Shadows of Golstar

by Terrence Scott

  Neven smiled ruefully, “Oh, we have many theories, but nothing based on anything factual. Remember, we’ve received no new data since the second expedition’s fatal encounter.”

  “Care to share one with me?”

  Neven ran a hand through his hair. “Well, one hopeful theory is that this is a not-so-subtle way of beginning a dialog, eventually leading to some sort of formal relations.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound too bad.”

  Neven grew grim, “Unfortunately, there is another less optimistic one... a theory that it’s a ploy to evaluate a representative of Confederated Planets’ citizenry, as a prelude to some unknown and perhaps a more sinister undertaking.”

  “You were right,” Owens said. “It is pure speculation.”

  Neven sighed. “Let’s face it; we really don’t have anything to work on here. Of course, there’s always the quaint notion that not having any of their own, they need a PI and simply chose you at random out of a directory.”

  Owens smirked, “Right, and there is a Santa Claus.”

  “In any case, I think it’s safe to say it creates a unique opportunity, one that will finally allow us a glimpse of what’s going on behind the quarantine’s border.” He had the audacity to grin, “You, my friend, are destined to make history. You’re going to be the first Confederated Planets representative to set foot on one of the Golstar planets. Think of the stories you can tell your grandchildren. Of course, that is if you get back and in one piece. And believe me; we’re going to do all in our power to see that you do.”

  “Gee, I feel safer already.”

  Neven ignored Owens’ jibe and looked pointedly at the time display on the far wall. “Your briefings will commence tomorrow morning, promptly at 8:00 AM, planet time. We’ve been talking for hours, and it’s growing late; I suggest you now get back up to your ship.”

  Rising to leave, Owens asked, “The briefings, how long will they take?”

  Neven’s grin grew wider, “About three weeks, long enough for intelligence briefings, medical exams and a little weaponry training.”

  Owens paused at the door, “What weaponry training?”

  “Well, we’re going to upgrade your ship’s weapons, engines and add auxiliary pods for additional supplies and provisions. I must say it appears your ship’s already impressively equipped, at least for a private citizen. However, our planners thought you should have all the advantages available, including the latest in military technology. Furthermore, since it will take over three ship-months to reach Golstar, you’ll need the extra space for food, munitions and a med-unit the added pods will provide. Oh, and as a bonus, you’ll get to keep all the upgrades upon your successful return.”

  Owens felt a twinge of anger. “If I hadn’t asked, just when were you planning to tell about upgrading my ship... when the workers actually arrived at my airlock?” Owens had another thought. “And won’t the weapons send the wrong message and only aggravate Golstar?” Owens asked sharply.

  Neven shrugged, “A message is already waiting on your terminal with the particulars on the modifications. As to sending the wrong message, no, we don’t believe so. Golstar was so far ahead of us in military technology three centuries ago, it’s highly likely they’ve maintained their weapons’ superiority since. Our technology is beneath their notice. Besides, the weapons aren’t to defend you from Golstar. We want to minimize the chance any pirates or ex-cons might be more successful in attacking you the next time. You now know there will be a hell of a lot depending on you, so your safety is critical.”

  “Yeah,” Owens agreed, “But not by my choice.”

  Neven ignored Owens’ gripe. “Now go on back to your ship and remember to disable the security system before you leave tomorrow morning. Bring what you need for a planet-side stay of about three or four weeks. The maintenance and engineering crews will need time for your ship’s retro-fits. Do you have any more questions?”

  Owens had a troubling thought, “You plan any mods to the AI?”

  Neven raised an eyebrow then looked at the display inset to his desk and typed a query on the flat-membrane keyboard. A moment later he looked up. “No, the work order indicates all the AI-control modifications will be to the outboard control modules and hardwired memory stacks, whatever they are.” He shrugged, “The crew won’t touch the AI module. A notation shows here you have a declassified class 6 military AI that was upgraded three years ago. It should still be up to current specs. Is there a problem?”

  Owens shrugged and in what he hoped sounded as nonchalant, said, “No, just curious. It looks then like that’s about the only thing that won’t be modified.”

  “You’re right about that,” Neven said. “And before I forget, your accommodations are already reserved. They’re in the diplomatic wing of the Wausau government residence building. It’s right across the street from this one. In the morning, a driver will again pick you up from the shuttle terminal and drop you off there. After you check in, come over to this building to the security office just inside the main entrance to receive your ID. Someone will then take you to your first briefing. That information is also waiting on your terminal. Now go to your ship and get some rest. The real work will start tomorrow and since you’re going to be busy, I won’t see you again until after the briefings.”

  Owens was dismissed. Neither man moved to shake hands. Owens simply nodded and exited the office. Neven’s Executive Assistant remained at his desk working at one of the terminals. He looked up and smiled, “Good luck, Mr. Owens.”

  Gant was waiting for Owens at the door. Owens followed him back through the labyrinth of corridors and lifts. On the return trip to the terminal, Owens was lost in thought. He was both angry and elated at the same time. His choice, and to a great degree, his freedom had been taken away. Had the bureaucrats not shrouded the content of Golstar’s request in secrecy, he probably would have jumped at the chance to penetrate the veil of concealment surrounding the legend. He would even have willingly accepted the temporary government contract. Instead, they threatened him and his family, leaving him with no other option but to accept Neven’s conditions. Pay-back is a cold bitch, Owens thought, and he couldn’t wait to introduce her to Neven and his cronies when the time came.

  Gant remained silent until they arrived back at the shuttle terminal. Smoothly pulling up to the entrance, he announced they had arrived, rousing Owens from his reverie. An outbound shuttle was waiting on the pad, and Owens lost no time in boarding. His ship was first in the queue for passenger delivery, so the trip back was shorter than the trip to planet-side. As he entered Holmes’ inner airlock, he was immediately greeted by Hec.

  “Welcome back Boss. We got a new job?”

  “It’s good to be back and yes, you could say we have a new job.” For the next hour, Owens described what took place in Neven’s office. Owens finally finished and Hec remained silent. After a few minutes, Owens asked, “Well, don’t you have anything to say?”

  “Sorry Boss, I didn’t think you expected a response. I’m just an AI,” Hec answered.

  “What, are you playing the AI card again? I guess we need to get a couple of things straight.” Owens sighed and began ticking off on his fingers, “First, we both know you’re more than just an AI. Second, you earned my respect on the way you handled that attack. Third, AI or not, you are Hec or at least a reasonable facsimile of him; and as such, you have experiences and talents that could come in handy.”

  “If I had a face, I’d be blushing,” Hec said. “Well, as for my reaction, I don’t know as I would put any trust whatsoever in a government that would use blackmail to coerce me into their service. Their need for secrecy in order to cover-up their bungling over three hundred years ago says a lot about their integrity today. Hah, they don’t have any. I’d watch your back if I were you, in fact, I’ll watch it for you.”

  “My thoughts too…” Owens paused for a beat, “And now for the rest of the news.”

  “There’s more?” Hec as
ked.

  Owens told Hec of the ship modifications that were to be started the following day, finishing with a description of his exchange with Neven related to the ship’s AI. “Is there going to be a problem with a bunch of techs swarming about the ship with you onboard?”

  “If they were to come aboard right now, yes,” Hec answered. “Since they know about your type 6 military AI, they obviously have the serial number. They’re likely to look at my housing during their work to verify that I am indeed a current model that doesn’t require modification. If they do, they’ll immediately notice a serial number mismatch and from the length of the number and sequence, that I’m not a military class AI, but not to worry, if you’re willing to give up a few hours of sleep, we can switch the case plates that have the serial numbers.”

  “Hey, I thought that couldn’t be done.” Owens said, “Aren’t there tamper-proof seals and interface links on those plates?”

  “Ah, my experiences and talents are indeed going to come in handy,” Hec chuckled. “Now you just listen to ol’ Hec, and we’ll have those serial numbers swapped in no time.”

  Hec made good on his boast. After listening to Hec, it only took Owens an hour to complete the serial number switch. At Hec’s further direction, Owens then removed the military AI from the ship’s standby cradle, now with the civilian serial number, and placed it in the Rialto. This would lend credence to the AI being part of the vehicle’s operating interface. Plus, the Rialto’s security code for reactivation could not easily be broken if someone was overly curious.

  He asked Hec about the possibility of being removed from the ship’s control receptacle during the upgrades. He was concerned about the limited standby power resulting from Hec’s modification to the AI module. Hec responded that the AI interface modification, indicated in the work order, would be a straight-forward upgrade to software, limited to the Holmes translation module connected to the AI’s primary interface. The hardware connectors themselves were a standardized configuration on the interface housing and would not require any physical changes.

  Then Owens checked with Hec to assure himself the AI was prepared to imitate a Military AI. This would be crucial when it became necessary for any final AI-interface testing the techs considered essential in order to complete the retrofit. Receiving that assurance from Hec, Owens felt reasonably sure the charade would be successful. With that assurance, he retired for the night.

  ● ● ●

  Owens rose the next morning, surprised he had slept so soundly. He checked with Hec to see if anything had changed since they last spoke. Hec conveyed optimism that their preparations were more than sufficient to conceal the AI’s true nature. He hoped the AI was correct. In any case, he knew they had run out of time to do anything else.

  Owens quickly showered and completed his morning toiletries. He then threw some clothing into a travel case and headed for the airlock. Hec had already signaled for a shuttle pick-up. The last thing he heard Hec say before he entered the inner lock was, “Oh boy, new toys. I can’t wait.” Smiling to himself, Owens entered the waiting shuttle for his trip back down to the planet’s surface.

  At the terminal, a different driver greeted him whose name he immediately forgot on entering the vehicle. The trip back to the government complex had now become routine and Owens felt restless. He was anxious get on with the first briefing. After the thirty-minute trip, he was again at CPSC Headquarters. This time he was dropped off in front of the residence building opposite the Headquarters complex, without an escort.

  He walked through a security scan station, received a green light and entered an expansive, vaulted lobby. He headed directly for what looked to be a registration counter to his right. Tall columns rose from the floor without a visible joint, tapering into points touching the high ceiling. To Owens, they resembled great stalagmites, and he wondered whether it was the architect’s deliberate attempt to make the lobby appear cavern-like. A few security types lounged on chairs and couches, pretending to be reading or waiting to meet someone. One woman, dressed as an official, hurried across the marble floor on some errand.

  He stopped before a counter and found himself facing a servitor. Roughly humanoid in shape, its smooth head with twin ocular lenses scanned his face. In a slightly feminine voice, it said, “Good morning, Mr. Owens, your presence is expected. One moment please.”

  It stepped aside, and a nondescript woman with a pinched face and short gray hair took its place. The woman eyed him with frank curiosity but said nothing by way of a greeting. Pointing to a small plate inset into the counter’s surface, she asked him to place his hand on it. She looked at a holographic display and nodded to herself. She verified his identity and confirmed he was not a diplomat. She read the lengthy notation on his file and frowned. With a minimum of words, the woman told him that he was being assigned to quarters normally reserved for visiting diplomats. He detected a slight note of disapproval in her bland voice.

  He was given a mag-key with a small auto-map disc attached and the woman turned away without another word. He shrugged, not surprised by the civil servant’s lack of civility. Guided by directions flashing on the disc’s surface, Owens entered the proper lift and quickly found his apartment on the 36th floor.

  He unlocked the door and was immediately taken aback by the apartment’s opulence. He assumed it was a residence normally reserved for a member planet’s visiting, high-level diplomat. To call it well-appointed was an understatement. He entered into an oversized, sunken living area festooned with obviously costly furnishings of leather and rich fabrics resting on imported carpets of classic design. Expensive works of art, ranging from paintings to sculptures, accented the décor. The room was clearly designed to accommodate a large number of people in luxurious comfort.

  He moved to an adjacent room. It was an entertainment lounge easily as big as the apartment’s living area. His attention was immediately drawn to a long, carved wooden bar bracketing one wall. It had ten barstools evenly spaced along its ample length. He couldn’t help but whistle at the array of expensive liquors lining the bar’s mirror-backed shelves. Behind the bar, a servitor waited patiently for an order.

  He pulled his attention away from the bar and saw the floor was covered with thick, dark-green carpeting. The remainder of the room was scattered with burgundy-red leather chairs, loveseats and heavy wooden end tables on which rested Tiffany-styled lamps with shades of authentic stained glass. The three other walls had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stocked with every conceivable literary classic recreated as genuine leather-bound books.

  The dining room was likewise large-proportioned and could comfortably seat at least twenty-five people. Crystal chandeliers sparkled from the high ceiling. The adjoining kitchen was a stainless steel monstrosity equipped like a restaurant. Two servitors stood by, ready fill any culinary request. Just off the living area, were two oversized, nicely appointed bathrooms that looked to be designed for the sole convenience of guests. A surprisingly modest bedroom with a small private bathroom rounded off the floor plan.

  He knew he shouldn’t be surprised. Clearly, private entertaining is a key to diplomacy. So this is where his taxes went. He wouldn’t be doing any entertaining, but he thought he could put the bar to good use. Owens threw his case on the bed and checked his wrist-comp. He was cutting it close. He would have to unpack later. He quickly exited the apartment and headed back down the corridor. As he stepped up his pace, he wondered how many other apartments in this building were similarly equipped.

  He rechecked his wrist-comp. He could just make his briefing. As he crossed the street, he reflected on the recent chain of events that had led him here. A momentary sense of unreality passed over him as he approached the Security office. What was he doing here on a planet full of government bureaucrats?

  The feeling quickly deserted him as he entered the security office. He was back in a familiar territory. Two burly security types, typical of the breed, in immaculate uniforms were waiting for him. Go
vernment muscle seemed to be all the same in his experience; they projected an imposing physical appearance, limited vocabulary and absolutely no sense of humor.

  They led him to a hood suspended on an articulated arm, terminating in a metal box mounted on the wall. They lowered the hood over his head and flashed his retinas. They then sat him in an automated med chair and performed an on-site DNA tag match. When they were satisfied with the results, his identity now twice confirmed, they provided him an ID badge with a 3D holo-image of his face. They quickly escorted him through an unmarked door and led him down a long, featureless corridor with a single lift at its end.

  He boarded the lift alone. The doors closed before he could ask his escorts for the floor number to program the lift. He looked for the control panel and was mildly surprised there was no floor indicator or apparent audio pickup for verbal commands. The lift had inertia canceling, so he couldn’t tell if he was going up, down or still sitting at the first floor. He had no choice but to wait until the doors opened. He estimated it was good thirty seconds before the doors finally parted.

  He found himself face-to-face with another security officer stamped from the same mold as the previous two; stocky, well-muscled with the exception that this one was female. He wondered idly, if there was a secret government farm where these security clones were bred. He envisioned tiny uniformed toddlers running around with side-arms and night sticks. He grinned at the thought. The security officer did not react to the sudden upturn at the corners of his lips. Without expression, the uniformed woman told him to follow her.

  They walked down another featureless hallway, passing a number of unmarked doors on either side. They finally came to a stop before a set of doors with a superimposed holo-display flashing, ‘Do Not Enter.’ She stood in front of the small scanning panel next to the doors. It registered her ID badge and verified her retina map. The doors immediately slid apart and the officer gestured for him to enter. His escort did not enter with him.