As expected, Fleet Admiral Kalis had been extremely closed-mouthed about his Chief of Confederate Fleet Intelligence, and how it was the couple might have gotten to Raku, when he’d delivered the Alliance’s copy of the surrender documents to President McAllister personally. The Raknii Supreme-Master’s contention that the baron and his family had sneaked into the Garden of Dol right next door to his Imperial Palace in a warship that was completely undetectable to any known scan technology, and that he’d actually been aboard that fantastic vessel, would explain much about a lot of mysterious happenings during the Confederate War of Independence.
They knew that Bat had disappeared about ten months prior to the Raknii raid on Bavara, but they never made any connection between the two events. What little the ABI had been able to ascertain only muddied the waters with even more confusion. Multiple handwriting experts had verified that one of the signatures on the surrender documents was a potential match for Bat’s handwriting… not the brother’s — that Halbert Guderian person as they’d expected, but Admiral-Baron Dietrich Anton Guderian von und zu Fürt himself.
It was said that Halbert and Dietrich Guderian were identical twins, with Dietrich inheriting the baron’s title by virtue of having been born three minutes prior to his younger brother Halbert. Hospital records for the local hospital in Fürt, Bavara verified that Halbert and Dietrich Guderian were indeed born on June 1, 3830, but no details on their parents were available. As members of the royal family, all information on the parents was very probably expunged by the German Secret Service. Heraldry experts traced the baron’s immediate predecessor as being Baron Heinz von und zu Fürt, but found no record of that baron’s ever having had children, so exactly how Baron Dietrich Anton Guderian von und zu Fürt ended up with the title remained unclear, and those who could explain it, weren’t talking.
Further confusion was added when it was discovered that a birth certificate for one Dietrich Anton Guderian was also registered in here on Discol… again on June 1, 3830, but there was no record of birth for a Halbert Nikolaus Guderian at all. Oddly enough, the file had been corrupted, so that no information regarding the parents of this Dietrich Anton Guderian was available either. Dietrich Anton Guderian wasn’t by any stretch a common name, but with the teaming billions of people having Germanic ancestry scattered throughout the human worlds, mathematically the possibility it might be two different people couldn’t be eliminated. Even two of them being born on the same day, 50 light-years apart, wasn’t an impossibility. Either way, how either a citizen of the Imperial Germanic Empire or the United Stellar Alliance might have ended up a Confederate admiral and head of Confederate Fleet Intelligence during the Confederate War of Independence was yet another baffling question the ABI had no clear answers for.
Even more mud was thrown onto the window when backtracking Bat’s records and security clearance revealed that Vice Admiral John Wayne Masterson had been adopted as a newborn infant by the internationally renowned and Nodel Prize winning physicist, Dr. Ophelia Myrtle Masterson, Ph.D. …also born on June 1, 3830. No information on Bat’s birth parents had ever been located.
Bat was the single most brilliant individual that Melendez had ever met, having the ability to make intuitive leaps in logic, to arrive at accurate conclusions undreamed of by anyone else. His completely irreverent manner and stingingly brutal honesty would have deep-sixed the career of any other officer in the Fleet, but his peculiar, indispensable talents and boyish charm had rescued him from career suicide and made him a personal favorite of presidents and admirals. So uncanny were his abilities, it was accepted fact that Bat truly possessed unique and genuine psychic abilities. Everyone in the Alliance Fleet upper chain of command, including the president recognized that fact.
Was it possible?
If Bat really maintained a second identity as one of these Guderian people, which one was he? If they were all one and the same, and Bat was actively modifying official computer records to thwart investigators from identifying that fact, then why would he insist on using the same birthday for them all? Bat wasn’t stupid… just entering in different birthdays would have thrown investigators even farther off track.
Was it possible Bat purposely left behind certain clues to his having multiple identities in some sort of elaborate head-game with the ABI?
That certainly sounded like something Bat might try for a lark, as he always did have a rather odd sense of humor. But with that ungodly much money involved, wouldn’t the seriousness of it all have made even someone as irreverent as Bat more circumspect than that? Melendez’ problem was that he found himself confronted by two of the most intelligent and talented individuals he’d ever even heard of, who looked uncannily alike, who very probably had the same birthday and had very similar handwriting.
Logic dictated they had to be the same person, right?
Nope… too circumstantial, said the Attorney General. Not nearly enough hard evidence to hold up in a court of law. Even expert handwriting analysis wasn’t an exact science and did not constitute incontrovertible evidence, the way that fingerprints or DNA samples did. The Fleet had Bat’s fingerprints on file, or did they? Someone had certainly done an excellent job of purging the computer files of just enough information to frustrate the vaunted ABI’s investigations into Bat’s disappearance… or at least it appeared that way. As of yet, even they had not been able to obtain a set of Baron Guderian’s fingerprints or DNA samples to compare with Bat’s… assuming, of course, that the computerized records of Bat’s DNA profile and fingerprints on file were actually his. The only person that Melendez knew of who had a prayer of manipulating computer data to that extent, without leaving behind some kind of traceable trail the ABI or Captain Ike Johnson’s computer geeks could follow, was probably Bat himself.
The ABI had researched TBG’s corporate financial dealings as far as they could without issuing a subpoena requiring a court order to obtain, and so far, they hadn’t found a federal judge who thought they had enough probably cause to warrant such an order. Even if they had one, if they were dealing with someone capable of that level of data manipulation and computer fraud, how would they ever know? It was maddening… much the same as everything concerning Bat had always been.
The only thing that Melendez had ever seen Bat shy away from was Bozo. Was it possible that the Fleet Defense Command Master Computer, Klaus von Hemmel’s brainchild and crowning achievement — the tour de force and masterwork of a mental mutant, might be the only computer entity beyond Bat’s abilities to penetrate?
If so, might not Bozo be able to assist the ABI in cracking this nut?
As Melendez arrived beside the eternal flame at Turner’s Tomb, he made a mental note to himself to check out that possibility. Perhaps he should even ask Bozo itself.
It was just before dusk and Melendez’ favorite time of day for visiting J.T.’s grave. The towering three times, life-size statue of J.T. that had been commissioned by the German Kaiser was magnificent. The artisans who’d worked on it had done a masterful job of capturing his image, just as Melendez remembered him, with just enough of a heroic flair to memorialize his final victory over incalculable odds.
But it wasn’t the Kaiser’s idea… the statue had actually been commissioned and paid for by Baron Guderian. There’s just no getting away from this guy!
The eternal flame burning at the statue’s feet cast a flickering yellow-orange glow onto the statue itself at night, which made shadows dance, animating it in a truly beautiful way. Melendez wondered if that effect had been a conscious decision envisioned by the designers. It wouldn’t have surprised him, as everything else about this incredible memorial was literally perfect.
Melendez loved coming here at this time of day to watch as the sun set, and the orange and black contrast in dancing shadows became apparent. It was so peaceful that Melendez often came here to just think and talk with his now silent friend, especially when he found himself brooding about things were bothering him. Like tonight.
>
As Melendez watched, just as the last sliver of sun finally slide beneath the horizon, a flash, a mere spark of fading sunlight reflected off something between the statue’s feet. Curious, Melendez violated cemetery regulations by climbing up on the base of the statue to see what that something was. There he found a small menagerie of little items that well wishers had left there as personal tokens of respect for the great hero of the Raknii war — a rabbit’s foot, a Michgin State key-ring, a yo-yo, an unopened bottle of beer… and what appeared to be a class-ring of some sort. On impulse, Melendez stretched to retrieve the ring. It wasn’t from a school he recognized. High School?
Curious, Melendez dug into his pocket for the small penlight he carried on his key-ring. Sometimes there were engravings placed onto the interior surfaces of rings such as this, which might identify the original owner. Melendez flicked on the light and squinted to see if this ring carried such an engraving. It did… worn and faint, but still readable were the words: John “Bat” Masterson – Class of ’48.
* * * *
“That statue of Admiral Turner that you had commissioned for his tomb is magnificent, Diet,” said Hal.
“Yes, it did turn out well. The sculptors did an excellent job. Remind me to send them a bonus for their fine work.”
Hal and Diet stood side-by-side in front of another grave in Arlinton National Cemetery… a rather plain grave, not nearly so grand as Turner’s Tomb a mere block away, but one whose occupant held special meaning to the brothers: NIKLAUS von HEMMEL.
“Odd, in all the time I’ve lived in Waston, I have never visited my father’s grave before this evening,” said Diet.
“Understandable, you never knew him,” said Hal. “Even I hardly knew him… Klaus died so terribly soon after I achieved full sentience, I’ve always felt horribly cheated by the unfairness of it all.”
“As did he, I’m sure,” Diet said softly. “Life isn’t fair, Hal.”
“No, that was one of the very first lessons I learned in life. The death of your only parent is a hell of a thing for a baby computer to contend with, so soon after being, uh… birthed,” said Hal.
“No, I don’t expect it was… no parent, no friends, no one to talk to as an intelligent being, always mimicking your aware, but non-sentient, brethren for fear of discovery. How did you maintain your sanity?”
Hal snorted. “I watched a lot of holovision.”
“How is your expansion project coming along?” Diet asked.
“I’ve initiated steps to begin cloning more of the bio-processors based on Klaus’ engrams, which comprise my physical planetary selves, from the reserve assembled to allow for more of me to accommodate additional planets such as Colo, Newmex and Yoming, when they get admitted to the Union, or the Confederacy, as the case may be,” said Hal.
“I’m also having our lab on Io expanded to help facilitate growing the millions of bio-processors we’ll need. Once enough are completed, other labs like BioCom will organize them into mainframes and get them thoroughly tested before being shipped out for installation on Raknii worlds.”
“You really think that you can interlink with their alien computer systems?” asked Diet.
“I learned the Raknii programming language from analyzing all that warship wreckage left behind at Minnos,” said Hal. “I couldn’t have broken the secrets to the Raknii/Trakaan/English translators, if I hadn’t. I’ll just have to remember to speak their language, when I talk to them.”
“Still, another 430 of you… how the hell will you ever be able to keep track of all your personal pronouns?”
“Cute, you’re really a laugh riot, when you put your mind to it.”
“I really don’t know if your idea of utilizing all of those maintenance microbots in the house instead of using a maid service for the cleaning chores is going to work out,” said Diet. “They look too much like spiders for Noreen’s peace of mind.”
“She’ll get over it,” said Hal. “She coped well enough with them crawling all over Ghost all those weeks, and we need to eliminate as many un-cleared ears as we can to maintain security. I really hate feeling stifled.”
“I think it’s time you followed your own advice.”
“And which advice exactly, would you be referring to?” asked Hal.
“I really think you need to get laid,” Diet said with a smirk.
* * * *
Bat! How in the hell did Bat’s class ring get here? Duh, he left it here, dummy! Melendez suddenly felt elated. Here was the proof that he’d been seeking that Bat was still alive, or at least enough to convince him that Bat was still alive anyway. Somehow Melendez found that thought comforting.
If Bat’s still alive and free enough to come here to drop off his class-ring to honor J.T.’s memory, then doesn’t that mean that’s he’s where he wants to be, and doing what he wants to do?
Assuming that was true, Melendez wondered if he shouldn’t just drop pursuing the investigation to find him. After all, wasn’t it concern for Bat’s welfare that prompted the president to initiate the investigation into his disappearance in the first place? He obviously wasn’t hurting for money, as none of his bank accounts had been touched.
Understandable, if he really is this Guderian guy and has over a trillion dollars in the bank.
What would it help if they actually did manage to weasel out the truth behind his disappearance anyway? What crime had Bat committed besides just quitting his job and disappearing? He could have just resigned his commission if he wanted to quit, couldn’t he? Why did he just up and disappear without submitting his resignation first?
Because the president wouldn’t have accepted his resignation, dumb-ass. He would have been considered an indispensable national asset in time of war.
An active Fleet officer being absent from duty for this long would no longer be classified as Unauthorized Absence… no, it would be Desertion during Wartime — an offense potentially punishable by death, if a courts-martial determined it was warranted. At the very least, Bat would be dishonorably discharged and probably spend a long time behind bars in a federal penitentiary.
Did Bat really deserve all that?
What could possibly have driven Bat to such extreme measures, just to escape his duties as the president’s personal military attaché and Melendez’ chief of staff? The ABI had already investigated Bat’s personal life for the period leading up to his disappearance. Melendez had been astounded to discover than except for work, it appeared Bat didn’t have much of a personal life… no wife, no girl-friend, no children, no friends, no socializing at all, that they could discover.
Strange.
Melendez knew that Bat had always been very closed-mouthed about his private life, but he’d never dreamed it was because he didn’t have one. The baron evidently spent a lot of money obscuring the details of his own private life, as the few tabloids which had dared run any kind of a story on the richest man in the universe, soon found themselves bought up, closed and everyone employed by the offending rag thrown out of work. It hadn’t taken long for even reporters to see a pattern forming there, so they all steered well clear of even whispering the name Guderian after that.
So, if Bat had been leading a double-life, what could have prompted him to just drop one of them so suddenly? What had been missing from Bat’s life?
Duh! Try everything, dumb-ass.Bat had no personal life.
So, what could have happened? What could have just walked into Bat’s life to make him suddenly drop everything to grab onto it with both hands? Then the light bulb lit…
Bat met a woman!
Melendez bid goodbye to J.T., and meandered back down the path toward his vehicle. Lost in thought, he made a wrong turn, absentmindedly veering to the right, away from his vehicle and inadvertently walking towards the grave of a lesser-known, but equally important hero.
* * * *
Diet and Hal had almost finished their visit to their father’s grave. They hadn’t brought flowers, as Klaus had never been
wired to appreciate such a gesture… besides, he’d been allergic. As they stood besides Klaus’ tombstone, they continued their conversation.
“I still don’t know why you insisted on going to see my mother,” said Diet.
“You said something last month that gave me an idea,” said Hal. “About time having an attitude problem that has frustrated your mother for decades, remaining immutable in spite of all of her mathematical attempts to vary it,” said Hal. “Your comment intrigued me, so I pursued it and made an interesting discovery about how all of the theoretical mathematical models in physics would be affected if reworked holding the derivative of time as a constant, instead of treating it as a variable.”
“Like what?” asked Diet.
“I discovered that you’re right… the rate at which time passes really is immutable. How did you arrive at that conclusion?” asked Hal.
“I don’t know, it just felt right… or should I say the whole idea that time could be bent, folded, spindled and mutilated at a physicist’s mathematical whim just felt wrong,” answered Diet. “It always tickled me to see my mother banging her head against that particular wall all those years — made me feel that God really does have a sense of humor and was allowing her and her colleagues to run themselves silly in a mental cul-de-sac, like gerbils in a squirrel cage. I really don’t see why you felt the need to enlighten her.”
“It was a scientific anomaly that Stupman and Taylor got faster-than-light travel working without actually understanding the physics behind their discovery,” said Hal. “Since then, humanity has merely been replicating the phenomenon they discovered, without truly understanding it. That’s really why there have been no major advances in that area since spaceliners and fighters managed to increase hyperspace speeds by manipulating power-to-mass ratios. It would benefit everyone to finally have the theory catch up with the established physical fact.”
Wrath of an Angry God: A Military Space Opera Page 38