by Michael Blakeney and Gem Lassiter
90916.22
…continued from Part One
90916.22
…continued from Part One
The machine complied with his request and Michael was greeted by the familiar though never particularly welcome face of Ambassador Braylan. Whether it was the real or fake one, which was assuming the real one really was real, he couldn’t yet tell.
He also couldn’t tell where it’d been recorded. The room was too dark to make out a location, but he could tell from how the man was seated almost pressed against the wall that it was a cramped space. It was exactly the type of place occupied by men trying to hide away in those small places no one would bother to look.
“If you are watching this,” began the fearful, recorded words of the man on the screen before him, “then it means my situation has become truly desperate. It is my dearest hope that I will never have cause to allow anyone’s eyes except my own to view this file.”
“Well, we can’t always get what we hope for.” Michael mused, slightly bitterly, not feeling much sympathy even if the ambassador’s face did look quite pathetic as he shiftily looked around.
“You will know me as Thomas Braylan, the primary ambassador involved in the Talarian treaty negotiations. However, that is not the full story of who I am.” The video continued with Braylan looking nervously behind himself in case someone was going to come in.
Cautiously, the ambassador turned back to the camera and began to reach his hand up to the back of his neck. Then just as had happened on the floor of his residence the ambassador changed with the same passing light, revealing beneath the true alien within.
“I hate to break it to ya, mate, but we kinda saw that twist coming.” Blakeney added, before slowly realizing what he’d said and suddenly feeling just how empty this ship really was. “All one of us.”
“My real name is Artoon. Aelar Artoon.” The alien began in a soft, shaky voice. “I am a citizen of the planet Falton. Until now I have always been a completely loyal citizen.”
Fear laced every word the alien spoke as out the corner of its eyes it was constantly watching for something, like a hunted animal on the lookout for predators circling overhead.
This was not a being who’d ever planned on what he was doing now; an experience Michael found familiar as his thoughts still lingered on that one woman.
“Since I was a boy, it has always been my dream to be a soldier. To proudly march into battle against my world’s enemies.” Artoon continued, wistfulness slightly overtaking caution by a nose in the race for dominance before his tone turned to disgust. Disgust so complete and thorough that it quickly emerged as the triumphant emotion of the day.
“Unfortunately, due to a minor heart defect I was deemed…” he paused, nearly choking on the word. “Unacceptable.” Bitterly Artoon continued. “In lieu of this, I applied and was accepted to a position in the diplomatic division. I knew I was serving my people and yet there was no glory in the role. Even there,” Atroon scoffed with self-loathing, “this defect prevented my advancement above the role of Assistant to the Junior Representative.”
“Not a very important man.” Michael observed softly, again thinking aloud. It was certainly not the job title of someone who’d infiltrate such an important position in something as powerful as the Federation on their own.
Of course, if he had been alone then he’d likely still be here; it’d be far too much of a coincidence to think that whoever had killed him wouldn’t have been involved somehow in it all.
“I seemed to be doomed to live out my life in mediocrity.” Artoon continued regretfully as if wondering now if that would have been so bad. “Then one day three years ago, while I sorted through the records of the most recent land acquisitions, I received a communication on a secure channel. They used the forwarding code of the Del’har, our primary intelligence agency.”
Michael knew nothing of the Del’har, but just the way the word had been spoken and his instinctive read on Artoon told him as much as any researched, in-depth report ever could. Artoon was frightened to speak their name and yet still said it with admiration. It was like he was the loyal lackey speaking of his master. The Del’har was very powerful, or at least seen as such, and utterly ruthless on their enemies.
Michael and Gem were surely their enemies by this point, and so for Gem he was now even more worried.
“The chief agent himself revealed his image to me.” Artoon continued, sounding suddenly quite proud. “For reasons of security it is forbidden to even keep a record of his appearance so this was a great honor. Even more so was when he explained that the agency required my assistance. Finally I had the chance for real glory.”
Now, Michael noted, Artoon was getting excited, a feeling he sorely missed already. Glory meant a lot to Artoon it seemed, that was something else about him Michael found he could relate to.
Michael wasn't exactly old himself but Artoon was clearly much younger. Experience had taught Michael not to judge people by their age, at least not in the chronological sense of the word. Some people were forced to grow up long before they were ready and others would refuse to mature long after their time.
Still in every sense of the word, Artoon looked and acted far too young to have really thought about the consequences of being mixed up in something like this. With a lot of people to choose from, that was exactly why they’d target someone like him.
Glory, of course, never seemed as important as it would when you were young. Most men when they were young enough would make a deal with any god or devil if it seemed to be the only course to the life they felt they needed.
Michael had known such devils. Usually, they came disguised in the sheep’s clothing of men who considered themselves gods.
“Then to my confusion, I was told I was not to be sent into conventional battle.” Artoon explained, still with bewilderment about this concept. “I was to be fitted with an internal holographic device and then sent to infiltrate an alien world. They said I was to assume the role of a prominent alien ambassador, and to use this position to undermine their treaty negotiations.”
Even still Artoon looked confused about why this route was chosen. Clearly, conventional battle; war in all its crude violence, was the way of his people.
“I did not understand why we did not just conquer this Federation. It is well known that my people have military superiority in the galaxy. However, you do not question the orders of the Del’har.”
“Not if you want to live to see morning.” Michael concluded. He had to wonder if questioning those orders wasn’t what had gotten this alien where he’d ended up. As much as he hated it, and as he’d felt no similar pity for the ambassador as he’d known him, Michael was actually feeling sorry for Artoon all of a sudden.
Just following orders should never be an excuse but on some basic level Michael knew it took a certain type of person to challenge them. It was a type Michael always had been. It seemed Gem had been that type, too. Artoon clearly wasn’t.
“At first I believed I would be simply required to generate immediate conflict.” Artoon further explained. “However I was instructed that I was instead to manage these negotiations as if I were really this ambassador until such time as I was the sole representative the Federation would send.” Once again he was sounding excited. “Then, when the timing was right, I would reveal myself and destroy any hope of salvaging these negotiations. It would be glorious.”
Michael scoffed, but it was without feeling. He had expected any feelings of sympathy to disappear with hearing about these plans; it should have. Yet seeing Artoon on the screen before him, still so pathetically watching out for harm, he couldn’t quite shake those feelings of pity away.
A man, almost still a boy, who had come from a culture with a preference for war could never have really understood the harm that would be caused by interfering with negotiations for peace. To his annoyance the pity remained, as still did the thoughts of Gem.
“Something went very wrong.” Artoon revealed, his voice deadly serious and his thoughts clearly no longer of glory. “I was called to a meeting with my cover officer in a local restaurant, an unusually public place.
“When I arrived I was met with an apology that this officer was running late. So I sat down at my table and waited for him. He did not arrive but an order, some form of soup, was placed before me along with instructions that I was not to wait for the officer before I ate. Observing this soup with its large, overcooked chunks of meat seeming to swim within,” he seemed truly sickened by the thought,
“I considered it to be disgusting and sent it back, demanding a substitution. The rest of the meal was at least palatable and I ate it but the cover officer never arrived. That night I attempted to contact the Del’har, but they would not respond.”
Evidently this being out of contact was of some significance to Artoon. Simply from the vibe he gave off, Michael didn’t doubt that that particular night was the first time Artoon had felt uncertainty about what he was doing.
“Then the next morning I read in the media that one of the waiters at that restaurant had died. Apparently, he’d eaten a bowl of soup that one of his customers had sent back and poisoning was suspected.” Artoon obviously didn’t wish to think about this but had no alternative. “I had to face the possibility that the Del’har had tried to have me killed.”
Artoon seemed almost shaken to have spoken those words aloud.
“I sincerely hope to reestablish communication soon and to find an explanation.” He said honestly, adding fearfully, “if you are viewing this then that hasn’t happened. That means I now find myself trapped in an alien world with no contact with my home and no method of return.”
Artoon’s situation was a reality that Michael, as an adventurer at heart, had known himself before. Yet with a little pride he’d always known he had the skill to find his way back and to have a bit of fun in the process. Artoon, so out of his depth, had clearly felt no such certainty.
“Worse, I believe my life is still under threat.” Artoon continued, obviously anxious now to end this message soon. “Included with this file is all the data I have acquired about the Del’har’s operation. I do not consider myself a traitor and will not betray any military advantage. I realize however that once I am discovered as I undoubtedly will be, my protection will have a price. It is my hope that this information will pay that price.”
Though some men could have thought Artoon was just frightened of imprisonment for his role, Michael could sense it was more. There was something in Artoon’s tone that, even as he tried to hide it, conveyed clearly that he genuinely felt he’d simply be killed if he couldn’t trade them something of value. For all the time he must have spent there, he knew nothing of the Federation.
“If I have given you this information then I must have reason to believe the time of discovery is soon.” Artoon added, leaning over and still speaking as he turned off the recorder and the screen faded to black. “I pray that time will never come.”
As he still stared at where the image had been, Michael felt a most unwelcome sensation. He actually felt a little guilty.
To have someone on his case as meticulous, as observant and as unapologetic in her pursuit of the truth as Gem Lassiter must have felt like the proverbial noose being placed around Artoon’s neck. When he had her taken off the case, Michael had made her keep right on pursuing it.
Information had been denied to her and Michael had gotten it for her. He didn’t regret what he’d done, that wasn’t his style, but he knew he’d just kept making that noose tighter around the neck of the unfortunate man called Aelar Artoon.
He shook himself trying to dismiss that among other feelings, but it was going nowhere. As he slid the communication device into his pocket and turned around in his chair to survey his location, he promised himself that if it was all he could do, that he’d make damn sure he’d expose the people who’d killed Artoon.
Yet for the first time with such thoughts they felt like they’d been spoken without conviction. It was an oath he’d taken before under similar circumstances and never doubted his ability. He was, after all, who he was and that meant he got things done. Still, as he noted once again just how empty this ship was, for what felt like the first time he didn't believe he could do this alone.
“Damn it.” He muttered slowly to himself as he tried to avoid that realization. He bitterly questioned just how much that woman could take from him in just an instant, quickly fleeting, when he wondered what she could give.
Whatever conclusions he may have reached were lost when he was interrupted by a strange sound and even stranger sensation. It was Gem’s communication device in his pocket, vibrating away to tell him something had happened.
He quickly flipped it out, expecting to find an incoming call and unsure whether it made more sense to answer it, hang up or just to let it ring out. Whatever he would have done didn’t matter as he found it was just a message consisting entirely of text.
He opened it, not really caring if it would have been considered to be an invasion of her privacy. It wasn’t like she was going to find out. It was only a short message so didn't really matter anyway.
[I have vital information about Braylan. Meet me in the old mining district in one hour’s time. Specific coordinates are attached. Come alone.]
There was no salutation and no indication from whom or where it’d come. Apparently there was another player in this game of theirs. Maybe even a young, simple, pleasing female player.
He'd have to go there on his own, just as he'd always done before. Given this was a lead Gem obviously wouldn’t be following if she didn't know about it he knew he owed it to Artoon to investigate.
Given the possibility that the sender of the message was a woman and, if so, the almost certainty of fun, he decided he also owed it to himself.
In that moment as he contemplated the message, all emotion drained from his face and he knew then that something was deeply wrong. He felt nothing. That made him angry.
There was promise of mystery, almost certainly danger, and the possibility of a beautiful woman. So why the hell didn’t he feel the same rush he always had every single time before?
He shook his head in disgust as he slid the device back into his pocket, knowing the answer so clearly and still being so entirely unwilling to admit it. He only had an hour to prepare. He decided he'd just have to find a way not to admit it at all.
----------
Lt. Commander Michael Blakeney
Temporal investigations
and
//// Gemini Lassiter
Director, The Alchemy Project
(and former TI Agent)
Lt. Commander Michael Blakeney
Temporal investigations
and
//// Gemini Lassiter
Director, The Alchemy Project
(and former TI Agent)