"Five Generations" the Hamsa officer proudly announced, gently caressing the ancient tome on the counter with armored gauntlets. "My father's father's father's father received it from the Uberpope himself as a reward for bombing eight billion heretics straight to hell. It was a fantastic battle, the cleansing of Sirius 6." The book in question was an actual first-run copy of the Ranks of Man, a near priceless antique, and the very target of Flybold's intentions. Apparently it was imbued with some kind of ancient technology that made it extremely valuable to his clients.
Flybold's Qareen dutifully pulled up some reference material about the Heresy of Sirius on his handheld and gave a little tone, the beginning of a popular devotion-metal song, in order to draw his attention.
"What can I do for you, Mr. . . ?" asked the officer. The desiccated Jovian hand hanging around his neck was brilliant blue and quite intimidating as Flybold managed to stammer out his name. "Focus.", he thought, preparing his distraction. "Requesting permission to leave the station, sir." said Flybold. "Anything to declare?", asked the Hamsa man, crossing his arms. "Only this." replied Flybold, holding up the bag of gravitonium ingots supplied by the client, itself worth a small fortune.
He had been hired by an agent of the Yatagarasu, one of the janitorial staff aboard the station, and a member of Clan Trash Panda. The Yatagarasu had deep pockets, agents everywhere and a taste for ancient technology. How was a petty thief like Flybold to refuse? Of course he would be happy to pull this job for a modest finder's fee, and a couple bars of gravitonium borrowed from the bag, but nobody needed to know about that part. It was clear, to Flybold anyway, that the Hamsa Officer didn't really know what he had. Yes, he knew his family history, and was deeply steeped in the pungent bigotry that permeated the Empire, but probably not the true provenance of this book. The buyer was a Magpie, a dedicated searcher for exotic and extremely rare items who probably spent years, if not decades researching this acquisition. Flybold had been chosen because he was a local, so as not to arouse too much suspicion.
Opening the bag, the officer's face lit up. "Fascinating!", he said, unpacking and examining its contents. Quickly and quietly, Flybold slid the replica tome out of his jacket and traded its place with the original. The Hamsa officer was too engrossed in the contents of the bag to notice, and Flybold allowed himself a near silent sigh of relief as the book slid into his jacket.
Moments later, Flybold got the bag of gravitonium back, less than half the weight it was when he handed it over for inspection. "May the Fortunes smile on you today.", said the Hamsa man. "By the grace of God, and the Emperor!", said Flybold, enthusiastically. It was officially a Good Thing to give this particular response with enthusiasm, although the reason for his enthusiasm was something Flybold hoped would remain undiscovered for a good long while.
Gingerly, Flybold made his way down the docking bay to the getaway ship, hoping to evade further scrutiny. The getaway was a beat-up looking Stormrunner painted bright yellow and piloted by Ganneka, a bored looking Lärkian woman with greying fur, wearing a flight suit festooned with pouches and holsters. "Get in." she commanded, swiveling her eye-stalks toward him, and Flybold wasted no time in doing so.
As they pulled away from the docking bay, the station's alarms and emergency beacons started going off. Flybold's Qareen began a series of warnings and notifications of escalating severity as it began to realize what had occurred. Flybold noticed a bump as the ship was pulled backward by a tractor beam. "Hold on to your lunch, we're going to hyperspace!" shouted Ganneka, as the universe turned inside out. They were pursued for a short distance by the station's defense fighters, but quickly traveled beyond their range. "Give me that", said Ganneka, pointing to Flybold's handheld, still wailing warnings and displaying ominous threats. The handheld went into a shielded box. "You got any more wearables or implants?" asked the pilot. "As if I could afford them before today.", said Flybold with a chuckle. "Can't be too careful.", said Ganneka.
Flybold looked around the Stormrunner's cabin while Ganneka got on the comms. It was small enough to be cozy, but not cramped. Banks of controls and indicator lights glowed against the dark of space. The Magpie was expecting to meet them soon and they were quickly approaching a particular star, getting quite close, in fact, frighteningly close. "Watch out, we're gonna crash!" shouted Flybold, ducking behind the console. Ganneka laughed, "I thought they called you Flybold, what's the matter?" "We're getting really close to that star." he said, peering up from behind the control panel. "Don't worry," said Ganneka, "we're going to go inside that star." Flybold's jaw dropped and he didn't know what to say. "Look", said Ganneka, pointing at the surface of the star, an alarmingly short distance away. A bulge of plasma appeared, like a solar flare about to erupt. "That's the place", she added. The bulge emerged from the star, a sphere of light that gradually faded and became transparent as it approached. Inside the spherical force-field was a large space station covered with docked ships and modules, billboards and antennae. Ganneka spoke again, "Most of the time she stays inside the star where she can't be detected. Something, something, ancient technology, blah, blah, blah. Welcome to the Crow's Nest."
To the extent possible under law,
Matthew Ahlschwede
has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to
The Crow's Nest.
This work is published from:
United States.
