Unseen Friends, Unseen Foes

by Alcuin Fromm

Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7a, 7b

part 6

The Lynx was not a diplomatic or civilian ship, it was a military vessel. As Lemm approached it, he could hear the familiar whine of the pre-launch checks, and he saw jets of superheated gases spurt out of the plasma coolant vents.

A surge of excitement welled in him. He was going back to start his career among the stars. He had outmaneuvered all the tricks Olmenin could throw at him. Lemm looked up and saw the dim white outline of the semi-constructed Relay Station against the blue Olmeninian sky. A pang of guilt shot through his excitement. “They’ll send someone else,” he muttered to himself as he walked up the Lynx’s gangway. “Someone better suited than I am.”

“I’m sorry, sir?” said Nickel over Lemm’s earpiece.

“Oh, nothing. I’m just talking to myself. Keep working on the reconstruction.”

“I am, sir. There is only about three percent left to finish before the transferred data will be accessible. But I can also converse simultaneously. There is a fascinating case during the Third Dynasty of a king with a split personality. Would you—”

“No,” said Lemm emphatically.

He saluted a military officer, who scanned Lemm’s identification codes and showed him to his seat. Like all military spacecraft, the interior of the Lynx had been constructed to leave all its inner workings visible and accessible. Piping, conduits, cables, and circuits ran up and down the exposed skeleton of the ship’s infrastructure. Massive beams of metal lofted up to the high ceiling, forming a ribcage around the cargo bay. Chatter filled the air from dozens of military personnel already seated and ready for launch.

Lemm took his spot against the starboard wall next to a man who appeared to be as young as he. They nodded to each other and Lemm buckled in.

“Jennokian?” the man asked.

“Yes,” said Lemm. “And you come from...”

“Mirania VII. First time going to the capital. Can’t wait. Is it as busy as people say?”

“More so.”

The young man grinned broadly. “Can’t wait,” he repeated.

Lemm glanced around and tried to shake the uneasy feeling of guilt that kept growing in the pit of his stomach. This is what his father wanted, he told himself. But there was so much his father didn’t know. Then the question came back to him: What could he even do?

Lemm leaned his head against a metal beam and sighed. He noticed a word in raised letters on the next beam, the manufacturer’s name. Lemm’s eyes went wide. He read the words “Astor Ærospace.”

In a flash, he remembered where he had seen the name before. He tried to stand up but was stopped by his seatbelt. With a curse, he ripped it open and ran to the gangway. The officer held out a hand to stop him.

“Sir, we’re departing in just a few minutes, you have to—”

Lemm ran past him. “You can go without me,” he yelled over his shoulder.

“But—”

Lemm couldn’t hear the rest of the officer’s objection. He ran down the causeway and back into the Spaceport.

* * *

On the ninety-eighth floor of the Imperial Consulate’s Olmenin Tower One, Lemm hunched over his cubicle desk and typed frantically on a computer terminal next to his datapad.

“Astor Ærospace is a design and production company that makes the infrastructural framework for many different starships,” said Lemm as he brought up the finance records of the Justice Department.

“Yes,” said Nickel. “Founded on the planet Pleer in the I.S. year—”

“Will you just shut up and listen for a second, Nick? I knew I had seen that name somewhere, and it finally dawned on me where. The Consulate made a large purchase from Astor by way of the Justice Department at the beginning of the year. Anróyiv was probably all too happy to let them pay and didn’t give the matter a second thought. But what in Creation does the Justice Department need with structural spaceship parts?”

“Perhaps to build a ship?”

“But why?”

Lemm continued to root through the files until he at last found what he sought. “Here we are,” he said with a triumphant grin. “On I.S. date 1235-25-17, the Justice Department paid 412,000 Marks to Astor. The stated purpose is... foundation repair for the Justice Building?”

“I have no known information about any repairs or plans for repairs to the Justice Building since that date, sir.”

“But look at this,” said Lemm tapping the screen. “The purchase was made not directly but through a holding company named... Reclaiming Destiny. What is that? Who’s behind it? Look it up, Nick.”

“Yes, sir, just a moment.”

Nickel continued after a long pause.

“Two men established the Reclaiming Destiny Holding Company seventeen I.S. days before the transaction between the Justice Department and Astor Æerospace.”

“Who?”

“A certain Mal Esstoller and someone whom you know: Tribune Krin Ruuta.”

“Ruuta! He’s using the cover of the Justice Department to... buy spaceship parts? Why is he doing that? Nick, find out what you can about Mal Esstoller.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lemm slouched down in his chair and stared off into space, drumming his fingers impatiently and swiveling his seat back and forth.

“Unfortunately, the only information I can find about Mal Esstoller is his registration together with Tribune Ruuta of the holding company. Two chief officers are required by law. There is, however, an identification photo.”

“Bring it up.”

The image of a man in his middle-thirties popped on Lemm’s datapad. His face had a number of scars on it.

“Those scars look like they would be clear identifying marks. Run a facial comparison scan.”

“Yes, sir. Just a moment... I’m sorry, nothing matches.”

“Damn.”

Lemm increased the speed of his swiveling to match his growing frustration. “We’re so close... there’s just something missing.”

He stared at the image of Mal Esstoller, the scars kept drawing his attention.

“What did Tinnoli suspect?” Lemm muttered. “Damn, I wish he were here. He knew something about Astor but didn’t know about the holding company. If only he had given me more—”

Lemm sat bolt upright in his chair. “He did give me more: calcann. I forgot all about it. Nick, look up the word calcann. Check your databases. What does it mean? What is it?”

“That is easy, sir. The word calcann is Irethian for ‘tattoo’.”

“Tattoo? What could...” He looked back at the scars on Mal Esstoller’s face.

“Nick, superimpose dark markings along the scars on that image of Mal Esstoller and rerun the facial comparison scan.”

“Just a moment...”

Lemm held his breath, and sweat beads popped out along his forehead.

“I found something in the Irethian prison records, sir.”

“Irethian prison records?! How in Creation did you get in there?”

“At the risk of sounding sycophantic, sir, your decryption protocol and fire-wall tunnelling program are both exceptional. I was able to bypass the prison’s security system with ease. You did design me primarily as a hacking AI, did you not?”

“Hacking is such a harsh term,” said Lemm blushing. “We’re liberating information.”

“As you say, sir. This liberated information might interest you greatly. There is an image match with the former inmate with a different name who was incarcerated on Ireth for three years after being found guilty of smuggling and assisting the Revolution.”

The image of a man in his mid-twenties filled the datapad screen. Intricate green tattoos almost completely obscured his face. A surge shot through Lemm.

“That’s him,” he said smiling. “He must have had the tattoos laser-removed and his name changed to hide his identity. Tinnoli had all the pieces, but he couldn’t put them together. He didn’t have your access to 30,000 databases.”

“38,203.”

“Sorry. Now we just have to find these men and figure out what they’re doing with spaceship parts and... You said he was caught for smuggling?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Smuggling what?”

“Hythurium.”

* * *

The final days of summer on Olmenin had become indistinguishable from the first days of autumn. The air was still warm, but the green leaves were tinged with red, orange, and yellow, and the late afternoon sun hung low in the sky. Lemm sat on a bench in the Western Park, oblivious to the beautiful weather, his mind twisted around a question he could not answer: What were Mal Esstoller and Tribune Ruuta going to do?

Before leaving the Consulate Building, Lemm and Nickel had converted his small datapad scanner into a makeshift hythurium detector. Instead of receiving a simple zero-value, the adapted scanner would be able to identify when the zero-value corresponded with alloyed metal. It would not be foolproof, and the scanner had a short range, but Lemm felt confident he would be able to avoid being caught by another self-destructing robot, at the very least.

“Are you done yet?” asked Lemm closing his eyes and tilting back his head.

“No, sir. Still at ninety-nine percent, just like the last time you asked one minute and forty-three seconds ago.”

“Well, get ready for the same question again in one minute and forty-two seconds.”

“Duly noted, sir.”

Lemm stood and paced around the bench. He adjusted his hearing piece and ran his hands meaninglessly through his already tussled hair. He looked all around, then sat back down. Nothing could calm his agitation. “Are you—”

“Finished, sir.”

Lemm took out the datapad and drank in the screen like a man dying of thirst. Everything became clear in an instant. “How in Creation could that robot have had all this?”

“Apparently, the robot had been a messenger sent from Ireth. There are residual timemarks and tracking data from what must be a Revolutionary database on that planet.”

Lemm ran his hands over his troubled face. “This is bad, Nicky. This is really, really bad.”

“There is one more piece of information, sir, that I only have in a very impartial reconstruction.”

“What?”

“It is simply the word ‘Overlook.’”

Lemm’s eyes popped. “What time is it?”

“Timemark 6-22-15, sir.”

“Anróyiv’s dinner with the Governor is in a quarter-hour.” Lemm groaned pitifully. “All right, all right, take it easy. But now we’ve got two things.”

He stood and began running to the park entrance. Halfway there, he stopped all of a sudden. A torrent of emotions swept over him as he thought hard. Time seemed to stand still. Then he tapped his datapad and initiated a comm link.

* * *

Lemm closed the door of the hovercab outside the Overlook Restaurant. To the west, a thin glow of the setting sun still lingered on the distant Olmeninian mountains. The Overlook hugged the edge of a rocky outcropping with a breathtaking view of Noran Falls to the south. He heard a quiet din from within the restaurant, but outside everything was calm and quiet and the view breathtaking. A violent shiver ran through Lemm, and he trembled for a moment.

“What’s our range, Nicky?”

“Just under two arm lengths based on your particular arms, sir.”

Lemm readjusted the earpiece. Anything or nothing could happen, thought Lemm. Perhaps an entire battalion of Revolutionaries awaited them. Perhaps they were following a false lead. Lemm’s uncertainty grew. “Prudence says we should assume the worst and plan for that. You’re never disappointed when you’re a pessimist.”

He closed his eyes and wished he were not there, wished he were on a starship with nothing but open space and open potential before him. You’re not a spy, he thought for the hundredth time. Then a contrary voice rose up in his heart. No, but you are the son of Yellevar Meetrich, and the Empire needs you.

Lemm opened his eyes. “Here we go.” He plunged his right hand into his pocket and reassured himself the nano-trackers were still there. He strode through the front door and into a spacious lobby. A sharply-dressed man stood behind a reception counter. Lemm’s only hope of getting into the exclusive restaurant was to brazenly wield his credentials. He did not hesitate, but tried to walk right past the receptionist.

“Sir?”

Lemm ignored him and kept walking. With surprising agility and speed, the man darted in front of Lemm and blocked his path. “Sir, I’m sorry, do you have a reservation?”

Lemm whipped out his datapad and brought up his Imperial identification.

“I am Lemm Meetrich, Imperial Ambassador to the planet Olmenin. Please step aside. I am already late for dinner with the Governor due to a terribly unfortunate traffic situation.”

The man shook his head in confusion and annoyance. “How is that? There are just seven in the party and—”

Lemm continued forward. His sharp eyes scanned the dining area. The far wall was composed of floor-to-ceiling windows and sliding glass doors opening out onto a balcony high above the rocky cliff. At a large oval table sat the Governor’s party. Lemm selected an empty chair at a nearby table. He decided to try surprise and overwhelming insistence.

He crossed the dining room with long strides. In one continuous motion, Lemm lifted up the chair and inserted it between two of the guests at the Governor’s table, plopping himself into his seat before anyone had time to recover from their shock.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said in a booming, amiable voice. “I heartily apologize for my tardiness, but it was a quite unavoidable delay. Governor Rone-Irr, I am most honored to finally meet you.”

Consul Anróyiv looked as if he would explode with rage. “What is the meaning of—”

“No need to apologize, Consul. Your secretary informed me of all the necessary adjustments to the reservation.”

Anróyiv found himself forced into silence. and his expression changed from anger to confusion.

“Governor Rone-Irr,” said Lemm in conversational tone, “please tell us of your voyage.”

To Lemm’s relief, the Governor had had nothing but problems during his most recent space travel and was more than content to monopolize the conversation recounting them.

Lemm looked at the other guests at the table as the Governor prattled on. On each side of Rone-Irr sat two aides. Anróyiv sat next to one, and to his right sat Ambassador Ziisch with one of his personal entourage. Directly across from Lemm was Tribune Ruuta, his gaze fixed on Lemm, who nodded in acknowledgement. Ruuta’s barely visible smirk did not change.

“I have not detected anything yet, sir,” said Nickel over the earpiece.

Lemm looked all around, constantly expecting something but not knowing what. Every movement sent a wave of anxiety through him. A finely-dressed waiter served the first course. When he noticed Lemm, he looked at him in astonishment but maintained his professional air by setting a place for Lemm without commentary.

The Governor offered his condolences upon the untimely death of Secretary Tinnoli. Reflexively, Lemm glanced over to Ruuta, whose expression remained unchanged. The conversation shifted to monetary concerns.

A long pause in the service followed the end of the first course. When someone finally came to take away the plates, Lemm nearly jumped out of his seat. Rather than the previous waiter, a new man had begun clearing the table. He had heavy scarring on his face. In terror, Lemm recognized Mal Esstoller.

* * *

Proceed to part 7...

Copyright © 2024 by Alcuin Fromm