Hetty studied the derelict with eager eyes. Six months out of the service, her freelance scrapping career had not been as profitable as she had imagined. Sure, she made enough to cover maintenance, docking fees, and feed herself but not much more.
Her ship was too small for the bigger jobs. No room for spares or engine cores in her tiny hold. But it was a start to a career she could build on. One day she would have a larger ship. A ship with a crew. She would captain a free trader, trade and sell top merchandise. No more trips onto terrifying wrecks pillaging the detritus of other captain’s dreams.
This ship was a small one as well. Some kind of passenger ship, perhaps meant to carry wealthy tourists from one star system to the next. Or maybe it was an explorer, taking investors out on survey missions.
Hetty fervently wished for a tourist liner. Dead tourists were sad, but at least they had pretty jewelry and top-notch electronics to salvage. She hoped hard it wasn’t an explorer. Explorers were perhaps one of the few classes of star travelers who were even poorer than she was.
Hetty maneuvered her little scrapper as close to the other ship as she dared, shot out a guideline, and suited up. If her airlock were fancy enough to have a viewport, she would have been staring at the derelict for the entire opening sequence. As it was, she almost forgot to clip on her lanyard to the guideline before she jumped.
“Steady. Slow and steady, Hetty. Unless you want to end up as dead as those poor fools over there.”
The derelict’s airlock was cycling on an emergency routine that allowed her free access. She gave the hull a sympathetic pat and slipped inside.
“Atmosphere, 50% full, 75% toxic,” her suit informed her. Well, she hadn’t planned on popping her face plate anyway. Dead bodies always left a stench that was hard to flush out of one’s nose.
To the left of the tiny airlock was the pilot’s compartment. Nothing up there but a couple of corpses that she didn’t want to disturb. The crew wouldn’t have anything of value and she had already captured the ship info, sparse as it was, when she staked her claim. She would turn in the data and the authorities could inform any next of kin.
Hetty turned into the passenger compartment and steadied her nerves with a few deep breaths. The passenger compartment door gave a little pop when it opened. She sailed through with no plans to close it. But then the moan reached her ears.
“Shit.”
Her salvage mission had just turned rescue mission. Hopes of a decent payday dwindled as the moaning increased. But where was it coming from? She stepped up to the nearest body and checked.
Passenger A. Deceased.
Passenger B. Deceased. (Aurora Opal earrings, better grab them now since there probably wouldn’t be a later.)
Hetty searched frantically through the remaining berths. Empty. Empty. Empty. Empty. Empty. Empty.
He was in the luggage compartment, EVA suit on but for the helmet. Hetty slapped the helmet on him before the bad environmentals did him in too. The pink returned to his bronze cheeks as the suit stabilized his vitals.
“Come on buddy. Let’s go. Can you walk?”
Hetty’s little rig could take on an extra person. Two in a pinch if she didn’t have to go too far. Lucky it was just him because they were about as far from anything as her ship could go. Concern for a fellow living creature momentarily outweighed her monetary issues.
The man made no reply, choosing to faint, despite the top-of-the-line EVA suit doing a fine job of resuscitating him. Hetty dragged him as gently as she could through the passenger compartment, out the airlock, and over the guideline to the safety of her own ship.
Hetty didn’t have and couldn’t afford a med-berth, but she did have a tiny little auto doc. She stripped the stranger’s suit and attached the device to his wrist, chewing a hangnail while it decided what was wrong with him. Dehydration and exhaustion. Those were easy enough to fix. After attaching a bag of nutrient-enriched fluid to the auto doc, she left her chance-found guest to sleep it off.
Some kind steward had labeled all the luggage by berth, so it was simple to set her guest’s luggage aside and search the rest. There were enough portable luxury items in the remaining luggage of the passengers and crew to cheer Hetty up quite a bit.
The ship itself was salvageable, even. A single micrometeor had entered the engine. The resulting explosion wasn’t large, but large enough to mess up the environmentals. Far Rim Rendezvous, the ship’s registered owner, would pay her a finder’s fee. Or if the corp was too bankrupt for that, she could sell her salvage rights to someone with a larger rig. It would be a nice payout all around.
Plus, she got to be all humanitarian. Her passenger awoke after she finished her last salvage run and reeled in her guideline.
“Miss. Miss!” The man struggled into a sitting position. “Miss. Where am I?”
“Oh hey. Your ship was damaged. I’m sorry to say that you were the only survivor.”
Hetty approached with caution, making no sudden moves. He didn’t seem spooked or interested in making a grab for her, so she disconnected the auto doc and removed it from his wrist.
“You’re on my ship. I’m a salvager.”
His eyes darted to hers as he rubbed his newly free wrist. “And did you salvage?”
Hetty winced but didn’t look away. “Of course. Were those other two deceased friends of yours?”
“I did not know them.” He looked away. “Thank you for your kindness. But I must ask. Did you salvage my luggage as well?”
“No!” Hetty made an angry chop toward the space under his berth. “It’s all right there, unopened, unharmed. What kind of monster do you take me for?”
“A kind one,” he said as he met her eyes again.
Then he slid from the berth to sit on the floor. The luggage bearing his berth tags was only three pieces. Two looked like ordinary carry bags for clothes and personal items. The third was a cylindrical leather case that looked as old as Old Earth. He pulled it into his lap with a long sigh.
“What’s your name?” Quizzical brown eyes met hers again.
“Hetty. Hetty Gaines.”
“Is Hetty a nickname?”
“Alright then. Henrietta Gaines. What, are you going to sue me or something? Henrietta Martine Gaines. If you want to sue me, you should lodge your complaint against my ship ID.”
The man didn’t appear to be listening. He bent his head over the case and said some words in a language that Hetty couldn’t identify. When his prayer, if it was a prayer ended, he unbuckled the leather straps and slid the cylinder open. Inside, resting on a velvet lining, was a head carved of pinkish crystal, probably rose quartz.
“Enka gwingkit Goja, this is your new keeper. Henrietta Martine Gaines is your guardian and your companion. She will take you to the place I could not. My part in your story is done.”
The man closed the case and held it up to Hetty, head bowed.
“Wait, what? Back up a step. You’re giving me that thing?”
“No. Enka gwingkit Goja has chosen you to accompany it on the rest of his current journey. He is expected on Maanangkwa colony.”
“Maanangkwa colony? That’s way the heck out there,” Hetty said. A jolt of realization passed through her. They weren’t that far from Maanangkwa. This job had brought her far from the usual travel lanes.
“Yes.”
“And is there a reward for getting the item to Maanangkwa?”
A relieved smile broke over the man’s dark face. “Yes.”
“Maanangkwa it is, then.”
The haul to Maanangkwa would take them two weeks. No problem. With the rations Hetty salvaged from the wrecked tourist ship, they would eat better than Hetty usually did.
Her guest identified himself as Roland Sinclair, a data analyst. Why a data analyst was carrying a crystal head from Celestia Prime to an obscure colony was another matter entirely. His only reply to that was a blush and a shrug.
The situation was a bit worrisome. Clearly, the head was a cultural treasure of some sort. She could only hope that Roland hadn’t stolen it. Getting caught up in some interplanetary incident would not be fun, nor help her bottom line. Roland was not forthcoming with that sort of information, but full of stories about the supposed adventures of the head. Enka gwinkit Goja. After many prompts and attempts, Hetty could almost say it right.
“So what happened to Enka gwinkit Goja after its stay on Easter Island?” Roland asked her.
“Bought up by some corporate bigwig?”
“Yes! You remembered. Good!”
“I don’t understand why you care that I remember every single place that Goja has ever gone.”
Roland gave her a hard look. “Enka gwinkit Goja has no value without its accompanying history.”
“Like provenience to an Archaeologist?”
“It’s an older idea than that, but yes, sort of. As the guardian, it is your duty to relay that provenience.”
“You’re the guardian. I just rescued the two of you.” Hetty checked the nav/com. They’d be at Maanangkwa in just a few more hours. She would miss Roland a bit. She might even miss the Goja.
“I failed to deliver Enka gwinkit Goja to its next home. The task has fallen to you.”
“You’re still here!”
Roland shrugged and went to curl up on his bunk, unwilling to argue.
When Hetty contacted the docking ring at Maanangkwa, Roland sprang back to life. After she finished arranging their slot at the dock, he requested com time. Good. Maybe he was getting back on board with escorting Enka gwinkit Goja planetside.
Hetty certainly didn’t want to deal with passing the relic on. She had a ship to salvage, a schedule to keep. Payouts to collect. She was already in negotiations with Far Rim Rendezvous. They had offered her an eyewatering sum to patch up their ship and deliver it to them.
If she managed the job well, she would have enough credits to buy a bigger, better ship. Get Estelle back on board. They could make some real sums trading instead of barely getting by scrapping. The future would be bright once she got rid of her rescue and his artifact.
“Will you walk with me to meet the keepers of Enka gwinkit Goja’s temple?” Roland’s dark eyes were anxious.
“Of course.”
It turned out that easy seeming agreement was to be her downfall. When the priests of the temple found them at the ground shuttle lobby, all their attention was all on her. Roland took a step back, head bowed.
“Recite the History!” a querulous old man in robes matching the pink of the head demanded.
“Look, I realize this is all very important to you, but I’m not a believer. Roland here can do it.”
“Recite the History!” the three priests demanded in unison. “Recite the History, or Enka gwinkit Goja is lost forever.”
Roland came forward and put the case in her hands. “Please, Captain Gaines.”
A shot like electricity passed through her, filling her with sudden pride. Lowly scrappers rarely got the courtesy of the title.
“I’d like to, I really would. But I need to get back to my salvage before someone else gets to it first. Roland can recite the History and all that.”
“Roland is unworthy. Enka gwinkit Goja has chosen you.” The old priest pulled his face in a ferocious frown at Roland.
“You know it’s not his fault that his transport got holed.”
“He failed. That is all that is important. He will receive due honors for getting Enka gwinkit Goja into your hands so that you could deliver him here.”
Around them, the regular life of the station bustled on. Shuttles from the surface arrived and departed. Passengers hurried in all directions with their luggage and children. No one paid their odd, old-fashioned group any special attention.
“Fine.” When anyone asked about it in the future, she would say that Roland sweet-talked her into compliance by being the first to refer to her as Captain since she went independent.
Soon, they were all on a first-class shuttle to the surface. They transitioned to a sleek ground car at least half the size of her scrapper with twice as many amenities. This temple of Goja’s was wealthy, no doubt.
At the temple, seemingly unending hordes of pink-robed people of all ages, genders, and sizes greeted her as though she were a hero returning home from a quest or a war. The ensuing banquet went on for hours.
Then, it was time for her to recite the History. Recite the History! She pushed her overfed body to her feet. Roland gave her an encouraging smile.
“In the beginning, a craftsman whose name we know as Arjul of Old Earth found the perfect crystal in a cave by his home. Enka gwinkit Goja was in the crystal, and Arjul brought him forth.”
Hetty continued the story with occasional muttered prompts from Roland. There were cheers at some parts and gasps of horror at others. Everyone present acted as though it were the first time they had heard the story. Hetty had learned from Roland that the head returned to the temple every nine years, so this was all theater. Despite herself, she was charmed.
“And then, when Roland Sinclair was unable to complete Enka gwinkit Goja’s mission…”
The crowd gasped.
“I,” Hetty paused as Roland lightly kicked her under the table. “Henrietta Martine Gaines took Enka gwinkit Goja into my own hands and carried him forth to Maanangkwa. And here we are. He is. The end?”
The crowd erupted into cheers while the serving staff of the temple rushed forward with many mugs of some potent pink ale. They toasted the Goja, Hetty, and even Roland until everyone fell asleep right where they were in the banquet hall.
Hetty dreamed of the pink crystal head floating before her and offering her thanks in many, many languages. When she woke up cotton-mouthed and head pounding, Roland was gone. The old priest handed her water and hangover tabs.
“I dreamed.” Hetty began and stopped.
“I know.”
Her com chimed, and she pulled it out more to disengage with the old priest than anything else. Far Rim Rendezvous was regretfully informing her of their passing her salvage job on to “a more available operator.” A single curse word escaped her. She put her head back on the table.
“Captain Gaines?”
“Beg your pardon, Priest Membe. I just had a little disappointment, is all.”
No new ship for her any time soon. But she’d keep working toward that goal. As much as she would like to regret Enka gwinkit Goja and the delay that cost her the big job, she found she could not.
The old priest patted her hand. “Perhaps this will cheer you up.”
Her phone chimed again. The temple had transferred her twice what Far Rim Rendezvous had offered, accompanied by a note of thanks from Goja.
“You didn’t have to pay me!” Hetty felt insulted for a moment until the elation overtook her again.
“It’s not payment, Captain Gaines. It’s thanks. And know that you are forever a part of the History of the Goja. Your name and good deeds will be recited for all time. We will be watching Henrietta Martine Gaines and adding her tales to our annals for many years.”
“Um. Thank you?”
“Let us know when you’re ready to return to the docking ring, Captain Gaines. It was Enka gwinkit Goja’s pleasure to receive your service.”
Hetty watched the old priest walk away, then rechecked her account balance. The amount remained steady. It wasn’t a hangover dream after all. As she hurried out of the hall to find the drive, she looked over her shoulder at Goja on his pedestal.
“It was nice meeting you, big guy. Have fun on your next adventure.”
Goja of course did not answer, but Hetty thought he might have winked at her. Or maybe it was only a sparkle of the light in his crystal eye.
