altair.”

“
Done.”

“
No haggling, you always
did have a certain class. But it tells me you’re either rich as the
Royals or working for them.”

“
The latter. Yes, I’m here
on official business. Let’s go inside.”

Herb signaled one of his
men, “Get the Altair done up, it’s sold.”

We moved into the warehouse proper and I saw
Herb’s collection was not limited to the aircars on the roof tops.
There were star yachts, dog-fighters, freighters-on and on. The
quantum echoes of all these vehicles slammed at me with their
histories and I found myself dizzy from the impressions.

I tried to follow the
conversations. Hammerstein was asking Herb about wormhole
equipment. Had he sold any recently?

Herb was resigned, not out of fear, but out
of some strange moral code he operated by. He and Hammerstein were
of a kind, they shared an experience that made Hammerstein…unique.
When he needed information, Herb would provide it.

“
Don’t get much call for
it. Not many that can handle wormholing. Mostly they try, and
mostly they die. Takes a special breed to ride that storm. This
group-they looked kind of tawdry. Wannabees. But they could pay,
and who am I to keep a fool and his money together longer than the
fates would conspire?”

Hammerstein held back a grim snort.

Herb continued, “I’d
actually heard the name before-No-Deal DePaulo. Supposed to be a
bit of a player at the Core. He didn’t look like much to me. Said
he had a client, Imperial. Needed a wormhole capable frigate. We
went over the equipment, he gave me the money, and he and the ship
were gone before the suns set.”

“
The Core? He’s a core
smuggler?”

“
Galactic core-Tangeonprioc
to be specific. Hangs out at the Corewinds Tavern.”

“
He told you
that?”

Herb’s grizzled visage smiled, “He didn’t
have to-he was wearing the T-shirt, “Corewinds Tavern. Best Damn
Bar in Tangeonprioc.”

It occurred to me then our entire
investigation could have run into a dead end at Langley Stay if it
weren’t for a slime ball smuggler’s choice of bad sentimentality of
attire one day. Yet there it was.

“
And his ship…rather
creepy name, “Mel’s monkey…nasty looking mutant monkey as the
ship’s emblem. Has a bayonet in its mouth and ‘Central Galactic’
underneath as if there was any sort of civil authorities out there,
which there aint.”

“
Thanks Herb. The Altair,
she ready?”

“
She was ready before you
left Caldris system, Buck. Don’t forget who you’re buying from-my
hardware works.”

“
Yeah, well, I got that.
Almost took us out-they hit us with the wormhole.”

That brought a frown to Herb. “Sorry to hear
that. You spank em?”

“
Hard, but we got
lucky.”

“
You taking the kid and the
lady on a payback run? To the Core? To Tangeonprioc?”

Hammerstein paused, I sensed he thought for
a moment to explain, but didn’t see any good would come of it.

“
Yeah, that’s the
plan.”

“
Lot of Marauders in the
core. Make sure that Altair is battened down good before you start
shooting Marauders, aye Buck?”

“
Will do, Herb. We’ll make
sure the Altair is safe and sound before the firing
starts.”

“
Good. Good. Don’t want to
see any scratches on her when you come back and tell me how the
story plays out.”

“
Herb, if I can fly that
Altair back to this…warehouse, I’m going to make sure there’s not a
scratch on it.”

So went our visit to
Langley Stay at voids end where we acquired a particularly well
appointed luxury aircar of classic make from the Pleiades. We had a
suspect-the notorious No-deal-Depaulo, and a destination.
Tangeonprioc. Sin city of the galactic core, smack dab in Marauder
territory. Marauders, worse than the smugglers and the core
syndicates, harbingers of a strange cult-rumored to be entirely mad
and without ordinary human remorse, fear, or reason.

I was, however, distracted. One of the techs
had brought up the Altair and it was one sweet ride.