The Forgotten Planet
Chapter 6 – Hide and Seek

Ash’s ill-gotten key worked just fine on the rear entrance to Milton’s Collectibles. I watched Adan though my Rover®’s camera – from the comfort and safety of the getaway vehicle – as he stepped through the door and into the dust-covered and junk-strewn storage area. The room was pitch dark, but we saw it all in the cool-blue hue of our day-night lenses. The over-the-counter lenses worked well enough that I never bothered with a proprietary version.

Adan chose the black turtleneck and cargo pant ensemble, with matching boots and tactical belt, and his naturally dirty-blond hair was gelled into a series of mismatched blue and green spikes. I had the same outfit on, but my shirt was untucked, and I never bothered with the belt. I don’t need to carry guns and knives, and my pants are never in danger of falling off.

While I watched Adan’s back, I continued to feed Milton’s security system false information. As I mentioned previously, I’m more useful when I’m assisting from offsite, relaxed and surrounded by all of my equipment and a generous selection of black-market chocolate. The adrenaline-induced tunnel vision I used to get when I would tag along with Adan didn’t do either of us any favors. The Terran sympathetic nervous system may have served a purpose in prehistory when our ancestors had to outrun saber-toothed tigers and whatnot, but its usefulness now is dubious at best. Plus, this setup really cut down on the need for me to dodge fists, blades, and projectiles while I worked. I call that a win-win.

Adan walked past a wooden desk cluttered with nick-knacks and loose stacks of paper, and at least three centimeters of grime, before stopping to stare up at the massive Titan VI safe. Roman numeral six, not four. Thicker doors, stronger hinges and, most importantly, requiring a different cypher to crack its rescue codes. One I hadn’t figured out yet.

The Titan VI was Abrax corporation’s newest model, and since it usually takes years for new tech to trickle down to this back-assed planet, I’d never had the opportunity, nor the inclination, to study its software. Milton was very security-conscious, and at that moment, I was very vexed. Adan ran the Titan IV code by way of his wrister, but the ThoughtScreen on the front of the safe only elicited off-putting noises.

“What’s the problem bro?” Adan asked, staring up at my Rover®. “Pop the safe.”

“This is a six not a four,” I groaned. “Ash got his I’s switched.”

“I’s?” Adan asked, eyes narrowed. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Roman numerals.”

The furrows on his face deepened.

“Romans came from Italy,” I continued. “Laws, roads...” Adan’s eyes narrowed to slits and his frown deepened as confusion began to give-way to annoyance. “Pizza?” I asked. The lines on his face softened.

“I do like pizza... no veggies though. Wait,” the frowny face was present and strong again, “why the hell are we talking about pizza?”

I couldn’t replace a good reason. “This isn’t the safe Ash said would be here. My cypher won’t work.”

“Why couldn’t you have just said that in the first place?” he asked, as he threw his hands in the air. “You always have to be so cryptic.”

I shrugged. He had a point. I just can’t help myself sometimes. Maybe I just enjoy the air of mystery.

“Can you blow the door off with something?” he asked.

“Sure,” I answered with mock cheer. “Do you have an antimatter charge in your pocket?” He glared at my Rover®, and since he’s been practicing for years, he’s pretty good at it. Well, ask a stupid question...

“If you’d designed a freeze-gun like I said...”

I ignored him, which is also easier to do from offsite. I began a manual hack by syncing my Rover® with the safe’s ThoughScreen and then popping my consciousness into the Titan’s corner of MachineSpace® – a form of virtual hacking that I’ve perfected over the years – to get a quick-and-dirty visual of the kind of defenses I was facing. Instantly I was transported from the back of our cramped auto to the highest parapet of my stone fortress.

The air smelled of jasmine and pine, rather than coffee, chocolate and Adan’s workout shoes, and the noonday sun was warm on my face. Generally, I like to enjoy the view of my kingdom for a few minutes after logging in, but today I was pressed for time. Also, the virtual representation of the Titan’s security protocols was jamming-up the scenery.

A towering fortress of black granite, bristling with sharp edged towers stood just outside my front gates. The wall was manned at regular intervals by armored soldiers with massive bows, and the towers were topped with dragons and griffins and even a lone manticore. It would have taken hours to build the siege engines and rally all the troops necessary to breach that level of defense. And likely, a coffee and something deep-fried and sprinkled with powdered sugar at the halfway point.

That’s not to say I couldn’t do it. Unfortunately, I never got the chance to try. As absorbed as I was in my task, I almost missed the warning flashes from my ’Seven. When I snapped-back to RL, I found Milton and another man entering via the front door. Before I could warn Aedan to bolt, Milt had already rearmed the security system. Aedan could still run, but he’d draw attention on the way out, and outrunning the cops is never high on my list of things to do.

Meanwhile, Adan was busy “shopping” on the other side of the room amongst the dusty shelves and partially opened boxes of what was likely new stock. Aden’s hands were full of random items of questionable value, and he’d started a little pile of books and trinkets in an open piece of floor in front of the safe. Since the books were for me, I tried not to let any of my growing annoyance leak into my voice.

“We’ve got company coming in the front door,” I warned. “Hide.”

“Hide? Are you serious?” Adan asked.

His statement appeared to be rhetorical, so I didn’t answer. Adan walked over to the desk and tried to scrunch under it, but at over two meters height it was obvious he wasn’t going to fit. I left him to his own wits and switched from my Rover®’s camera to the shop’s own internal security feed so I could monitor the two men who’d entered the store.

Milton paused near the entrance to the back room with an irritated expression on his face as the other man peered with fascination at the various odds-and-ends in the showroom. Milton Blane was short and tanned, with thinning white hair and a short-cropped white beard. He wore a white linen suit over a white dress shirt, and a pair of wire-framed spectacles balanced precariously on the tip of his narrow nose.

The other man was tall and broad with medium skin tone, and a little grey was starting to show in his black sideburns and chin stubble. He wore a navy-blue uniform that looked like it had seen better days, black boots that weren’t shined to any sort of military standards and a sleek plasma pistol holstered on his right hip. The condition of his boots and uniform ruled out professional soldier, so he wasn’t part of the lizard-approved local militia. But he was packing out in the open, so that meant either a Vox-aligned trader or local mafia.

Milton impatiently tapped his fingers on the scuffed brown wood of the sales counter as the other man studied the painted flowers on the surface of a teal vase.

“This is a beautiful piece Milt,” the man in uniform said. “Which dynasty is it from?”

“It’s a fake, Mr. Brar,” Milton said, nose upturned with a faint air of superiority. “I painted it myself. I don’t keep any of the good merchandise out here where any filthy barbarian off the street can handle it.” Whether or not Milton considered the other man to be one of those filthy barbarians was open to interpretation.

“Ah, I see – and it’s Captain, not Mr. I know it’s just a mining ship, but the honorarium still applies.”

Milton looked at his watch. “Yes, of course, Captain. If you’ll please follow me into the back, I can issue your payment and we can finish our transaction.”

Brar nodded and patted the brown leather satchel hanging from a strap on his shoulder, but continued to peruse the store. I brought my attention back to Adan, who was standing behind the desk ramrod-straight with a lampshade on his head.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked.

“You told me to hide,” he said defensively.

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean the way a two-year-old would,” I snapped. “Use your cloak.”

Adan looked away from my Rover® in a way that smacked of guilt and said, “Yeah, about that…”

“Please don’t tell me you forgot to charge it?” No answer. “How many outfits did you try on before you chose that one?”

“Seven,” he replied.

I had the over/under at five-and-a-half. “At least you used your time constructively,” I added.

He stared up at my Rover® and said, “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”

“Of course I’m being sarcastic,” I yelled.

He waved his hand dismissively at my screen and said, “Be quiet and let me think little brother.”

“If our only hope is you thinking your way out of this, then we’re definitely screwed,” I snapped. For some reason he felt this was the appropriate time to flip me the bird.

“Ok, here’s what I’m gonna do-”

Since Adan’s plans generally ended in fistfights, hurt feelings and property damage, I muted Adan’s feed and peeked-in on the front room. Brar must have finally tired of testing Milton’s patience, because the two men were now both behind the sales counter and Milton was in the process of unlocking the door to the back room.

When I flipped back, Adan was saying, “Now, with both of them in headlocks-”

“Bro, they’re here,” I said. “Switch to subvocal.” Before he could put his ridiculous plan into motion, I asked, “Is your ’Buster charged?”

He looked down at the item on his belt before answering, “It’s got a little juice. Why?”

The door to the backroom opened and we heard Brar saying, “...stuck to the front of a primitive satellite if you can believe it.” Once they cleared the rows of shelves, they’d be right on top of Adan. I quickly told him what to do while trying to keep my voice calm. That’s hard to do with a pounding heart and a stomach full of butterflies. My ’Seven can only do so much hormone-balancing in the face of a full-blown stress-induced panic attack.

“That’s probably better than my plan,” he agreed.

He powered up the GravBuster® and leapt, easily making it up to the top of the four-meter-tall ceiling. Once there, he grasped the half-meter wide ventilation pipe and squeezed in tightly next to the edge, limiting his visual exposure as best as he could. My Rover® could read Adan’s vitals, and his pulse and blood pressure were just a hair over baseline. He just doesn’t get scared. Ignorance really is bliss. I crammed another piece of chocolate in my mouth and flipped on Daft Punk’s Veridis Quo. The combination lowered my systolic ten points. It still wasn’t in the healthy range, but it kept me from having to pop a Cincy. I parked my Rover® on the roof of the safe and hoped for the best.

The first thing Milton noticed when he entered the room was the pile of items Adan had stacked in front of the safe. He stared at the pile for a few moments then shook his head and said, “It’s hard to replace good help these days.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Brar replied. “Our ship was almost stranded a few parsecs from your system due to shoddy maintenance of the A-Drive engines.” He smiled then, and it was almost a sneer. “Nothing a good jettisoning couldn’t fix though.”

“You jettisoned the engine?” Milton asked.

“Engine?” Brar scoffed. “How could we hope to continue our journey without an engine? No, we jettisoned a crew member.”

“You put the offending party into space for being lax in his duties?” Milton asked, eyes wide.

“I suppose it’s possible the man I jettisoned was the guilty party. It actually wasn’t necessary to punish the perpetrator to get my point across.” Milton’s jaw was hanging open and he was staring. Brar smiled a friendly smile and continued, “I’m sure he was guilty of some other equally heinous act, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Yes, quite,” Milton answered, but whereas before he looked rushed, now he looked like he really wanted to be anywhere but the same room with the trade ship captain. Milton looked at the ThoughtScreen and the green metal door clicked and swung open on well-oiled hinges. “You may place the item on the desk, if you please.” He gestured with his hand and then disappeared into the safe for a few moments.

Captain Brar opened up his satchel and removed a thin, golden disk – roughly a third of a meter in diameter – and placed it on a loose pile of papers on the top of the desk. A scan from my Rover® confirmed that the disk was solid gold, and the side showing was marked with a number of simple diagrams. The one I could make out appeared to be a representation of a hydrogen molecule – a single proton with a lone orbiting electron. The item wasn’t like any I had ever seen, and I was instantly intrigued.

“Want,” I said, sending my words in a tight burst from my Rover® directly into Adan’s cranial auditory nerve. Some animals may have been able to overhear us – any with natural sonar likely would have gone crazy – but certainly not the two men below. Adan glared at the Rover®, but I wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to be bothered with the item or because – as I was already well aware – he hates it when I communicate with him in this manner. Well, he wouldn’t get an implant and he’d forgotten his wrister’s earbud, so…

Milton returned from the safe with a leather quick-draw holster and a small cedar box. A Colt 45 pistol hung from the holster, and the attached belt was notched with dozens of gleaming, metallic rounds. He almost dropped his items when he first laid eyes on the disk, but he recovered quickly, and Brar didn’t appear to notice Milton’s excitement.

“So, you see Milt, it’s just as I described it to you over subspace,” Brar said, showcasing the piece with his large, callused hands.

Milton scratched his chin and shook his head. “A curiosity, to be sure – but the value, I believe, is dubious. I’m thinking the pistol alone may be worth more than your trinket. I’m not so sure that I should be adding cash to this transaction.”

Brar frowned and picked up the disk. “Come now Milt, this disk is solid gold. By weight alone it’s worth two or three of those old guns – regardless of the ancient child-outlaw that originally owned it. And look here,” he pointed to a crude star chart that was etched into the disk. “It’s clearly a map of some sort. And on this side,” he flipped the disk over and continued, “the language is ancient, but this word here clearly says Earth.”

“Adan, I want that disk!” I nearly yelled it at him, and he subvocally snapped at me to shut up. It wasn’t until then that I took a good look at Adan and noticed that his ’Buster was running on fumes. He had both hands wrapped around the pipe, and the toe of one boot wedged into the crack where the pipe met the wall – and even then, he was just barely staying afloat.

“Very well, Captain. I suppose I could pay an additional,” he made a face like he was doing this against his better judgement, “say... Twenty-five?”

“Twenty-five thousand? That’s an insult, Milt. I’ll take one-hundred thousand, like we agreed, and not a credit less.”

Milton’s lips pursed and head shook at the stated price. “I couldn’t possibly go that high, Captain. Fifty seems far more than fair. At that price there’s no guarantee I’ll even turn a profit.”

“Milton my old friend, you disappoint me,” the captain said as he started to pack the disk back into his satchel. “I thought I’d give you first crack – since you’ve been a good customer in the past – but if you won’t be reasonable, then I can always try Mr. Thresna in Kertipse.”

Adan’s grip was becoming precarious. If he fell, all hell was going to break loose.

Milton took a deep intake of breath and let it out slowly. “Ah Captain, let’s not be hasty. You and I both know Tresna’s a no-good crook.”

“What’s the saying Milt?” Brar said with a wry smile. “It takes one to know one?”

Milton ignored the jab. “Eighty-five, and that’s my final offer. You won’t get a better price from that simpering fool.” He started taking the bluebacks out of the cedar box without waiting for Brar’s answer.

Brar rubbed his chin as he considered before saying, “I want that vase up front as well.”

“Yes, of course,” Milton said absently. “Now please, let me see the disk,” he said, as he stepped towards Brar with the money. As Brar turned removed the disk from the desk, the ’Buster gave out completely. Milton and the Captain stopped as they heard the scraping noise of Adan trying – with absolutely no luck whatsoever – to keep his footing.

Moments later, Adan came crashing down onto Milton’s desk, sending the cluttered items and loose papers on its surface flying into the air. Milton and the Captain stared dumbfounded at first, but Brar started to reach for his gun as Adan scrambled to his feet. Fortunately for us, Adan’s freshly juiced nerves had him moving with catlike reflexes, and he was upright, with the old revolver in his hand and pointed at the captain’s nose before Brar could clear his own pistol from its holster.

Brar looked at the gun pointedly and said, “I don’t think that ancient thing will fire.”

“Captain...” Milton started, panic clearly showing on his face.

Adan drew back the hammer. “I’m guessing by the look on Milton’s mug that this baby works just fine. You wanna replace out?”

The captain apparently didn’t, because the gun dropped back in its holster and Brar’s hands went straight up in the air. He did turn back to glare at Milton.

“What?” Milton said defensively, while fumbling with a button on his shirt. Unfortunately, I didn’t catch the significance of that seemingly organic movement. “You should be happy I was selling you a working item.”

“All right folks, this is a robbery,” Adan added unnecessarily. “I’m gonna keep this gun and that money and,” he pointed the items on the floor, “all the junk I piled up there, and...”

“And the disk,” I said to Adan. He waved away the comment with the back of his hand as-if shooing an annoying insect. Both Brar and Milton looked at Adan quizzically, then turned to gaze at each other. The captain shrugged.

“I should really take a quick peak inside the safe,” Adan added.

“And the disk Adan,” I repeated.

“Ok, fine...” he nearly shouted, “and the disk.”

“Son, are you off your meds?” Brar asked.

“Whaaat? No,” Adan answered. “Oh, before I forget, I’m probably gonna need a box for all this stuff.” Milton’s bug-eyed look of surprised disbelief almost made me choke on my coffee.

“Think carefully about what you’re about to do,” Milton said when he’d recovered his wits. “That heirloom is destined for the home of Mr. Vance – and he is not a man to be trifled with.”

“Crime boss Vance?” Adan answered. “Good to know I already have a buyer. What’s it going for?”

“We’re not selling it,” I said. Adan waved dismissively in the general direction of the hidden probe and again the other two men looked at each other.

“I don’t think he’s right in the head,” Brar said to Milton, who nodded agreement.

“It feels like Christmas, doesn’t it?” Adan said, ignoring Brar’s comment, then gestured with the gun in Milton’s direction and added, “Boxes man. I wasn’t kidding.”

Milton hopped and made a little squeaking noise, then recovered and busied himself with the task of replaceing containers to ease the stealing of his own goods.

“And don’t try anything funny see, or I’ll plug ya,” Adan added in a nasally tone.

“Really?” I asked. “You don’t even have the genre right.” Adan smirked and shrugged.

When Milton finished filling the boxes, Adan herded the men into the back of the safe.

“Now, strip naked, face the wall and spread eagle,” Adan commanded. That caused me to raise my eyebrows, though no one could see it. Shocked horror played on the faces of both captives. Adan gave them a stern look and then broke into a raucous laugh. The men watched him, then looked at each other and again shook their heads.

“Oh, that was rich,” Adan said, wiping tears from his eyes with the back of his gun hand. “But I do want you facing the wall,” he added, while shooing them into the corner with his free hand.

Much of the loot in the safe was fine art – which was bulky and would require a specialized fence that we didn’t have time to replace – but there was a small cache of precious gems and a good selection of ancient books. Adan started reading the titles off to me.

“Let’s see... The Modern Encyclopedia of Baseball...”

“No,” I answered.

“The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire...”

“Meh.”

“The Ancient Art of War...”

“Nope.”

“Quantum Theory and Measurement...”

“Want.”

“Ooh, Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue 2001. Sorry, I’m keeping that one.”

“Whatever.”

“Relatively...”

“You mean Relativity?”

“Uh, maybe,” he added with a noncommittal shrug. “It’s written by that bagel-shop owner.” Frank Einstein owns a bagel shop, but I knew it was Albert that wrote the book.

“Definitely want.”

“Should I just take all the ones that sound lame?” Adan asked, voice dripping with condescension.

“Why not just grab anything with a title you don’t understand,” I replied. “That’s probably a lot, but then you lift a lot of weights.”

Adan sneered and said, “Ha, ha. Very funny.” He then turned to look at the two prisoners. The men’s hands were flat against the far wall, but both had turned their heads to watch Adan. My brother wiggled the barrel of his gun – as a mother would with her pointer finger to a child who was up to no good. “Ah, ah, ah – no peaking you two. Oh Milt, I’ve been meaning to ask you...” He gestured with gun and free hand vaguely in the air, “roughly how much oxygen does a safe this size hold?”