by JCH Rigby
CHAPTER THIRTY
Coffee with the Enemy
Friday, September 2nd
The hundreds of colors of the domes of Saint Basil’s Cathedral and the red walls of the Spasskaya Tower were glowing in the late evening sun drenching the Square. Richter walked from the Belorusskiy Vokzal railway station along Tverskaya Ulitsa, which seemed like the safest option available to him now his small reserve of cash was exhausted. A cab would have been nice but this way he could set his own pace, while getting a proper feel for the Moscow and maybe see if anyone was following him.
It was only a short distance, but he’d be glad to reach his destination because the boots he’d picked up from the market stall at the station were rubbing at his feet, and he could feel the beginnings of a blister. Well, at least they weren’t the sandals he had worn as part of his last disguise. The second-hand leather work jacket was okay, though, and a couple of days’ beard would help. The monk outfit stopped people looking at his face, but they still noticed him. A scruffy laborer was a safer option.
The building Richter sought would have been hard to miss. It towered above the streetscape, as confident and assertive a commercial structure as could be achieved by uncontained architectural ambition, overweening corporate pride, and vast amounts of money. Now he was here, however, Richter hesitated, leaning against a wall and staring up at the place. Come on, Leon. You’ve dealt with much worse than this.
Crossing the great square Richter climbed the broad steps to the main entrance. Footsteps echoing on the marble floor, he approached the reception desks where an elegant young man looked up at him with a friendly smile.
Richter had learned and practiced two sentences of Russian, and as he spoke them the man’s eyes widened in disbelief. “NipponDeutsch have achieved faster-than-light travel, and I can tell you where they’ve been. While you’re finding the right people, please may I have a cup of coffee?”
Saturday, September 3rd
"HAS HE BEEN SEARCHED?" Enquired Tatiana Ivanovna, ARTOK’s Head of Out Systems Research and Operations.
“Exhaustively, madam.” Replied Yuri Khostov. Khostov managed security for the Moscow site, and she trusted his judgment. “Searched, scanned, and we’ve subjected him to a range of electro-magnetic phenomena which would have initiated any hidden devices he may have been carrying. His breath has been analyzed for toxicity, and no airborne disease vectors have been detected. He’s even permitted us to take a blood sample. He is as clean as anyone I’ve ever seen. However, to be on the safe side, I strongly advise you interview him by video link while we keep him in the safe room.”
Tatiana pondered the security managers advice for a moment. “Hmm. Maybe. If he genuinely has what he claims, he may not appreciate speaking only to a camera. Besides,” a thin smile creased Tatiana’s lips, “it would be rude not to speak to him personally.” Tatiana enjoyed the tweaking Khostov when the chance arose and the look on his face told her she had achieved her aim. However, back to business. Tatiana regarded the shabbily dressed man in the monitor. “So, who is he, then?”
The security chief sighed. “That’s the problem. He won’t say, retinal scans show him to be a European citizen, one Leon Richter, age twenty-five, a special forces trooper from the German regional army.” Tatiana expected Khostov to mention how much that information cost him, but he did not. Perhaps he was filing the thought away for future budget negotiations.
“Oh, wonderful. So, in addition to industrial espionage, we’re either harboring a fleeing criminal or giving shelter to a defector. Leaving us open to allegations of the abduction of a foreign national and of the illegal detention of a member of the armed forces of a foreign power, and a German, of all foreigners!
“This is going to turn very political. If it’s true, it could transform the power balance of the entire race. The Tsar himself…” She let that thought trail off.
“Shall I turn him over to the tourist police, then, or maybe the security service? It would be very discreet. You know Gaidarov and I share a drink every now and then,” Khostov said, pokerfaced.
Tatiana certainly didn’t want that, but she guessed Khostov had wanted to see how she might react. In its present form, the ARTOK company was much older than the current iteration of the Russian state, and its culturally, long-established security habits included a deep-seated wariness of one’s own masters. Not distrust, just a healthy desire to ensure they continually promoted the best interests of the company. She’d played this game for a very long time.
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is far too valuable an opportunity. We will, of course, share this with the state, but not now. We’ll have to keep this Richter very close indeed. What have you done with the receptionist, and anyone else who have heard this story?”
Khostov smiled thinly. “I’ve provisionally graded this ‘Company Top Secret, Business Critical, Senior Execs’ Eyes Only.’ The young man at reception turned out to be in our graduate program. His file showed he expressed a desire to see the company’s off-Earth operations. Currently he is packing his bags before departing for Europa, where he should find running the colony’s environment management systems is an interesting challenge.
“His immediate superiors, Maximov, and Konstantinova are senior enough to be aware of the need to keep their mouths shut and, consequently, their careers intact. Maximov is being redeployed to the Luna Mass Driver site, and Konstantinova’s immediate future depends on your decision as her line manager. I recommend a short spell in the orbital habitats.”
Tatiana relaxed a little. Khostov could see she by her body language that she approved his actions. “If this man’s claims are even remotely close to being true, we could steal a huge march on those NipponDeutsch bastards, and if they aren’t, then…”
“Then best they don’t know we know what they don’t know.” Khostov finished for her.
Tatiana untangled that one, before gracing him with a rare, fulsome smile.
“Precisely. Now, did anyone fetch Richter that cup of coffee?”
TATIANA IVANOVNA STEPPED ONTO the veranda of the dacha and stretched wearily hoping the cold, crisp air would rejuvenate her. The moon hung low above the tree line, turning the snow to a more-silvery white in the darkness. She glanced at it casually, her mind gripped by the story she had just heard, as she stared more intently at the deep, wide black.
L5 was below the horizon, Luna, where her company maintained a huge presence, was partially obscured by the falling snow. Somewhere further out were the habitats, the moon stations, the mass drivers, the bread-and-butter satellites and shuttles, and the slow-liner starships. Not a bad range of interests for one company to be involved with.
If even a fraction of what Richter had said was true, then the familiar starscape above took on a quite different aspect. Though, given the size of the galaxy and the tiny volume of human activity, the real wonder was something like this hadn’t happened before.
A pair of security vehicles were parked in the drive, and she could hear the whop-whop of a copter in the distance. A patrolling guard smiled at her and nodded a polite “good evening.” She barely noticed, still mulling over Richter’s explosive information. It might blow up in their faces or, properly used, it could allow them access to what must be one of NipponDeutsch’s most prized corporate secrets.
The implications of this intelligence were enormous. Faster-than-light travel. To reach across this little stub of the galaxy in weeks and months, instead of passing decades, frozen in cold sleep, crawling between a handful of solar systems. Those stargazers’ dreams, which once seemed almost within reach, faded into a reality of impossible logistics, huge expenses, paltry budgets, apathetic politicians, and foundering colonies could all be rejuvenated overnight.
But should she give this story any credit, follow it any further? The country people still believed in the Polevik and the Leszi, mischievous and occasionally dangerous spirits which loved to lead careless travelers astray. Once, FTL ha
d also seemed almost accessible, ARTOK had been chasing after this will-o’-the-wisp technology for decades. Could this German soldier be a Polevik?
Yet his story was exhaustively detailed. Tatiana had tasked her security team’s Proactive Operations Section with checking recognized NipponDeutsch names in Richter’s story against known employment details and recent sightings. Well, she would listen to their report with interest before deciding what her next steps should be.
The choice of target star system was fascinating; ARTOK had no current plans to investigate the linked pair of bodies, but their intriguing family of exoplanets could well be worth a probe themselves. However, with ARTOK’s present drive technology based on what she might now be obliged to consider as conventional physics, such a probe could take a generation to report back. A frown creased Tatiana’s brow. Could Richter’s story be a honey trap, designed to tie up a piece of ARTOK’s research effort—and budget—for years. She needed to treat this one with exceptional care.
This “smear” created by activating the FTL drive that Richter mentioned should be easy enough to verify. If it really did reach from an FTL launch site all the way to a target star, like an aircraft’s contrail, then the next questions were: how soon did the smear fade, if at all? Was there still evidence of such a launch? The Colonies and Deep Space Operations team could answer that as well as why the smear pointed nearly at the destination?
An intriguing thought: if it was true, would NipponDeutsch hesitate to launch again, if they believed their historic competitors now knew about the smear? Could ARTOK’s possession of such knowledge usefully delay the German-Japanese company? If the smear in space was seen to be real, then perhaps she should leak her knowledge of it to the opposition and scare them into hesitation. Wheels within wheels.
Finally: the aliens.
Here was the great unknown. Two species of beings—three, if the Euro special forces people were right in their reasoning—were active in the galaxy, in what now felt like humanity’s neighborhood; active and at war. Until tonight, the deep wide black seemed to be a vast opportunity waiting for humanity to exploit. Now it seemed more like an appalling threat. The night sky looked very different.
One group of aliens, at least, had space travel, however, the Euros didn’t yet know if these aliens possessed FTL capability. The alien fleet had been tracked leaving the orbit of the giant gaseous planet, but that was all that this Richter claimed to know. The ships had been accelerating, but Richter drew no conclusions from that; he was a soldier, not a spacecraft crewmember.
And this same group of aliens could apparently alter the vector of gravity, like directional jets on an aircraft. Yet another technology ARTOK must acquire, unless all of this was a fairy story.
Out here in the woods and lakes there also lurked Baba Yaga and the Rusalka, lying and hungry creatures not to be believed or trusted. Perhaps the old grandmothers’ tales had merit. Perhaps Tatiana, too, could be swallowed up by this tale of Richter’s. She, her company, Holy Mother Russia, and the whole human race.
She went back indoors to speak further with the German.
THE DACHA TRANSFORMED FROM a luxury country retreat into a planning and operations center. A steady stream of cars and aircraft delivered members of ARTOK’S operations, science, and security teams, and the few conference rooms were by now at a premium. Any inch of semi-public space taken over by groups of specialists in brainstorming sessions, and raised voices came from every corner. Phone agents floated heedlessly between the desks and chairs.
Stepping carefully past crates and boxes, squeezing between folding tables, display screens, and data equipment, Tatiana headed for the private sitting room where she had left the Richter.
Inside, a security man stood by the door like dangerous furniture. Richter staring out the picture window, at the forest. Having no experience in such matters, she wondered idly which man might gain the upper hand if they fought. Richter turned around as she entered, and began speaking. After a second, the room’s slate began to translate.
“So, what are you going to do with me?”
Khostov, the Moscow security chief, had warned Tatiana Richter would raise the question sooner or later. She decided to meet it head-on. “There are a few options. We should hand you over to the government, or to your own, as an illegal immigrant to Holy Russia.” Tatiana paused to see how Richter reacted. When she saw no discernable change in his body language she tried a different tact. “Alternatively, we could offer you a comfortable living working for the company in some suitable capacity, but I admit I don’t yet know what. Be realistic, though; we’re not just going to open the door and wave goodbye to you.”
Richter’s attention alternated between the translator and her face. The company security man concentrated on Richter’s eyes, wondering if Tatiana’s words would provoke Richter into violence. The machine lagged slightly behind, as it rearranged the syntax of the two languages. Tatiana patiently waited while the slates voice trailed off. Still, Richter failed to react. Tatiana decided to put the ball firmly in his court. “What do you want us to do?” Richter’s desires would be of interest, but not necessarily decisive in any discussions regarding his future.
Richter shrugged. “I don’t know.” A pause for the slate to catch up. “I’ve left my home, family, friends, country, and regiment. I don’t want that to be permanent, but I can’t see staying out of jail if I go back. Or maybe even staying alive.”
He waited as the translator carried on for a few seconds, plainly wanting her to understand. This was important to him. “Look, this might sound silly to you, but I need to climb. It’s what I do, and it’ll help me decide. I gather there are some impressive peaks in the Caucasus. Could I go there for a while?”
Climbing? How could he think about his hobby with his whole life in turmoil? Still, if that’s what motivated him.
“I dare say that could be arranged.” Surely Security could find Richter a minder who could climb. “What about afterwards?” Tatiana asked.
Richter’s shoulders dropped as perhaps, for the first time, the full ramifications of his actions in coming to ARTOK hit home. “I don’t know. All I’ve ever done is soldiering, but that makes no sense. I won’t take up arms against my own people, though, even if you could arrange me something. Can you give me some time to think about it?”
Naturally creative, ideas came easily to Tatiana, but long ago she schooled herself to hug them close while she thought them through. Brainwaves could be dangerous.
Didn’t the company still have a program for providing client governments with bio- and neurologically-enhanced soldiers? Tatiana had recently been at a conference on Luna with other senior executives, and sat through a corporate update which had included a short presentation on the subject. Something about reduced demand, these days, and possibly moving the enhanced troops off-Earth in response to political pressure.
Well, if these aliens really existed, off-Earth would become very important indeed, and soldiers might be of critical importance in the future. Could there be a role for Richter there? He would have to have a memory wipe to ensure his loyalty, but it would certainly keep him under close control.
“Take your time, Herr Richter. Go and climb Mount Elbrus. We’ll think of something, between us.”
PART V
DAVID CHAMBERS
Orchard 2450
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
All the Old Tsars and Princes
Chambers stared the Richter avatar down hardly daring to believe what he had heard. “Do you mean to tell me you’re the reason ARTOK got access to NipponDeutsch’s FTL technology? Years back, I looked in to that for a story about industrial espionage. It’s always been one of the big unsolved mysteries. No one’s ever explained how ARTOK got their greatest enemies to license it to them, and it turns out you just walked into their head office one day, and handed it over?”
The Richter avatar hung in the air above a chair, shrunken to the size of a
doll. “Not exactly. You thought Stevie Arden’s world was different from yours? It was different from mine, as well, back then. ARTOK and NipponDeutsch were both big companies in Stevie Arden’s youth, though not as monstrously big as they became later, and they kept growing. By the time I came along, NipponDeutsch was still only a contractor for the European Federation. Now, they run the Federation, and you’re surprised ARTOK runs this little hab?
“When I walked into that office in Red Square, each company controlled their own army, navy, and air-space forces. ARTOK even managed to put a puppet royal family in place, the old tsars and princes and counts and stuff. A complete aristocracy. They needed it to look like it was the Russian state doing the expansion, not ARTOK’s balance sheet.
“Both companies were expanding their operations off Earth, starting up their very own little statelets on the minor worlds. While all the time they were fighting each other to fill the space left vacant when China was finally knocked down into the junior leagues again. These companies were more powerful than some countries.”
“This is all in the history texts Richter.” Said Chambers. “Any school kid with a slate can read about the expansion of ARTOK and NipponDeutsch and the decline of the various national governments. I remember lessons in school about all this. It was around the time that the Earth First terrorist were attacking anything to do with expansion into space. For all their power and influence, the companies had plenty of problems.”
From its position above the chair the Richter avatar was shaking its head. “It must have taken a lot more than a few terrorist attacks and me telling ARTOK that NipponDeutsch knew how to travel faster than light. I only told them it could be done, not how to do it.