Metal Boxes - At the Edge Page 18

  Stone was not one to judge extreme poverty, but he had lived in situations where he wondered when, where, or if he would get another meal. He was rich, but the funds to lift his standard of living were not available. He found living poor was harsh and uncomfortable.

  Experiencing both sides taught him that wealth was as much of a trap as poverty. In some regards, he was much happier when he and his friends were trapped on Allie’s World—with nothing to help them survive—than he was living in the luxurious party barge spacecraft his grandfather provided. He could understand the lure of wealth. Not having to worry about feeding your children would have a definite appeal to most people, but these folks were scrambling for more than a little comfort. Wealth beyond measure was their heaven. Greed and envy were rampant.

  Glancing upward at the cloth canopy, he took Bethy’s arm and guided her into the meeting building. Outside, it resembled a well-kept warehouse. Inside, it looked much the same. As far as he could see there was one main room. Everyone was gathering as close to the stage as they could get. The rush of bodies was not like the rush a new store got when offering discount pricing on the latest electronic gizmo or the crush of teenage girls toward the stage of the most recent pop crooner. This crowd was polite. Smiling, helping one another, and offering others their place in line seemed to be the order of the day. Stone could tell these people were happy even without the underlying odor of warm cotton. Glad to be here. Happy that others were with them. Glad to be alive. Happy in their expectation of heaven in this life.

  Misbehavior would be dealt with harshly in this society. The threat of having what little a person had saved stripped away, the threat of whole families being sent to work in the Prophet’s factories, and removing even the possibility of winning a lottery kept the people overly polite. A few security personnel were scattered about the hall, pretending to be ushers. A small squad of ushers guided people through the wide doors. They smiled, laughed, and handed out door prize tickets with numbers on them, but Stone easily recognized as these were people skilled in crowd control. Little attempt was made to disguise the weapons and explosive detectors built into the door frames. They were checked for weapons. It was what he expected. Most of his team didn’t need weapons to be dangerous and were more experienced at concealing weapons than the ushers were at finding them. He patted Jay and Peebee on their heads as they walked in together. Either drasco could demolish the security squad with little effort.

  The door prize tickets were small paper tickets. Stone had never realized how important real paper was on the frontier worlds. Computerized random drawings were much simpler than printing paper, yet making paper, printing tickets, and distributing them all provided entry-level jobs for many more people than using an off-the-shelf lottery application. He stuck his ticket inside the previously useless cummerbund.

  The building had a funny smell. The drascos snuffled, shaking their heads. Peebee snorted. Stone felt like sneezing. Garlic and sulfur odors were thick, but there was a new fragrance. Something he did not have any reference for. It reminded him of sandalwood, but it was sweeter. As the odor grew stronger, he recognized there were hints of the odor everywhere on Holliman’s Rift. Until he knew different, he labeled it up to avarice or covetousness.

  The crowds parted for him and Bethy. He felt it was not due to politeness, but that the people were edging away from Jay and Peebee. The drascos chromed armor rattled and clanked like giant disharmonious wind chimes as they settled into an open spot near the center of the floor, slightly to the side of a painted aisle way. There were no chairs, benches, or bleachers of any kind. People found space on the smooth plasticrete floor wherever they could squeeze in.

  Bethy tried pulling him farther forward into the crowd, but he resisted. He claimed a small space near Jay where he could use her bulk as a backrest and prop his feet up on Peebee. His friends found abundant seating close by as more citizens edged away from the drascos. His cousin frowned, glared around, and stomped her foot. Evidently, she was not used to parking her backside on the floor. He patted the plasticrete next to him and looked up at her.

  Bethy sat with as much regal dignity as anyone could master. She said, “We were specially invited. Surely, they could provide us with chairs or at least a space down front. We won’t be able to see anything this far back.”

  Stone said, “We’ll see enough from here.” Looking around at the crowd, he hoped to catch sight of Tammie Ryte. She and her two operatives had disappeared. They had not received any communication from them. He was sure that if anyone could wangle an invitation to the enclave, it would be Ryte. He doubted that crashing the ceremony was beyond her capabilities.

  A large stage took up the far end of the room, shadowed in darkness. Stone expected to see a lot of smoke and mirrors, the usual hocus-pocus of con men and flim-flam artists. Keeping the stage dark would hide the tricks used to fool the crowd.

  In spite of—or maybe because of—the darkness, a bright number flashed above the stage. It was a significant amount that exceeded the cost of the newly remodeled Platinum Pebble. Someone close by gave a low whistle of appreciation for the amount. Stone assumed the amount was the accumulated lottery pot they would draw from this evening.

  The number entranced the crowd. People hustling to their spaces kept one eye glued to the number while trying not to step on those already seated. A second number flashed on the stage, hovering in the air next to the first number. The second number pulsed in red, growing brighter with each beat. Hands jammed into pockets, fingers dug through bags, and sweaty palms opened wide as everyone in the crowd hunted for their door prize ticket.

  Stone leaned over to Bethy, “Surely, they’re not giving that much away in one lump sum?”

  Bethy shrugged and showed him her ticket. Her number was only a few digits off. “Drat. That would have covered my production costs for the next decade.” She glanced around, spotting her cameraman Gonzo seated in the midst of her entourage. She smiled, shrugged, and waved the useless ticket.

  The man caught the wave on his camera and flourished his own ticket, mimicking her shrug. Spinning around, Gonzo scanned the camera through their combined group. No one near them had won.

  A screech from across the warehouse alerted the ushers to the winner. Swarming in that direction, they scooped the woman and her husband up, moving them to an area cordoned off by velvet ropes. The couple was re-seated on thick cushions and a liveried servant brought them fresh drinks.

  No one in the audience put away their door prize tickets. The original numbers disappeared and a new number flashed. This number was much larger than the first. Flashing lights, smoke, and thumping music accompanied the number.

  Bethy seemed as entranced as the rest of the crowd. Sitting close to her, Stone caught the wisps of her garlic fragrance. Spotting her distinctive odor was difficult because this whole group was bathed in greed.

  Stone caught a slight whiff of fresh sawdust stirring in the air. Looking around, he caught the eye of Hammermill. The man was trying to hide a laugh behind Tuttle’s broad shoulders. He held up a wad of credits, showing them off to Stone. He jutted his chin towards a fat, sweaty man who held two tickets in his hands having bought Hammermill’s ticket.

  Tuttle waved her ticket around as nearby bidders shouted out offers. The other Galactic Marshals caught onto the idea and started quick auctions around them as well.

  Dollish looked at Stone, at his ticket, and back at Stone. With a shrug, he handed the ticket to a lovely young woman sitting near him. The lady smiled and whispered into Dollish’s P.A. She looked to be a few years older than Dollish. Stone smiled. Who was he to criticize? His fiancée was more than a few years older than him, but he would never swap her for a younger model. Dollish grinned. He probably thought he had made a much better exchange for his ticket than Hammermill, Tuttle, or even the new wealthy couple sitting behind the velvet ropes, combined.

  Stone hoped they would be on the planet long enough for Dollish to cash in on his win
ning ticket. The woman was pretty and kept looking over at Dollish with growing interest.

  One of the Galactic Marshals made a trade with one of Bethy’s entourage. Gonzo caught the woman’s blush on camera as she smiled and moved closer to the tall deputy. From what he could see, few of the ex-military folks were interested in keeping the lottery tickets, most preferring to trade off a possible win for a sure thing in hand.

  “Cushions, Signore and Signorina?” a security officer masquerading as an usher interrupted Stone’s thoughts. The woman held a pair of thick pillows. She pulled them back as Stone held a hand out to accept them. “Sorry, but the Prophet has asked that as special guests, you and Signorina Stone be escorted to places of honor in front.”

  Stone nodded politely. “Of course. May I bring others in my party with me?”

  The woman shook her head. “We have made provisions for your drascos, Signore. And you should be able to squeeze in Signorina Stone’s cameraman, but there isn’t room for the rest of your party.”

  Bethy squealed with excitement. “Now we can see everything from close up and Gonzo can get good vids for our next program.”

  Stone nodded politely and stood. Gesturing to Hammermill that he was moving, he received a confirming nod. “Jay and Peebee, do you want to go down front with me?”

  Jay said, “Of course, Mama. We can’t protect you from back here.” She spoke directly to him, not through her TTS.

  Stone said, “What makes you think I need protecting?”

  Jay rolled her eyes.

  Peebee laughed in response. “Because you are you. And you don’t need any more reason than that.”

  Jay rose to her feet and began daintily picking her way through the crowd, following the usher. “Besides, Allie said she would skin us alive if we let anything happen to you.”

  Peebee followed her sister. She swiveled her head and looked at Stone as she spoke, “She wouldn’t really do that. I don’t think she could.”

  Jay wonked out a laugh, startling a group of people she was tiptoeing over, “I think she could get to you if you made her angry enough. Not me, though.”

  Peebee wonked back, “Wanna bet?”

  Stone interrupted them, not worried that it looked like he was talking to himself, “Allie might be able to. You girls have to sleep sometime.”

  At a small cordoned off area, he accepted the pair of thick red pads. He slipped one under his bottom as he sat and placed the other next to him. He managed to lean back against Jay, but Bethy sat upright, trying hard not to touch either drasco. Gonzo hunched uncomfortably in the corner of their space, his camera panning left and right, trying to capture vids of everything all at once.

  Another winning number was displayed and another family became winners. The applause for the winner was polite and strained, but the couple did not seem to notice as they were ushered to a fancy seating area next to Stone.

  The next number flashed on the stage almost immediately. The music was louder, the lights were brighter, the smoke was thicker, and the overture of greed kicked into high drive.

  Stone spotted Agnes off to one side. She seemed to be performing some minor function, sending workers scurrying off this way and that. He caught her eye and waved her over.

  “Oh, Signore Stone. I want to apologize again for those bugs I had on me at our first meeting—”

  Stone interrupted her with a flourish of his hand. “Think nothing of it. I’m sure it was accidental.”

  Agnes said, “But, I don’t even know—”

  Stone said, “It’s past. Let’s forget about it, shall we?” He had wanted to turn Doctor Emmons loose on the woman while she was aboard the Platinum Pebble, but Numos pointed out that Agnes was a minor functionary of the government. Interrogating her might give people the idea that they did not trust the planetary government.

  He smiled, holding out his door prize ticket. “I hope you will accept this ticket as my way of apologizing for any inconvenience you suffered aboard my ship.”

  The woman stared at the ticket. She sputtered thanks and walked away apparently stunned by the exchange. Stone was sure she felt that way. Her greed levels were as pumped up as any other citizen. Giving her a ticket to possible wealth was tantamount to showing her the stairway to heaven.

  Bethy yanked him down beside her. “I could have used that ticket, you know.”

  Stone smiled, “Grandpa always said that small courtesies will be returned many times over. Besides, what are the odds of winning?”

  Instantly, another winning number flashed on the stage. Agnes screamed in excitement. She rushed back to Stone, fell into his lap and planted a long hot kiss on his lips. She was gone before he could respond, firmly ensconced in her own velvet-roped enclosure.

  Bethy jabbed him in the ribs with a sharp elbow. “See?”

  “It’s only money and—”

  A deafening silence interrupted him. The lights quit flashing. Instead, the stage was lit with brilliant clarity. The music stopped. The smoke was sucked away. An old man tottered to the middle of the stage. He walked alone, slowly, on creaking knees with a bent back.

  “I bless you all, my children,” the Prophet said.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  How dangerous could this old man be? He looked like he would trip over the smallest dust bunny. He was dressed casually, not in the flashy suits and gold jewelry sported by typical phony preachers.

  The Prophet slowly looked around the auditorium, making eye contact with dozens of citizens. He smiled at each but did not speak. He nodded politely in Stone and Bethy’s direction, though he seemed more interested in Jay and Peebee, staring quietly at them for a moment before looking elsewhere.

  No one spoke. Stone was sure this crowd would die of hunger before moving or talking. The fragrance of greed shifted. The crowd’s love for the old man was evident by their milk chocolate scent. As the stage vents whisked away the remaining tendrils of smoke, Stone managed to catch the unusual sandalwood odor. He still was not sure what it signified. He had only smelled it clearly twice before, once, when the Prophet’s ambassador tried to inject him with virions and again when Tuttle and Dollish trapped the stowaway virions on the shuttle by vacuuming them up.

  The old man spoke again. “I am sure you’re all excited to witness the enclave. I’m as excited as any of you. Yet, we have some business to attend to first. Agnes, will you…” He spotted her in her special enclosure. “Oh, dear. Well, bless you, Agnes. It seems I need another helper—you.” He pointed at a tall, gangly man sitting near the front. “Charles, would you please do me the honor of bringing forth the supplicants?”

  Peebee shook her head. “Mama, he smells funny.”

  Jay replied, “Not funny. Wrong.”

  Stone did not reply. He patted them both, letting them know he agreed.

  Peebee said, “Humans don’t smell that way.”

  Jay nodded in agreement. “He smells human, but not. Both at the same time.”

  Stone watched in silence as the Prophet’s new greeter, Charles, brought six people down the long central aisle of the auditorium, leading them up the steps to form a line facing the Prophet.

  With a start, Stone recognized the tiny little girl who had thrown the rubber ball that started the riot. She stood quietly, her head down; her hair hung limply, barely covering the tear streaks on her cheeks. A thick cloth wrapped her right arm and a strap around her neck held it in place. Stone could see a woman standing silently in the stage wings. The woman dropped to her knees, holding up her hands in supplication to the Prophet.

  The Prophet stepped behind the tiny girl and placed a palm on the top of her head. His voice carried through the quiet room without amplification. “Young LeLeah was caught up in the unfortunate incident at the spaceport. There wasn’t any hostile intent on any one’s part, but LeLeah was knocked to the ground, breaking her arm.”

  LeLeah held up her bandaged arm to show as proof.

  The Prophet continued. “Our doctors have reset t
he bones as best they can, but as you know, medicine here on Holliman’s Rift does not equal that of our sister worlds in the inner planets.”

  Stone heard no animosity. The man was just stating facts.

  “Given time, the bone will heal as God intended the body to heal itself. Even as it heals, she suffers from the pain of the break. We—who believe—do not need to wait.”

  The pungent odor of sandalwood stung Stone’s senses. Staring at the old man, he saw a slight stir of dust dribble from the man’s mouth. It flowed quickly and silently down his shoulder, across his arm, from his fingertips onto the little girl’s head, descending into her mouth, nose, and eyes.

  He doubted anyone could see what was happening. His enhanced vision gave him greater range than the sharpest human eyes. Allie might have been able to spin up her marine-issued bio-mechanical eye to see that small, but the nanites moved fast. He had the thought to sprint forward, vault onto the stage and yank the girl to safety. The whole scene was wrong but he held his ground.

  Jay grunted, “Foulness.”

  Peebee spat back, “I don’t like it.”

  Stone agreed. It did not look right. It did not smell right. Medical nanites were in use all over the empire. Giving them without consent was wrong, but the girl’s mother in evident agreement was just off stage, appearing to beg.

  The Prophet nodded slowly as nanites retreated from the girl and reentered his open mouth. He unwrapped LeLeah’s arm, smiling benignly down at the tiny girl. She smiled back with wide eyes.

  Stone knew his enhanced nanites could not completely repair a broken bone that fast. Human designed nanites dulled the pain, but they would not completely alleviate discomfort, as pain is how the body tells the brain that something is wrong. The nanites the Prophet used must block the pain, not do any actually healing.