I had a fair amount of knowledge about the Fountain and the Rhya who guarded and controlled access to it.
Ever since the first exploratory mission through the Fountain returned and reported that the Fountain connected to the Nymorean system and the planet Yueld, the Shima have been petitioning the Rhya for access. But the Shima weren’t the only ones who wanted the opportunity to hunt through the ruins of Yueldian cities to recover stolen artifacts. Nearly a dozen other extant species also demanded access in order to repatriate items of cultural significance that had been stolen by the Yueldian Sky Reavers.
So the Rhya instituted a lottery system, and permitted three different factions limited access to Yueld, its moons, and its space stations. But there were conditions.
First, there were strict rules about what type of craft and technology were allowed through the Fountain. The Rhya had discovered that a low-technology scavenger race—the Obaswoon—were eking out an existence on Yueld. And, for whatever reason, the Rhya wardens did not want these natives interfered with. Granted expeditions would not be allowed contact with the Obaswoon under any circumstances.
Secondly, there would be no colonization of Yueld or its moons. Each expedition was limited to no more than seven individuals—and no sims.
And perhaps the most significant limitation was the temporal nature of the Fountain itself. The anomaly that created the spatial passage between galaxies was inherently unstable. Even with their advanced technology, the Rhya could only keep the Fountain open for a hundred hours or so. And once it closed, it remained closed for a period of between seven and twelve years.
That meant that there was a limited window to get out. If an expedition missed it, they were stuck there. For years. It hadn’t happened yet, but I could see how it might.
Since its discovery, there had been five missions through the Fountain. And Beck Salvage had been in there twice. Once on behalf of the Ly’uth and most recently for the Dodelan Alliance. That last mission—seven years ago—was the one that claimed my father’s life.
4
Most of the actual meeting with the Shimese representatives was anticlimactic. We exchanged pleasantries, I told stories of my exploits, and then I spent a good part of the time listening to Nehenutet and Khebu-Ka reiterate how critical this mission was to their people.
They asked a number of operational questions regarding our ship and crew, the Beck Salvage strategy, performance guarantees, and security. They also wanted to know how familiar we were with the Ambit, the planetary data system the ancient Yueldians used to catalog their plunder. Previous successful missions, including our own for the Dodelan Alliance, depended on deciphering this ancient catalog.
Wallace fielded most of those questions, and he trotted out Virgil Yates, a field data scientist who was a part of Beck Salvage’s last mission through the Fountain. Yates was a grey-haired, soft-spoken man and a friend of my father’s—and the last person to see him alive. I was frankly surprised that Yates was in the meeting because I had thought he had retired shortly after the Dodelan job, but Wallace assured the Shimese representatives that Yates was the foremost expert on the Yueldian Ambit and their best chance at locating the Kryrk.
I wrapped up with an exciting anecdote about one of “my” past missions involving an intraplanetary jumpgate that had been sabotaged by a rival salvage company. I didn’t mention Allegro by name, but everyone knew who I was talking about. Of course, Beck Salvage prevailed in the end, and the Iluuseg got their graven makara stones back—safe and sound. Another successful mission.
At the end of the meeting, the Shimese seemed pleased, although their mottled gray faces lacked eyes or what we would consider a mouth, so they were tough to read based on human standards.
“Well, sirs,” Wallace said, rising and bowing. “We know that time is short, so we eagerly await your decision. The full resources of Beck Salvage remain at your disposal and we are one hundred percent ready to deploy. On behalf of our entire operation, let me express how grateful we are for your consideration and—”
Khebu-Ka, the more senior of the two Shimese representatives, held up one long-fingered gray hand in a universal gesture of interruption.
“You have misunderstood us, friend Wallace,” he said. “We desire to award Beck Salvage the contract. Your firm shall recover the Kryrk for us.”
Wallace’s face lit up in surprise. Mine too, I imagined. It appeared that Allegro was out of the picture.
“Well, that’s superb,” Wallace said. “Simply superb!”
“We have transmitted the amended contract to your legal department as per your previous instruction,” Khebu-Ka said.
Wallace paused for a moment. “Amended?”
“Ah, yes, some minor changes to the terms. And we thought it would be fair to increase the fee given that the eminent Sean Beck will be captaining the mission himself.”
I felt like the wind had just been knocked out of me. “What?”
Wallace was much quicker than me. He smiled politely and said, “Sean doesn’t do much field work himself—since the shoulder injury. He’s much more valuable directing the mission from our control center—”
As my uncle was speaking, I noticed a flash of movement in my peripheral vision. The second Shimese representative lunged right at me as if he wanted to rip me limb from limb, which—given his two-and-a-quarter meter height and four sinewy arms—might be entirely possible.
As Nehenutet plowed into me, my ornate wormcloth chair tipped backwards and I somersaulted back. Acting purely on instinct, I rolled into a combat
