by JCH Rigby
“You’ll find him?” Fuchs would have laughed out if the situation had not been so serious. “How effective do you think a bunch of goons in uniform will be, stomping around the country in pursuit of a runaway? And, if by some miracle you do find him, how are you going to know who he’s talked to? No, you’ll leave this to us, Colonel.”
Meier glared at Fuchs as if the security officer had questioned the colonels personal soldiering skills. Which was exactly what Fuchs had done. “Don’t be ridiculous Fuchs. There’ll be no truckloads of simple stupid soldiery on the streets. We don’t have people like that. However, we do have a very capable military police arm in the Feldjäger – one of their functions is the apprehension of deserters, and they will conduct this operation with both discretion and diligence. They’re very good at what they do. As I said, we’ll find him.” The soldier glared at Fuchs, then snorted and looked away. His arms were folded across his chest.
“And I told you you’ll leave him to us.” Fuchs’ voice was cold and held an undercurrent of implied threat. Something a military officer of Meier’s rank was unaccustomed to hearing. “This is a significant breach of security, which threatens a major state secret. The European Federation cannot allow a man with this knowledge to wander the planet.”
Why couldn’t the soldier see ? Information was a fluid, and people were porous. However diligently the guardians of the state strove to contain it, information seeped out. People leaked in unexpected ways under the slightest of pressure, and the damage just spread and spread. This was a classic case: dangerous knowledge entrusted to an unreliable individual, and Richter proved unworthy of the trust.
“Let me make this clear Colonel Meier. Everyone on that mission, and everyone on that base, anyone who has any knowledge of the FTL drive—all those people are effectively state property. They’re both valuable and dangerous. They’ll probably spend the rest of their lives in state facilities, with only strictly supervised external contact permitted to them. Do I need to remind you that you are also property of the state?” The colonel’s face froze. A feral grin spread across Fuchs’ features.
“Thanks to your unit’s extraordinary attitude to security, or lack thereof, Richter, a disenchanted special forces trooper with precisely that knowledge is now wandering the streets, no doubt looking for a ready ear and a fat handout.
“And so, what Richter can now tell people about aliens will find a very ready audience among a certain class of credulous persons. Imagine if he goes to the press! Or ARTOK? That cannot be permitted to happen. I have no interest in any strange beings from distant planets, alive or dead. But—”
Surprisingly, Colonel Meier interrupted him. “Well, you should be interested and you’re from state security? Listen: humanity has now got at least one powerful competitor. I can’t imagine what’s more important than that. One deserter is annoying but trivial, whatever he knows.” Fuchs let him keep going. Whatever he said might turn out to be useful. At his later, closed door trial. “Have you really looked at the images their suits recorded? Have you studied those alien corpses? I have. It’s a long way back from Charon, and we had nothing more pressing to do.
“Here’s what we believe happened. The little ape creatures must have been the crew of that ship. Long arms, a tail, insect eyes. They carried tools, and at least some of the structures were built to their scale. Have you reviewed Richter’s videos?”
Fuchs nodded though held his tongue allowing Meier to continue his small tirade.
“The other beast could be anything. Look at the size of it! Massive, six-limbed. The front pair with clawed hands. We called it the centaur-lizard. Was it a pet, a slave, or a zoo animal? If it was, how did it get free, what made it attack its keepers, and why couldn’t they stop it? It’s plainly a dangerously aggressive beast, but the odds should have been strongly in the other alien’s favor if it was a captive.
“So, we wondered if it might be an intelligent creature. But it was naked, and carrying nothing. What was it doing on their ship, and how did it get there? Did it create the entry tunnel, and if so, where did its own vessel go? That means it wasn’t alone and if it doesn’t use tools, then something else does.”
Fuchs waved his hand dismissively at the colonel’s assumptions, as if brushing away a mildly annoying insect.
Meier ploughed on. “The ape creatures were pursued and assaulted by something with superior firepower which attacked their vessels, and then boarded them. That must have taken considerable energy. They were overwhelmed, but they managed to kill one of the attackers before they were overrun. From the absence of other lizard bodies, I doubt they got any more.
“That lizard-thing killed with teeth and with claws. It seems to have hands, but we don’t think it’s a user of technology. No weapons, no clothing or equipment. So, something else must have sent it in there, something with advanced technologies, spacefaring capability, and considerable ruthlessness. What if it chooses to come for us?
“This isn’t just me; my whole operations team spent weeks analyzing this situation. The conclusion is there aren’t two alien species out there—there are three. The ape things, which use tools and are spacefaring. The lizards, which may be intelligent and are aggressive carnivores, and another, as of yet, unidentified race, which commands the lizards and transports them. That’s the real issue, right there, not Trooper Richter. You people are looking at the wrong threat!”
He let all this go. Fuchs had had little sleep recently; he wasn’t interested in non-essentials. What mattered to him was the security breach. “Interesting theory. But I won’t be distracted by this. You know better than I do the alien ships have followed a path taking them out of the system. They aren’t coming here. We’ll watch where they go, now that we know about them.
“Others may be reviewing the material, or they may not. I’m only interested in Richter. If he speaks to anyone about aliens, he also reveals the existence of the Waldschmidt drive. Revelation of the device is unacceptable to the European state.
“Now, we will resolve this Richter matter, not you, Colonel. You’ll return to your quarters and wait there to be interviewed in more detail.” Meier looked for a moment like he was going to say something more, fingers balled into fists, knuckles whitening, lips pressed firmly together. Instead he spun on his heel and marched off.
The state security man watched him go before retrieving a small slate from his pocket, activating it he composed a brief memo to his subordinate at security headquarters instructing him to compile a list of all members of Colonel Meier’s command and issue arrest and restraint orders for them. Well, as the colonel had so eloquently told him, he had reviewed all the material relating to the aliens and the FTL drive on his way back from Charon and was therefore a potential security weak point.
Finished, Fuchs let out a small sigh before dismissing Meier from his thoughts, he had a fugitive to locate. Where are you Richter?
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Like A Hunting Dog
Five days earlier, August 31st /September 1st
Arriving exhausted and disoriented at the Earthside base, Richter had been led away to a small barracks, fed a meal, and to room with a bunk bed into which he gladly collapsed. Asleep within moments.
Since the return of the Amaterasu he hadn’t exactly been under arrest, but everywhere he went the Feldjäger military police were in close attendance. Clearly, he wasn’t going to get away from them. He’d lost track of Max Baum and Lisl Reichmann somewhere in the Euro forces base on L5 when the scientists and technicians had been shepherded one way, and the military personnel another. Caught up in the endless military bureaucratic formalities of checking in weapons and equipment, he hadn’t realized they’d gone until after he boarded the Earth-bound shuttle.
Waking early the next morning, he went to leave his room for a walk only to find a gruff Feldjäger parked on a seat outside his door who ordered him to return to his room and await instructions. Richter realized belate
dly that he was being kept intentionally separated from the other soldiers on the base.
Around thirty minutes later his slate blinked to indicate it had received a recorded video message. It was Max Baum.
“Richter. You’d better look out for yourself. Lisl and I are starting to worry. We’ve been kept back by some security people on L5 and asked a load of questions. I mean, I sort of expected that, but they aren’t giving us any answers about when we’ll be allowed to go. I’m starting to think we won’t be, ever.
“They’re not letting us talk to anyone. But we’ve still got our slates—for the moment, anyhow—so I decided to call you. Look, I’m sorry I wanted to leave you behind. That was wrong, but I was terrified. Now I’m scared again, and I think you ought to know what’s happening to us. Are you okay? Are they yanking you around as well?
“What do you think we should do? Can you help us?” The scientists head snapped to one side, his eyes going wide as he reacted to something outside the lens’ narrow view. The message abruptly ended.
Richter tried returning Max’s call. Only for the slate to state in its unemotional, machine tone, “address not found. Max Baum not known.” Richter got the same result for “Lisl Reichmann.” Then for “Erich Pedersen,” “Gerhard Krause,” “Piet Roorback,” “Greta Wiedemann.” Without warning the slate shut down, and wouldn’t reconnect.
Richter stared at the dormant piece of substrate and realized his life was in danger.
Thursday, September 1st
MID-MORNING RICHTER WAS put into a jeep with some untalkative Feldjäger and driven somewhere, a journey taking most of the day. The vehicle’s windows were partially opaque, but at last they stopped when Richter insisted he needed to relieve himself. As soon as he got out onto the roadside he’d seen the mountains, and that had told him all he’d needed to know for he had climbed them many a time.
Bavaria . As the traffic hummed past Richter sniffed the air like a hunting dog, thrilled by its sharp, clean taste, until his escorts grew impatient and urged him back into the jeep. His escorting Feldjäger hadn’t wanted him to know his destination, that much was apparent. But now he knew their direction, and knew he was close to Chiemgau again. Funny when you considered how impossibly far in the past couple of weeks, and yet here he was back where it all started. Somewhere nearby were the Chiemsee and the Herreninsel, places he loved with a passion.
Another hour of traveling and they reached their destination, Richter was hustled out of the jeep and up the steps of a tall old barrack block, deep inside a wooded military base. High wire fences wove through the trees, and thick stone walls surrounded the outer perimeter. Taken to a deserted commissary he ate a lonely meal with only his ever present Feldjäger for company. Meal finished he was escorted to a room containing a solitary bed and a window looking out at the nearby woods. As the door was closed behind him he heard a key turn in the lock and the distinctive sounds of the Feldjäger corporal planting himself on a folding chair in the corridor. His room had effectively become a cell. A cell Richter had no intention of staying in.
Placing his two packs of belongings down by the bed Richter quietly forced open the small window and pushing the ancient wooden shutter gently to one side praying the guard outside his door would not hear its protesting hinges. Shutter open Richter inhaled deeply allowing the pine-soaked mountain air to fill his lungs.
Seven floors below him, an armed guard with a leashed dog crossed the illuminated courtyard. The window sill was narrow and the wall sheer. The darkened rooftops of the block facing him were steep, and the tiles looked slippery. There were no convenient drainpipes, runs of cabling, or abandoned ladders. A smile crept onto Richter’s face. This could be fun.
Friday, September 2nd
CLOSING THE SHUTTER ON the off chance one of the patrolling guards looked up and saw it out of place, Richter then pushed an improvised wedge under the door in case his guards came for him before he was able to swing his plan into action. Laying down on the bed, he managed to sleep calmly enough for three hours before going out the window and straight up the wall with only his small pack and the nano-boots the idiot Feldjäger had so stupidly not removed from him. He left the useless slate on the bed, and his large pack on the floor.
The smartest thing he had done all day, however, was to take along with him the robes which had been airing at a ninth-floor window. The room’s snoring occupant must have been an acolyte of the Divine Mind, a fundamentalist Christian movement with followers in virtually every walk of life throughout the old western countries. Many saw the Brothers of the Divine Mind and their views as something to be tolerated, at worst ignored. Something Richter counted on.
RICHTER CAME UP THE steps from the U-Bahn, emerging next to the Frauenkirche with only a brief glimpse of the morning sun before stepping into the twin shadows of von Halsbach’s ancient domed towers. Richter let the crowds carry him along for a few moments, before heading hungrily for a curbside stall. For the first time in a long while he felt slightly cheered. At long last, the weisswurst he’d come so close to enjoying months ago before being whisked out of Bavaria and off into deep space.
And now his robes were the perfect protection from Munich curiosity. Eyes simply grazed over him, as people were unwilling to lock stares with a crazy monk.
Richter delved into the pockets and found some money counting it quickly. Yes, there was easily enough. The street vendor stared at him oddly, before quickly handing over the sausages and turning his back. Taking the food, Richter found a bench, and sat down.
Sitting there chewing he kept an eye on the crowd, looking out for the military police. He was over 100 kilometers from the barracks, but the Feldjäger would surely have expected him to head for Munich it being the closest major city. Richter needed to be gone, and quickly. Concentrating on watching for Feldjäger he failed to spot the other robed figure bearing down on him. A hand roughly pulled the hood from his head.
“You, there. How dare you behave like that? Come with me immediately!” A fleck of spittle hit Richter’s cheek. The man’s face red with rage. Wild eyes, sparse hair, voice harsh with indignation. People were looking, then quickly looking away again. Nobody wanted to get involved with an argument between monks.
“Come with me, I said!” Richter let the man drag him by the arm, down the street, toward what he would have taken to be an office door. A crude sign above the door informed Richter it was in fact an urban monastery of the Divine Mind. The crowds flowed around them without stopping, although a group of men, hair in braids, stood talking in front of the monastery’s entrance. The monk snorted indignantly pushing past them. “Pagans!” he shouted as he dragged Richter inside.
Once through the door, they entered a dirty corridor with ancient, peeling paint. On the wall facing the doorway was a crudely stenciled hammer and three nails, the symbol of the Divine Mind representing the three nails used to pin Christ to the cross and the hammer used to pound them through his flesh. The shabby place seemed deserted. The monk pushed Richter against the side wall, screaming at him only inches from his face. “How dare you eat unclean food? And in the street! What is your monastery? Your abbot shall hear of this. Answer me!”
Richter’s mind raced. Plainly, the robes alone hadn’t been enough. He also needed to know how to behave as a monk if he was to carry off his disguise. Richter bowed his head in apparent shame. “I’m sorry, Brother. I was hungry and I needed to eat. I’m new.”
The monk however, was not finished venting his anger. “You bring the order into disrepute. Your behavior is disgraceful. Do you not respect the hammer and the nails? Have you not been taught the laws?” He seized a grubby, dog-eared pamphlet from a dusty stack on a small table, slapping Richter across the face with it before thrusting it into his hand. “Have you not read this?”
Richter regarded the pamphlet solemnly. “I shall read it with the greatest of care, Brother.” And hit the monk squarely in the throat with the full force of his rigid
knuckles.
FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER Richter was reading the pamphlet on a train, the ticket paid for with the money he’d taken from the little monastery. It had been another useful opportunity; a hasty search of the deserted building gained him the cash and some more religious paraphernalia. It also revealed a stash of slates and paper passports in a desk drawer. Interesting. What were these monks up to? Again, too good a chance to miss. The slates were too dangerous to take, but he’d used one for a brief news search. No mention on any of the news outlets of an army deserter.
However, he’d taken the passport whose image most resembled him and, along with the customs officer’s expected reluctance to mess with a monk, it had been convincing enough to allow him across the Czech border. But he’d have to change again somewhere, now with the Divine Mind and the Feldjäger after him. Nice one, Leon.
The seat screen informed Richter he’d be in Moscow in a little over twelve hours. He doubted neither NipponDeutsch or the Army would go public on his disappearance. But had the monk described him to the police? He switched to a Munich news feed, and immediately found a report of an accident.
Max Baum and Lisl Reichmann, spacecraft engineers employed locally by NipponDeutsch the report stated had both been killed when their flitter flew into a hillside. The report subtly implied they had installed unapproved vehicle control software.