Pavonis

By Pete Ford

After a friend dies in suspicious circumstances, John Vaux finds himself torn from his quiet life and thrown into an adventure that carries him across the huge planet Pavonis in search of an ancient artifact that will change the world.

As Vaux travels tens of thousands of kilometres following clues to the location of the artifact he's pursued for a murder he didn't commit, chased by fanatics who will destroy the artifact to protect the status quo and kill anyone who gets in their way, attacked by a 'dragon', robbed, gassed, captured, freed, and shot at. He rides (and crashes) monowheels, stows away on land trains and sea trains, steals (and crashes) a dragonfly, flies aboard a personal skyhouse and sneaks in and out of a city in a meteor crater through the sewers. Twice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pete Ford
• Release date: Jun 28, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476142197

Pete Ford

Pete Ford is an English writer living in Colorado and making a living writing software for the U.S. Government--which is as uninteresting as you probably think.

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Pavonis

Pete Ford

Copyright 2012 Pete Ford

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter 1: Murder

The audience applauded as the curtain came down for the intermission. Good show, eh? said Rayle, smiling as he and I clapped with the rest. The play was a comedy by Jespersen, about an unlucky hero who loses everything when the woman of his dreams turns out to be a trickster, but then takes his revenge in a series of increasingly hilarious adventures. The play had received glowing reviews and I could see why.

A moment later there was a tapping at the door of the box. Rayle went through the plush curtains and I heard the click as he opened the door for the usher, who carried a tray with our intermission refreshments. As the lad came through the curtain and put the tray on the small leather-top table Rayle said, Open the bottle, John. I'll be back in two minutes, and he left the box, presumably to use the men's room.

I opened the half bottle of red as the usher left the box, and helped myself to a cracker and a slice of cheese while I waited for Rayle to return. When he did come back his face was red, his bald head was shiny with perspiration and he was breathing fast, as if he'd been running. I noticed him looking down the hallway outside the box as he closed the door. When he'd sat down he filled his wine glass and drank more than half of it at once, then took off his eyeglasses and wiped them with the corner of his jacket.

What's wrong? I asked.

Rayle paused for a moment before answering. Nothing, he said. Someone just gave me a bit of a shock, that's all.

The play recommenced and the audience was rolling with laughter as it reached its climax, but Rayle didn't seem to notice and said hardly another word. I couldn't help but notice that he spent more time watching the audience than he did the stage. I looked myself, to see if I could see what Rayle was looking for but all I saw were ordinary people, some wearing surgical masks in a vain effort to protect themselves from the influenza virus that was sweeping Rashenq, men dressed like us in dark suits with top hats and white gloves, and women in their gowns and dresses and bustles and hats. Nothing out of the ordinary.

* * *

When the show was over we made our way down to the lobby. As I headed for the bar for our customary small drink before leaving the theatre Rayle said, Actually, John, I think I'd rather go home.

What's vexing you? I said, and I smiled as I continued, or are you in mind of going to see the widow Dodge tonight? Mistress Dodge worked in the university library; Rayle had been spending two or three nights at her house every week for about a year.

Rayle shook his head. I have some things I need to take care of, nothing more.

It was raining as we left the theatre and dashed across the street to where Rayle had left his little black steam carriage. I hopped in, took off my hat and gloves and placed them on the shelf behind my seat, while Rayle started the steam boiler and then got back out to light the carbide headlights. I could see that he was having problems doing that in the rain.

My comment about Mistress Dodge had been a little unfair and in hindsight I knew I shouldn't have said it, especially with him in this fragile mood. Usually Rayle would take the lady out somewhere--to the music hall, or for a walk in the park, or sometimes to the art galleries--and then they'd have dinner before returning to his house or hers. In reality I couldn't imagine Rayle simply turning up at her door and expecting to stay the night; he wasn't that kind of man. After his wife had left him for another man, ten years before, he'd been alone for a long time before meeting Mistress Dodge, but that event had done him the world of good.

The lights of a passing carriage threw acetylene light over Rayle, who I could see was still struggling to get his own vehicle's lights working, and then the light passed over me such that I had a clear vision of myself reflected in the polymer windscreen for a few seconds. I was a little overweight from too much rich food and not enough exercise, but not overly so. Unlike Rayle I still had all my hair, and the little grey at the temples contrasted with the natural dark brown in a way that I considered made me look distinguished. I thought, I don't look so bad for forty-one. Rayle was by comparison a short, tubby keg of a man, despite which he'd managed to charm the widow Dodge. She was obviously the sort of woman who valued character above looks, and Rayle was to be envied for his catch. Thoughts of Rayle's relationship set me thinking about my own Lynda, who'd died of a fever eight years before, a month before we were due to be married. I hadn't met anyone since, but then I hadn't really been looking. Perhaps the time had come, I thought; perhaps I should do some new things, meet new people.

Rayle finally got the lights to work and they spluttered for a moment, throwing lightning flashes against the curtain of rain, before settling down to an even glow. Rayle got back into the carriage, turned up the steam, and got us moving.

* * *

The steam carriage rattled as we drove over the cobbles of the night-time streets of Rashenq. The boiler made occasional spitting noises as fat raindrops spattered on the casing; wisps of steam swirled behind us, glowing whenever we passed through a pool of the cool light thrown by of one of the sugar lamps hanging from the wires strung between the tall houses lining the narrow streets.

Rayle sat at the wheel, silent, peering through the rain-splattered windscreen into the gloom and rain ahead of us. He was still wearing his topper and gloves, which he usually removed while driving. The carriage splashed through another puddle as he steered us around a bend fast enough to press me against the door. It was only then that I realised that Rayle was driving just about as fast as the carriage would go, at least fifty kilometres an hour.

I glanced across at him as he looked in the door mirror--for about the fiftieth time, I realised. You know, I said, if you're worried about being stopped by a constable after a couple of drinks, belting along at night in heavy rain is not the best idea.

Sorry, he said, and I felt the carriage slow a little as he reduced the steam. He went quiet again, apparently consumed by his thoughts.

I sighed to myself. I'd been trying to find out what had happened during the intermission without success; he'd said he was fine and wouldn't talk about it further. I decided to give up. Well, almost; at that moment I had another thought, which was that Rayle hadn't long returned from a research trip to the archive in Landfall and it hadn't occurred to me to ask about it.

How was Landfall? I asked, and had to brace my arm against the door to avoid having my head bashed against the windscreen when Rayle hit the brake.

Sorry, he said again. Dog in the road. I looked out at the street; yellowish light from the lower windows of the houses shone off the wet cobbles but I saw no sign of any dog. Rayle let the brake off and the carriage picked up speed again. It was a waste of time, he said, and I looked at him. Landfall, I mean. There was nothing there. I don't know why I bothered going all the way up there. He glanced away from the road for a moment to look at me, then his eyes went back to the road. I knew a furtive look when I saw one.

A few moments later we pulled up by the gate that leads into the tiny front garden of my house. Would you like to come in? I can make us a hot drink, I said as I opened the carriage door.

I really should get home. I have things I really should take care of right away, and . . . I have a lot to do in the morning.

Don't you have an assistant for that?

Marton? Yes, he can handle the routine things, but it's not his job to appraise theses or mark student scripts.

I grabbed my topper and gloves from the shelf behind my seat, hopped out and dashed through the gate and to my door through the hammering rain as Rayle drove off.

* * *

Later, changed into dry clothes and with my feet up in front of the fire and a hot drink on the chair table, I thought about Rayle. I'd known him too long, and I knew his mannerisms; I knew he was lying about Landfall. He had found something interesting and although it wasn't at all unusual for either of us to keep a discovery quiet until we were ready to publish, we had shared things with each other before. I felt a little upset that he didn't trust me enough to tell me about what he'd found this time. Then something had upset him during the intermission and I felt certain it was related.

I consoled myself with the thought that if Rayle had a secret to keep, he must have a good reason and he'd probably tell me the whole truth when the time was right.

* * *

The next morning I was indexing some Andrasi statuettes that had come in from a dig site in Voeren when I noticed a man standing by one of the display cases in the exhibition staging hall. He looked to be in his mid-twenties and was wearing a dark brown suit and a matching bowler, rather like many of the people working at the university and the museum including myself, but something about his manner told me that this man didn't work for either.

This area isn't open to the public, I said as I approached him. Is there something I can help you with?

I'm looking for Doctor Vaux, he said.

I am he.

He flipped open a wallet and held it out for me to see. Inspector Barris, Royal Rashenq City Police Service. Is there somewhere we can talk?

My office is this way, I said. I was trying hard to appear nonchalant. Had I done something wrong?

What is this? he asked, pointing at the display case he'd been standing next to. Inside the wood and polyglass case, lying on the white stone slab that formed the bottom, was a dark shape that looked like a large, shaggy, six-legged dog that had been dried out and squashed flat.

That's Bertie, I said. He was found buried with three other people in the Dagger Mountains last year. We think they were part of a travelling party that got caught in bad weather more than forty thousand years ago, and they're the best preserved Andrasi remains ever found. He's going on display in the main hall next week.

People? This was a person?

Yes indeed. I thought it was strange that when most people thought of Andrasi--the older race that had inhabited Pavonis and then died out long before humans had arrived--they thought of them as humanoid. The Andrasi were intelligent, they used tools and wore clothes and built towns and cities, and they created art and music and literature and poetry. Despite the anatomical differences they were very like us in many ways.

I led the way to my office, feeling a little calmer. I've never heard of any Andrasi cities. What happened to them? Barris asked as we walked through the narrow gaps between the display cases.

They've been destroyed, mostly, by time and weather. There are still remains all around if you know what to look for. There's a rather nicely preserved city with some parts still standing a couple of hundred kilometres from Thane, if you're ever down that way.

This is what you do? asked Barris.

Part of it, yes. Technically I'm a historian but I specialise in archaeology, and I also manage the document archive and some of the museum displays.

And what about Doctor McReady?

He's a historian too, but he's more interested in Earth and the first years here, specifically the period before the new calendar was established. Barris' face was blank; he didn't seem to know what I was talking about. Year twenty-five, Pavonis calendar, counting the year the Ganymede landed as year zero, I said, which was 2330 on the old Earth calendar. Barris nodded. What are they teaching in the schools these days? I thought.

Barris made a point of closing the heavy wooden office door behind us. He took off his bowler and looked around, studying the room--the polished panels of light wood and my framed diplomas and certifications, the reproductions of Andrasi art, the display cases filled with Andrasi artefacts collected from digs all over the continent including writing implements and cooking tools and poetry scrolls. I sat in my padded armchair behind the heavy wooden desk and Barris took one of the seats in front.

Now, he said, pulling out a notepad, the business I came here for. Can you tell me where you were at one o'clock this morning?

What's this about? Am I under arrest?

You're not under arrest, or suspected of anything. A crime may have been committed and our information leads me to believe you may have information that could help.

At one this morning I was asleep in bed.

Is there anyone who can corroborate that?

Sorry, no.

Can you tell me how you spent your time yesterday evening?

I thought for a moment. I was here until about five, I think. I went home, washed and changed, then Doctor McReady picked me up at six and we went to Tommy Wacker's for dinner.

Picked you up?

In his steam carriage. I have a monowheel but it's not big enough to carry a passenger, and in any case it's over at Millard's having a drive chain replaced. Barris had reminded me that my 'wheel would be ready later that day.

Barris made a note. How long were you at Wacker's?

An hour or so. Then we went to the Empire Theatre to see a play. That finished just before ten. Then Doctor McReady dropped me at my house, and I went to bed a little before midnight.

Did Doctor McReady have anything to drink?

We had a glass of wine with our steaks at Wacker's, and we shared a half-bottle at the theatre. We usually stop in the bar for a drink before we leave the theatre but Doctor McReady wasn't in the mood last night.

How did you drink wine in a theatre?

The Doctor has his own box. We often order snacks and a bottle for the interval.

I see. Did anyone see you when you got home?

I don't think so. There's a neighbour across the street who might have seen me but it was late, and it was also raining quite heavily by then.

How did the Doctor seem to you? Was he drunk?

On two glasses of wine? Hardly. I had begun to wonder if Rayle was the one in some kind of trouble and I didn't want to make things worse, so I decided against mentioning the change I'd seen in him during the evening.

Did you meet anyone at the restaurant or the theatre that you know? Anyone who can corroborate your movements?

Doctor McReady, of course. The staff at Wacker's would probably remember serving us. Other than that I don't recall seeing anyone I'm familiar with.

How long have you known Doctor McReady?

We did our military service together in the Army Wings division. We've known each other for more than twenty years.

Barris closed his notebook. Doctor Vaux, I'm afraid I have some very bad news. Doctor McReady was found dead early this morning.

I was stunned; I sat in stupefied silence for what seemed like half a minute as a dozen different thoughts whirled through my mind. What had happened to Rayle? Did Barris suspect murder? Did Barris suspect me?

His carriage . . .

Barris shook his head. It wasn't a carriage accident. His body was found under the Triton Bridge by a couple out for a walk.

What happened?

We think he stopped his carriage on the bridge so that he could take a leak. It was dark and raining, and it appears he didn't see the edge.

When he dropped me off he said he was going home.

Barris shrugged. He apparently changed his mind. Barris straightened. I'm very sorry for the loss of your friend. Did he have any family in Rashenq?

He has a sister, Dorothy. She lives on the east side of the city somewhere.

I understand the Doctor has a research assistant, Marton Hill. Have you seen him today?

Not today, no.

Barris stood as if to leave. One last question. Did Doctor McReady have any enemies?

We don't make those kinds of enemies, Inspector. Rayle published an article a couple of years ago that raised the hackles of his counterparts at the University of Makrothenes, and there were some poisonous letters going back and forth for a while. Bad feelings and harsh words in the journals is about as bad as it gets in this line of work.

Barris frowned slightly then said, About ten years ago a mathematics teacher here in Rashenq rejected a thesis written by one of his students. Three months later the same material appeared in print with the teacher's name on it and no mention of the student. Two days after that the teacher's body was found. He'd been stabbed more than forty times, and we never found his head. The student's serving a life term on Nuesharn Island. So you see, Doctor--it can get worse than harsh words. With that, Barris left.

* * *

I left the museum early. I couldn't concentrate on work with questions about Rayle filling my head, and I decided a drink on the way home might help settle my nerves. There was a cosy little tap house that Rayle and I often stopped at; it was an old four-storey wooden building with low plaster ceilings supported by polished dark wooden beams, located not far from the ornate black metal gates of the museum grounds, and I had a good half hour before the next tram going my way so I bought a newspaper from the old man who ran the stall by the gate then propped up the bar in the tap and ordered a glass of beer.

News of the death of Rayle McReady was on page five, and there was more information than Barris had told me, but what I read raised more questions in my mind than it answered. Rayle's carriage was stopped near the edge of the road over the Triton Bridge, just as Barris had said, with the engine still running. Rayle had been found at seven that morning on the rocks supporting the bridge piling. According to the medical examiner Rayle had died at about one and had been very, very drunk. The police had found an empty Ganyr Brandy bottle on the seat of the carriage. They were treating the incident as a tragic accident, nothing more.

This wasn't the Rayle McReady that I'd known. Rayle, drunk? Unlikely. Rayle, driving his carriage while drunk? Unbelievable. Rayle, driving his carriage, drunk, at one in the morning, and stopping to piss off the side of a bridge? Inconceivable.

Of course, it was possible that the reporter had 'enhanced' the story. I thought about going to the newspaper's office, but then I had a better idea--Barris would have the real examiner's report and would know the complete truth. I decided I'd go to see him in the morning. It was almost time for my tram, so I finished my drink and headed out. The green-painted wood and iron tram was halfway to my house before I remembered my monowheel.