Searching for the Kingdom Key

by TylerRose.

  “You keep calling me that. What does Femina mean?”

  “It means beloved female.”

  “You barely know me. How am I beloved?” she challenged.

  “Some things do not need to be spoken for them to be true. What know you of this place you go to?”

  She showed him the vidpad with images of the particular people she was expected to meet.

  “Speenar is a greedy male. I’ve heard he killed more than one Rolcha in his day,” Shestna said. “The station ceased to exist when its generators exploded and killed everyone on board, including him.”

  “I’ll look into that as well, then,” she said.

  “This man Solomon…he is our agent. Or, was. He went there some time ago but has not returned. I think he is working for Speenar. Be wary of him. He is a strong telepath in his own right and is likely the person they will tell you is your initial contact.”

  “Double agent? You sound like you do not like him.”

  “ I don’t. I never have. I don’t trust him as far as I can kick him. If he has turned and he knows you are an agent of the AASTT, you will be known to Speenar at the outset and all will be lost. He is from Deek Trai IV. Have you spoken to Baener yet? He could tell you more about the man.”

  A food plate arrived and he slid it off the teleporter to the middle of the table for them to take from opposite sides.

  “No, I haven’t. I was busy learning fighting techniques.”

  “So you did take some of my advice,” he teased.

  “I should go to Crecorday by myself and elbow my way into a job,” she said more to herself. “Rather than having other people handle me, I should handle myself. Who does Solomon not know? Someone who could be my contact if needed.”

  “He does not know the Earth telepath Alen, I think. He was gone before Alen came to the station a year ago,” Shestna told her. “Check with Julian to be sure. There’s something else we must discuss.”

  “What?”

  “Your abilities. Has anyone evaluated you to learn exactly the things you can do?”

  “No, but they are still developing. Replicating stuff just started a few weeks ago. Why do you look so grave about it?” she asked of his reproving expression.

  “They should be doing more. You have not taken to flaunting your skills for others to see. Please continue to keep the breadth of your capabilities private.”

  “Why? I understand the teleporting. Okay fine, it freaks people out to think their privacy could be so easily invaded with a though. But why the other stuff? What’s the big deal?”

  “Because you would be the suspect in any duplicating of room keys or documents. You could easily be framed for any such crime. Technically, replicating gold bars that have serial numbers is forgery. You own one pound of gold. It’s not ethically appropriate for you to copy them to make yourself rich.”

  “I’m not making myself rich. I just don’t see a reason to purchase fifty pounds of gold to fund myself when I can buy one and replicate it. Forgery means fake. The gold I create is actual gold. There’s nothing fake about it. I’ve never heard of creating something out of thin air being a crime,” she said. “It’s not like I’m sitting here drawing up fake paper money and trying to pass it off as real.”

  “How could it be a crime by the letter of the law when no one on any planet I know of can do it?” he countered. “Why would anyone think to make a law against telepathically reproducing a gold bar when the last person who could died over five thousand years ago?”

  “So it’s not a law in the Congress,” she concluded.

  “It would be within two days if Earnol learned you can do this. Make no mistake about that.”

  “If no one can do it and there is no law against it, any such law would be specifically aimed at me. Is not that in itself unethical? To make a law that applies to a single person and no one else in the entire galaxy?”

  “Earnol could not care less what is unethical. You will learn that soon enough, I’ve no doubt. Enough of the Congress would vote how he wanted them to,” he told her.

  “If no one can do what I can do, then I can’t think of anyone qualified to be my conscience for me. It’s no one’s business to tell me what I should or should not do. What I can or cannot do. None of them have my abilities, so they are responding only out of fear for my perceived power and a need to control me.”

  “You are right. They will want to control you if they find out what you can do. They will want to use you for their own gain. If you can replicate gold bars, they can hold you prisoner and force you to do it for them instead.”

  “They’d have to capture me first,” she grinned.

  “That is not so hard as you might think. Many telepathic people have been kidnapped over the eons and made to read minds for the benefit of the greedy. A determined person can figure out ways to manipulate you into using your abilities for themselves. My concern is that you will find yourself tricked into doing what others want.”

  “Do you think I’m a fool or something?”

  “No,” he said plainly, not letting her rising anger affect him. “While you have been here several weeks, you do not know these people like I do. You’ve had little contact with the Ambassadors and Congressmen. I think you underestimate their potential for malicious intent. I may not be qualified in your eyes to be your conscience, Femina; but I am uniquely qualified to be an advisor if you would but listen. I already do so for an Emperor who is all but deified by his people. I can do it for a obstinate naiad of a goddess who doesn’t realize the trouble she can get herself into with her impetuosity.”

  She glowered at him.

  “Was there no such man for you on Earth?” he asked more mildly. “Some friend of the family or an uncle you listened to because his advice was good and he had no ulterior motives?”

  Her mind halted. Uncle Radames. Nails. Dicer. Mickey. Each in their own way had advised her through the years.

  He saw he had her with that one. He’d finally gotten through that hard head, watched her bubbling anger cool visibly and considerably.

  “Think about this if nothing else,” he continued. “The ability to do a thing does not mean you should do that thing or that you should let others know you can do it.”

  He dropped the shielding around their table. “Good night, Tyler, and be safe on your assignment.”

  He left her sitting there. She put the screen back up and slouched to stew in her annoyance. She gave thought to his warnings, eventually seeing he was right. She hadn’t been showing off her abilities. She would be mindful of who she let see what she could do.

  She went to find Julian, to ask when she’d be going back in time and who she’d be meeting there to get her ready to go to Crecorday.

  “I don’t like the idea of you going by yourself,” he said rather than answer.

  “Fewer people to fuck it up,” she replied. “Fewer lies to tell. Just get me someplace outside the immediate area of this place and I’ll get there by myself.”

  “There is a Landers station in orbit around Sistair’s outer moon. You could go from there and say you’re on the run from them. Speenar loves a good criminal underdog story. I can have the Landers show up there to look for you.”

  “That would give me more legitimacy,” she agreed, already thinking of a different plan. “Shestna said you can show me how to have a secret vault in the fabric of space, or some shit like that?”

  “A psionic vault,” Julian smiled at her casual verbiage. “Not many people can do it; but I’m sure you can. You create it within your mind and when you need things to be hidden and secure, you psionically send them to that place. No one else can get into it unless they can get into your mind. You are strong enough that you don’t have to let anyone into your mind unless you want to. Even then, you don’t have to share everything, especially not that.”

  “How do I make it?”

  “Picture it. A secret drawer in a dresser. A hidden panel in a closet. Whatever you want it to be. P
icture it in your mind as if it is so real you can reach out and step into it. Hold the object you want secured. Think hard. Put it there.”

  She picked up her glass of water, finished the little bit of liquid in it, and did as he said. The glass vanished from her hands.

  “Can you see it in your vault?” he asked.

  Forehead creasing, eyes looking inward instead of at him.

  “Yes.”

  “Bring it back.”

  The glass was in her hands.

  “There you go,” he smiled.

  “So am I also to find out if Solomon has gone native?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I understand he’s been there a long time and hasn’t come back. Surely if he was there to find out what this guy Speenar is doing, then he would have gotten the information by now. Why is it even necessary for another person to go find out unless Solomon has gone native and is making more money there than he ever did here?”

  Julian was stopped cold. “You’re right. Is that why you don’t want to go with another agent?”

  “It would look more legit if I was just by myself trying to make a buck, with no ties to anything. Especially no ties to anyone he already knows. If he’s turned traitor, I’m going to be known the minute he sees me anyway, if someone’s told him I’m coming. He has to have allies on this end, doesn’t he? He’ll tell Speenar who I am and what I’m doing. You know he will. I don’t think I even would want a contact to come and get information. How can I get information to you if I’m four hundred years into the past?”

  “Psionic burst packets. They will be programmed to arrive fifteen minutes apart. Regardless how long it’s been since you sent one, the next will arrive to us within fifteen minutes of the last one you sent. On your end, your work may take weeks. On our end, it’ll be a few hours at most. We’ll be ready to go back and snatch the person who is crossing time boundaries as soon as you get the information to us.”

  “When do I go?” she asked again, taking the conversation back to the beginning.

  “Day after tomorrow. The burst packets are being prepared now. You’ll have four of them.”

  “No. Just give me one.”

  “One? Why only one?”

  “Because I may only get one chance to send one. I’m not going to jeopardize myself sending several. When I have the proof of how it’s being done and who is doing it, I will send that proof the minute I learn it. If the burst packet is psionic, it includes images from the mind. I take a mental snapshot and send it, right? Can it be made to look like a gold ring? Can it be undetectable?”

  “Look like a gold ring, yes. Undetectable is more questionable. Depends on the sensitivity of other telepaths.”

  “Okay, then size it to my first finger and decorate it with a ruby and two pearls. Talk to you later. I’m going to see Baener.”

  “What about?”

  “I have questions for him too.”

  Questions the Councilman was most happy to answer as best he could without revealing anything confidential. He was a congenial host, patient and gentle. A good and honest soul if ever there was one, pleased she should seek him out.

  She returned to her room to continue making rings. She copied her ten molds to make it go faster and worked until all the copied bars had been turned into rings. All of the rings from copied bars into a black sock, she continued with the original bars. Those rings went into a white sock. She hid both in her psionic vault.

  Bags packed, a good night’s sleep had, and she put one ring from copied gold onto her middle and first fingers. She would use copied gold first. In his office, Julian gave her the pearl and ruby ring. She put it on her left index finger, behind the plain ring, and was ready to go.

  Jerry, the oldest of the five Earth telepaths, went with her to the Landers station for introductions. Traveling through time was like teleporting, but she could feel that she was out of place with her surroundings. Like when she’d been in different countries but much more intense.

  They were as impressed with her as she was with them, meaning not at all. A bunch of entitled assholes that grated on her last nerve from the minute she arrived. She and Jerry had rooms side by side, and would have to wait for a transport going in the right direction.

  She decided not to wait. Going to the station’s bar after Jerry went to sleep, she found a pilot already deep in his cups. Joining him for a drink, sitting there with him, she absorbed the language. Some words and phrasing were different from her era, nearly five hundred years having created some changes.

  On her second drink and his second pitcher since her arrival, she asked him how to fly one of their little fighters. He told. He tried not to tell the more top secret stuff, but his mind opened to her like a flower in the sun when she gave him the impression that she would have sex with him.

  She left him there to pass out and went to the hanger his ship was in. With his pass key in hand and the key to the car, as it were, she slipped past the two locked doors. Rather than risk being seen crossing the shuttle bay, she teleported directly into the cockpit.

  She had the right access codes to start the vessel, the right codes to force the bay doors to open. Exterior access was cut off in the vacuum of open outer doors, and she trusted the knowledge she’d gotten from her pilot friend. Disabling access to all the bays would buy her time. Opening all the bays would buy her more time.

  Soon as she was out of the bay and at the minimum safe distance away, she floored it. The little fighter took off toward her destination and she didn’t have to do anything more until she got there. A four hour flight, she should be safely aboard before the Landers could do a thing about it.

  She turned off the earpiece demanding to know who she was and what she was doing. None of them could make good on any threats to shoot her down. The pilot’s information had included what time the patrols would be at their furthest reaches. None of them could even get to her.

  Really, they had quite the piss-poor system. How they managed to enforce the law through the entire quadrant was beyond her.

  Crecorday station coming up fifteen minutes ahead, she turned the communications system back on to listen for their beacon. She found it in a minute, with the instructions for what channels to go to for vocal confirmation of landing.

  “Crecorday station to Landers vessel Nxzoi eghkesivinx. Acknowledge.”

  Landers vessel could only be her. Eghkesivinx was the ship number, 867.

  “That’s me,” she said in the Language of the Landers. “I’m landing and immediately selling this vessel. Got someone looking to get off your station in a hurry?”

  Laughter. “Follow the flashing green lights to your landing bay.”

  As opposed to the flashing yellow lights and the flashing orange ones. Those were for other ships on final approach. Around the station and the machine guided itself into the bay and into the spot to which it was directed. It landed itself and opened the canopy. She dropped her suitcase first and then climbed down to see two security guards and a mean looking K’Tran male behind them.

  “What is your business here?” he asked.

  “Getting rid of a ship and deciding where to go next or looking for work.”

  “There is only one kind of work on this station for a female.”

  “I doubt that. Where’s my buyer?”

  A tall man about thirty Earth years came through the door. Handsome, with dark blond to light brown hair and green/gray flecked eyes. And a particular determination about him that meant he was looking for someone specific to kill.

  “Where’s the ship?”

  She pointed to it behind her. “Make me an offer.”

  He held up a purple and red poker chip. Two thousand Ruds.

  “Sold,” she said, taking the chip and turning back to the K’Tran in charge at the moment. “I need a room. Nothing big or expensive.”

  “I can put you in a Rolcha room where you can earn twenty Ruds a hump and pay twenty Ruds a day for the room.”<
br />
  She laughed at him. He didn’t like that, scowling at her.

  “Guests have a check-in area,” she said. “Take me there, station employee.”

  Into an elevator alone with him, the two security members having remained in the bay. No words spoken. The door opened and he gestured her out.

  “Get my bag for me,” she said, stepping out.

  He stood there staring at her. She stopped three steps away to turn and look, seeing he wasn’t moving.

  “It’s not going to move itself. Bring it or get me a porter.”

  Travel was travel wherever you went. If you acted like you were to be served, they served. He reached for the handle and lifted to carry the suitcase, intending to drop it where she stood. She started walking to the intake line, pointed at the front end.

  “Leave it there. Thank you. I’ll tip you later. I don’t have any small change on me right now,” she said, walking up to the VIP desk.

  Humiliated in front of twenty guests and another ten employees, the K’Tran pushed a button on his wrist watch-looking thing and vanished. Personal teleportation devices. Interesting.

  “You have a reservation?” the woman in the suit said from the other side of the counter.

  “The way this place is run, probably not. I’m Rose. I’m supposed to start singing in this piss-hole. I was told I’d have a room waiting,” she lied.

  “I have no note of a singer and no notes for a room reserved.”

  “Criminetly. Do you have any rooms available? Something not expensive because I’m not going to get stuck with a ridiculous bill that was supposed to be paid for in the first place.”

  Clicking and looking.

  “I can give you 2305. It’s a one room efficiency with refrigerator and sink but no cooking burners and costs fifty Ruds a day.”

  “This place have teleport food delivery?” Tyler asked.

  “We wish. There is room delivery and it costs twice the menu amount per item.”

  “Screw that. I’ll go get my own food. I’ll take the room.”

  “What name?”

  “Rose.”

  Typing. “Surname?”

  “None. My name is Rose.”