Sean Woods

Project Gilgamesh

© Sean Woods

This book is copyrighted by Sean Woods. All rights reserved.

(Revision 2021-07-07)

Sean Woods

9807 Traveller St.

Manassas, VA 20110

USA

www.etoyoc.com

This book is dedicated to the giants whose shoulders I stand upon, the people in my life I lean on, and the readers I will stumble upon.

Chapter 1

The Quin

Emily was jogging at about 2 meters per second. She mused that the station was moving at 47 meters per second to keep her feet on the deck. The station itself whipped around the asteroid Psyche at 90 meters per second. Psyche, in turn, rotated around the Sun at a speed so large that even her mind gave up on making sense of it.

Emily stopped to catch her breath and clear her head. Lost in thought, she had lost track of where she was in the world. Well, space station. Her eye caught a damage control plaque. She was in compartment 215-240-0700.

She was one level below the metro level, in the center of the station's length, and halfway along its circumference. More specifically, a scenic jogging path cut through a fruit orchard.

The air was full of complex smells. There was an aroma of fruit flower blossoms. There was a peaty stench of mulch and manure. There was also the faint vapors of paint and rubber and machinery. But two scents rose above all of the others. Roasted coffee and baked pie.

The operators of the orchard had started off with a little fruit stand next to the scenic trail. Over time they added freshly baked pies to their offerings. When it was clear that most of the traffic on the trail were people out for early morning exercise, they added breakfast pastries, and coffee.

What an hour or so of running couldn't do to clear Emily's mind, the contemplation of a decadent helping of empty calories and stimulants did. She approached the order counter like a moth to a flame.

The little cafe was right off the scenic path. There were no walls to speak of, or a door. Just a set of outdoor tables, a counter, a display case, and a tiny little shack with the few things that needed to be kept out of the rain. It was also positioned strategically nearby the municipal restroom facilities.

Emily waited a moment as the wrinkled old woman behind the counter pulled a stack of tiny peach pies out of the oven. The elderly lady wore an apron and a work shirt for Yoder Family Orchards. Her pants were clearly broken in, but not in disrepair. Her first name was embroidered into the breast of the apron: Cathy.

Cathy looked up from her work, "What can I get you Dear?"

Emily said, "My usual."

The old woman muttered, "So strange that a girl your age takes espresso straight. When I was your age I took mine dolled up with chocolate and artificial sweetener."

Emily shrugged, "What can I say? I was born with sophisticated tastes."

Over the gurgles of the machine the old woman carried on their conversation, "How are things with that nice young fellow you were talking about?"

Emily winced, "Oh, yah. Not so good."

Cathy slammed down two little cups of espresso. The old woman also pulled one two fresh pies from the rack, and flopped them onto two plates. She then flopped down a sign that read Back in a minute on the counter.

 She sat with Emily at one of the empty tables, "Oh, honey. Speaking from experience, I don't think men are ever happy with the idea of a woman who has a full time occupation that is not them."

Emily broke down into tears, "I don't get it. He found me interesting at first because I was doing all this research. But all he wanted was for me to stop doing research and shack up and have his kids. How did you manage a relationship and a career?"

Cathy sighed, "Who says that I did?"

Emily was confused, "But I've seen your kids. Or at least Jebediah. He was a working here last summer."

Cathy gave Emily a devious conspiratory glance, "But you've never seen any of their fathers."

Cathy stressed the plural in fathers. Emily looked up confused for a second. And then a glint of realization came over her face, "Oh…"

Cathy simply looked back smug.

Emily decided to change the subject. She noticed a poster on an easel. It was very busy, with flashy graphics, and dense, dense text. She pointed it out, "That's new. Branching out into advertising?"

Cathy shrugged, "Well not really. More of a favor to Brother, who is doing a favor for his Captain. They are trying too hard, if you ask me. And I should know a thing or two about marketing."

Emily read the poster a little more closely. It was recruiting for a deep space platform called Paul Cézanne. The add listed openings for just about every speciality. Prior service. No service. It finished with the twin slogans:

Experienced Mages looking for a change of pace.

Bright young adventurers looking to get into space.

Emily chuckled, "I see what you mean. They would have done better with several different posters targeting several different audiences. But seriously, how can a ship be having so much trouble recruiting they have to run an advertising campaign? That just smacks of awful management. If they have to tell me it's a great deal, that's the first tip off it's a rip off."

Cathy moaned, "I said the same thing. Say, you have a pretty decent head on your shoulders. I'm embarrassed to ask after all these years. But what business are you in, again?"

Emily, "Boondoggles. I'm a research assistant at the Academy."

Cathy, "You have been coming here for years. I'm shocked you aren't a Mage by now."

Emily, "It's not for lack of trying. I am actually a Mistress of Cosmology. But there aren't any openings in the field, so I research and teach."

Cathy, "Those that can do. Those that can't teach. But, deary, you sound so smart. How could you end up in a field with no job prospects?"

Emily, "Oh when I started at the academy, I wanted to be a starship captain. But a background check turned up that the parents I never had were both veterans who died in action."

Cathy, "Well why did that stop you?"

Emily muttered, "Somewhere is a regulation that forbids and orphan whose parents were both lost in the line of duty from serving in front line units. Some kind of genetic preservation of heroic genes. It's moronic."

Cathy asked, "So why couldn't you work on a civilian ship?"

Emily, "Civis don't want to pay to train their officers. The Merchant Spatial and all of the major shipping companies hire ex-Spacey officers."

Cathy, "So why cosmology?"

Emily sighed, "It's the most elite speciality the Academy offers. You see, officers on ships are basically two types. Line officers, who boss people around, and specialists. Specialists only ever get promoted if their field is in demand. And I just assumed the field that was the hardest study would be the most in demand."

Cathy, "That makes sense. So why aren't you out in the fleet?"

Emily sipped her espresso, "Automation. By the time I finished all of the coursework, the role of ship's Cosmogatoyr was in the process of being automated. Vessels moving around the belt or the core planets are guided now by space traffic control. I am competing for the remaining jobs with people who have decades more experience, and families to feed."

Cathy, "Why not just pick something else to do?"

Emily, "Hope. Sooner or later all of the experts in the field are going to retire or die off. And there is nobody in the pipeline to replace them. I have a scholarship that pays the bills in the meantime."

Cathy sipped her espresso and spoke, "They really just pay you to sit around and wait around for people to retire?"

Emily sipped, and shrugged, "Actually, yes. The only stipulation is that I have to keep furthering my education. So when I'm not teaching cosmology, I'm studying up on cybernetics. Worst case, I can get a job automating out of existence somebody else's job."

As Emily said those words, she realized that a platoon of quins was working the orchard behind Cathy's cafe.

Quins are a form of android. They are designed to mimic the human form, and approximate human strength and dexterity. In outward appearance they resemble a crash test dummy, or a display mannequin. Over time "mannequin" was simply shortened to "quin" in common language.

Cathy quipped, "Well sometimes automation works to your benefit. Can you imagine a woman my age working the fields like that?"

Emily asked, again seemingly confused, "But… wait. I thought… your kids…?"

Cathy shrugged, "Flown off. They all had different dreams. Ashley is a teacher. Caleb is still in the service. Jeb works for the city. But he still comes by from time to time to help fix the droids."

Some of the quins moved from pot to pot, rotating the trees slightly to counter the twist that would normally occur from the Coriolis forces acting on the branches. Other quins plucked the fruit that was the proper ripeness for market. Still others moved from from pot to pot, pulling any weeds. Their movement was so human-like it was creepy.

As one Quin tried to lift a pot, the cumulative stress of its lot in life finally caught up with it. The android's shoulder joint failed catastrophically with a snap. The pot it was lifting tipped over, and collapsed with a crash. The tree it contained flopped over, knocking down the next tree in line. And that tree knocked down the next tree next to it. The deck was covered in fallen trees, broken pottery, spilled soil, and smashed fruit.

Without batting an eyelash (not that quins have eyelashes) the quin continued on its appointed task. It sauntered over to the next pot, and struggled to lift it with its one remaining arm. The pot wobbled precariously, as fruit started raining down on the deck.

Cathy scrambled (as much as an old woman can scramble) away from behind the counter. She walked briskly to a control station a few tens of meters away. She donned a pair of thick reading glasses, and furiously worked a set of controls to no avail, "Damn it. You had one job!"

Emily slurped down her coffee, and made her way over to the scene. She spoke cautiously, and tenderly, "Is everything ok?"

Cathy yelled, "It's not listening to the stop order. It's going to knock the entire orchard over if we don't stop it."

Emily ran to the quin. Each had an emergency stop button on the back of their skull, and on the chest. But they were under a plexisteel cover, to prevent them from accidentally being activated during normal work activities.

The quin was 30 centimeters taller than Emily, and had at least 50 kilograms more mass. The droid wasn't resisting her efforts to access the emergency stop button. However, its struggle to lift the pot was making accessing the button impossible. She could get the cover open, but its movements would slam it shut again. Adding to the danger was the exposed splintered wood, shards of optical fiber, and torn metal actuator cable.

Emily said aloud, "Say, could you just hold still a minute?"

The android immediately stopped. Cathy's jaw dropped. A nearby cat hissed.

Dumbfounded, Cathy worked a series of inputs on the control panel, "Nope. Deaf as a post. It is not responding to a single command. Is that a trick they teach you in cybernetics?"

Emily shrugged, "Um, not actually."

Emily directed her attention to the android, "Follow me."

She walked for about 30 meters, and the quin followed her, staying about 3 meters behind.

Cathy motioned for Emily to follow, "Could you be a dear and lead him over to my repair shed."

Emily nodded. The three wandered a hundred meters or so to a bulkhead at the edge of the farm. The bulkhead was painted with a special scheme that let it appear as if an infinite forest was stretching off into the horizon. Painted into part of the design was a barn. The Old woman grabbed a handle on the painting, and revealed a dark chamber.

Inside the chamber were a dozen or so charging stations for quins, as well as an artificer's workbench. One quin was in the process of replacing the knee on another. It seemed to finish as Cathy entered the room. The quin being serviced performed some sort of calibration check, and then struck back out into the fields.

The artificer quin scanned the quin with the broken shoulder with some sort of hand-held sensors. Next it plugged a series of cables into the one-armed quin's skull. The artificer directed Cathy's attention to a technical readout on a console nearby.

The old woman read the scrawl of text, and muttered to herself as she did so. She finally groaned as she looked up, "Well the bad news is that this unit is a total loss. The good news is, that shoulder repair was probably going to cost me more than a new one."

Emily looked confused, "Wait. What can't be repaired?"

Cathy poked the skull on the android, "Somehow the control transceiver was damaged in the accident. Repairing it involves opening up the quin's brain case. And that is, needless to say, highly illegal."

Emily nodded, "Oh right."

Cathy, "Oh I suppose I'll have to take the day off to run this damn thing to the recycling center. Not to mention reprogram the other ones to clean up that mess outside. Of course, it's right next to the damn cafe. Couldn't be on the back 40…no…"

Emily, "I tell you what. I'm out for a walk anyway. It seems to be following me. I could take it down to the center for you. It sounds like you have enough to do."

Cathy, "For being such a dear, how about I just sell it to you. One credit."

Emily shook her head, "Oh now. The scrap value of this thing has to be a fortune. I couldn't."

Cathy, "Oh I think you saved me more than that by keeping it from knocking over any more trees. Take it."

Cathy walked over to filing cabinet. She fished for a document, and walked back. She scrawled her signature in one box, and flipped the document around, "Here is the title for our little friend. I've marked that I have sold it to you for one credit. Though, don't forget to pay the transfer tax. You'll need this form anyway when you turn it in for scrap. I just need your signature here…"

Emily stuck out her thumb, expecting Cathy to pull out a transaction recorder. Cathy shook her head, "No, no. I just have to put a sale price on here. Whatever you can scavenge from it is yours."￼

Emily and the android walked towards the recycling center. As they walked, Emily looked again at the title she held in her hand. She owned a quin. Yes, it was a malfunctioning quin. It needed a lot of repairs. But she owned it. At least for a few minutes. This happy thought of actually owning something nice cycled through her head.

At last they were rounding the last corner towards the TASTE® Recycling Center. She reached the counter with the droid. The clerk looked at Emily, looked at the slip of paper, and looked at the droid, "500 reward points."

Emily gasped, "Reward points? I could get a few hundred credits just by scavenging this thing for spare parts."

The clerk handed her back the slip of paper, "Well, you can tell Grandma Yoder that 500 reward points is the best she is ever going to get. These system 7's are so out of date that the only reason we don't charge a disposal fee is that EHI really wants to get these old models off the street. That thing is going to cost you a few hundred credits to get working again."

Emily muttered, "On second thought, I think I'll take it home with me. Lord knows I have all of the other trinkets you guys offer as rewards."

The clerk leered from behind the counter, "But hey, there is that new trading card block coming out next month. I'm pretty sure 500 reward points would get you the whole set."

Emily looked him straight in the eye, "More like a chance to get the entire set. And more like me opening up 100 packs and still not managing to get any of the good cards. Skip it, if I can get him working, great. If not, he makes a good conversation piece."￼

As Emily was leaving the recycling center with quin in hand, she found a cat blocking her path.

Cats are not an uncommon sight around the station. They are usually mongrel breeds that are kept on board to cut down on rodents and birds that infest the station. You can tell a community cat from the strays by its distinctive COMMUNITY VERMIN CONTROL collar.

This cat had a much more elegant collar. The collar was inlayed with jewels and complex decoration. The cat's fur was as exquisite as the collar. It was a fancy breed. It resembled a tiny snow leopard. It carried itself like an aloof princess.

As soon as Emily locked eyes with the cat, she somehow knew something. The cat's name was Bastet. It needed her to follow. She… She needed Emily to follow. As this information entered into Emily's mind, the cat broke eye contact and started moving in a deliberate direction toward the marketplace.

The cat led Emily to an alleyway. In the back of the alley was small repair shop. On the door was a sign indicating the establishment was an EHI Certified Repair Center. Emily struggled to find a name for the place, anywhere. Instead the only markings shilled it as an independent repair center for Etoyoc Heavy Industries (and subsidiaries) appliances and androids.

As Emily led the damaged quin through the door, a little bell rang in the ceiling. A holo-display of the latest quin series was projecting in the center of the room. The walls were covered with random assortments of spare parts, pre-made alchemical mixtures, and a few advertisements for new products that could be special ordered.

One prominent sign in the center of what looked like a check-out counter had three words in a triangle:

FAST        CHEAP

RIGHT

(Pick two)

Emily saw a bell on the counter with another sign RING FOR SERVICE. Emily gently mashed the bell. It let out a nearly inaudible "thwap."

But suddenly a voice cried out from directly behind her, "Ah. I see you have a discerning taste in home automation. I believe this is, yes, a system 7. It looks to me like you need a shoulder assembly, a new right arm."

There was a meow from cat. And then he quickly followed up with, "Ah and a charging module."

Emily turned in shock and surprise to find herself nearly nose to nose with a sales attendant. Well, not exactly nose to nose, she was short enough that her eyes only came up to his chest. She craned her head back to see his face leering down at her.

He was a middle aged man, with a salt and pepper goatee. A golden framed monocle clung to his left eye. He wore a golf shirt that had the name ISHMAEL embroidered on his breast, with INDEPENDENT OPERATOR embroidered in smaller letter underneath.

Emily was taken aback, "Um… Hi…"

The salesmen went in for a firm handshake, "Call me Ishmael."

Emily caught her train of thought, "Well the arm damage is obvious, but how did you know I would need a charging module?"

Ismael chuckled as he pulled a wand from his work shirt. He talked as the worked over the quin with the wand, "Call it a lucky guess. It looks like this guy is a mix and match of whatever the previous owner could find. Thats a pair of XJ legs. That arm is some kind of indigenous design. Actually, the only original part on this thing is the head."

Emily winced, "So… ballpark… how much to get him back up and running?"

Ishmael scratched his goatee, "Hmmm. I guess that would depend on what you wanted to make him into. Droids are a bit of a black hole where credits disappear. Instead of giving me a scope of work, how about we start with an actual budget."

Emily blurted, "500 credits."

Ishmeal muttered to himself, "Hmm. 500 credits. I suppose we could…"

The cat meowed. Ishmael grumbled, "What is it now?"

The cat dove off the counter. It ducked behind the curtain. Ishmael followed the cat, grumbling as he went. Emily could hear a cry of delight with the words, "Oh that's perfect!"

A minute or so later, Ishmael emerged from behind the curtain with a crate on a hand truck. The crate had the usual markings for an EHI product, as well as some safety markings about the mass of the contents. Stenciled into the front was the label EHI - SYSTEM 7 - HOME EDITION BUNDLE.

Ishmael pulled a clipboard from the top of the crate. He then started to explain, "Why I seem to have had this thing sitting on the back room for a while. My inventory manifest says that it originally retailed for $399. Well, with an educational discount."

Emily piped up, "I am a researcher at the academy!"

Ishmael flipped a sheet on the clipboard, "Well, isn't that handy. We'll just ignore 20 years of inflation. This includes everything but the head unit. Which you happen to have. So that's a modular chassis, general purpose legs, an assortment of tool arms, charger module, and manuals. I'll throw in assembly and disposal of the old parts for 101 credits, and don't worry about the taxes. This is an educational sale."

Emily asked, "Wow. When can you have it ready?"

Ishmael put down the clipboard, "Well all of that is well an good if you want to put it out on display. But I picked up that the control transceiver was not functioning on this unit. It's going to be a paperweight."

Emily shook her head, "Not quite. Quincy dear, can you walk across the room for this gentleman?"

The quin bowed, slightly, and then did exactly what Emily asked.

Ishmael was astonished, "Are you Technosensitive by any chance?"

Emily, confused, replied, "Come again?"

The clerk, "Technosensitive. Really it should be called Technopathic, but that sounds more like a psychological diagnoses than an ability. You seem to have a sympathy for living computers. Pretty rare. Only seen it a couple of times."

Emily, "You've seen this before? Dear God I've endured years of therapy because people though that I was crazy!"

Ishmael continued, "I have to admit it is surprising to see in someone your age. Usually it is found in freakishly experienced programmers. I remember one old mage. They used to bring her in as keynote speaker at the EHI repair conferences. Grace somebody or other. She died about 10 years ago. Say, you aren't like her granddaughter or anything, are you?"

Emily shrugged, "No idea. I'm an orphan. My parent's identities are shielded by some really strange privacy law. Though I think my mom was from Psyche, because the embassy keeps sending me stuff."

Ishmael looked Emily up and down, as if seeing her for the first time again. He noted her short stature and pointed ears, "Ah. That makes so much sense now. I've never seen your type outside of Krasnovia."

Emily was flabbergasted, "Wait… one of what?"

The salesman screwed his eyes, as if trying to sort out exactly what she knew or didn't know. Finally he blurted out, "zapomnij coś powiedziałem"

Emily's mind was a fog for a moment. Finally she shook her head, surprised.

The clerk then continued, matter of factly, "Sorry about that. I'll have it ready by Friday. Does Friday work for you, or should it hold it over the weekend?"

Emily was taken aback by his matter. First by the strange utterance. And then by his following that up with a matter of fact tone. But something was compelling Emily to just move past it all, "Sure… Friday is good. I'll stop by after lunch."

The salesman took out a business card, "If you need to get in touch with me before then, just call. And don't worry about getting the credits together right now. We'll work out payment later."

Emily took the card. It was blank on the front. She flipped it over, it was blank on the back. She flipped it a third time and the following text appeared:

ISHMAEL

INDEPENDENT OPERATOR

Emily looked up and started to speak, "Wait, there is no phone number or email on this card."

But as she looked up, she discovered she was in an alleyway. The sales office, the salesperson, the cat, and her "new" android were gone.

She flipped the card over once more, and it read:

BE SEEING YOU!

Date: 53365 @ 1300,

Location 205-075-0120

Emily looked at the DC plate near the entrance to the alleyway. It had the same location marker.

Chapter 2

The Unspeakable Horrors

It was the height of the Retniw festival on New Franklin. By tradition, the town square was filled with traveling performers from all around the Solar System.

ISTO liked to celebrate the diversity of its people at this time of year. New Franklin, being the capital city, held tournaments for traveling shows. Each group seemed to win a prize. And if a prize didn't exist for a particularly talented act, one was invented on the spot.

The city square was filled with hundreds of performers, and thousands of spectators. There were Musicians, human statues, sidewalk painters, street illusionists, and dancers. If you didn't find at least one of the acts entertaining and jaw dropping, you just weren't looking hard enough.

Emily and Quincy made their way through the throngs of people. She stopped off at a little booth that Ishmael was running. He didn't have any particular show. He would just fix old things, and people seemed to enjoy watching him work.

Ishmael looked up from a typewriter that he was in the process of refurbishing, "Ah, Mistress Degan. I see your new friend seems to be working well. Anything need replacing today?"

Emily shook her head, "Oh no. The school had asked me to put on a show with the cybernetic department. People can't stop talking about the girl and her pet robot. Say, that show looks new," Emily pointed out a troupe of mimes who were setting up toward the end of the street.

Ishmael shrugged, "They have been in-character the entire festival. Nobody has heard them say a thing."

Emily chuckled, "Perhaps they are a cult. And who knows what unspeakable horrors they are up to!"

Several of the bystanders looked at Emily disgusted. As if she had said something completely abhorrent. Another approached her, cautiously and told her gently, "They are refugees from New Lethia. They are mute as a protest. It's an artistic statement about how the rest of the Solar System stood silent while they have been occupied by Krasnovia."

Emily is not a tall person by any measure. But she felt about 10 cm tall at that moment. She watched as the show was about to begin.￼

A tall barrel chested mime seemed to be watching the street and the crowd with a pair of imaginary binoculars. He pulled the binoculars from his face, and touched an imaginary through microphone. While the audience couldn't hear him, he broadcast to the rest of his group, telepathically, "Possible sighting of the target. She is with the quin."

Another mime stepped to the edge of the street. With an exaggerated gesture she pulled an imaginary telescope from an imaginary pocket, "Target confirmed. 150 cm. Red hair. Pointed ears. Age… 12?" She removed the imaginary telescope from her eye, and smacked it with the flat of her hand, before she plugged it back in her eye, "Ugh. She has to be late 20s. What the hell is with this scope?"

She scanned another target. A black and white leopard spotted cat, "This has to be on the fritz. That cat is registering as an inter-dimensional entity."

A third mime looked suddenly concerned. He was older than the rest. He tapped the spyglass mime on the shoulder, and gestured for her to hand him the scope. He examined the cat. The cat was licking itself, but keeping on eye on the lady and her android, "No, the scope is working perfectly. We have a freelancer also working the crowd. How strange. This complicates things."

He turned to the mime with the binoculars, and made a tactical gesture, while reiterating telepathically, "Give me a sweep of the other artists. He or she is probably disguised as one of them."

The binocular mime scanned the other artists, "About the only person I'm not getting strange readings for is the artificer. Everyone else is probably using as much tegic as we are."

The leader mime entered a gesture of deep thought. At last he directed the spy to look at the artificer, "What do you read from that one?"

The spyglass mime screwed her eyes, and twisted an imaginary dial on her telescope, "Ishmael… Independent Operator… wait… target is engaged in a conversation with him…"

All of the mime's eyes turned to the lady, her android, and the artificer at the end of the row. The three mimes sat next to one another. The tall one covered his mouth. The short one covered her eyes. The leader covered his ears.

The leader turned his head for dramatic effect, and then he gestured as if he was pulling an imaginary cone from an imaginary sack. He put the cone on his ear, and had an expression that looked like he was happily catching side conversations around the square. Finally one conversation seemed to catch his ear. He exaggerated leaning his shoulders and head into catching this one particular conversation…￼

Emily chuckled, "…And here I thought I had no magical talents whatsoever. Thanks again. I know you cut me a really steep discount on all the parts to keep Quincy running."

Ishmael chuckled, "Oh, at this point EHI has shifted your account over to the marketing division. You are like a walking billboard for our product. They are even talking about restarting the production line for System 7 processor cores. People keep calling in to request them, thinking that they can somehow have a android familiar."

Emily, "You will have a disclaimer that what I seem to do is a freakishly rare latent ability, right?"

Ishmael spoke in a reassuring tone, "My dear, the legal department wouldn't have it any other way. It's just human nature. Everybody wants to believe that they are that one person in a million. How is that new paper…"￼

The leader mime pulled the imaginary cone from his ear. He struggled to try to fold the apparatus up. He nudged the spy for help. She turned her head, but blinded she couldn't see a thing. So she nudged the brute with his mouth covered.

The spy seemed to have slipped her elbow in between a rib, because he brute immediately flunk his hands away from his mouth. He gestured in pain, at his side. He looked like he was about to scream, but he "caught" himself. He clamped his hands back over his mouth.

The brute looked at the spy, and gestured indignantly as if to say "Why would you hit me like that?"

It was then that, with an overly staged gesture, the brute saw the struggle the leader was having folding up his listening cone. The brute strode over to the leader.

The brute plucked the cone from the leader's hand and tried to smash it together. The leader stole the cone back, and gave the brute a stern finger wagging.

The leader placed the cone on the ground, as he proceeded to mime out, "this is a delicate instrument you can't just crush it." He then proceeded to mime how the cone was supposed to collapse down

The spy mime turned her head. She peeked at the scene through her fingers. Finally she snuck over to the cone, by which I mean, stage sneak for the benefit of the audience. She then gave the audience a conspiratory wink, and pressed an imaginary button on the imaginary horn. Her gaze followed the imaginary cone collapsing into a tiny shape.

The spy mime then snuck back to her original position. She hid her eyes like a child trying to hide that she was not really hiding her eyes.

The leader was still gesturing about how the cone was supposed to collapse, when the brute interrupted him with a tap on the shoulder. He pointed to the now folded cone.

The leader turned around. He feigned shock at first. But then  he caught himself, and dusted himself off. He strode nonchalantly to the spot on the ground where the cone was resting. But then he accidentally stepped on the cone.

After hopping around for a few seconds on one foot, he took the device, and dropped it back into the imaginary sack from whence it came.

He gestured for the other two mimes to form a huddle with him. The brute immediately complied. But the spy was still "covering her eyes."

The three pantomimed for another minute as the brute and the leader tried to convince the spy that now was not the time to cover her eyes. The leader pointed towards the lady with her android. The spy covered her eyes, and shook her head.

The brute made a gesture that pantomimed him whistling. From around a corner came a fourth mime with an imaginary cart. She was even shorter than Emily, with pointed ears as well. She huffed and puffed, and finally dropped the cart off in front of the brute.

The brute walked to the reluctant spy. He tried to lift her, but she seemed to weigh a ton. He waved for the leader to help. The leader was still pointing in the direction of Emily. The brute tapped the leader on the shoulder, and pointed at the spy, and the cart.

 The leader stopped pointing at Emily, and the two men tried to work together to lift the spy onto the cart. They failed. It seemed like the spy was nailed to the deck itself.

Finally the dwarf pushed the two men aside. She grabbed the spy by the hips. She lifted the spy onto the imaginary cart. The spy flailed and struggled through the entire process. Yet, incredibly the spy remained floating in the air.

The spy, now on the cart finally removed her hands from her eyes. She feigned shock that she was now floating in mid-air. The dwarf grabbed the hand of the cart and moved out into the crowd. Onlookers gawked as the spy feigned like she was being led away.

The leader and the brute had so far been standing seemingly awestruck. Their eyes followed the entire scene. Each turned to the other and gestured as if they had never seen anything like this before.

The dwarf and the spy on the cart stopped next to Emily and her android.

The spy was gesturing as though she were pleading to be let off. Her protests grew to the point that she became motion sick. She gestured as if she was retching sick all over the floor of the cart.

The dwarf opened an imaginary door on the side of the imaginary cart. Her eye followed an imaginary pool of imaginary barf as it leaked out the side. She then held her nose, fanned her hand, and looked away as if it had a terribly awful stench.

The spy stepped off the cart embarrassed. The dwarf turned back to the spy, and gave her a stern finger wagging. The much taller woman's shoulders stooped over, dramatically.

The dwarf thrust her hand into the cart and pulled out an imaginary implement with a long pole. She pantomimed the action of mopping. She then thrust the implement into the hands of the spy.

The spy took the implement, and still looked forlorn. The dwarf made the mopping gesture. The spy, reluctantly made the same mopping gesture. The dwarf pointed at the imaginary mess in the imaginary cart. But, she was also pointing directly at Emily, who was on there opposite side of the imaginary cart.

The spy stood upright, and walked over to Emily. She gestured furiously for Emily to take the imaginary mob. Emily was confused at first. The spy made the mopping gesture with the implement, and thrust it into Emily's hand.

The spy looked at the dwarf with a hey she's not cooperating gesture. The dwarf moved sternly over to Emily. She picked Emily up. Emily felt how powerful the dwarf really was. Before she realized what was going on, Emily was flung bodily onto the cart. The dwarf slammed an invisible door shut behind her.

Emily couldn't see the cart, but it certainly felt like a real object. She banged her fist on an invisible wall. She yelled out in surprise, but no sound came out. She looked into the faces of the crowd, they thought this was all part of the act.

Emily pounded on the walls. And the harder she pounded, the more the audience was convinced she was a plant. She looked at Ishmael, pleadingly. As she did so, the dwarf had grabbed the handle for the cart, and took off down the street with her.

The mime troupe looked at one another. Each pantomimed shock at first. And finally the leader mimed that they should take a bow. The trio accepted an enthusiastic round of applause, before they dropped a smoke bomb.

When the smoke cleared, all of the mimes were gone.￼

Ishmael was still clapping. As a mage, he was very impressed by the display. The invisible cart trick was probably something mundane, but he had to admit that he'd never seen something like that before. Including a bystander in the crowd was a stroke of genius.

It took a few seconds for him to realize that the mimes had completely disappeared. And that Emily had not reappeared.

He looked over to Quincy. But by this point in time, Quincy had taken off running down the street.

Ishmael threw on a cloak and scooped up Bastet. He leaned into the cat's ear and muttered something. The cat lept from his hands, and took off after the quin.

If anybody had been watching, they would have seen that by the time the cat had touched the floor, Ishmael's cloak was empty. It simply ruffled onto the floor.￼

The dwarf easily yanked the cart up a flight of stairs. But she could see the poor woman in the cart was being jostled ferociously. He broadcast telepathically, "Are there going to be many more stairs?"

The barrel chested brute smirked, "Are you getting tired, Heidi? I can certainly give you a hand."

The dwarf hip checked him has he tried to grab the handle, "No I just don't think we'll have a captive left if I have to take another flight at speed."

The leader chimed in, "No more stairs. We are taking a cargo elevator to the harbor area. Karl, have the ship ready to go."

A fifth voice entered the channel, "Reactor is fired up, I am on pad 18."

The party was stopped by a black and white leopard in their path. Standing behind the leopard was a mage in a body length robe. He had a goatee, and as he locked his body into a combat stance, a golden framed monocle slipped from his eye and was caught by a strap around his neck.

The Dwarf dropped the handle off the cart. The four mimes settled into a combat stance. The leader finally spoke, "Let us pass old man. I see you have no wand or staff. You are no match for three us."

The leopard roared. Energy surged from the old man's fingertips, "Who says I need a wand or staff to defeat the likes of you?"￼

Emily watched, stunned as the scene that played out at the top of the staircase. The cart seemed to deaden all sounds. He screams. The sounds from outside. Which is why she was suddenly surprised to hear the jiggle on the lock. She looked over and could see Quincy had opened the side door. He gestured for her to exit the cab while the Krasnovians were distracted. He pulled her in a random direction down a side passage.￼

The standoff continued between the mimes and the mage. The leopard recognized something in the distance, it let out a controlled roar. The mage replied, "Excellent, so I suppose we'll be going."

He pulled his robe around his face and with a flash he and the leopard were gone. They were replaced by a cat, which took off down the hallway.

The four mimes looked quizingly at one another. The leader had a moment of realization, and looked at the now empty cart. A message was coming in from their remote accomplice, "Security is on alert. You are going to have to make your exit pretty quickly before they lock down the port."

About the Author

￼

Sean Woods is a Computer Engineer who leads a double life as a story teller. His background in technology, defense, and science education are balanced by a sense of wonder, humor, and skepticism in his foreground. His writing is inspired most by Arthur C. Clarke and Douglas Adams.