I was right. There was some form of surveillance. Not surprising, but whose? Possibly the sound dampeners helped. If there were the cameras I hoped they didn’t have a good angle. I was sure Fitch had observed the handoff.
Dr. Goldsen was correct. The switching didn’t take long, and it was exceptionally painful. My new bed, if it could be called that, was hard. And I did have a few bedsores forming.
My new mode of transportation didn’t have wheels. It used a reverse gravity plate, offering a far smoother ride.
Dr. Goldsen had gone on ahead. Sergeant Fitch nodded and remained behind. I couldn’t see Allison Vingee. Besides Dr. Goldsen, his would be the last friendly face I’d ever see.
Chapter 7
In the age of interstellar space travel communication is much akin to the American West’s 1860’s Pony Express. Information distribution is limited to the routes and timing of vessels traveling to and from a world, space colony, or outpost. Electronic transmission remains limited to the speed of light and is acceptable within a solar system. But the vast distance between the interstellar colonies means reception of a radio transmission could take decades or longer. Utilizing the condensation of space circumvents the speed of light limitation, keeping distant colonies reasonably informed, if they are common destinations. If not, message rockets launched through a con-gate are used to transmit vital information.
Dr. Goldsen explained the details of the Cranaltar and what to expect. To the best of my understanding, my memories and associated knowledge would be delivered to the Cranaltar IV along the lines of a class-one message rocket: expensive to me, not totally reliable, and definitely one way. My intellect would be expended like so much rocket fuel.
The Cranaltar didn’t look technologically impressive. Most of its functioning and hardware was housed behind walls, out of sight. All I saw was a small, well-lit area with a large silvery parabolic overhead dome. A thick cable extended down and divided into several hundred somewhat frayed endings, each tipped with a long slender needle. Dr. Goldsen explained that once in the brain each needle would further divide much like the needles on a pine tree’s branch. Those would split off multiple times as well, seeking prearranged destinations before the actual operation would commence.
While a med tech shaved my scalp with a sonic depilator, Dr. Goldsen traveled in and out, giving assistants whispered directives. I would’ve preferred my straight razor but, like everything else, that too was lost.
At last Dr. Goldsen walked back to me. “Mr. Keesay, we are going to perform a brain scan now.”
I gave her a puzzled look. She caught on that it had been a long time since I’d been addressed as Mister.
“You are under my care now. No formal, militaristic titles or classifications are necessary.” She smiled and read the monitors. “You will be presented images, pictures, words and other sensations such as cold and warmth. You will be asked to perform some simple mental tasks. During this time your brain will be monitored and mapped. After that is finished, you will feel a tingling sensation. Once that ends, your cranium will have been marked for insertion by the Cranaltar probes.”
“You mean the needles over there?” I asked, pointing at the apparatus under the silver dome.
“Yes. It won’t hurt. We will see to that. Before the actual scanning and recording begins you will be partially submerged in a gel to keep you from moving, and to insulate you from outside interference.” Dr. Goldsen continued explaining while checking my tubes. “The brain lacks nerve cells to indicate pain. When the Cranaltar receptor probes radiate through your cerebral cortex, and to a lesser extent the cerebellum, you won’t feel it.” She checked some readings while an assistant moved me toward the scanning tube. “Do you understand?”
I wanted to ask her about the tampering with my brain and if they had figured out how to deal with that, but I didn’t. I figured everything was being recorded for my trial, so I simply answered, “I do.”
The med tech replaced my eye bandaging with a thin patch that itched. Even though I was getting used to the pain, I was thankful for the added distraction as the grav-bed slowly traversed the tube.
Just before reaching the end of the tube, the bed stopped. Holographic images began to appear in front of me. At first they were simple shapes like squares, triangles, and cubes with solid colors followed by varying patterns. This went on for several minutes. Next, I was shown multiple shapes. A synthesized voice asked me to picture each in my mind after they were taken away.
Soon I graduated to pictures. At first simple ones, like a ball, a dog, a building, a space dock while visualization and verbal tasks were asked of me. Later, letters, words, sentences, and numbers were presented. I was asked to read silently. Then, I was asked to recite from memory and read orally. I was asked to perform simple and complex math problems. I’d never studied much beyond algebra and trigonometry, so that section of mapping took much less time than the reading and verbal.
I was asked to move certain parts of my body, to focus on breathing, and to listen to various words, sounds and tones. I was asked to identify verbally and mentally some of them. The process became tedious. At least two hours must have passed, maybe more.
Whenever I asked a question, I was directed by the synthetic voice to refocus and perform as requested. A short section introduced cold, warm, hot, tickling and painful sensations. I wondered how they intended to accomplish taste until the voice directed me to imagine the taste of common foods while presented with an array of scents and odors.
Next, I was shown images of familiar people. They must have really gone back into my file. I saw my mother’s and father’s images at various ages along with their voices. An image of our old apartment flashed past. Famous generals, political figures and alien species paraded by. I recognized many of them. Then some images of my equipment were brought to my attention. Boots, revolver, helmet, my bayonet. Surveillance recordings of me on duty, moving about in the warehouse on Pluto. I was really becoming fatigued.
The scanner or the operator must have sensed this as I was given a break. Maybe he simply scanned normal brain activity because the harmonic humming sounds continued. I almost fell asleep.
Finally, I was shown images of unfamiliar people. One I recognized as the Kalavar’s captain. I’d seen her image prior to boarding. Images zipped in and out in rapid succession with little time to focus or comprehend, including corridors, people, a moon and planets. I saw an image of Maximar Jr., possibly from the evidence Silvre had shown me. They presented random snippets of voices and sounds. Most were unrecognizable, especially in isolation. I lost all track of time.
The grav-bed shifted back slightly and I felt the tingling begin. It reminded me of flimsy wires brushing across my scalp. I felt a small prick under the skin. Then another, and more. As the pricking sensation became more frequent, the brushing sensation lessened, until only pricking occurred, which abruptly ended. I rested for several minutes until my bed exited.
I was just beginning to relax again when I heard a clicking and scraping noise on the hard floor. I tilted my head and looked toward the source. It was a Bahklack! An Umbelgarri thrall. I’d never actually seen one, only holographic images.
The alien, less than ten feet away, approached Dr. Goldsen. It resembled a fiddler crab except that it was as tall as the doctor’s waist. The thrall’s exoskeleton was a dull blue color, speckled with greens and browns. Its eerie black eyes rested on the end of 12-inch stalks that independently surveyed the room. The three-foot claw was the alien’s most notable feature. Unlike the rest the Bahklack’s body, the oversized appendage appeared to shift in coloration. I’d read changing color patterns are a major communication component between the Umbelgarri and their thralls. They use chromatophores much like squid native to Earth’s oceans.
I watched the complex patterns of stripes, blotches and mosaic patterns form and reform.
In addition to its oversized claw and its smaller counterpart, the Bahklack had two small grasping appendages, each with
three prongs. It used them to communicate with Dr. Goldsen. Without an appropriate computer to translate, gesturing with hand-like appendages is how many aliens converse with other intelligent species. I recalled my sketchy training in the Official Galactic Sign Language, but my angle was poor and each alien species tends to have a unique gesturing dialect. Some aliens are said to communicate through outright bizarre thought patterns. Galactic signing is a very complex skill to master and I was definitely a neophyte.
Dr. Goldsen was facing away, so I couldn’t view her initiations and responses. The conversation lasted about a minute. “Done, good, and go,” were the only words I managed to pick out with some measure of certainty.
The Bahklack clattered toward me. Although I’d never encountered an alien species before, I couldn’t imagine how an intelligent creature could be more odd. It examined me with its stalked eyes. I followed suit. I wanted to reach out and touch the large claw even though it had taken on a pattern matching the rest of its exoskeleton. Instead, I signed, “All good?” flinching at the painful movements.
The Bahklack rose to present its motioning arms. I think it responded, “Yes.” Then it clicked its way out of the room, through a concealed exit. It was fortunate the creature walked sideways, as the opening wasn’t very wide.
Dr. Goldsen stepped closer. “We are confident that all will proceed without hindrance.”
“That’s good,” I said. “The less trouble the better.”
“We are almost ready to begin.”
“Where are my inquisitors?” I asked, hoping I’d still get a chance to address them.
“They’re in a room nearby,” she said. “One level up. From there they will be able to view the initial results of the Cranaltar procedure almost as fast as the transcribed information can be processed. Initially there should be less than a minute delay.”
“Nobody has been willing to tell me the extent of my memory lapse.”
Dr. Goldsen looked at me over the rims of her glasses.
“You know,” I said. “How long?”
“Well, I can’t state it exactly. I do not know all of the facts. And the less said to influence any memories the better. Let’s just say that viewers will require more than one restroom break.”
“Thanks for your honesty. I’ve been able to piece together through clues, distances, the war, scars and healing, the fact that my fingernails have been trimmed, that it’s been several months at least.” I nodded and licked my lips. “Will I survive that long? It’d be pointless to die of my injuries half way through the procedure.”
“As the Cranaltar interacts with your memories, it should become more and more familiar with your pathways. We have never tested it that extensively.” She glanced up as if calculating in her head. “I estimate that at top efficiency, ten hours of conscious memories can be transcribed in a little less than twenty minutes.”
I did the math in my head. “Are they going to watch in shifts or what?”
“That is up to them. Complete copies of the transcription will be made available to the relevant parties after completion. They will see it in sequence, without leaps. The intelligence agency insisted every concerned party be on equal footing.”
“I’d imagine that Hawks will have somebody watching at all times. Will my dreams be recorded?”
“No, only your conscious memories will be accessed.”
I could guess why. Instead I asked Dr. Goldsen, “What will the presentation look like? I read that the Cranaltar’s transcription was best suited for a flat screen monitor.”
“It will definitely be first person point of view. They will see and hear what you saw and heard. In most cases even your thoughts will be added. It will be set up on a large sphere screen. The presentation will be limited to just under 180 degrees horizontally and less vertically. One of my assistants has the exact figures, but equal to your field of vision.”
I smiled. “Good thing I’m not a Bahklack. With those stalk eyes, everyone would get sick after five minutes.”
Dr. Goldsen nodded with eyebrows raised before checking the monitors. “True. The perspective of a horse was disorienting enough. Nearly 360 degrees vision. Except directly to the front and rear.”
“Do I get copyrights to the transcription?”
“I do not know if that is possible with court materials.”
“Will I get to address the admirals, generals and others before it begins?”
“Yes, you will,” she said. “In fact, Mr. Hawks has requested it.”
“Really? When?”
“Quite soon.”
“Where is Agent Vingee?”
“She has left the area. I do not know if her assignment is to remain on Io.”
“Up to her superiors,” I agreed. “How about Sergeant Fitch?”
“I believe he returned to his ship.” She turned from the monitors and looked directly at me. “I will be back before the procedure starts. If you have not noticed, the grav-bed will not allow you to get up and wander around.”
“Or leave?”
“Or leave.” She rechecked the equipment and left.
I closed my eye and listened. The sound dampeners muffled already distant conversations and the hum of cooling fans. I was very fatigued and eventually dozed off.
A technician disrupted my slumber, setting up three recording cameras, some transmitting equipment, and a large holographic display.
“Almost show time,” I remarked.
The technician smiled and went about her work. It looked like top of the line equipment. It was a modular setup so she completed her task and tested the equipment within four minutes.
She spoke into her collar. “All set up in here.” She must’ve heard a response through an imbedded chip in her ear. Most I-Tech had them. She cupped her hand while listening to the reply. She nodded. “Okay.”
“Do the dampeners interfere with your communications implant?” I asked.
“Only marginally,” she said, refocusing on activating the equipment.
After a moment the technician stood off to the right. One of Dr. Goldsen’s assistants came into the area and stood next to her. Except for their chins, they could have been siblings. Maybe they were, but more likely their parents had selected similar genetic characteristics for them.
The holographic display flashed to life, bringing a three-dimensional image of the inquisitors into view. Each sat in a comfortable chair behind a small table. Each table held a computer clip among other small electronic devices. The group was arranged exactly as it had been at my pretrial with three different faces. Hawks wore the same agitating yellow tie.
The grav-bed elevated me to a forty-five degree angle while its internal gravity plates held me in place. The images were about eighteen inches tall and close enough that my functioning eye could pick out reasonable detail.
Deputy Director Cavelvar stood first to speak. In response, the holo-program enlarged his image. “Security Specialist Keesay, the transcription procedure utilizing the Cranaltar IV, as you requested, is ready to commence.” He spoke in a low, gritty voice. “Do you have anything to say?”
“Yes,” I said. “But before I do, it is my understanding that Mr. Hawks requested a chance to speak. I would like to hear what he has to say before I make a statement.”
The intelligence director looked to Falshire Hawks before reseating himself.
Mr. Hawks stood, straightened his black suit jacket, and adjusted his yellow tie. “First, I should correct you. I did not request to speak. The Capital Galactic Investment Group, whom I represent, desired to give you the chance to reconsider your decision. It is our belief that you were not fully informed as to the consequences of your decision.”
“You are correct, Mr. Hawks. I did not realize that so many people would die as a result of my decision. Did Capital Galactic?”
“That is absurd.”
“Remember,” I said, “this is a legal proceeding. You are being truthful?” Hawks stood as if relaxed but his jaw
tensed. I doubted that this was a course he’d anticipated the proceedings would take. I decided to spend my last moments having a little vindictive fun at Hawks’s expense. “You’re a good lawyer. Will I have copyrights to the transcriptions the Cranaltar IV makes of my brain?”
“I am not your representative,” he said smugly. “If you recall, you divested yourself. You are currently without legal representation.”
I suppressed a grin. “In that case I would like it to be known that should I become incapacitated, that any transcriptions be made part of the public domain. Except, of course, any of my transcribed recollections which are determined to be inappropriate for public knowledge by the Department of Intelligence, Director Cavelvar.”
Hawks tapped at his computer clipboard and shuffled a few papers. “Then it is to be understood that you desire to follow through with the procedure?”
“That is correct, Mr. Hawks. But I just wanted to be clear. You see, I’ve viewed a certain surveillance recording. Even R-Techs run across interesting recordings. I’m hoping that during the Cranaltar’s delvings, the one I am thinking of becomes part of the transcription. Part of the official record.”
Director Cavelvar stood. Both images of Hawks and Cavelvar grew prominent. “What are you getting at, Specialist Keesay?” asked the Director. “Are you referring to evidence in this case?” He looked more puzzled than angry.
“No. I just wanted to indicate to Mr. Hawks that he might be featured in a bit part. Definitely not a starring role. You are quite the stallion.” I smiled as Hawks’s cheek involuntarily twitched. I was right. “I’m ready.”
Hawks stepped before the group. “It is clear that Specialist Keesay is not taking the continuation of this pretrial hearing seriously.”
“Not as seriously as you take your vacation pleasures.” I noted raised eyebrows on the admiral and general. Hawks continued to play it cool, but I had him worried. He had no idea that everything I implied about his vacations at the Celestial Unicorn Palace was complete fabrication. Even though it would never show in the Cranaltar transcription, I hoped he’d spend time and resources seeking an imaginary recording. At least I’d have a lasting impression on somebody’s life. “Unless there are any other questions for me, I’m ready to prove my innocence.”
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