Chaos Quarter (21 page)

-Commonwealth Admiral Ivar Magnusson, toned down version of a speech to the troops before invading and liberating the Europan world of Thrace, 2456

On his way out from the Commonwealth, he’d not thought much of Byzantium. He had noted, sarcastically, that at least the residents were competent enough to control all of their solar system, even the asteroid belt ten million miles from the planet. Now this tiny nation and the minimal security it provided seemed like a god-send.

He could see at least one space station and the lights of settlements on the planet’s three asteroid-sized moons. Below him the planet itself hung in space, a world of shallow, greenish oceans and a single, massive, brown continent; all circling a bright yellow star. Corvettes actually worthy of the name and a frigate-sized ship not quite as intimidating as the last one he’d encountered, orbited the world with clouds of fighters, ever vigilant. Even the best the Chaos Quarter could offer still faced the constant threat of raiding pirates and aggressive neighbors.

“You said grain?” a voice spoke in a thick Greek accent. The Byzantines lacked the visual projection technology of the Europans, so Rex didn’t get to see who he was talking to.

“Wheat,” Rex said. “Looking to land in Nea Sofia, do some business.”

“Hold on, wait—” the voice spoke. He heard whispering in the background, then, “Sure you don’t want to go to the station? Nea Sofia spaceport, ah, it got a big landing fee.”

“That’s fine,” Rex replied. “I will gladly pay—”

“He said he’ll pay, be quiet! Sorry, OK Nea Sofia is a bit crowded. We send coordinates to you. Big complex, don’t want to get lost, eh? Aright, there it goes.”

A green line emerged on his screen, streaking toward the world’s Pangaea-like continent. It led just north of the planet’s equator.

“All clear now—yes, I made sure, no, that ship is gone, stop talking, I gotta clear this guy!” the voice snapped at somebody. “Come on down now. OK.”

The voice cut out. Rex scratched the back of his head, not wanting to imagine trying to talk to that guy in person. He directed the ship along the green course line, passing a small freighter heading for the space station before entering the atmosphere. He got a better glimpse of the continent as he went. Most of it was brown-to-gray, with scattered oases of green and ribbons of vegetation alongside several dozen longish rivers. Huge mountains made up the spine of the continent, twenty thousand feet tall according to the computer’s measurements. Smaller ranges spurred off of this central spine, pushing north and south to the sea. Broad lowlands stretched between these ranges, progressing from desert, to semi-arid, to grassland, and finally to thick forest as they made their way to the ocean. The outer quarter of the continent was a thick band of green, shifting from tropical to temperate the further you got from the equator.

His destination, Nea Sofia, a major city, sat at the bottom of a smaller mountain range than split off from one of the major spurs, north of the continent’s spine. It rose from the dirt where the peaks slackened and rolling, semi-arid plains began.

As he brought the ship lower, it became clear that this truly was a metropolitan area. Stuck between two ridges, a forest of grey metal and brown terracotta structures sprawled across the flat of a valley, hugging a narrow river in its center. The city outgrew its bounds and advanced a few hundred yards up the lower slopes of the ridges. Rex figured there had to be a million people down there.

He nudged
Long Haul
away from the ridges, toward the spaceport. They were always hard to miss, and this one was no exception. Several huge terminals, surrounded by two hundred or so circular concrete pads of varying sizes, sat at the city’s edge. Beyond it rocky, cacti-covered plains stretched beyond the horizon. The green line pointed to a medium-sized pad. Unlike seemingly every other pad in this port, it was empty.
Long Haul
hovered momentarily above it, to let the landing struts extend. Then, with gentle touches to the vertical control, he descended slowly to the ground.

“Intercom,” he ordered; a chirp signaled him that it was on. “We’re down, people.”

He turned. Second watched, impassively.

“Let’s go get you fixed,” he spoke.

She looked down at her body, her head jerking from side to side as she examined her limbs and torso.

“I am not aware of any damages,” she replied.

“No kidding,” Rex laughed. “Follow me.”

He moved back through the main hall, pausing outside Chakrika’s door. It was left open. She was putting her shoes on. He paused.

“Going out?”

“Baby stuff,” she replied.

“Dress appropriately,” Rex replied.

“I know,” she said, slipping her pistol into her pocket. Her shirt hung to mid-thigh and was belted, hiding the weapon nicely.

He continued on, passing Lucius during the middle of one of his regular games of “Flying Quintus.” Second followed obediently as he moved down through the cargo bay to the pick-up.

“Open her up!” Rex ordered.

The left door began to descend. The right did not. Its hydraulics had taken some hits from the frigate. It made a grinding sound, squeaked a few times, and remained sealed shut. Didn’t matter much, though; one door was more than enough to fit the truck through.

They got in, and Rex brought the vehicle to life. The familiar hum of the fuel cells brought him some comfort. When he’d first come out, he’d wondered if fuel cells were something he wouldn’t be seeing. Heck, enough of the nations in the Quarter still used gun powder to make it a valuable commodity. They very well could have used whatever people had used before fuel cells. He vaguely remembered from school that it had something to do with oil. He wasn’t sure what, though. Far as he knew, oil was used in plastics and grease and kinky lubricants, not to power vehicles.

Letting his curiosity drift away, he drove. On his wrist the small watch-console, barely an inch in diameter, kept in contact with his ship’s computer. It was probably connecting with this world’s servers now, running through its internet for locations on surgeons.

They drove on a thin access road between two lines of pads, toward an exit a mile distant. When they reached the gate out, Rex found himself handing over two bits silver for docking fees.

“Quite the racket you got,” he said cynically.

“It’s…big city…man,” the toll-booth guy replied in broken English.

As they pulled into the city, the watch-console sprung to life.

“
Five neurosurgeons listed in the greater Nea Sofia area
,” it announced.

“I need somebody who takes coin and doesn’t ask questions,” Rex spoke.

They drove, aimlessly at the moment, waiting for the computer to reply. A minute passed.

“
Doctor Manuel Tzimikes works for gold and silver only. His advertisements guarantee prompt and expert service. He offers expedited service for ‘space travelers on a schedule’
.”

“Is he qualified?” Rex asked.

“
According to official Byzantine Medical Association records, he has a 97 percent return rate amongst patients and is rated—
”

“Fine,” Rex grumbled, “Guide me to his location.”

A few moments passed and then the computer replied, “
In two miles, turn left on Odos Khalkide…
”

* * *

Chakrika had never seen anything like Nea Sofia. Her homeworld, Maratha, was dominated by cave-like, subterranean clan homes. Igbo and Cordelia, what she had seen of them, had been fairly similar: plain concrete, squarish construction.

This was something entirely different. The Byzantines built grand, put a dome or a hemisphere wherever they could, and seemed to coat every available wall with lavish frescos. Some were men and women with strange balls of light around their heads. Others were of banquets, or battles. A good many showed men and women in chaste, yet clearly romantic, situations. Was hand-holding how people flirted here? Some showed hunts and triumphant returns. Over and over again, she saw a family painted, their features similar throughout, despite the styles of the artist. She figured it had to be the local royalty. Were she a more cultured person, she probably would have dismissed it as “loud” or “gauche,” but luckily she didn’t suffer from such afflictions.

The market, like most, wasn’t a far walk from the spaceport. Trucks shuttled back and forth, hauling goods directly off the ships to vendors eagerly awaiting delivery. She simply followed the lines of vehicles and people to find the place.

The marketplace consumed a wide piazza. Four-story homes, studded with balconies, surrounded most of it. The side opposite her was dominated by a massive basilica. It rose up dramatically, at least ten stories or so, to a shallow dome. Atop it sat a large gold cross. If she remembered correctly, that was what the Christians always wore around their necks.

On the front of the building a man had been painted, from the torso up. He had to stretch at least forty feet in height. He held a book in his hand. She couldn’t read the title though; it wasn’t in any alphabet she’d ever seen. The man’s face was bearded and seemed serenely calm. He, too, had a strange ball of light encircling his head. Above the ball of light was another letter she didn’t recognize, but it kind of looked like a
P
and an
X
smashed together.

A woman said something to her in a language she didn’t understand.

“I’m sorry?” she asked.

“I say painted woman like the painting, yes?” the woman spoke in passable English.

“It’s very…
big
,” Chakrika replied.

She took a good look at the woman. She appeared to be in her forties and rather plain-looking. Her dress was strange, though. She wore a huge black robe with a large hood that rose up several inches from her forehead. The only visible skin was on her face.

“I work there; I can show you,” the woman spoke, giving her a genuine smile.

“I have to get some things…” Chakrika spoke, motioning toward the markets.

“Ah, OK. Watch your pockets. Thieves,” she said with a dismissive wave, spitting on the ground to curse them.

The strange woman disappeared into the crowd. Chakrika shrugged and moved off into the market. Two hours later she emerged with a sack full of diapers, pacifiers, and a tiny little outfit with a picture of a duck on it. She’d picked up a shirt for herself and a little necklace with that strange
P
/
X
symbol that she’d seen on the building. She didn’t have the foggiest as to what it meant, but it looked neat. The thought of the symbol caused her to look up, taking stock of where she was.

She’d worked her way across the market. The basilica and its looming, peaceful-looking fellow were only a few yards behind her.
You’ve got time
, she said to herself as she headed for its massive doors.

Her breath caught in her throat as she walked into the open center of the church. Beams of light, gold and blue and green and red, filtered down to the altar. Behind it a screen of paintings, framed in gold, held pictures of men and women in long robes. The images were photo-realistic; only that strange ball of light around their heads seemed out of place. The floor was a mosaic of glittering tiles, with swirling patterns of gold and red tracing their way to the altar.

She glanced up. Tiers of seats flanked three sides of the altar, at least four decks of them. Each was steeper than the last, providing a view of the church floor. Her head reached its zenith, facing straight up, finding the source of the light.

It was that man again, looming above her. He held his book and looked peaceable as ever. It took her a moment to realize that the various colors weren’t lights projecting down onto her. The entire dome was stained glass, tinting the sunlight with a glorious pallet of colors.

“You come?” a familiar voice asked.

It was the woman in the strange black robe again. She rushed forward, grabbing Chakrika’s shoulder affectionately. She followed her stare to the ceiling.

“He watches us, protects,” she explained.

“Uh…who is he?” Chakrika asked.

“Kristos!” the woman said joyfully. “Stay. I will come back.”

The woman bustled off to an aisle along the side of the building, disappearing into a chamber. She re-emerged a second later with a book in her hand and dashed back to the center of the church.

“Here. His words. He forgives, will make you new person,” she explained.

She thrust the book into Chakrika’s hands. She looked at it curiously. Letters she could not recognize graced its cover, the same letters she’d seen all over this planet.

“Ah!” the woman cried, taking the book back suddenly. ”Angloi!”

She disappeared, coming back with another book. This one was in English, with the word “Bible” printed clearly.

“You can keep it,” she said. “For your travels, yes?”

Chakrika smiled, not entirely sure what was going on. She thanked the woman and reluctantly backed out of the church. As she walked the daylight streamed through the windows, casting patterns of shadow and brightness.

New person?
Chakrika thought as she left the church. She looked down at the book, seeing nothing particularly fascinating about it.

Strange
, she thought, taking one look back at the massive fresco on the front of the building. Without further delay, she made her way back to the ship.

* * *

Doctor Manuel Tzimikes turned out to be a short bald man with a hawk-like face. He scurried about his office with an air of quiet menace, which seemed odd to Rex given that the man was a doctor. Hopefully bedside manner wasn’t his selling point.

“I have not seen a tumor like this,” he spoke, lightly accented, yet clearly comfortable with English.

“Can you remove it?” Rex asked.

The man tilted back in his chair, a large, shabby desk separating him from Rex. Second sat next to him, motionless.

“It appears an easy fix. Half the nerves are severed already, and there are only small capillaries supplying blood to it,” he spoke, confidence pouring off him. “Not that it will be cheap.”