Mapped Space 1: The Antaran Codex (12 page)

“What are you doing here, Sirius?”
she asked.

“The same thing you are. Well,
not the losing part – I expect to win.”

“The will to win is the key to
personal excellence,” the small Chinese man said.

I suspected he was quoting
something, but had no idea what. “It’s certainly better than losing.”

“Sometimes winning is fatal,”
Gwandoya said, fixing me with a stony stare, “for those who lack the strength
to keep what they win.”

“I’ve never had that problem,” I
said, holding his gaze, offering him an unspoken challenge. Perhaps I could
goad him into starting something that would allow me to deal with him in a way
that wouldn’t draw suspicion.

“Let me remind you all,” Sarat
said, trying to ease the tension, “that everyone here is my guest, and that no
unpleasantness of any kind will be tolerated.” He stared pointedly at me and
Gwandoya, then took up position beside the holo communicator plates and waved
for his muscle-bound butlers to hand out refreshments. “Thank you for coming to
this secluded location,” Sarat continued. “I’m sure you all agree, being out of
reach of the authorities makes the effort worthwhile, particularly for the
successful bidder. Now then, to the introductions.” He motioned to the Chinese
man first. “Bo Qiang, a lawyer bidding on behalf of a collector of rare alien artifacts
from Earth. Beside him, we have Mr Gwandoya, representing . . . a large and
successful cooperative.”

Sarat was referring to the Pirate
Brotherhood, whose only cooperation was in working together to pillage remote
trade routes. Gwandoya was not just a notorious murderer and thief, he was the
local kingpin, head of the Ravens, the Brotherhood’s local chapter whose reach
extended throughout the Outer Lyra region and beyond. The old navy cutter at
the spaceport was undoubtedly his, making it a priority that we got back to the
Lining
with the goods and took off
before he did.

“Next we have Mr Breckinridge,
head of a major mining conglomerate and the lovely Captain Dulon, who will be
bidding on behalf of the Beneficial Society of Traders.”

I hid my surprise at hearing the Society
was involved in something this shady. They were normally painfully careful to
be seen to stay on the right side of the law, if for no other reason than their
dependence on Earth Navy for protection and for landing rights at navy
controlled spaceports across Mapped Space. Now I understood where Marie’s fake
Captain’s tags and ship registry had came from. They weren’t fakes. The Society
had issued them to her. I leaned towards Marie and whispered, “You must know
people in high places,
Esmin
. Did you
choose that name? I could really see you as an
Esmin
.”

She scowled, whispering back, “You’ll
pay for that.”

“Whatever the price,
Esmin
, it was worth it!” I said with a wry
smile.

“Next we have Senor Arturo
Salbatore Vargis, representing the Chairman.” Sarat gave Vargis a respectful,
welcoming nod. For a moment, I wondered if Sarat showed a hint of favoritism
towards Vargis, or was it simply deference to the Chairman, the shadowy mastermind
behind the Consortium. The Consortium’s existence was sometimes considered a
myth, but the EIS knew there really was a secret alliance of powerful companies
who manipulated economies of entire worlds for their own ends.

“And finally,” Sarat continued, “the
last member of our group, Captain Sirius Kade, who will be bidding on behalf of
the most venerable Jie Kang Li.”

Marie gave me an astonished look.
Bidding for the Beneficial Society was one thing, that was a legitimate business,
but bidding on behalf of one of the largest organized crime syndicates known to
man genuinely shocked her.

“You’re kidding?” She whispered.
“The Yiwu?”

“I owed Li a favor,” I lied,
knowing she was disappointed and that no matter what happened, I could never
tell her the truth.

Jase was also giving me a strange
look. “That’s who we’re working for?”

Marie glanced at Jase, then back
at me even more puzzled. “You mean even he doesn’t know?”

I shrugged helplessly. “It’s just
a pick-up and delivery.”

Jase looked uncomfortable, but
he’d go along with it if I said so.

“The auction will be conducted
according to Irzaen tradition,” Sarat continued. “This means there will be
three rounds of blind bidding. None of you will know what the other bids are,
only the winning order. Two bidders will be eliminated after each of the first
two rounds, with the winner being decided in the third round.”

I’d heard of the Irzaens, but humanity
had almost no contact with them. They weren’t an Orion Local Power and had no
ambassadorial links with Earth. The Irzaen homeworld was supposed to be in the Scutum-Centaurus
Arm, tens of thousands of light years away. They had a reputation for being shrewd,
but honest traders, with links spanning the entire galaxy. That put them so far
ahead of mankind, we assumed we had nothing of interest to offer them. So why
were they now selling us alien-tech? And how could we even pay for it?

“Allow me to introduce
Ani-Hata-Ga,” Sarat said, pronouncing the name very quickly, with a slight
guttural accent. “He is the Irzaen trade representative offering the
merchandise you are here to bid on.”

The metal floor and ceiling plates
glowed to life as a holographic image of a quadrupoid appeared beside Sarat.
There was a moment of unease, as humans accustomed to alien life forms that
were mostly bipedal, viewed a species from an entirely different evolutionary
path. The Irzaen had an ovoidal torso with four muscular arms and a slightly flattened
spherical head containing a pair of evenly spaced, slat-like eyes. His arms
were dexterous, each sprouting three stubby manipulators suitable for operating
technology and strong enough to allow the Irzaen to walk on them like four legs.
There was no way to judge his size, considering the image was a hologram without
a point of reference, although he wore a complex series of belt-like straps
across his double-shoulders, supporting metal objects of unknown purpose, which
suggested he was somewhat larger than a human.

“Greetings good customers,” an artificially
synthesized basso voice said as one of the four arm-feet lifted and made a
horizontal sweeping gesture of greeting. “We meet to determine who is most
worthy of our gift of exchange.”

Gift? Was that quadrupoid humor? If
Lena’s credit-vault was anything to go by, whatever he was selling was going
for more than the net worth of most human worlds.

Sarat signaled to his butler-guards,
who carried a small table into the meeting hall and placed it beside the Irzaen
hologram. Sitting on the table was a silver dome a meter across. When the
butler-guards withdrew, Ani-Hata-Ga motioned with one of his four arm-legs and
the dome vanished, leaving only its thin metal base visible beneath a black
metal octagon. A single gold metallic thread ran around the octagon’s sides,
while inscribed on its upper surface was a grid like pattern of angular characters.
My threading searched through every known human and alien character set, but was
unable to find a match.

“Be here the Antaran Codex for
which our interaction exists,” the Irzaen hologram said. “You have the Irzaen
Promise of its authenticity.”

The Irzaen Promise might have
been the gold standard of guarantees from one end of the galaxy to the other,
but it was wasted on a bunch of cynical, distrustful humans about to be
separated from a mountain of their credits.

“That’s all very well, Mr . . .
Ga
,” Henry Breckinridge said in a politely suspicion tone,
“but shouldn’t we be given a demonstration?”

It was exactly what I wanted, but
I dared not ask in case it signaled to the others I had no idea what I was
bidding on.

“A demonstration will be provided
when the bidding process is complete,” Sarat said, “prior to the winner making
payment and taking delivery, of course. Until that time, the Antaran Codex will
remain encased in a protective field. And for those of you unfamiliar with the Irzaen
Promise, let me assure you, it is worth far more than any demonstration or scan,
both of which can be faked. If that is insufficient, I’ll arrange for a
transport to take you back to the spaceport immediately.”

There was uncomfortable shifting
amongst the bidders. No one wanted to withdraw or be cheated by an alien they
knew nothing about.

“Is the technology stolen?” Bo
Qiang, the Chinese lawyer asked.

“No,” Sarat replied, “why do you
ask?”

“Antares is a restricted system,”
Bo said. “No one is allowed to enter it.”

“Esteemed customer,” Ani-Hata-Ga
said, “the provenance of the Antaran Codex is not in doubt. As you surmise, it was
obtained from the dying star system you call Antares, although it did not originate
from there. It is a region you are not yet entitled to enter, although the Irzae
face no such restriction.”

I queried my bionetic memory for
Antares. It was a red supergiant in Scorpius, twelve million years old and ten
times larger than Earth’s sun. Because of its immense size, its life was short.
Within a million years, it would become a supernova and at only five hundred
and fifty light years from Earth, would become the brightest star ever seen in
Earth’s sky. And Bo Qiang was right, it was on the Access Treaty’s restricted
list, those star systems that no human ship could enter without triggering a
treaty violation. Restricted systems were rare. Some were inhabited by advanced
civilizations who chose not to be disturbed by unwelcome visitors; others
contained primitive species not permitted contact with low level interstellar
civilizations like ours; and then there were systems restricted without
explanation. They were the rarest of all. Antares was one of those.

“Why is Antares restricted to us?”
I asked.

“It is a graveyard,” Ani-Hata-Ga
replied, “and the rights of the dead are respected by all and enforced by the
Forum.”

“What kind of graveyard?”
Breckenridge asked.

“Of ships. Many wrecks are adrift
in the Antares System, awaiting their final end. They are all that remains of a
great battle that took place long ago. Much life was lost, many ships
destroyed, no gainful exchange for anyone.”

“A battle?” I said surprised. The
only interstellar war I’d ever heard of had been with the Intruders, and they’d
come from outside the great spiral of the galaxy. “I thought the Forum
prevented war.”

“It does, between civilizations,”
the Irzaen trade representative confirmed. “Civil wars are a different matter,
governed by the Great Fourth Principle.”

The Development Principle allowed
each civilization to progress in its own way, according to its own laws and
customs, without interference, providing it did not adversely impact others. I
hadn’t realized that extended to allowing interstellar civil wars.

“A race known as the Kireen came
close to exterminating themselves,” Ani-Hata-Ga continued. “The wrecks in the
Antares system were left as a permanent monument to the dead, one that has stood
for over seven million years.”

“Are you saying the Codex is over
seven
million
years old?” Vargis demanded.

“Ridiculous!” Gwandoya snapped. “How
can it still be working?”

“The passing of time affects it
not,” Ani-Hata-Ga replied, “for the Codex is the most durable of all devices
ever constructed. It has always been this way, for without it, trapped are we
all.”

“Can it be traced back to Antares?”
Marie asked warily.

“An Observer would have the skill
to determine the origin of the merchandise, however, possessing it is not the
same as removing it.”

“Can it be traced back to you?” I
asked, wondering if we could blame the Irzaens.

“We merely dispose of the
merchandise. We did not salvage it.”

“Who did?” I asked.

“Those who sell to us, do so with
the knowledge the Irzae never betray a trust.” He made another hand gesture of
unknown meaning. “But I perceive your concerns. I give you the Promise of Irzae,
those who ever watch the graveyard of Antares know no human has ever entered
there. That is your protection.”

“But if you sell it to us, does
that get you into trouble?” I persisted.

“There are conventions and
prohibitions,” the Irzaen said carefully. “In truth, esteemed customer, such a
sale breaks convention, but is not explicitly prohibited.”

So this quadrupoid was peddling a
seven million year old piece of alien-tech, looted from a graveyard mankind was
barred from entering, by a grave robber we couldn’t identify and sold to us by
a hologram who was bending, but not breaking interstellar law. And even though
the Tau Cetins would take one look at it and know where it came from, there was
supposedly no risk to us. I was finding it hard to swallow. So were the others,
yet no-one was leaving.

“Are you ready to begin, bidding
the first?” Ani-Hata-Ga asked.

There were cautious nods and
murmurs of agreement.

“You shall each make a confidential
opening bid,” Sarat said, “which will be collected in secret and revealed this
evening after dinner.”