Alixs dug, and searched, and tried to fill in all the blanks he could within the limited scope of his research terminal. He could only assume it was being monitored and filtered, and the on-campus libraries could no longer be trusted. No, they never could in the first place.
One thing was apparent. In the interest of furthering his real education, he would have to find help. That’s when it hit him, and he kicked himself mentally for not seeing it right from the start. Liam. That was who he needed to see. The one who steered him in the right direction in the first place.
7.
Morning routine was paramount for the first administrator. He arrived at his desk precisely at six, began his day with overseas phone calls and senior staff briefings, followed on Tuesdays and Thursdays by breakfast meetings. These were arranged for nationally significant persons he needed a few minutes with, but who didn’t warrant a full lunch. For the xeno meetings, he never scheduled a meal. So Monday, Wednesday and Friday meetings went by quicker, and with more to show for it. He preferred those days overall, though he did learn a lot of actionable information over scones and tea.
The rest of his morning was spent doing photo-ops and reach-out efforts around Tera-Prime, when he wasn’t out of town. Even while traveling, his schedule rarely varied, but at home you could set your chronometer by it. Unscheduled meetings were unheard of. Even his counterpart heads of state knew not to attempt anything last-minute.
For this reason, his personal secretary was quite taken aback when he popped his head out of the office, unscheduled and unannounced, to inform her that she would need to clear his schedule for the next ninety minutes. She nodded but didn’t move, temporarily stunned. He turned away, only to turn back and announce that he wasn’t to be disturbed under any circumstances. As she came to her senses and leapt to work, a steady stream of officials began to enter, each one silent as they made their way in. The secretary could hear mutterings of discussion whenever a new person walked in, though voices were immediately lowered each time the door opened. This air of secrecy only added to the feeling of urgent crisis they were trying to tamp down, and the secretary listened all the more intently, trying to catch hint of what was going on.
“TO BE BLUNT, I THINK we’re making too much out of this,” the internal affairs manager said. He was young, new on the job, and taking a big risk by speaking out at all.
“You would think so,” said the chief of peace, a grizzled veteran by the name of Cain. “I’ve seen your dossier. Consensus builder, risk-averse. That’s all well and good when you’re fixing union wages or conning the populace into paying more taxes. It’s not so useful when you’re faced with an uprising.”
“I think that’s a little strong,” replied First Administrator Rois. He stood behind his imposing oak desk, massaging his temples in a thoughtful pose. “A few upstart troublemakers hardly constitutes organized revolt.”
“That’s true. Youthful protest is a far cry from secession,” the internal affairs manager added, finding his voice again in light of what seemed like support from the boss. But the peace chief wasn’t nearly as agreeable.
“You mean the youths who’ve been plotting to harm civilians?” the peace chief argued. “The youths we found stashing weapons? Those youths?”
The manager wisely fell silent, looking down at the floor. The accusations were unsubstantiated, but he knew well enough not to argue against evidence he couldn’t refute.
“Look, folks,” Rois said, “we’ve got to deal with the hand we’re dealt, and at the moment we’re not talking about plots or weapons—”
“Yet,” interjected the chief.
“That’s enough, Cain,” Rois warned, “you’ve made your point.” He turned from the chief to the internal affairs manager. “Thank you,” he said with a slight nod. “Now, as I was saying, we’re not here to discuss plots or weapons. What we are here to examine is the rise in localized cells, meeting on a regular basis, and what we need to do to prevent such groups from organizing. What we don’t want, is for them to turn into the very sort of threat Chief Cain is warning us about.”
Rois paused and looked around, daring anyone to interrupt. No one spoke, which gave him the upper hand. Turning back to Cain, he gave the signal that the chief could now have the floor.
“A number of suspicious activities have been observed recently by suspected members of the insurgent group Free Evolution.” Cain’s unassuming voice was like a distant warning, an army marching forward from three hills back. Barely audible, but ominously so. “The rate of chatter has been on the increase between cells, as well as within local groups. They’re planning something. We can’t say what it is, and as I said, the possibility that it’s some sort of a civilian attack is not out of the question. The evidence also points to a plan to pull off a cyber-attack of some sort, within the next month.”
A nervous silence fell over the room.
“That’s all for now, everyone,” said Rois. “Thank you. We’ll reconvene in two days, unless anything new should arise.”
The tense atmosphere broke. Shuffling sounds of dispersal filled the room as everyone rose to exit. Small side conversations broke out as they waited around for a quick word with the administrator — all except Cain. Without anyone noticing, he slipped out of the room.
8.
Alixs wondered if he was being tested. Would his reaction dictate what happens next? What do I want to have happen? As he sat in his study corner, debating whether he should return to the archives, a different thought hit him, provoking a chill of apprehension. What if they’re setting me up?
It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. There were plenty of rumors about the peace forcer corps, and methods they might be using to weed out defectives. Xeno society depended on conformity, and any deviation might pose a danger to all. Naturally, there were certain ranges of deviation that were considered acceptable, even desirable, particularly as it pertained to creative pursuits. But that allowance only went so far. What if they were using the higher learning platform as a means of finding potential defectives before they entered the workforce?
He couldn’t rule it out. But he couldn’t recall any of his classmates disappearing in the dead of night, either, so he allowed himself to relax. The paranoia was likely just that.
What do I hope to gain, though? He thought of all the conspiracy theories that had run through his head since his first encounter with the Ahmis. What if they turned out to be true? What then? Would he take up arms and fight the government?
That was pure lunacy. He had no allies. No weapons. No voice. Simple knowledge of cover-ups would do him no good, in and of itself. What was he going to do with the knowledge if it did turn out to be disturbing? He came close to giving up at that point, too nervous about what other bad things he might learn. But curiosity nagged at him, egging him on. He knew that he would have to return once more, at least — if only to achieve closure.
HE HAD NO BUSINESS here this time, so he fully expected to be stopped. He figured he could leave a message at the service desk and try again later.
“No appointment this time?” asked the attendant casually.
Alixs considered turning tail, but he thought he recognized the face from last time, so he waited.
“You’re all set,” said the guard, “go on through.” Alixs, taken aback, almost asked the man to repeat himself. Stupid! he scolded himself. Just go!
Arriving at the familiar doorway, Alixs was surprised to find it unlocked, but with no sign of activity inside. Alixs had neglected to make an appointment, of course, but for some reason he’d just assumed that the Ahmis would be around. Guess he doesn’t live here.
He decided a quick look around wouldn’t hurt, in case anything should pop out and grab his attention. He began examining the shelves more carefully than before, and was surprised to find that they were beginning to make sense. The system seemed to be organized from oldest to newest, equipment-wise. No, he realized, not the devices. It was the data contained
within that was organized by era. A chronological storage system. Clever.
Most of the paper texts were in specific locations, Alixs realized, though there were some scattered here and there. And the machines on the stacks fanning out gleamed less and less as he looked down the rows. Looking closer, he identified several of the makers. Most of them still existed. But as he walked away from the central core, he recognized less and less of the names, and those that were familiar to him were only names he’d read in historical context. Most of them were long since defunct.
Walking back again, the devices grew more modern as he went along, though still not perfectly related. It has to be the data, he thought again. If he were to examine each device, sift through directories checking for timestamps perhaps, he suspected he’d find a contiguous timeline. Returning to the spot with the most modern equipment, the eye readers and holo-projectors and such, Alixs now realized he was standing in the middle of the chamber. Concentric squares moved outward from the center, with the oldest items in far-flung corners of the facility. That’s why he’d spent the first visit in one corner, and the next on the opposite side.
Now that he’d figured out the rhythm, it seemed so logical. Simplistic in its elegance, the Ahmis had arranged things in order to facilitate his movements with a minimum of effort. Since most of his work had to do with fetching recent data, it was all compiled neatly in the center. At the same time, if anyone were to snoop around, they wouldn’t come across all the important material in one place, since it was far flung and not readily accessible. Though that left little chance for quick espionage, Alixs wondered how often the old xeno even left the place unguarded. Not that he could stop someone determined to get past him, but at least he could sound an alert.
“You won’t find anything interesting there,” the Ahmis said quietly.
Alixs jumped. He’d been so lost in thought, even the echoing limbsteps of the archivist had escaped his notice.
“Sorry,” Alixs blurted out, unsure what else he could say.
“It’s okay,” the old xeno said gently, “I was expecting you.”
9.
There was no fumbling around this time. The Ahmis seemed to realize that his young charge had figured out the system. Or perhaps he no longer cared to hide it. They went straight to one corner, picking up a massive piece of equipment that looked completely unfamiliar to Alixs, then to the other corner where another heavy device awaited them. Each of them carrying one, they returned to the place they’d sat last time, and the archivist flipped the first device open and hit the power button. It seemed to take forever to come online, but finally the machine whirred and hummed, then lit up like a Christmas tree. The Ahmis clacked around a bit until he located the file he wanted Alixs to see. Then he handed over the machine and took the other one out of Alixs’ hands. Alixs peered at the glowing screen of the old machine and began to read.
The dated files corresponded to the campaign of aggression Alixs had learned of last time, with almost identical timelines. These writings mirrored the previous revelations, but they weren’t United States documents. Some written in unfamiliar languages with translated subtext, others a prideful mix of broken English, peppered with regional colloquialisms. He guessed these were correspondences between foreign powers, diplomatic overtures and the like. Skimming through the first batch, he realized he was only half-right. The replies came from abroad, but were initiated here in Tera-Prime, straight out of the Office of Xeno-Sapien Affairs.
Alixs shifted the heavy machine on his lap, looking over at the Ahmis to get an idea of what he was supposed to be looking for. But the Ahmis offered no hint this time, so he took that to mean he should read the whole thing. He settled back and enlarged the first set of letters so they filled the screen.
Consulate General to the
Bureau of Xeno Affairs
Tera-Prime
Prime Minister Kenjiro Goi
Cabinet Secretarial, Government of Japan
Tokyo
Dear Prime Minister Goi,
Pertaining to our outreach of Monday last, we are writing this follow-up letter to request your intervention in our current dispute. The situation is grave. Action must be taken immediately to preserve our mutual interests, ensure an equitable result, and avoid the possibility of bloodshed. Yours being a peaceful nation, we know that you will understand why we need your guidance and strong leadership in our current conflict with governments of the west, with whom you enjoy excellent relations. So, too, have we always appreciated the good relations between our two peoples, and in that light, we strongly urge you...
The letters went on in like fashion, each more insistent than the last, all carefully stylized to match the etiquette of world leadership. And not only heavyweights, either. It seemed like every minor official in the world was on the list.
Consulate General to the
Bureau of Xeno Affairs
Tera-Prime
His Majesty, the Sultan of Najd
Buraidah
Your Royal Highness,
It is with great humility that I write this plea, in order to apprise you of our recent, difficult situation, and to ask your assistance. We need your help sir...
Consulate General to the
Bureau of Xeno Affairs
Tera-Prime
The Most Reverend Archbishop Niklas Alexander
Salzburg
Your Excellency,
I write today in order to advise your excellency on recent events pertaining to our relations with our host nation, the United States. We call upon you to intervene. Previous good relations with yourself and your church have served both our societies well, through charitable contributions and works of good will, but with this alarming turn of events we find we must ask for a more direct form of aid...
NOW THOROUGHLY CONFUSED, Alixs turned the machine around and physically indicated his need for help. The Ahmis got up from his seat and leaned down to look at where his young charge had paused. With a sniff, he sat back down again. “Not there yet. Keep reading.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.
Alixs turned back to the machine, flipping through the long list of letters. What began to draw his attention was the fact that most of the replies were alike. Denials, apologies, and excuses, with no offers of support to speak of. Then he found one. As it happened, the only one.
First Administrator for Xeno Affairs
Dear Mr. First Administrator,
We have been, along with so many of your grateful supporters around the world, shocked and saddened by recent events with your host country, and the difficulties you have experienced as a result. In consideration of your request for aid and assistance, we can make the following commitments.
* Material assistance of equipment and funds
* Diplomatic intervention and third-party negotiation facilities and related personnel as deemed necessary through the course of planned negotiations
* Humanitarian aid and emergency assistance
Hopefully our limited influence may prove useful during this tumultuous period in your development. Our diplomatic team stands ready to assist, and we shall begin preparations for material assistance as soon as possible.
Sincerely Yours
Ming Yue
Attache to the Ambassador, PRC, Beijing
That was it. Simple, but to the point, and a bold affirmation of loyalty. Particularly given the number of negative replies Alixs had read.
“So the Chinese were willing to go to war, for our sake?”
“In a manner of speaking. Though I’m not sure how accurate it is to say it was for us. They were in a period of rapid expansion, flexing their muscles against adversaries they’d previously been unable to intimidate. We were, well...a bargaining chip is probably the best way to put it. They wanted to go up against America for a long time before that. This was just convenience.”
“But still, none of those other countries stood up for us.”
“True. And we desperately needed th
eir help, too. The Chinese intervention did manage to hold back the avalanche. For a while, at least.” The old xeno looked wistfully away from Alixs. His next words came from a distance, like a faint memory. “Not long enough.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me there was a big war after all, and it was all covered up?”
The Ahmis scoffed, then shuddered. “Not a war, no. But we came close. There’s one more correspondence you need to read.”
He reached out and hefted the machine, closing the file and screwing up his eyes into a tight squint as he searched for the next one.
“Here! Read from the top of page three,” he shoved the computer back into Alixs’ lap, then leaned back again. He seems weary today, Alixs thought. But he hardly knew what the archivist was like most of the time. Perhaps he was always weary, and their previous encounters had been particularly good days. But it did seem odd. Out of character. Funny to think he already knew the old xeno’s character, but he felt like he did.
Turning his attention back to the matter at hand, he began reading from the top of the third page.
Marshall Warren, President of the United States
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W.
Washington D.C., 20500
Dear Mr. President,
Having reviewed your demand for cancellation of the Deep Space Quantum Initiative project, and with careful consideration of the consequences that might take place should we refuse your demand, we reluctantly agree to terminate the project, with the understanding that a joint venture may be considered in-future at the discretion of all parties concerned.
As you know, sir, I do this under protest. But given the impasse in which we find ourselves politically, I agree that it is for the best, if it should avoid an all-out conflict. However, my government is less likely to agree, and so I must ask that you handle upcoming negotiations with care. It is unlikely that you will be directly approached for confirmation, as I will be taking the responsibility of my own accord. However, if you should be asked, I strongly request that you forward the matter to me, and leave my enclosed concession out of the discussion.
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