Chapter 8
Zanzibar
Danzig-5012 Solar System
Equatorial Region
“Gentlemen! I’m so pleased to hear of your progress!” Aristotle Lang was beaming as he strode into the underground dig site. As usual, his entourage of bodyguards, flunkies, toadies, and female eye candy were in tow. “I had to come see it for myself!” Lang’s bodyguards fanned out around the chamber and glowered at the captives. They all wore face masks with oxygen condensers and filters and long gray coats with matching skull caps. The goons carried a mishmash of guns and knives, and wore body armor and load bearing equipment if they had it. In the dig site, most of them had their trademark goggles either dangling around their necks or up on their foreheads.
Cecil Blackwood and Zak Mesa exchanged a knowing glance. This was the sort of thing that kept them employed and, by extension, kept them alive. Zak especially hated turning over priceless ancient alien artifacts to a warlord like Lang, but there was nothing he could do.
The warlord didn’t look like much—a heavy-set, middle-aged bald man, broad and squat with a noticeable belly. Nonetheless Lang was cunning, ruthless, and a shrewd negotiator. A man didn’t keep his position as being the most powerful warlord on Zanzibar without being intelligent and being able to think on his feet.
“Mr. Lang,” Cecil began. It was always better when Cecil did the talking. “Thanks to the untiring efforts of Mr. Mesa, we were able to confirm that this site was worth excavating. It’s not the vault we’ve been hunting for, but it may still prove to be a good find.”
“Ah, Mr. Blackwood,” Lang began, “I’ve heard that sweet Bianca is being very nice to you?” Cecil nodded nervously. He knew that the old warlord did things like this to remind him he was essentially a house pet. “Good, good. I could give your counterpart a concubine as well; I have many, but he has refused. Pity. In any case,” Lang continued, trying to sound intellectual, “please explain what you have found.”
“This was a storage site for artifacts when the Maggots hit this system over a century ago. It was, at the time, a closely guarded secret. Before the orbital bombardment began, they used explosives to blast the entryway and seal it before fleeing. They were worried that looters would clear it out before they were able to come back. Obviously, they never came back. Most of the records of this place were lost. Zak’s research led us here.”
“Very good, Mr. Mesa, very good! What can we expect to find in there?”
“I can’t tell you for sure,” Zak managed. Lang’s expression darkened, and Cecil visibly winced. “M-most of the records were lost,” Zak continued. “I’m not sure what’s in there, but there are alien artifacts in there. It’s listed as a contingency storage site, and that’s coming from multiple sources.”
Lang’s frown turned back into a smile. “Ha! Excellent, my boy, excellent! An old dog such as myself could hardly hope for a better historian. Tell me, how soon until we are able to penetrate the sealed chamber?”
The vault was at the end of a ten meter wide, hundred meter long tunnel that had been bored into the base of a barren hill, eroded smooth by eons of unceasing wind. The tunnel had been reinforced with composite braces that were still as strong as the day they had been placed, and had not caved in or crumbled in the time it had sat abandoned. It had been sealed by a deliberate cave-in at the mouth and another deep inside, at the end, to confound the efforts of looters. Air was condensed and pumped in to keep the tunnel pressurized so that the crews could work without getting winded, and to keep oxygen flowing deep underground. Lighting had been strung up all along it. At the very end, the tunnel widened into a large cavern, but the entrance was buried under tons and tons of rock.
“I talked to your foreman,” Cecil said, indicating the crew of Lang’s men that were using machines and hand tools to remove the crumbling stone. “I very specifically told them not to use explosives. They might damage the artifacts or cause a cave-in.”
“A wise decision,” Lang agreed. “But how long?”
“He told me several more days. The rock slide goes deeper than we thought.”
“I see, I see,” Lang replied, rubbing his chin. “I will talk to the foreman myself. I expect they can have that chamber open sooner than you think. Until then, make sure these fools don’t do anything stupid. I will not risk the artifacts! My men are replaceable. The artifacts are not.”
“We will, Mr. Lang,” Cecil agreed nervously.
“And you, Mr. Mesa,” Lang said, pointing a crooked finger at Zak. “Find me that vault!”
“I guarantee that he will!” Cecil said, stepping in before Zak could say anything.
Aristotle Lang’s demeanor darkened again. “For your sake I hope so. Good day, gentlemen.” He turned and left, his hangers-on in tow behind him. Cecil and Zak looked at each other again, and exhaled. Sooner or later their luck was going to run out.