The Flowery War

by Tim Andersen

  Lika looked worried. “Yes, it took months.”

  “Still, impressive,” said Smith, seeming to forget that he was angry at her for the moment. Lika beamed, but Smith was intent on the device.

  “Who had copies of it?”

  “Lika had one. I had this one, and there’s one in a safe at our headquarters.”

  “In New York?”

  “Yes.”

  “How was it transmitted?”

  “Fully encrypted like everything my company does.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Our security procedures are the best. We never have leaks---” He smiled slyly. “Unlike the State Ministry.”

  “So you believe that Lika’s copy is the one that was ‘stolen’?”

  Townsend frowned. “I don’t know. Until you told me, I didn’t even know about the war let alone that I had anything to do with it. Now, I’ve answered enough questions. You answer me this: what will happen if it gets out that our company’s translation was responsible for this?”

  Smith waved dismissively. “There will be an investigation,” he said. “I can’t say more than that.”

  Townsend looked worried.

  “I suggest you direct your concerns to this,” said Smith. “If we don’t find who used the translation to create the agreement and discover the passcode file that will end the ritual, Earth may be forced to destroy the Trolls or be destroyed itself.”

  “Destroy them!” said Townsend looking horrified. “But you’re in the ministry. You know what happened. You can tell them everything. They won’t destroy them if they know a simple file could end the war.”

  Smith considered. “No, I’ve been branded a traitor on Earth. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was public knowledge by now. They won’t listen to me.”

  “Somebody else then!” said Townsend. “You must have friends who could reach the right people.”

  “Smith doesn’t have any friends,” I said.

  Smith gave me a harsh look. “I have colleagues, Fenn,” he said. “John Stoss, director of the diplomatic corps, in particular, should be able to reach the Prime Minister. But I’m afraid we have no way of reaching Earth.” The last was a lie, but I realized this was to support the lie Smith had told previously that we had been on survival training. Smith was keeping the mobile secret for now.

  “I do,” said Townsend. “I have my own ship.” He stood up and went to the window. He pointed to something and we all came up behind him and peered through the trees which were now bathed in a golden light of late afternoon. There we saw what looked like a circular (what else?) landing platform attached to one of the other trees. On it stood a small scout ship. “We’d have to run the blockade, and there are hardly any armaments, but she’s small and maneuverable.”

  “Dad,” said Lika, “we don’t have to---”

  “No,” said Smith, cutting her off, “we would be arrested immediately on arrival even if we aren’t shot down leaving here. I will make arrangements with a courier. I have some people who owe me favors here on Sylvania. One of them is a smuggler who is, undoubtedly, better able to run the blockade than a relatively untrained pilot such as you, Mr. Townsend.”

  Townsend appeared relieved. I imagine that he was not a man of action, and running blockades against ships with modern weaponry and tracking systems was not something he looked forward to.

  “Very good,” he said. Smith was walking toward the exit. “Wait, are you leaving now?”

  Smith turned. “Yes. Come Lika, Fenn, we’re running out of time.”

  “But surely Lika can stay,” said Townsend.

  “No,” said Smith, “if you don’t mind, I will need her to help me send the correct message.”

  Lika stood up and followed Smith looking anxious.

  “But, Lika---” said Townsend.

  She turned. “Don’t worry,” she said, and followed Smith out.

  Townsend looked at me.

  “Pleased to meet you,” I said, not being able to think of anything else to say, and followed as well. We left him there open mouthed.

  Smith was striding rapidly down the tube to the exit where we had come in.

  “Tolan,” said Lika, watching as he disappeared down the tube. Smith ignored her. “Tolan!” she yelled, her voice echoing down the tube.

  He continued on. Clearly, his compliment had not been a sign that he was ready to forgive her.

  She stopped and her arms drooped at her sides in resignation.

  Since I had met him, Smith had been rude and arrogant, but until now I had never seen him openly upset. Given his cold nature, he didn’t show emotions or let them interrupt his plans. Still, it was plain that he was hurt.

  She looked at me with tears in her eyes. “He knew, Goshan. He knew I did it as soon I asked to come here. I betrayed him.”

  “I don’t see why Smith should dictate what you can do in your spare time,” I said.

  “Oh Goshan, you dolt. It’s not that. Tolan wouldn’t have cared that much about the translating job. He would have groused about not prostituting my training or something. It’s because I didn’t tell him when I had the chance, even when I guessed that my translation had something to do with the war. I manipulated him into coming here and he saw through me. He’s upset because I didn’t trust him.”

  She looked down, then back up at me. “The thing is you don’t know Dad. Nobody does. He seems nice but he doesn’t care about people---not really. For him it’s all about the next big idea. People only matter insofar as how they fit into his projects, and. . .” She stopped as if afraid to speak, but then, looking at me with pleading eyes, said, “I really thought there might have been a chance he did this on purpose---that it was part of some project of his. I didn’t want Tolan to know until I was sure that Dad wasn’t involved.”

  I struggled to say something comforting. “Look, it was your father,” I said. “You wanted to protect him.”

  She shook her head. “I should have trusted Tolan,” she said. “Tolan isn’t like Dad. He cares about people. He doesn’t show it, but he does.”

  “Maybe about you,” I said.

  “And you too,” she said. “At least, he’s starting to.”

  I laughed.

  “I don’t kid,” she said. And I could see that she meant it. “Look: You don’t have to like him, but, Goshan, but trust him because he’s the only one who will get us out of this.”

  She turned and walked away before I could respond.

  I stared after. How could she feel that way about Smith? Then again, maybe she was right that you didn’t have to like somebody to trust them. Maybe I could even learn to see past his arrogant exterior and see what she saw. Maybe, deep beneath that icy demeanor, he really did care.

  When I reached the platform where we had come in, Smith and Lika were waiting with their packs on. Neither would even look at the other. Smith beckoned me over to them, the mobile already in his hand. “Are we going to see your smuggler friend?” I asked, joining them.

  “I have no friends, as you gleefully pointed out, Fenn,” said Smith. “No, we are going to DC.”

  Chapter 11 – The Trap

  We arrived in what appeared to be the storeroom where I had first met Smith, except we were behind the wall amid high shelves filled with supplies, weapons including plasma rifles and stunning devices, containers full of long lasting food stuffs (steak that could sit at room temperature for 25 years without losing its, admittedly lacking, flavor and, more importantly, none of its nutrients), various kinds of equipment for surviving alien atmospheres from respirators to full spacesuits.

  I had been expecting to arrive in John Stoss's office or at least Smith's. “Why are we here?” I asked, but Smith had already set down his pack and wandered off down an aisle. There was no sign of an attendant. Perhaps it was only staffed when a mission had to be supplied. The last time I had been here, sliding into the room and out of my previous, dull, comfortable existence after that abrupt call from Smith on a Friday,
seemed years ago, even though it was less than a week. It hadn't changed but I had.

  Lika and I set our packs too and followed him down a dark aisle full of racks of clothes and costumes. It looked like the backroom of a theater. Smith was pulling out three one piece suits that looked like they covered the entire body, including the face. They were silvery as if they were made of plastic wrap. He held each one out in front of him and then handed one to each of us. “Quickly, put these on.”

  “What are they?” I said, but I could see Lika was already getting it on. I imitated her, starting with the legs, repeating my question.

  “Invisibility suits,” said Lika.

  “Pseudo-invisibility suits,” said Smith. “They are quite noticeable from a close distance to the trained eye. We use them to observe alien cultures before we contact them.”

  “Why do we need these?”

  “We need to get to John Stoss’s office,” said Smith. “I am, however, under threat of arrest and the building is likely guarded against my return.”

  “But we have the mobile,” I said. “We could just drop into his office.”

  “The mobile lets of go from place to place,” he said, “but it does not allow us to observe unobserved.”

  “I thought we were going to talk to him, not spy on him!” I said.

  “We have very little time,” said Smith.

  I was about to ask why, but Smith silenced me with a gesture, then flicked a switch on his chest. Where Smith had been was an almost perfect representation of the scene behind him. It was the most perfect camouflage I had ever seen. Only a faint shimmer when he moved showed that there was anyone there. Lika did likewise and disappeared as well.

  “Come on Fenn!”

  I found that a close fitting mask came down over my face. I flicked the switch. The scene seemed to grow darker, as if a tinting effect were going on. I could see through the mask almost as if it weren’t there.

  Looking around, I saw a fluctuating bar with tick marks next to it appearing in the corner of my vision. It was part of a heads-up display. It said “visibility” on it. Right now the bar was green. Tick marks changed color as they went up from green to yellow to red.

  I could see Smith and Lika now, but they were greenish ghosts with a few parts yellow. It seemed like a false color infrared display, but it didn’t correspond to normal human heat signatures. It seemed to be an indication of how visible they were. Smith started walking to the exit, and he went from pure green to greenish yellow when he moved.

  I felt nervous. I was sure that what we were doing could be dangerous. Trexel’s weapon was still in my pack. I felt the suit and found a large pouch in front of my belly. As Lika followed Smith to the door, I followed behind. When I reached my pack, I quickly bent down and, reaching in, felt the cold hard surface of the weapon in my gloved hand. Despite its plastic appearance, the suit was soft like velvet, and my movements made no noise at all. I pulled it out quickly and stuffed it into the pouch. As I did so I noticed my visibility went wildly red for a moment then settled back down to green. I had to remember not to pick anything up while somebody was watching or I would be seen.

  I heard a soft crackly voice in my ear. “Stoss’s office is on the seventh floor,” said Smith. “We will use the mobile to drop into a conference room there which should be vacant.” As if anticipating my questions, he said, “maintain radio silence.”

  Smith wasn’t going to open the door with the cipher lock after all. He was just looking out through the force membrane to see if we had been seen, but nobody was there. He turned back to us and gestured for us to come close to him. He brought out the mobile from his pouch. In my display, I could see his hands turn deep red where he was holding the mobile and his body started flashing, a sort of alarm I supposed, indicating that he was holding a visible object. With nobody around, though, it didn't matter. As we gathered around him, he pressed the “send” button.

  We were in a conference room on the seventh floor. It was dark and it took a while for my eyes to adjust. The room had no windows except for a small one in the door. The only light came through there from the hall outside.

  Smith went to the door and looked through the window. The conference room was next to a T-intersection in the corridor. Above the intersection hung a rounded mirror. From here, we could see if anyone was coming down either corridor.

  He motioned for us to wait. I saw somebody pass in front of the window and turn down the intersection. The person had looked like Trexel, but with Smith blocking the window it was hard to tell. Smith waited till he was gone and slowly turned the knob. The door opened noiselessly. Ducking his head out, he looked again. He motioned us to follow.

  Once all three of us stood in the corridor, he closed the door behind us without a sound.

  Stoss’s office was at the end. Sylvanian wood paneling and frosted glass covered the entire wall. Next to the door read “Dr. John Stoss, Director Diplomatic Corps”. I could see through the frosting the shadows of a person or persons inside. In fact, it looked like somebody was pacing.

  Usually, the automated secretary activates when people approach, but its infrared sensors could not detect us. The motion activated overhead lights stayed off as well, leaving the corridor dark except for the light coming from Stoss’s office.

  I waited to see what Smith was going to do, but what he did caught me completely by surprised. He walked over to me and in a swift movement pulled Trexel's gun out of my pouch. Immediately he started flashing red in my display, but I took little notice as I said, “hey.”

  “Quiet Fenn,” he said.

  For a moment I had the wild thought that he was going to point the gun at me. Instead, he removed the clip and popped out a small cylinder. He put the clip back. Then he stuffed the gun into his own pouch. I realized he must have seen me take the gun out of my pouch and didn’t say anything because he wanted me to bring it. Why, I couldn’t say.

  While I watched with curiosity as he fiddled with the cylinder from the Troll-bot killing weapon, Lika tapped him on the shoulder and pointed. In the mirror Trexel was approaching the T-intersection. It was definitely him, presumably returned from his mission to the Trolls. Smith stuffed the cylinder into his pouch and motioned us to press against the wall.

  As I heard Trexel's footsteps approach, my heart beat faster and my hands began to tingle and sweat. We saw him enter the intersection now. He glanced in our direction. This is probably one of the strangest feelings I've ever had of somebody looking directly at me and not seeing me, but Trexel didn't. As a soldier and special forces operative Trexel was trained to spot people wearing these suits, but he was surely not expecting them to be standing there on the seventh floor of the Fenn Building. He turned away from us and walked down toward his office.

  As soon as Trexel disappeared around the corner, Smith took out the cylinder and began fumbling again. It looked like he had removed a metal bar or snapped it off. As soon as the bar came away in his hand, he set the cylinder down on the floor about twenty meters from Stoss’s office and rushed away from it. As he ran, he grabbed us both and pulled us with him into a small alcove.

  The cylinder started to smoke. And as I watched it exploded releasing a fire ball that caught me completely by surprise. It was the same kind of fireball I had seen when that Troll-bot had exploded the last time I was in DC. I fell to the ground, not so much from a blast wave but because of the shock of the sound, like a cannon being fired. Smith pulled us back and saw that the walls were on fire, but the robotic sprinkler system had activated and was spraying foam on it. The fire alarm was also sounding.

  We waited about a minute watching the robots gradually put out the fire in a gentle rain of foam.

  The door to Stoss's office flew open, and I saw him run out. Smith was ready and tripped him, sending him headlong into the floor.

  Pulling the gun out, Smith pointed it at Stoss, becoming fully visible as he shut off his suit.

  Lika seemed as confused as me, but we h
ad no time to ask questions before Greg Trexel came running down the corridor with a stunner. Smith stepped back now and pointed the gun at Trexel.

  “Smith!” said Trexel. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Arresting a traitor, what does it look like?” said Smith, as if this were obvious.

  “What me?” he said.

  “Of course not you idiot,” said Smith.

  “Then who? The director? You’d better have a good explanation for this.”

  Smith looked at me. “Fenn, search Stoss. You should find a memory chip.”

  Trexel looked in my direction and then, staring hard at where I was said, “Goshan, is that you?”

  I realized I had the suit still on and he couldn't see me. I pressed the switch on my chest and Trexel seemed relieved and, glancing at Smith's hand said, “I see you kept the gun. Too bad you let Smith have it.”

  I shrugged.

  Smith scowled and said, “Fenn, his pockets!”

  Stoss was still lying on the floor in a daze looking up at the two armed men standing over him.

  Without really thinking about why I was doing it, I went through Stoss's pockets. They were empty except for a pen and his wallet.

  “Nothing?” said Smith. He looked worried, genuinely worried for a moment and then relaxed. “Ah, of course, his hand is clenched. Hand it over John.” He gestured with the gun.

  I saw that in Stoss's hand was clutched a small memory chip. Stoss seemed reluctant to hand it over to me but Smith's gun convinced him. I held it up to the light. It was a standard memory chip.

  “What is it?” I said.

  “The end of a war,” said Smith.

  “You mean the director had the safeword all this time?”

  Trexel looked at all of us with confusion, but appeared to be taking in the situation calmly. Considering Smith was holding a devastating weapon and had just started a fire with one of its explosive shells, he spoke evenly: “Smith, you’d start at the beginning before I decide to arrest you.” He looked at Lika and me. “And I thought you were both dead.”