by Trevor Wyatt
I take confident steps towards the series of steps that lead up to the main doors. There are a few people walking about the courtyard, who are all dressed as I am (or should I say I am dressed as they are). No One had thought it best that I dress normally, but I felt that I would attract less attention if I didn’t look so unlike the inhabitants of the temple.
“Are you in already?” No One’s voices erupts in my mind.
Instantly, a spirit of dread falls on me, and I look furtively around. It is then I notice the weird looks some of the monks are giving me. I swallow hard and look straight ahead at the doors.
“Gresh?” No One’s voice comes again through the embedded comm chip in my right ear.
I look away from the guards at the doors who are observing me carefully.
“I’m not in yet,” I mutter, “I’m getting to the door. Hold on.”
“Okay,” she says in my ears. “You don’t have to reply me all the time, but just listen to the sound of my voice. Clear you throat if you understand.”
I clear my throat as loud I can, my eyes steady on the guards. I get to the steps and begin to make my ascent with an intense feeling of anxiety that threatens to shut down my central nervous system.
“Remember, Gresh,” she says in my ears. “You haven’t done anything wrong. No one suspects you of anything. You’re just a normal guy coming here to pray to his god. Nothing to be afraid of. It’s you constitutional right…”
Easy for you to say, I think. I have the urge to tell her this, but I have come to close to the guards to get away with it.
There are two of them, both of whom are huge and thick-bodied. They are both male and look Post-Ascension. They stand several yards away from the large double doors, though they are upon the final landing leading to the doors.
Even as I am defeating the final flight of steps headed towards them, one of them roars, “What brings you here?”
His voice is so deep and confrontational that I shiver as he speaks. I try to remember my excuse, but words are failing me. I turn to the ground to hide my extreme fright and use my climbing of the steps one by one as an excuse for my delayed response.
I squirm.
No One seems to detect my emotions because she says, “Calm down, Gresh. He’s just asking you what you’re here to do. He doesn’t know. If he knew, he wouldn’t be asking. Heck, if he knew, you probably wouldn’t have made it this far. Think about it.”
I realize that No One is right. If he already knows my true purpose for being here, I would already be dead. This is enough for me to gain a bit of my boldness back. Yet, I realize that if he does somehow find out why I’m here, I’ll no doubt be facing down the wrong end of a gun.
“Answer me, sir,” the guard says. Now he has interposed himself in my path. His right hand is stretched forth ahead of him, while his other hand is on his holster.
Pull it together!
I begin to speak, but the words babble out at first.
“Something wrong with you?” This comes from the second guard. Though his voice is deep, it carried amusement mixed with concern.
I shake my head. I begin to speak again, and this time I’m able to get off a word: “Scholar.”
The guard who already has his hand on the gun relaxes as his eyes widen. “You’re a scholar?” he asks for clarification, looking me up and down.
I nod. With more boldness, I say, “I’m a scholar.”
“Another doctor?” he says, “jeez. Alright, head on in.”
I nod again, this this time putting a slight smile on my face. I walk past them and make a beeline for the doors. As I approach the doors, I can feel their eyes boring holes in the back of my neck. Suddenly, I have a flash vision of alarms blaring and the guards leaping on me and subduing me and then taking me to the dungeons and leaving me there to rot for my treason.
“Relax, Gresh,” No One says. “You made it in.”
I frown. “Are you reading my mind?” I ask.
No One doesn’t reply.
I walk through the double doors into a wide inner courtyard. It has a dome-shaped ceiling that’s two stories high. There are two flights of steps, one on the left and another on the right. These flights of steps cover around the edges of the room to meet on the first floor at a doorway. Straight ahead on the ground floor, there is another doorway. Standing in the doorway is a figure that’s staring at me with a big smile on his face.
I instantly smile back as I recognize Doctor Zimak. I walk up to him, and we shake hands.
“What brings you to this side of the Capital Grid, Gresh?” the man asks.
“Oh, you know me, I’m always looking for the next archeological find,” I reply with effortless ease. “I actually came looking for indicators of xenoarchaeological finds in old Sonali doctrine slash mythology.”
The man nods. “Well, then you need to be heading up and not through this doorway,” he says. “The library is up.”
I smile. “I wonder why I always get turned around.”
We both laugh at that.
“Hey, you never told me what you were doing around these parts,” I say.
The man says, “Nothing as interesting as yours I’m afraid. I only came on an administrative assignment from my office. Top secret though.”
I nod. “I understand. You are in the administrative block right? Where might that be? In case I need to go there, you know, to borrow some books or ask some questions…”
“It’s right through this doorway,” Doctor Zimak replies, pointing at the open arched doorway on the ground floor.
Through the doorway is a small lobby that narrows into a small closed door on the other side.
“Through that door is where the clerical offices are,” he says. “Good luck. See you when I see you.”
I nod and watch as he exits the temple. Then I walk into the lobby. It is rugged and has a homely feel to it, with a couple of couches and a central table with magazines on it. There is a food processor off to one corner and a desk office with an absent officer.
There are a couple of people waiting in the couches. I don’t even acknowledge them. I walk straight to the door and slip in.
“Where are you now?” I hear No One’s voice in my ears, which reminds me that I am not alone.
“I’m in a narrow hallway,” I reply. “There are cubicles everywhere and an office up ahead. I think that might be it.”
There are people at the desks and on computers in the cubicles—I guess even Templers need to stay connected to the universe. No one pays me any attention as I make my way to the office. The door is wide open. I can see the mid-sized desk and the large-sized chair behind. The chair is empty. Though in a smaller chair before the desk, a woman is sitting and cradling her arm. I see the cast around her arm—it has a shiny black casing and functions with antigravity technology, such that the woman does not have to hang her hand from her neck. The arm simply floats around as she wishes.
“What’s happening now?” No One asks.
“I’ve found your girl,” I report. “She’s sitting in some office, probably of her boss. I can see what you did to her arm.”
“Well, aren’t you going to go in?” she asks.
“I don’t think so,” I reply truthfully. I have begun to bleed sweat.
“Why?”
“Are you actually asking me that question?” I say, pulling myself to the other side of the door, where I wouldn’t be in a direct line of sight to the woman. “That lady killed Yanik. She’s a warrior. If she finds out who I am, I’m dead.”
“She’s a lady with one hand, Gresh,” No One replies in a condescending tone. “Surely you can fend off an injured lady with a fucking cast.”
I want to retort, but I have not the words. No One is right.
“Look, the faster, the better,” No One says. “If you delay much longer, you will get caught. It’s in your best interest to get in there, do what you got to do, and get the hell out of dodge.”
“I could always turn ar
ound and go back,” I say, testing her.
She chuckles loud enough for me to hear. “Well, then, you’re going to have to explain to those guards outside why you’re working for a Terran spy and carrying Terran spy equipment.
Then I remember the comms system embedded into my ear, built on some nanite technology that No One uses. The Terrans defile their bodies as casually as Sonali changes clothes. To make an enemy of them is to sign your own death warrant.
I half walk, half leap into the office, such that the woman was startled.
“Who are you?” she asks, more out of confusion, than out of a real need to know.
I walk straight to her and grab her cast, looking it over. “This seems to be working just fine,” I say. I tap a button with another arm, and a holographic projection erupts from the cast revealing some information about the injury and the healing process.
“Have you been feeling slight headaches?” I ask.
She’s still looking at me weird, but she says, “Actually, yes I have.”
“Hmmm,” I mumble, my insides turning to Jelly O. I know that if her boss walks in here, I’m toast.
She looks more confused. “Is something wrong, healer?” she asks, her voice trembling with fear. “The last one said I should be able to use my hand in combat again.”
I let go of her cast and say, “Yeah, everything is fine. I’ll have to change your prescription though, if you hope to actually use your hands for any precision work.”
I walk over to the table, my back to her.
“Great work, Gresh,” No One whispers in my ears. “You’re almost done. Once you pour the nanites on the table, they will spread and disappear. Then you get the heck out of there, you hear?”
I clear my throat nonchalantly to let her know I hear.
“Good,” she replies.
At the table, I pull out a pen with a fat butt. I tap the butt and it opens up. Then I turn the pen upside down on the table, making sure I was blocking the assassin’s view. Numerous tiny microscopic bubbles poured out on the table and zipped out of sight.
“Great,” I hear No One say. “I am receiving the signals already. It will install surveillance software on every electronic device in that room.”
I jot a prescription, which is the exact same thing I read in her cast, then give it to her.
“Thanks for coming, doc,” she says, relieved.
But I am not listening to her. The moment she takes the paper, I step aside and walk out of the office.
Five seconds later, every alarm in the building goes off.
No-One
I hear the sirens go off before an ear-splitting static sound crashes into my ears.
“Shit!” I scream, pulling out the earpiece and dumping it on the ground. I look at the holographic readout hovering before me. It’s showing that I’ve lost contact with Gresh.
Frantic, I say, “Computer, establish connection again!” I realize I’m still yelling instinctively.
“Working,” the voice says.
My room is lit up by the holographic projection and the bioluminescence in the wall both of which have a bluish tint. I notice that I’m panting. I close my eyes for a moment, reaching for my face with my hands. I take in deep breathes to try and flush the adrenaline out of my system.
“Connection cannot be established,” the computer says.
I hiss. “I guess the guy got himself caught,” I say to myself. “Sucks for him.”
“Computer, are the nanites still transmitting?” I ask.
“Negative,” comes the reply. “Connection was lost.”
“Did we at least get any information?” I ask. I’d hate to have gone through all this trouble just to be turned in by Gresh.
“What if he breaks?” I ask myself.
I suddenly feel a cold air wash over my body, the hair on my skin standing on end. I glance at the door. It’s locked. My perimeter alarm hasn’t gone off, but then I don’t expect Gresh to give me up that easily.
Really? A voice says in my head.
“Computer, while working on finding out if we got any information off the temple, place a secure call to the Embassy,” I say.
“Working,” comes the reply.
Another holographic projection appears beside the first one. It’s the communications officer at the Embassy.
“Go ahead,” he says, recognizing me immediately.
“I sent in a high value asset to the Sacred Temple of the Holy Combine,” I say in one breath. I pause to suck in air. “He might have been compromised. I want you to alert me if I’ve been compromised.”
“Roger that, ma’am,” he says. “May I suggest you evacuate to the Embassy? Giving your dire situation, should things escalate, we can get you out of Sonali Prime to the nearest TUS, which is less than half a day away.”
My heart skips a beat.
“What ship is that?” I ask, my mind already working out how the scenario might play out. I’d be whisked to the Embassy by nondescript aircars, and under the cover of dark, I’d shuttle to the starship and bail out. I would return to Armada Intelligence Command and tell them I couldn’t get the job done. They probably will give me back my ship and allow me to roam the galaxy fomenting evil for every opposition.
“The TUS The Seeker is making a supply run in a nearby system,” he says.
“The Seeker?” I ask. The name brings back terrible memories of the war…and the one who commands it. “Is…”
The man nods. “Yes, ma’am. He’s the captain.”
I shake my head in disagreement. “I won’t leave so soon,” I say. “This isn’t over. I don’t run away from a fight.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the man replies. “I’ll inform you if you become a person of interest.”
“Thank you,” I say, “Computer, cut the transmission.”
The holographic projection of the communications officer vanishes from my room. He may bear the official title of communications officer, but he is actually a spy for the Terran Union, as is the defense attaché and a couple of other high and low ranking officers.
“Process complete. I was able to decode the encrypted information the nanites obtained before the connection was lost,” the computer says.
“Display,” I command.
“Working…”
A series of data begins to run across the holographic screen before me, which I read word for word. First thing I realize is that the nanites were able to get a lot of information across to me in a short period of time before I lost contact with Gresh.
A lot of the information being displayed are Temple logs, which piques my curiosity. I notice that the owner of the Office, High Cleric Szaad, had been getting a lot of visits from the late Noble Marshal over the course of a few weeks.
I retreat back to a couch and sit down. The holographic follows me but maintains a distance of two yards from me.
“What is going on here,” I ask myself, looking over the logs. For over three weeks, the High Cleric had met with the Noble Marshal. Now the High Cleric is meeting with the person who assassinated the Noble Marshal? It can’t be a coincidence, yet I don’t want to rush into any premature conclusion.
Maybe she was there to get some spiritual advice, I mean she did just kill someone. She could be there to seek redemption. Maybe the Temple was the only place she could seek asylum from the one who would want to do her harm—for example: yours truly.
When I took my gaze off the hologram, the information spill stopped. As I return my focus, the information continues to reel out.
The High Cleric also had scheduled meetings with a high ranking member of the Merchant caste.
“Computer, do we have any information about this meeting?” I say.
“Checking…”
“Negative.” The computer says two seconds later.
I heave a deep sigh. I wonder if we didn’t get the information—or if the information even exists.
“Computer, what can you tell me about High Cleric Szaad?”
“Checking…”
I swear, these moments feel like the longest time of my life.
“There is limited public information about the Sacred Temple leaders,” the computer replies.
I smile.
Maybe, I think. “Can you hack into the private files?” I say.
“Yes.”
“How long would it take you to get the information I need?” I ask.
“Approximately three days, five hours, forty minutes and three point five seven seconds,” comes the reply.
“Okay, forget I asked that,” I say.
Who is this guy? And what does he want with the Merchant Caste?
I glance back at the hologram and it continues to spew out information. Now I’m reading through some more of clerical information. Staff rotation. Financial audit. Queries. Staff dossiers.
“Computer, check if we got a dossier on the High Cleric.”
“Working…negative.”
“Computer, I want you to begin a search protocol on the information we got from the office.”
“What are you parameters?” the computer asks.
“I want any relevant information on the meetings the High Cleric had with the Noble Marshal, the assassin, and the Merchant.”
“Working…”
I stand to my feet and begin to pace. The computer realizes this is a nervous habit and so the holographic projection doesn’t follow me to pace. It returns to its position at the center of the sitting room.
“There are two recordings of a meeting between High Cleric Szaad and Noble Marshal Yanik,” the computer says. “The audio of the video recording appears to have been corrupted during the termination of the signal. All attempts to restore the audio have failed. Would you still like me to play the video?”
“Play,” I command.
The screen morphs into an overhead view of an office. I can only see a portion of the room—the portion where a desk is beside a window. A Sonali in a regal-looking robe sits behind the desk, while a burly-looking one stands on the other side. The view is grainy and the angle of the camera prevents me from getting a good view.
