He saw, sitting at a large oval conference table, three people having a quiet conversation. Their voices abruptly stopped as three pairs of eyes looked up as he entered. A blond woman in a gray suit stood up. The others immediately followed. With the two men trailing in her wake, she walked around the table and extended her hand. Owens noticed that her penetrating eyes were cornflower blue. Her hair was trimmed short, and she wore no makeup. Owens thought that she truly didn’t need any and found himself wondering if the rest of her was as flawless as her face.
“Mr. Owens, my name is Paula Frizzen; I’m the Director of the Confederated Planets Historical Archives Library here on Denbus. I’m so happy to meet you,” she said warmly. She turned to the two men and made introductions. This is Led Bensen; he works for me as a senior archivist. And this is Stewart Reynaud, Executive Vice Consul, Diplomatic Corps. Owens shook hands with each in turn. With the introductions over, she said, “Please have a seat and we shall begin.”
They all sat down. Paula Frizzen immediately opened the briefing with an overview similar to that given by Neven the day before. Although it was pleasant listening to Paula’s soft voice, Owens learned little that was new. His mind was beginning to wander when she turned the discussion over to the senior archivist to begin his presentation.
Led Benson was a heavyset man with red, unruly hair he was constantly running nervous fingers through. He stood and walked behind the podium at the head of the table. The room’s lights dimmed. A holographic projection showing a spiral nebula floated in the center of the table.
“Mr. Owens, I was asked to show you this out of chronological sequence. The event you’re about to see should… ah, demonstrate why Golstar was put into quarantine. This is one of Confederated Planets’ most closely guarded secrets.” He touched a panel on the podium and the projection abruptly changed.
An image of a formation of military ships approaching a solar system materialized. Benson said quietly, “These recordings are from the few drones that returned from the military excursion into the Golstar system over three hundred years ago.”
Owens asked, “How were these recordings made?”
Benson hesitated, “Uh... I believe it was a standard procedure to deploy monitor drones during fleet maneuvers. Additional information was provided by the ships’ own internal monitors.”
Owens nodded, “That makes sense.”
“Yes,” Benson agreed. “Remember, the military was intended primarily to quell planetary conflicts, internal to Confederated Planets. Under the amended Geneva conventions of 2180, they were held accountable for any accusations of citizens’ rights violations made during the course of their missions. All missions are thoroughly documented.”
Owens grinned, “CYA.”
“Ah, I suppose you could look at it that way. Do you have any other questions, Mr. Owens, before we begin?”
Owens shook his head.
“Very well,” Benson looked back at the holograph. “The data you see scrolling along the bottom indicates all of our ships’ defensive and offensive systems were on standby alert when they entered the system.”
Owens watched the image as three of the six destroyers began to separate from the main force.
Benson said, “You can see they’re breaking formation, beginning their search for the missing expedition. They had the advantage of using military tactical sensor arrays far superior to those employed by civilian agencies. On their initial scans, they failed to find any of the expedition’s ships, but they did locate some debris that matched the alloys used in ship construction. Soon after, the battle group discovered the infamous satellite grid.” Benson’s voice took on a somber tone, “But as with the expedition earlier, they were unsuccessful in detecting any activity within the grid.”
The scene shifted to the bridge of the flagship. Uniformed men and women were at numerous consoles watching screens flashing sensor data and status messages. “Ships log entry 0791, this is Fleet Admiral Benjamin Norris,” the deep voice announced. “We have just encountered what looks to be an early-warning satellite grid. It matches the description reported by the lost expedition.”
“Although our analyses are incomplete, it appears to be de-energized. Our instruments have not detected any form of energy originating from the satellite matrix. However, we still believe the grid may be active. Fleet logistics and weapons departments concur in their estimation that our sensors might not be attuned to the technology employed by the inhabitants of Golstar. We will therefore act as if the Fleet is being actively tracked and appraised by the grid. We will…” The admiral’s voice cut off.
“The remainder of this voice log was garbled,” Benson interjected. The image momentarily went blank. When it reappeared, the activity on the bridge had suddenly increased, and the lighting shifted in red. “Ah,” said Benson. “This is where TacOp reported a number of the spheres orbiting the planets had been detected. The Admiral and his staff assumed the spheres could be military posts, housing troops and armaments. He unhesitatingly called for the fleet to go into DefCon. All ships of the fleet immediately went to full alert.”
The scene shifted again and focused on one of the huge battleships. This must have been recorded by one of the drones, Owens thought, as he watched massive plates of hardened armor rotating and shifting into battle configurations. The image shifted once more and ships’ personnel were shown going through their assigned routines. Charges were verified on the laser cannon capacitors and master switches were armed for activation. Independent reactors powering the ship’s energy shields were switched from standby to active.
The holograph flickered, and it displayed the attack carriers beginning to spew out their Stingers, looking like so many angry Hornets charging from their metal hives. The image shifted again and again, showing the frenzied activities of the ships and their crews as they prepared for battle.
Benson’s voice grew somber, “The inhabitants of Golstar didn’t take long to react to our fleet’s battle-ready posture. This next image is from another monitor drone.” A grainy picture of one of the orbiting spheres now appeared. Dark apertures quickly irised on the sphere’s surface, then the picture vanished. “The data readouts from the few message drones that returned indicate the shipboard sensors might have auto-triggered the activation of all the fleet’s shields when the spheres began to change.”
“I believe the fleet’s monitor drones’ last images require no further explanation.” The holograph flickered, and a new scene coalesced.
Owens watched as the first salvo swept across the swarming Stingers rendering them into glittering clouds of metallic vapor. In three seconds, of the two-hundred and fifty attack fighters that had launched, little trace of the human squadrons could be seen. Along with the destruction of their Stingers, the attack carriers sustained crippling damage. He could see, on three of the carriers, the beams had penetrated and collapsed their energy shields, much of the secondary hard-armor boiled away into space.
There was no sound, but Owens could imagine the noise momentarily generated within the ships as they endured the incredible, violent weapon fire. The drone’s visual acuity allowed him to see the carriers’ external weaponry was obviously disabled and the apertures of launch tubes leading to internal racks of missiles were melted and twisted unusable. The fourth carrier had exploded when the sphere’s weapon breached the inner hulls.
Owens watched in horrid fascination as the holograph shifted from image to image. Of the destroyers, three could now no longer be seen. The remaining three had been reduced to slowly expanding clusters of metal debris. The two battleships fared a little better than the carriers. Though they too had lost their primary energy shielding, much of their armor remained intact. They looked to be still capable of firing their weapons. Unfortunately, the enemy fortresses were out of the ships’ weapon range.
“Norris and his crews knew that they were finished; the next enemy attack would be their end,” Benson’s voice startled Owens. “From the data, w
e know that the surviving ships’ sensors were still focused on the spheres and reported the spheres’ energy weapons were recharging. It was estimated they had about forty-five seconds left. All remaining message drones were immediately launched. The observer drones transmitted their data to them. You can see as the last drone left its launch tube, the two battleships and the crippled carriers again encountered the superior technology of the system’s inhabitants. Although equipped with the best Confederated Planets’ armories had to offer, they suffered the same fate as the first expedition.”
Owens watched as the final scene played out, then the holo-projection winked out and the lighting returned to normal. A heavy silence followed. Benson cleared his throat. “Mr. Owens, you have just joined a very small, select number of people who have viewed this historical recording. Do you have any questions about what you’ve seen?”
The questions would come later, but at this point, Owens could think of nothing to ask. He shook his head.
After taking a short break, Benson continued his presentation. “We will now go back to the beginning, when the Farway Spiral was initially detected.” He took the remainder of the day flashing data and images while describing in great detail, many of the findings of the first unmanned probes sent to Golstar. As he warmed to the subject, he became more animated. Unfortunately, from Owens’ perspective, he was reminded of a teacher he once had. The man had the same scratchy voice and poor presentation skills.
“You can... um, see,” Benson concluded, “the government was presented with a unique opportunity heretofore unimaginable; three E-type planets with incalculable mineral wealth and ideally suited for colonization. Based on all the data, we can little blame the government for mounting an expedition.”
Owens had had enough, “This is all very interesting, and I mean no disrespect, but what’s the purpose of going into all of this historical detail? I’m a private investigator and from my narrow perspective, I really can’t see the value of this information. It seems to me Golstar’s message, the one that asked for me, was simply worded and fairly straightforward. They want to hire a PI. As to why they named me, specifically, I don’t know, but I would think the background I was provided by Neven and Ms. Frizzen earlier would be sufficient for this assignment.”
Benson ran a nervous hand through his hair and seemed to be searching for a response.
Before Benson could frame an answer, a new thought entered Owens’ mind. Damn it, he should have realized it earlier. With this dawning knowledge, he tried to keep a tight rein on his temper. “But it isn’t that straightforward, is it?” He looked around the table, pausing at each face, “Yeah; you all see this as an opportunity, don’t you? What you really want is for me to play spy. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” Benson sat back down, and the projection winked out.
Owens waited. Nobody spoke. He again looked from face to face, as the uncomfortable silence grew. He finally shook his head in disgust, “Alright, if that’s what all this is all about, I’ll do the cloak-and-dagger bit. We all know that it’s not as if I have any real choice in the matter. Even so, I don’t see the reason behind giving me this slanted version of history.” He looked directly at Benson, “It appears that you’re attempting to justify our government’s questionable decisions. Just how is this supposed to help me gather the information you think you need?”
Benson’s face flushed bright red.
Paula Frizzen stared at Owens with the look of discovering half of a rather large caterpillar in her partially-eaten salad. “If you think…” She began heatedly. She abruptly stopped and turned to look at the other man sitting at the table. She took a deep breath, her blouse stretching to emphasize her obvious charms. “Perhaps the Vice Consul can clarify,” she said stiffly.
It looked to Owens like he had thoroughly pissed off the lovely Ms. Frizzen. Any hope he had harbored for engaging in extracurricular activities with the beautiful director dimmed.
The man had been silent throughout the presentations. He now nodded and gave Frizzen a small self-deprecating smile, then stood. “I’d be happy to, Director Frizzen.” He walked over to a side table and retrieved a glass of water. Stewart Reynaud was of medium height and had wavy brown hair. His features were all angles and planes and he moved in a smooth, controlled manner, as if every movement was preplanned.
Sitting back down, he directed his gaze to Owens. His look was one of frank appraisal, a small smile half-formed on his lips. Then, in a deceptively mild voice, he began, “I suppose we should have prefaced these sessions with a little more explanation, but time is been somewhat limited. In any event, I shall attempt to address your concerns Mr. Owens.”
His voice remained conversational, “To begin with... we have not had a communication since that single terse message of three centuries ago, so we really have no basis on which to determine the true intent behind this most-recent message. Although totally unexpected, this request does appear rather, as you say, straight-forward. However, as simple as it may appear on the surface, there are very likely other underlying motives, other purposes in play. What they may be, we can’t begin to guess.” He paused, then smiled openly, “Well, actually we can.”
He resumed in a more serious tone, “Second, as to you being our spy; I will readily admit we do want you to gather as much information as you can while you’re within the Golstar system. However, please take note the information gathering will come from both directions… ours and theirs. Now, let me make myself perfectly clear on this point. You are to represent Confederated Planets; you will act as a witness for the defense if it eventually comes to that.”
Owens said, “I see.”
“Do you, Mr. Owens?” Reynaud paused, and took a sip of his water. “If that is true, then you can now see these briefings are extremely important and absolutely necessary. If I were you, I would not be so quick to discount any of the information we provide you in the future.”
Owens frowned.
“Perhaps you’re still having trouble seeing it, but I believe you will eventually come to understand the underlying point of all this. Not counting the recording of our fleet’s demise, these briefings have been set up to chronologically step you through the events, and more importantly, the government’s decisions that led up to the quarantine.”
Owens raised his hands in mock surrender, “Okay. I’m beginning to see where you’re going with this.”
Reynaud nodded, “And so along with a historical review of that time period, you’ll be provided with the political and military context for the decisions that were made by Confederated Planets’ then ruling government. When the briefings are completed, you’ll be one of a select few to have a comprehensive picture of what went on and why, at least from our perspective, during that unfortunate period in history.” He stopped, as if waiting for Owens to comment.
“Okay,” Owens said. “So in essence you’re saying is I’m supposed to act as some sort of advocate to defend the actions the government took over three hundred years ago. Well, if that’s what you’re expecting, then that’s what I’ll do. At the risk of repeating myself, it’s not as if I have any real choice in the matter.”
Reynaud ignored Owens’ last comment. “Then I urge you to pay attention to the briefings most carefully. Afterwards, if called upon, you should be able to provide our side of the story. Mr. Owens, I can’t stress enough, these briefings could make a very real difference in the outcome of your journey.”
Owens remained quiet with a growing knot in his stomach, deciding it better to not comment on the Vice Consul’s expectation that Owens would represent, and somehow defend Confederated Planets to the inhabitants of Golstar.
Reynaud looked at Owens expectantly, gauging his demeanor. Then seeing no outward reaction, continued on in a more conciliatory tone, “As isolated as Golstar has been, their rulers may very well be seeking information about Confederated Planets and are simply using this request as a stalking horse. As to the purpose for seeking such informa
tion, we haven’t a clue.”
“But to the extent we can, within this short time interval, we will prepare you for as many possible eventualities as we are able. You will, after all, be the first and sole representative of Confederated Planets to set foot on a Golstar planet. And as such, you may have the opportunity to play a key role in opening a genuine dialog between our two peoples.” He became little more earnest in his manner, “This could very well be the first step toward the establishment of formal relations. It is therefore, in our best interests to provide you with every scrap of information that we can, so I ask for your understanding and patience.”
Owens frowned. “All right, I understand and can accept the need for the details. Even so, if they’re so damned advanced, surely Golstar can gather data on Confederated Planets without us ever knowing?”
“Ah,” Reynaud smiled. “It could very well be they actually want us to know. Perhaps it is an overture of sorts. Such an overt gambit is not unknown in the art of diplomacy. Three hundred years is a very long time, reckoned by anyone’s standards. Politically, Golstar may have undergone some change that could mean a departure from their isolationist stance. Such a change could mean this is a pretext to begin the complex diplomatic interactions necessary for an opening dialog, such that could eventually lead to normalized relations.”
Reynaud’s smile faded, “Or it could be a portent of something less altruistic… perhaps they require a confirmation of what they already believe or have come to know. As a citizen of Confederated Planets, your general first-hand knowledge of the government and its policies could be invaluable as part of a comprehensive intelligence-gathering effort. It is quite possible this is part of an effort to discover our weaknesses, as a prelude to some subversive action… or overt war.”
This last was said in a low monotone. It seemed to Owens that the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees. His anticipation, already dulled, was now beginning to turn toward dread.
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