Chapter 6

It was the bright rays of the sun shining on my face that woke me up. I rolled over with a groan and pulled a pillow over my head. It was probably mid-morning by now. I had stayed up all night reviewing all the documents that I received from Geelan, in some hopes of identifying a way of finding him.

I had reviewed the geological surveys he had given me, after scanning them into my HUD, and submitted them to the SuperNet for a match. Were they even real? If so, if the valley existed on a charted planet, they should tell me where. As far as the SuperNet was concerned, the topographical map had been drawn by an imaginative ten year-old with artistic aspirations. This didn’t surprise me, but I couldn’t leave any stone unturned.

With another groan, I lifted myself out of bed, my eyes burning from lack of sleep, and lurched to the bathroom to wash my face.

I remembered studying the legal document Geelan had copied for me, outlining the mining rights he had negotiated with the host government. But the name of the government, or whatever party that signed it, had been deleted from the only printed copy I had.

After washing my face, I made my way to the kitchen, and poured myself a glass of orange juice. My head hurt, and I regretted the countless alcoholic drinks I had consumed last night as I pored my way through this mess.

Nursing the cool, fruity liquid down my gullet, I thought about the financials I had looked at. I had studied both his financial projections and his company statements. They were internally consistent, and worthy of courtroom scrutiny under any other circumstances. But beyond my own paperwork, no record existed in the public domain whatsoever of him, his company, or any relationships he might have had as a supposed metals dealer. Neither his name nor his likeness had shown up in any of Earth’s criminal databases. I had no way of accessing the public and criminal databases on his homeworld, Sirius IV, but it was possible, perhaps likely, he would show up there, if I could only get to them.

Sitting down at my desk, indulging in an earnest gaze at the model ship I had nearly completed, I marveled at the absolute thoroughness and consistency, yet ultimate vacancy, of Geelan’s documentation. Everything I had from Geelan was logical, internally consistent and compelling. But aside from the amazingly detailed and ultimately fake documentation I had, the alien didn’t seem to exist. Of course, I expected his name was an alias, but it had not turned up as such, and my reliance on his likeness rather than name had fared me no better.

Posing as a lawyer preparing a fraud prosecution on behalf of other supposed victims, I had even contacted all the manufacturers and metals buyers that I thought might have bought from him, or been similarly conned by him. All I had to show for my trouble were the wasted communication charges held against my daily ration of fifty measly credits.

The last document I had inspected before exhaustion overcame me the night before was the legal partnership between Geelan and myself. He had told me he had hired a Sirian lawyer to write it up for him, in anticipation of approaching me with his proposition, and he had insisted that I sign it with no alteration. I foolishly had agreed to do so. It had included a clause that required me to transfer all of my credits to his name, so that he could supposedly fulfill his role for the bank as the financial principal in leasing or purchasing the necessary equipment and secure the loan.

In all these hours of study, the only thing I had that reached beyond my circle of meaningless documents, the only thread that might lead out of this whirlpool of deceit, the only potentially useful piece of information that Geelan had not scratched out, was the name of the Sirian lawyer on that partnership document I had signed: Marff Rindilosk, or so it was phonetically spelled in English. That was probably fake too, but it kept scratching at the back of my head. From everything I had seen, it was not like Geelan to let something like that slip. True, it might be a fake name, but something told me it wasn’t. Geelan probably felt safe because I had no access to Sirian databases, and the Earth government would not likely be any help in that regard. The relations between Sirius and Earth were very limited…some basic trade, but Earth maintained a cold distance from Sirius, the result, I had always believed of plain, unadulterated xenophobia. There were not even formal diplomatic relations between the two worlds.

The only way for me to find out if there really was a Marff Rindilosk, and if he did indeed draft a legal agreement (in English) for a fellow Sirian posing under the name Geelan, was to go to Sirius IV myself. That was a long shot. It was an eight-week trip. It would be difficult to find and get myself on a ship headed there, expensive when I did find it, and I had no money to pay for it or sustain myself during such a wild goose chase. The lack of money was the real problem. I’m a resourceful lad, and I know my way around ships, star systems, and odd people. But without money, the trip was virtually impossible to undertake.

I absently walked around my apartment, pondering. I probably needed several hundred thousand credits at least. That would be very hard to come by. Having living on an asteroid for the last ten years, I owned almost nothing to sell. I had built up an enormous cache of savings over the years, but Geelan had made off with it. I looked at the few model ships I had built, stationed aesthetically around the living room. Those ships were my pride and joy. I would have given anything to live in that time, to have set out on that enormous ocean in one of those riggers, ready to face the most terrifying seas and to discover distant lands and great treasures. I sighed, and thought briefly about selling my ships. I had sold most of the ships I had built while on the Melanie cluster, and had only kept a few of my dear favorites. I knew what they were worth, and selling the few that remained would not help me. Altogether, I might be able to get ten or twenty thousand credits for them, no more.

I wandered across the room to a hermetically sealed museum case, and placed my hands upon it, praying for inspiration. I gazed down at the contents of the case, an original leather-bound copy of Moby Dick, by Herman Melville. In my darkest days it had provided me comfort and inspiration. I often saw Captain Ahab’s struggle against the leviathan as my own struggle against the Establishment, a system that had viciously destroyed my own mother’s remarkable and historic political career, and had forever shamed the family name. Watching her be systematically ripped apart by the people she had fought so hard to protect had been more than I could bear to watch. It had been more than she could bear to live through; she died of a broken heart shortly thereafter.

And here I stood again, standing at the bow of my puny little ship, shouting hopelessly into the wind and waves of Fate’s cruel prejudice against me and my family. Here I was trying once again, against all odds, to snatch my rightful place in the world from the relentless jaws of oppression and death.

I took a deep breath. I was being over-dramatic again. I slid my hands across the case, and gazed more deeply at the contents. I had chosen to store the book open to Chapter 20, “All Astir,” to a page that bore one of my favorite quotes: “...when a man suspects any wrong, it sometimes happens that if he be already involved in the matter, he insensiby strives to cover up his suspicions even from himself.” I had long believed that quote had kept me out of trouble. I had always strived to see things for what they were, to not delude myself about them, lest I find myself in the kind of sorry mess I now stood.

I turned my attention away from those now uncomfortable words, and studied the book itself. It was leather-bound, and cracked, but in excellent condition considering that it had been printed in 1851, making it several hundred years old. It was probably worth a half-million credits.

That’s when the unthinkable thought arose.

No. Not a chance. There was no way in hell I was going to sell it. This book meant everything to me. I had spent an enormous amount of money, and gone to considerable inconvenience, to obtain it.

Of course, the book was costing money to maintain in this specially designed chamber that regularly and automatically treated it to preserve its life. And I wasn’t going to be able to afford it anymore anyway.

No, there was another way. There had to be. I’d find the money to take care of my book, and I would find the money to get to Sirius IV.

I guessed I could take up Lana on her offer…charge her some exorbitant consulting fee to spend a few weeks on Gaia and do what I could for them. But that would be a few more weeks away from my mission, a few more weeks for Geelan to blow my money and disappear into the ether forever. I couldn’t afford that kind of diversion.

Maybe I didn’t have to sell the book. Maybe I could loan it….how could I get someone to pay me to loan it? An exhibit tour, perhaps, coordinated with the museum network. No, that would take too long, and I didn’t think they’d be interested. People were expected to donate or loan their pieces to museums for the sheer privilege of being philanthropists. The museums wouldn’t pay for it.

Although a museum would be the one place that would treat it right, I knew that, and that was essential to me. Who knew what would happen to it if I sold it to some collector. But if I did sell it to the museum, they would probably never sell it back to me.

Then an innovative idea started to form. I worked it over in my head, had a few imaginary conversations, and took a big breath. It just might work. A desperate compromise on my part. Very risky. But it would give me the money I needed to get to Sirius IV, and if I succeeded in finding Geelan and getting at least a portion of my money back, I would be able to keep my book too.

I went to the kitchen for another glass of orange juice. A taller one this time. I was about to make a big gamble, if I could find a willing party, and I needed my wits about me.

Steadying myself with gulps of orange juice and some deep breaths, I prepared to contact the one person I knew in the museum world, the son of an asteroid miner that used to work for me. I wasn’t sure what Jacob Landon did at the Paris Museum of Historic Arts and Entertainment, but I had the impression he enjoyed some standing there. If he couldn’t help me out, he could probably point me in the direction of someone who could.

With my hands steady on the countertop, I pulled up my HUD and asked for his current profile. When it came up, I requested a communications link with him. I waited nervously for him to answer. It was late at night in Paris, I knew, but he might still be up. I just didn’t want to leave him a message. I watched the commlink icon flash, indicating the call was being made and awaiting response.

Suddenly, Jacob Landon snapped full frame into view. There was an obnoxious, screeching loud music behind him, but he was alone, standing in a beautiful marble lobby. He looked good in the black-and-white tuxedo, and I noticed his hair had grown from the last time I’d seen him those many years ago.

He lifted his wine glass in greeting. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “Sean Brennan.”

I smiled. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

“Of course I do. My dad thought the world of you. Said you were the best man there ever was to lead a crew of rock-gutters.”

I chuckled. “Your dad was a good man. I miss him.”

Jacob’s face sombered slightly. “Yeah. Me too.” He smiled and changed the subject. “Listen, we’re right in the middle of a thing here, and….well, I wouldn’t normally take a call, but I saw it was you so…What’s up?”

I took a big breath. “Jacob, I have a proposition for you.”

“Yeah?”

“How would you like to…lease…the only known original copy of Moby Dick? Leather-bound, excellent condition, hermetically sealed. Museum-grade. They don’t get any more rare.”

Jacob’s eyes danced a bit in thought. “That would be a nice addition. I like the article you’re offering. But what do you mean by ‘lease’?”

“Well, Jacob, to be honest I’m in a bit of a pickle right now, and I need some short-term cash. This book…it’s the most important possession I own, and I’d hate to lose it. But I thought I could lease it to you, for, say a year. You’d have it in your possession, you can show it, tour it, whatever you want. I get the money I need, it’ll generate some extra revenue for you, and…I’ll take it back at the end of the year.”

Jacob laughed awkwardly. “We’re not a bank, Sean. We’re a museum. We buy things, or accept loans from donors, but we don’t…lease our pieces.”

I nodded, trying to think of where to go next with this conversation.

“I mean, I’ll buy it from you,” he continued. “What is it worth now, a few hundred thousand? I’ll have to check my indices.”

“Well, that’s the thing, Jacob, I don’t want to just sell it outright. I want to get it back.”

Jacob craned his head sympathetically. “I don’t know what to tell you. The best I can suggest is to sell it on the open market. You’ll probably be able to buy it back at some point.”

I shook my head in disagreement. “No, I don’t want to take that risk. You know what happens to museum-grade pieces that go to collectors. You have no idea what kind of care they’ll take. That’s why I want to give it to you. I know that a museum will take proper care of it.”

Jacob shrugged. “Like I said, Sean, we’d only be interested in buying it. I’m sorry.”

I nodded in barely concealed distress.

“Well, listen,” he blurted, “good luck! If you decide you want to sell it, I’ll be happy to buy it, and I’ll give you a fair deal, in consideration to my dad and everything.”

I stared earnestly at him, grasping at straws. I briefly considered asking him to refer me to someone else, but I just didn’t trust anyone else. I didn’t want to let the book out of my sight to begin with. Even giving it to Jacob was a leap of faith.

“Well, I gotta go,” he said, waving behind him. “They’re gonna be expecting me to get up and speak soon. Give me a call if you change your mind. And if you’re ever in Paris, drop by. I’ll take you out to lunch.”

“Jacob, wait!”

He looked at me expectantly.

“What about a lease with an option to buy?”

“Sean, I told you—”

“No, no listen. You lease it for one year. At the end of the year you retain the option to buy it at a reduced rate. If I don’t buy it back before then, it’s yours.”

Jacob shook his head, trying to figure out what to say to a nice and very desperate asteroid miner.

“Please, Jacob,” I pleaded. “If what I did for your dad meant anything…”

Jacob grimaced, his eyes cast down towards the floor. He finally looked up at me. “Sean, the best I could do, and this is a real stretch, would be to buy it from you now, at a reduced rate, and give you thirty days to buy it back from me, at an inflated rate. It’s not a good deal for you. You can do better on the open market. Don’t put yourself in a position with me that you’ll only regret later.” He mustered a wry smile. “I don’t want to be on your bad side.”

I stared at him. Then I grit my teeth, and spoke a final word. “Done.”

“Sean…” he chided.

“I said, the deal is done. Five-hundred thousand credits, it’s yours. I have 30 days to buy it back. For how much?”

Jacob shook his head some more, and sighed. “I’ll buy it for four hundred, and sell it back for six.” My face fell. “It’s the best I can do, Sean. I really wish you’d go somewhere else. I’m not doing you a favor here.”

For the umpteenth time, I once again stiffened my resolve. “Fine. Four for six. Thirty days.”

“Thirty days. Look, I really gotta go. Call my office tomorrow. We’ll take care of everything then.”

“Ok. Thanks, Jacob.”

“Don’t thank me, Sean. I have a feeling we’re going to regret this.”

I waved hopefully to him, and he switched off.

I snatched up my orange juice glass and slammed it in the sink, where the shards bloomed into the air and spilled all over the kitchen.

Goddamn that lying cheat alien.