Zaleria is pleased with their decision.
∞∞∞
“Mother, tell me about the Mar'gah'thor.”
Traemuña looks at Zaleria with a very serious expression. “I knew them before they fell,” she shares. Zaleria has virtually traveled to her house this time, a world closer to the galactic core, with a distant blue giant for a sun, casting an eerie blue light over everything and accentuating colors in the ultraviolet part of the spectrum. It is as beautiful as one would expect for a place meticulously tended to for over 250,000 years. Her mother has taken a different route to personalizing her home. Instead of using symbiots, she has instead used selective breeding and other, gentle forcing techniques to guide local evolution to develop truly remarkable specimens that produce exquisite foods that are varied and delicious. But, Zaleria thinks to herself, it somehow feels faded and somber, like her mother in many ways. She is getting bored with it, perhaps, letting it go wild in places.
“They were once a race with potential, reptilian with significant sexual dimorphism. The females were practically non-sentient, and the males gained power by amassing large harems at the expense of their rivals. Over time, intelligence evolved as they became increasingly warlike and inventive at gaining and protecting reproductive advantage. Only the smartest and craftiest reproduced. They nearly destroyed themselves on several occasions through global war, but it was the less successful males that eventually helped them survive long enough that their technology could advance to the crisis point. They created artificial females, so anyone could reproduce. But it was not enough. They entered the crisis lustful and self-centered, and that is how they came out. They created machines that helped them find greater pleasure and wealth. Their existence is a game of constant strife, each trying to outdo the others. It doesn't matter what it is, they turn it into a commodity and fight over it. They fight, die, and are reborn just to do it over again, and again, and again. They are a tragic reminder that there are fates worse than annihilation for any race facing their crisis.”
Zaleria knows all this of course, it is all in the collective's records. But that is not why she asked. “Why didn't we help them?”
Her mother looks at her and raises an eyebrow. “Is that what this is about? How do you think we could have helped them? They were nothing like us. Even if we had approached them, I don't believe they would have listened to us. The Alothians are sentients very similar to them. They tried to help instill some basic moral precepts, but they never caught on. Some things just can't be helped.”
“Do you really believe that mother?” Zaleria asks, switching to the English dialect.
Traemuña sighs, takes Zaleria's virtual hand in hers and looks into her eyes. “I know Earth is your first world, your first duty, and that when you look at humans now, you must know, that was once how we were. You are too young to have known any of our first-generation forebears, but there were a few still around when I was young. The stories they shared—it was a near thing. A very near thing…,” she trails off, reliving some distant memory perhaps. “That doesn't mean you can help them, but it also doesn't mean you can't help them. Have some faith in creation, and trust in your instincts. You are my daughter in more ways than you know. Right now, however, I believe you need to get back to work,” she says in all seriousness, with a pinched smile, “Time is getting away from you.”
∞∞∞
Rolle begins finalizing his plans. He wants to try and draw out Zaleria's people, and hopefully Zaleria herself. The plan is to arrange a “security incident,” where his itinerary for an upcoming visit to one of his manufacturing plants outside Salt Lake City will be “inadvertently” sent to an alias outside their internal firewalls. The last time he was attacked was around a dinner date he'd arranged in large part to maintain visibility among that segment of “high society” with lots of capital in search of worthy causes to invest—if for no other reason than to feel good about themselves in a sort of game where they each try to outdo the others within their social circles. While he doesn't agree with such “virtue signaling,” he is more than willing to use the funds raised from such people to advance his work. In some sense, they mean well, so why not put it to good use?
However, in this case, he'll be trying to stimulate another kind of response in the hope Zaleria and her people intervene like they did last time. His goal is singular—get her a message and try to arrange a one-on-one. The rest of his plan is to mitigate risks to his organization and people. He doesn't want to expose any of his business or social acquaintances to potential danger. He wants to keep the group of actors to only security personnel, but he assumes all of his people are known. His adversaries and Zaleria's people won't bite on a poorly baited trap. He may need to bring in someone new who can act as a stand-in for a known associate. He doesn't like the idea of bringing in people he doesn't know for sensitive operations, but he'll float the idea by Clive and see what he thinks. He'll also get his recommendation about location. Rolle prefers a remote location with fewer variables to control.
The location turns out to be the easiest part to solve. Clive knows just the place—a small restaurant across the mountains in Park City. Perfect. He gives Clive a few days to find someone who can stand in for one of several key personnel in the region. He only needs one. He brings a list of candidates in a binder that he leaves on Rolle's desk to peruse at his leisure. He gets to the third candidate and smiles. She is the one—Jessie Lui. She looks similar enough to one of his Hong Kong executives to pass for her, with the right tweaks to her appearance and a believable paper trail bringing her out to Salt Lake City. And the restaurant would be just the place for a quiet business dinner. He calls Clive. “Make preparations; we go in one month.”
∞∞∞
He began trickling his people in a week before the operation. They did everything they could to mask their true identities and histories. You'd have to do detailed record checks to know they weren't who they said they were. Exactly the kind of research his security staff were now doing on all visitors booked into the local hotels in the last two weeks. With any luck, they might catch two birds with one stone. He is also planning escape routes. His private plane with a trusted crew is all lined up, and they can be in the air on short notice. He also has secondary and tertiary routes lined up. A lot depends on this, and he is applying 10,000 years of experience to the problem; it is getting his full attention. Clive is also earning his pay in spades. He's already identified two suspicious visitors to the Park City area and is quickly following those trails to see where they'll lead. So which team might they play for? Rolle smiles a bit. This is going to be interesting.
Everything is going to plan. Ms. Lui, acting as his known associate, is at the restaurant patiently waiting. She's been given a note that Rolle might be a few minutes late. He is a busy man after all. This gives everyone a chance to see who comes in to eat, lingers too long, acts suspicious… Rolle's people, meanwhile, roll in and out, eating great food, scoping out the place, leaving so as to not draw suspicion. He has at least two people in the restaurant in addition to Jessie at all times. If nothing else, they will all eat well tonight.
It is time. Rolle walks in and sits down across from Jessie. She looks up, a small frown playing across her face. She has a momentary look of surprise but suppresses it quickly. Rolle raises an eyebrow. “Sorry I'm late. I was delayed in Salt Lake City.” He gently palms a note to her as he reaches out to grasp her hands. She discreetly looks at it. Her face drains of all color. “Is everything okay?” he asks.
“Who are you?” she asks in a measured voice, quickly regaining her composure.
“Bait,” he says.
∞∞∞
Something is terribly wrong. Zaleria, acting as Jessie Lui to try and get into Rolle's security detail, has just read the note passed to her by a man who is definitely not Rolle Andersson.
Zaleria, please pardon this ruse, but we must meet. I assume you feel the same. It is imperative that you not contact the
others. I only want a chance to talk privately. -A
She doesn't know what to do. This is completely unexpected. Who is A? Andersson? How does he know who she is? Why does he want to talk? If he knows who she is, he must be a rouge galan and, therefore, should be able to contact her anywhere. She continues to play her part, but she can tell she is not concealing her emotions. The bait-man across from her is looking a bit concerned. She wonders what he is supposed to do if she refuses to leave with him. The waiter comes by to get their drink order. Whoever he is, he's good. He orders a couple glasses of wine for them and gives every appearance of going through with dinner. She glances around the restaurant but doesn't see anything suspicious. Rolle's men are still there, assuming that's who they really are. She begins to wonder if anyone is who they appear to be. She needs to compose herself. She excuses herself to head to the ladies’ room. Bait-man takes it in stride but looks at her hard as she walks off, trying to be as casual as she can.
She reaches the restroom and takes a quick look in the mirror. She takes a deep breath and tries to regain her composure. She is far too expressive and needs to settle down. Things have changed; her mission now is to find out what is going on. She provides a quick update to the collective and asks them to see if they can find a location on the real Rolle. She also notifies her backup to hang back for now but be ready. She now feels better. It'll be interesting to see where this leads. But just in case, she double checks the energy weapon concealed in her thigh holster. She really hopes it doesn't come to that.
She casually walks back to bait-man, who is sipping his glass of wine. He looks at her over the glass. “Feeling better?”
“Much,” she replies. “Shall we order dinner?” He is actually a pretty good double for Rolle. He has many of his mannerisms and appears comfortable in the roll. She wonders how many times he has filled in for him. She is watching a new couple that's taken a table over by the window when a new waiter shows up with their dinner. Bait-man looks up as he approaches and draws a pistol out of his jacket faster than she would have thought possible. She is already rolling when the gun goes off into the waiter who, caught by surprise, drops the weapon he had concealed under the tray. She is already rising into a crouch with her weapon in her hand when the couple she's been eyeing produce pistols of their own. As a representative of an advanced race, she has no problem shooting the woman who is facing them first with an audible schoop, before hitting the man in the back as he is turning. Schoop. It is all over in a matter of a few seconds. Rolle's men calmly get up and start searching the victims as everyone else scrambles for an exit. Suddenly, the doors open, and an ugly little man dressed in a flannel shirt and cut-off jeans saunters in, wearing a backpack. He sees bait-man standing over the waiter and reaches into his pocket just as Rolle's men start heading toward him, guns drawn. Zaleria is already aiming her pistol, firing when his backpack detonates.
∞∞∞
Rolle sees the internal video feed cut out just as the external video shows the windows blow out. Smoke starts curling from the windows, and he is already reaching out for Clive. He sees his people positioned outside the restaurant closing in, reacting a little faster than the other bystanders, most of whom are now moving in the opposite direction. Damn it! He is angry for not anticipating how desperate his enemy has become. He just lost a lot of good people for no damn good reason. He has to work quickly. He reaches Clive and tells him to bring the car. “Listen to me carefully. Find the girl, Ms. Lui. I don't care how badly injured she is or if she is dead. Bring her or her remains to the gas station.” Clive hesitates a moment. “Clive, I need you to trust me on this.” Rolle is taking a large gamble on Clive's loyalty. “Roger,” is all Clive says. Rolle needs to get Zaleria out of there before her people or the police show up. Meanwhile, he has to start dealing with the fallout. Damn his shortsightedness! He contacts his public affairs officer. This is going to get ugly...
∞∞∞
Clive enters the restaurant after ensuring his men set up a quick perimeter. It is a mess. Everyone is clearly dead. Those closest to the bomber have been dismembered and shredded, but everyone in that room would have been killed by the over-pressure, even if they'd avoided the shrapnel. He doesn't understand what Rolle expects. He finds Jessie Lui's crumpled form smashed into a booth in the back, her body thrown back by the blast. The front half of her body is a bloody mess, probably at least a dozen pieces of shrapnel had torn through her, one gouging off the lower part of her face. But it is unmistakably her, although the one eye that is open, staring lifelessly, is an odd shade of violet instead of the brown he remembers—strange. He grabs her limp form, tosses her over his shoulder, and heads out the back door through the recently evacuated kitchen. He dumps her body in the trunk, along with his now bloodied jacket. There's no use messing up the back seat; she isn't in any condition to care.
Clive is seriously questioning his boss's sanity for the first time in his life. He's lost people before, but he has no idea what is to be gained for all this. The publicity alone will cause hard questions to be asked and could significantly impact their work. He has no idea what he is to say if he happens to get pulled over with a dead woman in the trunk. He will need answers this time. This is too bizarre.
Clive feels a tremendous amount of guilt. He didn't like the elaborate ruse, and he didn't like bringing in an unknown person right in the middle of a dangerous situation. And she paid the price. Clive stops briefly at a cheap motel outside of town, where he has a van waiting. He quickly transfers Jessie's body to the van and shuts the door.
Clive gets into the driver's seat of the van and heads south, leaving the other car at the hotel where another member of his staff is renting a room under his name. He drives all night until he reaches an old, apparently abandoned gas station on the side of the road. He pulls in behind the old station, so his van can't be seen from the road. There will be no one here. He gets out and moves around to the side of the van, opens the door, and picks Jessie up. He carries her through the busted out door in the back, to the old car lift in the garage. He pulls out his phone and selects a custom app that connects with some nearby electronics, and the section of the floor they are standing on starts to descend. He thinks he may be seeing things. Jessie's puncture wounds appear to have closed off. That doesn't make any sense.
The lift descends about 10 meters before coming to a stop. He uses his hand to open the door and pushes into the small chamber on the other side. It opens into a wood paneled room about 10 meters on a side. On the wall directly opposite the door there are two doors, one near each end. The one on the left leads to a bedroom, the one on the right to a bathroom. On the nearside wall—on the opposite end of the doorway he is standing in—there is a door to a kitchen with a dinette. It has all the necessities, and a few extras, such as a wet bar inset into the wall to the right. It is a nice little bolt hole. Not knowing what else to do, he takes Jessie's body to the bedroom and lays her on the bed on her back. She is still supple, and many of her wounds have closed. Rigor mortis should have set in by now, but she shows no signs. Nor does he smell death or decay. He finds this very disquieting. He closes and secures the inner and outer doors and takes the lift back to the surface. He'll wait upstairs until his boss arrives.
Rolle, meanwhile, has taken his backup jet from Idaho to Salt Lake City, where he works closely with his people on the scene and the local police. After identifying the remains of his three personnel and giving a statement, he takes one of his company cars and heads south. He switches vehicles twice to ensure he isn't being followed, before heading for the old gas station. All told, it places him about a day behind Clive. He knew he was taking a risk with this operation, he reflects as he pulls behind the old service station, but when he saw Zaleria's photo mixed in with those sent by the security firm, he knew she was trying to contact him. She must have felt that brief connection in Denver too and was trying to follow up. At least he hopes so. It is even more imperative now that he get a chance to talk wi
th her. Clive meets him out back. He really doesn't look too good.
“I may have to lie low for a while. That puts you in the unenviable position of having to deal with the lingering fallout. I've released a press statement that one of our business partners and two members of our security were killed during an attack, and that our company will not be making any additional statements until the police finish their investigation. We asked for prayers for their families. That should buy us some time. We have a tenacious foe; I didn't fully realize what that might mean. I'm sorry, this is on my head.”
Clive looks him in the eye. “Why did you have me take the girl?” Rolle looks away for a moment. He raised Clive from an angry young man to a respected and successful adult. There is no person on this planet he trusts more, but how much does he want to bring him in on things? He certainly needs his talents, but he doesn't like placing too many burdens on people he is close with. Rolle knows him well, and this has to be straining even his loyalty. Clive is waiting, knowing full well that he is keeping something from him. He either brings him in or loses him.
“Clive, I've never burdened you with my deepest secrets, and it isn't from a lack of trust. I'm serious when I say 'burden.' You know what I've been working on and why. Humanity is heading for a technological singularity. I think it can destroy us. You know we have enemies. I think they want us to fail. The events yesterday show to what lengths they will go.”
And now, he must take the plunge. “Look me in the eye. Humanity isn't alone in the universe. I've known this as a fact for a while. The development of our race is being aided—and interfered with. The people who tried to kill me? Well, it’s obvious which side they are on. The one you brought here…I've met before. You had no way to know, but when I saw her picture in the file, I believed she was trying to make contact. I know she looks human, but she isn't. I know she looks dead, but she isn't. I've seen one of them firsthand survive worse injuries. That's how I know.” Clive narrows his eyes a bit.
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