“I suspect explosions not of my own design and front line combat contributed.”
“Nevertheless, I hope that you will be more careful in the future.”
“Do I check out?”
She pulled an old-style stethoscope from her lab coat pocket and listened to my heart and breathing. “Mr. Keesay, in ten days, you should be fit for duty.” She spoke into her collar. “Special Agent Vingee, Specialist Keesay checks out.”
The door slid open. Agent Vingee handed me a pair of gray-green security coveralls, along with socks, boots, undershirt and an unusual synthetic I-Tech pair of briefs. “Get dressed, quickly.”
“You might assist him with the socks and boots,” said Dr. Goldsen. “The monitors indicated you are experiencing pain despite the medication.”
They politely turned their backs. Agent Vingee talked while I dressed.
“They’re almost to the part in the Documentary where the Bahklack breaks free and kills the two V’Guns. After it ends, things should get interesting.”
I buttoned the coveralls. “Thanks for the R-Tech touch. If I recall, much of my, uh, Documentary was interesting. At least to me. Help with the boots?”
“You’re one lucky security specialist,” Vingee said while sliding on my socks and then my boots. She finished with a double knot.
“I can’t argue with that,” I said. “The Kalavar, the quarantine planet, combat on Tallavaster. It seems somehow, distant. The trial, the destruction of the Iron Armadillo, you and Dr. Goldsen. More like a dream.”
Agent Vingee helped me up. Steadied me. I was stiff, sore, and weak.
“All those people dead,” I said. “They were real. They were my friends. Are any of them alive? What happened on Tallavaster?”
“No over exertion,” interrupted Dr. Goldsen as Agent Vingee assisted me into the gray stone corridor, followed by my Marine escort.
I waved before switching to a salute. “Understood, Doctor.”
“You’ll be briefed,” Vingee said. “Soon.”
I stopped, hands going to my belt and pockets.
Vingee asked, “What’s wrong?”
All my pockets were empty. No belt, no holster or equipment.
“Feeling somewhat naked, Specialist?” She pulled out a small firearm and handed it to me. It was an old .22 semiautomatic. Blued steel, rosewood grips.
“This is Inspector,” I started before correcting, “Deputy Director Simms’s.” I checked the clip, safety, and slid it into its holster before pocketing it.
She urged me forward. “Promise not to shoot anybody.”
“Not without cause. I’ve enough on my conscience.”
We took a secluded route too narrow for cart access. I had to rest, which annoyed Agent Vingee, but not the marine. He looked green. “Seen any combat, Private Mulldoag?”
“None yet, Specialist. I’ve applied for transfer of duty twice.”
I stood with his assistance. “You’ll get your chance.”
“Scuttle-butt has it, Specialist, that you’ve killed your share of Crax.”
Vingee frowned. “Can’t confirm that,” I said. “But you appear to have good ears.”
We made it to an elevator. Private Mulldoag stepped in first. We went down. He was the first out, checked the corridor, and signaled all clear.
After we exited, Private Mulldoag re-entered the elevator. I nodded to him before Agent Vingee steered me toward a set of doors guarded by two armed and armored marines.
They watched as Agent Vingee scanned her hand chip and eye. I scanned my eye and fingerprint. I needed to rest again, but pressed on.
“Does Falshire Hawks know I survived? I’d like to see his face.”
“No,” said Vingee. “You won’t get to see him. A week after the Documentary began he departed. Since then a trio of subordinates and support staff have been in attendance.”
I tried to hide my disappointment. “Anybody I’d know?”
“I doubt it. You need to rest.”
There were no chairs in the corridor, so I leaned on her for a minute.
Agent Vingee said, “Deputy Director Simms might be alive.”
“What? How do you know?”
“Intelligence doesn’t know for sure. We believe that the Crax and their CGIG allies are holding prisoners. If he survived he’d be an important captive.”
“What about Janice Tahgs?”
“I don’t know, Specialist. Maybe. Tallavaster was retaken. Administrative Specialist Tahgs is listed among the missing.” Her tone didn’t inspire confidence.
“Let’s go,” I said. “Guess your security clearance has improved.”
She grinned.
“At least someone benefited hanging around me.”
“A lot of people benefited.”
“It’s going to take some getting used to,” I said through pursed lips.
“What is?”
“The fact that my life, my thoughts and actions have been downloaded and viewed.”
Agent Vingee slowed our pace. “I see what you mean. But I think very few people will ever see the Documentary.”
“Besides those viewing the first run. Consider military planners, analysts, and their staff. Corporate lawyers. Researchers on the Cranaltar IV Project, and probably a dozen other groups I haven’t considered.”
She nodded. “True, but still pretty small in the big scheme of things.”
“Didn’t I request it to be a part of the public record?”
“I believe so. But I doubt that will ever happen.”
“Not until I’m long dead. I hope.”
I wanted to sit down and sort things out. What had happened—really happened. All of the people returned to me through advanced technology. Through the Cranaltar. But the Documentary, my Documentary, was coming to an end and I didn’t want to miss that. Not for anything.
Agent Vingee led me to another door guarded by a marine. He nodded to Vingee and then to me, and stepped aside.
Beyond was a small room with a row of padded, flip-down chairs reminiscent of old-style movie theaters. They faced a window, beyond which action on a circular screen played. A trio of angled monitors sat above the window with the same, visually modified scene. Muted sound accompanied. I recognized what was happening. The screen showed the freed Bahklack making its way out the door. It was like I’d carried a recording camera mounted on a helmet. Every movement captured. Every sound. Even thoughts.
Vingee steadied me. She helped me to a chair. I was so caught up in the action I didn’t notice the man three seats down.
“Greetings, Specialist Keesay,” he said.
It was my nurse from pretrial. He’d helped me escape the Pars Griffin. “Greetings, Caylar?”
He slid down next to me and offered his hand. “Special Agent Caylar Guymin.”
I shook his hand. His grip was firm but gentle, considerate of my weakened state. “Sorry,” I said. “Caylar was all I could recall.”
“No problem,” he said. “Caylar is fine.”
“Call me Kra.”
Vingee sat down next to me. The seats were a little high off the ground for me, a little shallow for her.
Onscreen I watched Mr. Heartwell speaking to me. “I really hate that guy.”
“Understandable,” Caylar said, his attention returning to the screens.
I leaned close to Vingee. “Did he and Mr. Loams ever locate Diplomat Silvre?”
“Her body,” said Caylar, “among the Iron Armadillo’s debris.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” It reminded me of how many had died. I thought of the colonies on Tallavaster. The Zeta Aquarius Dock, and all the ships. The men and women who manned them. The colonist children.
“Thank you.” Caylar’s attention was no longer on the screens. “What do you think?”
“Of that?” I asked, refocusing on the present. “Really weird. The sound of my thoughts matches exactly how I hear it in my head. Like I’m really talking to myself, but from outside in.”
I got up and walked over to the window. We were at the four o’clock position. Eight viewers in two rows sat in near darkness, except for the faint glow of dimmed computer screens set into the desks. They reminded me of Chief Brold’s desk.
The viewing screen didn’t project light into the area.
Vingee stood next to me. “There’s a fleet captain, Colonial Marine colonel, two intel agents, a lawyer from the Criminal Justice Investigatory Squad and two Capital Galactic reps, and a diplomat to the Umbelgarri. Several rooms like ours have a Chicher diplomat, researchers, and legal teams from selected agencies, and former Negral Corp reps, watching.”
I was going to ask her about the ‘limited number of spectators’ when a ratcheting sound reverberated in my head. I looked from Vingee to Caylar.
The next thing I knew I was seated with Vingee holding my hand and Caylar kneeling in front of me.
“Specialist Keesay, Kra,” Caylar said. “Are you okay?”
It took me a second to snap out of it. “I think so. What happened?” I felt a warm sensation in my shorts. I looked down. Now I knew what the synthetic underwear was for. “I blacked out, didn’t I?”
Caylar nodded.
“How long?”
Agent Vingee replied, “About a minute and twenty seconds.”
“You knew this was going to happen.”
Neither spoke at first. I waited. Dr. Goldsen, trailed by an assistant lugging portable diagnostics, strode into the room.
“You knew this was going to happen!”
Dr. Goldsen ignored my question and flashed lights into my eyes. The assistant stuck several relays to my scalp and neck and began a scan.
“Right?” I asked.
“We suspected it might,” said Dr. Goldsen. “You had similar episodes while you were unconscious. How long did this one last?”
I pushed away Vingee’s hand. “Episodes?”
“Eighty-one seconds,” Vingee said, watching me carefully.
“Wait,” I said, trying to get up.
Caylar pushed me back into the seat. “Take it easy and let them treat you.”
I relaxed and let them work. I gathered my thoughts and realized how little I knew about my situation. I wasn’t happy. “It’s better than being brain dead,” I admitted.
Agent Vingee held my hand while Dr. Goldsen monitored and analyzed the results.
“Did you notice anything before the episode?” asked Dr. Goldsen.
“Episode,” I said. “Exactly what is an episode?”
“A seizure,” she said. “They have been decreasing in frequency and length. They may disappear altogether, or may be medicated. Did you notice anything?”
“Yes, I did. A clicking or ratcheting sound just before. Next thing I knew I was seated, in wet drawers.” I looked at the concerned faces around me. “Oh, and thanks for the absorbent pants.”
“Good to see you are taking this well,” said Dr. Goldsen.
“I haven’t the energy to do otherwise. Besides, the Cranaltar should’ve scrambled my brain. All things considered, I’ve faced worse.”
“I believe you have,” said Dr. Goldsen, continuing her work.
I smiled. “Anyone supply the CGIG lawyers with absorbent undergarments?” That got a round of chuckles.
I waited while Dr. Goldsen and the med tech completed their monitoring. I was tired, but not enough to sleep. I spotted movement in the viewing room. “What’s going on out there?”
“The Documentary has ended,” said Caylar. “They’re debating it right now.”
“Pipe it in,” I said.
Caylar looked to Dr. Goldsen, who nodded.
“The defendant’s version is unreliable,” said a Capital Galactic lawyer. “If he wasn’t already criminally insane, which would alter his perceptions and interpretations, the manipulations and incorrect transcriptions made by the experimental Cranaltar IV certainly have altered our viewed version of the defendant’s perceived version of events.” He scanned notes from his clip. “We have not had time to analyze the defendant’s distorted perception instigated by the Bahklack’s hypnotic suggestion.”
An intel man stood. “Thus far, information presented with respect to events on the Mavinrom Dock is accurate. Ships to investigate concerns about the quarantine planet and Tallavaster are en route.”
“Already there,” whispered Agent Vingee into my ear. “No sense letting CGIG know that.”
“Really?”
Agent Vingee looked around. Neither Dr. Goldsen nor her assistant were within earshot. “Dr. Maximar Drizdon’s son and wife are safe,” she whispered. “Now that they are, he’s already planned the next phase of the war for our side.”
“Should you be telling me this?”
Caylar nodded. “Intel has granted you appropriate clearance. And these rooms are secure from monitoring.”
“From what they’ve seen,” added Vingee, “they think you’re reliable.”
With Negral’s demise, and Capital Galactic’s quest for information before disposing of me, I didn’t have a sponsor. “Do you think Intel will recruit me?”
“There’ll be an offer,” said Vingee.
“How many R-Techs are there in the agency?” I knew after I’d asked, it really didn’t matter. Not to me.
“More than you might expect,” said Caylar.
“But none quite like you,” added Vingee.
“May I have the floor?” Dr. Goldsen asked through a relay next to the window. “It has direct relevance to your current debate over state of mind of the defendant.”
The CGIG lawyer asked, “Who are you? And what information of relevance could you possibly add?”
Dr. Goldsen tapped the controls and a section of the window elevated. “Dr. Marjoree Goldsen, MD. I also have a PhD in neurochemistry and in psychology. I am the lead researcher in the Cranaltar Project.”
“Very impressive,” said the lawyer after crossing his arms. “That states who you are. Namely, a responsible party for this work of fiction.”
I whispered to Vingee, “Think he passed Lawyer Arrogance 101 with flying colors?”
“If you had your set of brass knuckles,” she whispered back, “I’d borrow them.”
“With respect to relevance of what I have to present,” said Dr. Goldsen. “Your current line of argument is based upon the fact that the defendant was in some fashion mentally defective, and that the Cranaltar IV destroyed his cognitive capacity while providing the evidence viewed in the Documentary. As such, the accuracy and the validity of the evidence presented can never be ascertained. Am I correct?”
“You appear to have the essence of the well-founded assertion.”
Dr. Goldsen signaled to me. Agent Vingee helped me to my feet.
“Then, Mr. Lawyer,” said Dr. Goldsen. “I think my patient has a few relevant words to say. I present to you, Security Specialist 4th Class Krakista Keesay.”
I walked to the opening and met with silent stares. “Nemo me impune lacessit,” I announced. “Tell that to Falshire Hawks.”
Everyone but the intel man looked dumbfounded, and the second CGIG lawyer. He stepped forward and pointed. His jaw locked.
I yanked the .22 from my pocket, but fumbled, unfamiliar with it. The small caliber required a lucky head shot. The marine colonel hopped on his table, leapt over the front row and barreled toward the lawyer, but not fast enough. I wouldn’t be either.
“Ufff,” I grunted.
Vingee knocked me aside and landed on top of me as the nearby crack of MP fire sounded. It must’ve been Caylar.
Shouts boomed followed by barked orders.
“You’re heavier than you look,” I said, staring at Agent Vingee’s throat. She ignored me, still scanning the room with MP pistol in hand.
“All clear,” Caylar announced.
I looked over to Dr. Goldsen. She’d also taken refuge on the
floor. “Recognize that smell?” I asked her.
“No,” she replied. “But I can reasonably guess.”
“The Cranaltar doesn’t include odors?” I tried to ignore the musty acidic stench. “Experience tells me we have at least one acid-devoured body. Correct, Caylar?”
“Correct, Kra,” he said. “One lawyer down.”
“All’s clear,” I said to Vingee. “One less bad guy. One big mess.”
She lifted me to my feet. “Do you recall Mr. Loams?”
“Yes,” I said. “Hawks’s assistant at my pretrial. Helped me escape to Io on the Gilded Swan.”
“Well,” Vingee said. “I think you just replaced him as number one on the Capital Galactic Investment Group’s enemy list. Wouldn’t you agree, Agent Guymin?”
Caylar nodded. “Imagine that. An R-Tech climbing so high. And you’re not even off the disabled list.”
“For me,” I said, “making friends has been a chronic problem.”
Vingee wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “Not around here.”
Caylar nodded, as did Dr. Goldsen.
“Understood,” I said. “We’ll see. Come to think of it, Agent Vingee, don’t you owe me a story?”
THE END
Dedication
This novel is dedicated to my friends William Justice and Darla Boram.
Bill and I attended BGSU together. There and beyond we shared both happy and difficult times. I served as his best man at his wedding and he stood as mine, before cancer took him.
Darla was a ball-of-energy coworker. We shared many laughs and began to share a mutual enjoyment of writing, before a heart attack took her.
Both Bill and Darla were fun-loving and filled with a sense of adventure, always eager to step out and take a chance, and I thank them for demonstrating that aspect of life. It’s unfortunate my daughters didn’t have the opportunity to know Bill and Darla. The lives of Genevieve and Mira would’ve been enriched.
Acknowledgements
I would like to express my appreciation to Bill Weldy, Jeff Koleno, Sibyl Brewster, Peggy Jester, David Tallman, Sandy Daily, and my wife, Kathy, for taking the time to read the manuscript, share their thoughts, and provide vital input. Relic Tech is a better novel because of their efforts.
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