Eden's Jester Read Online Free PDF Page A

fundamentally, to a relatively small region of space--but that’s another story.  
    So, learning to move is like learning to surf. It takes a while to get the hang of it, but most Engineers can move about quickly and accurately enough to go about a day’s business without accidentally landing in the Galapagos Islands.  
    Fortunately, my character and methods dictated long ago that I master the quick getaway. So I am better than most when it comes to locomotion. I easily covered the six hundred miles to New York Harbor in a few minutes.  
    Finding the boat was more challenging, but after a quick sweep of the waters, I spotted it entering the mouth of the harbor.  
    It was a yacht, its large white hull glowing golden as the New York sun cleared the waters. Running low and slow, it was either armored or had a heavy cargo.  
    I had about four minutes before the appointed time of the ship’s demise, and was curious to know why Death needed to have an alibi for this job.  
    I moved to the ship’s deck and found the bridge, where a lone officer piloted the vessel. He was older, in his fifties maybe, and had six sets of stripes on his uniform. He looked like a sailor in an old sea picture, with a short, carefully trimmed white beard and perfect posture.  
    I shifted my senses to the ethereal plane to inspect his inner man, his soul, which emerged quickly as a vibrant, crystalline-like shape similar to a tie-dyed snowflake. The symmetry, order, and general tidiness of the lattice indicated that this man was a longtime servant of the forces of Law. He had integrity, character, and a level of nobility. He wouldn’t be susceptible to the influences a less developed soul would be. Manipulating him would take time, more than I had. Instead, I chose the direct approach, and re-formed my body directly in front of him.
    As I materialized, his eyes widened, and I could see his biometrics go a little crazy. He stood his ground and looked me in the eye, as soon as I had one. I was getting less happy about this job.
    “Who are you?” he whispered.
    “Normally, I’m nobody,” I said. “But today, let’s say I’m Death’s . . . proxy, sort of.” I could see the man crunch that piece of data, trying to wrap his head around the implications. Strangely, his demeanor began to change. He relaxed.
    Finally, he said, “I suppose asking you what you want would be pointless.”
    “I don’t want anything. I’m just here to do my friend a favor.” I walked up close to the man, and looked him over, trying to gauge his mental state. He was solid. So much for the scare tactics.  
    “I am curious, however, what type of vessel this is. What is your purpose?”  
    I could sense large amounts of electronic equipment below. But that could be anything.
    “I don’t understand . . .” he said. Apparently, this conversation wasn’t making much sense to him.
    I put my hand on his shoulder and tried to sound comforting. “There’s not much to understand. I’ve been sent by Death to this vessel, and I’d like to know something about you. So tell me, what is your purpose?”  
    It wasn’t working. He stared at my hand as if it were a fresh glob of bird poop left by a sick pelican.  
    “We’re a data collection repository. We receive data feeds and store the information. That’s all.”  
    “You sail around and soak up information? That’s it?”
    “Yes . . .” He reversed the engines and brought the ship to a quick stop. With a few flicks of a finger, he lowered the anchor and powered down the vessel. The ship was dead in the water. He then straightened his uniform, turned to me, and stood in silence.
    “Where do you go?” I asked.
    “Everywhere. She can cross the Atlantic without refueling. She can get right up to the great ice in the North without flinching. We go everywhere.”
    “And always soaking up information?”
    “Yes.”
    “Sounds easy enough. Who is your owner?”
    Creases of confusion crossed his brow.