April 17, 2442
Charles Long slept head down on top of his desk surrounded by handheld palm devices. They lit up his desk like mini strobe lights. Under his head rested reports and journal entries from the last several years written by him and his partner Vincent Abernathy. The long night of reading and studying accumulated in a mass of unanswered questions plaguing them both since they began excavating planets. The questions kept coming, but the answers did not.
Startled, Charles woke to the chiming sound coming from his main computer port. He’d heard the repetitive sound in his sleep mixing in with his dreams; it acted like a beacon guiding him down a path. As he woke and cleared the sleep from his eyes he focused on the message flashing on the holographic screen.
When he sat up, his back ached from the queer position he slept; a pain seared up his spinal cord when he reached for the computer. He flinched. The awkward posture gave him an instant headache.
On the computer the VMAIL icon flashed in the lower right corner of the screen. Charles touched it with the index finger of his right hand. A screen opened and read: one Message received March 30th – Eighteen days old. Two options on the screen allowed Charles to view or delete the message. Charles pressed view. Another screen opened, and the still image of Oliver Duncan appeared.
Oliver dealt in rare hard to find objects appropriated through less than legitimate means. Not a grave robber, he considered himself better than that, but he might as well have been. Through the years, the artifacts from alien worlds filtered to Earth. The relics deemed most valuable remained in the hands of the high-born family that discovered them. The lesser pieces fell into the hands of low-born dealers, like Oliver, who sold the items to anyone who could afford them. Low-born families scooped them up at a premium price, so they might have a piece of an alien world, giving them a link to the higher class.
The low-born families idolized the high-born. They followed their every move and mimicked them, from fashion, to food, to entertainment. The high-born were like kings to those they provided for. In orbit of Earth those of a lesser status relied on the upper class, to feed them and protect them. The low-born were B-grade workers, they owned shoddy shops on the lower orbital platforms and sought a meager living. Some of the low-born were wealthy in their own way and even owned a slave or two.
Charles grew up as a low-born. He remembered the hero worship he and his friends had for the high-born. They scrutinized their every action and wanted to be like them. His fervor fueled because his parents worked for the family Tannador. What better way to impress friends than to tell them your mothers worked for the richest of the Nine. Charles relished his two mothers, charged with area supervision, a prestigious position. They managed more than a thousand slaves between them, a great honor to supervise one of the largest food harvest facilities in orbit. Charles’ friends treated him with reverence. He liked that.
When Charles was fifteen years old all of that changed. The slave uprising of 2413 almost brought the human expansion into space to an end. The destruction of several key food processing plants caused a food shortage that threatened hundreds of thousands of lives, but also caused the death of Charles’ mother, Amanda. Survivors told of how his mother worked hard to get the platforms systems back on line before the power console exploded in her face, killing her.
Charles’ mother Alexis fell into deep depression. Her will to live faded over the tragic death of the woman she loved. Alexis withdrew into herself and the only way Charles could help her was to go to work. That’s when he met Oliver Duncan.
Duncan gave Charles a respectable wage for less than honest work. To move contraband to buyers under the eye of the ORACLE system was tricky but not impossible. Charles seemed to have a knack for slipping in under the watcheyes gaze. He wasn’t proud of what he did, but the money was good. In time however, he grew suspicious of what he smuggled. Charles decided since he risked going to a slave labor camp, it was fair to understand what he was putting his neck on the line for. With reluctance Duncan agreed, Charles was his best mover and they began to build a relationship past employee and employer.
When Charles found out he transported alien artifacts his whole outlook on life changed. No longer was he smuggling contraband, he was dealing in history. He grew to appreciate his cargo, studying each relic as if it were his own. He took notes from them and learned all he could. His new infatuation energized Charles’ passion for archeology. He owed Duncan a debt of gratitude for his profession, a debt he continues to pay.
On Charles’ request Duncan reported finds to him that might be of interest though none of those had panned out. So not expecting much Charles tapped the screen.
The video came alive. “I think you might be interested in this. I picked it up in a deal that…” Duncan paused and cleared his throat. “Anyway – I know you’re not interested in that, so I’ll get to the point. I have this item here that I’m willing to hold onto for the next couple of weeks. If I don’t hear from you by then I’ll look for a buyer. I don’t want to hold it any longer than I have to.”
Charles sighed. Duncan was always long winded. He reached for the screen and advanced the video forward.
“…I won’t bore you with that,” Duncan said when the video stopped in the middle of a sentence. “Here’s what I have.” He held up a large wood cask marked with gold images of the Z type emblem he and Vincent discovered on all the planets they’d surveyed.
Charles sat closer to the screen to get a better look at the item. He touched the screen to focus on the cask. Etched on the lower right of the box was letters and numbers that Charles deciphered three years prior. From a dusty shelf next to his desk he took down a black book and flipped through his handwritten notes, until he found his decipher. The same language, he thought glaring at the screen and then back to his notes.
“I won’t show you the rest of the item here,” Duncan said lowering the cask out of view. “I don’t know who will see this message before you do. If you want the item… you better get here soon.” His image froze on the screen.
Charles checked the time stamp on the message again; he had little time left and pushed back away from his desk and collected his thoughts. He knew what he needed to do, but getting off Requiem wouldn’t be easy. Charles stood, buttoned his vest, straightened his tie and ran his fingers through his dirty blond hair.
Charles understood the implications of trying to sneak to Ioshia. He reacted without a further thought. “Central control,” he said after pressing the communication panel on the wall near his desk.
“Control,” a woman’s voice came over the link.
“This is Professor Long down in the science department.”
“Yes, Professor, I know who I’m speaking to,” the woman sounded annoyed. “How can I help you?”
“My ORACLE system is making a low pitch whine, and I was wondering if I could have a diagnostic ran on it please.”
The woman sighed, and with an informative tone, said, “What about protocol, I can’t just take the watcheye off line without authorization. I’ll send someone down with a security officer to have a look at it, that’s the best I can do.”
Sweat sheened on Charles’ forehead and he had to think fast. Speaking in a cautionary tone, he said, “I’m working with material from our last excavation down here. It’s highly radioactive – dangerous stuff – I don’t want to jeopardize the entire vessel. If you’d run a two-minute diagnostic on the system I’m sure, you’ll find the problem.”
“My ORACLE doesn’t show the activity you described in your lab,” the woman sounded suspicious.
Charles narrowed his eyes. His lies ran deep, but he couldn’t back out. He drew a breath and without thinking said, “It might be due to the radiation down here causing a misreading. The whining sound I’m hearing from my ORACLE – is damn annoying. Please run the two-minute check… just to be sure before you send a team down here and take a chance of exposing them.”
Silence came from central cont
rol, followed by, “All… right professor. I’ll run the two-minute system check. Stand by.”
The whirling red light on top of the ORACLE system flashed off. Two minutes. Charles opened a bottom desk drawer and rifled through it. He took out a black pouch and opened it. He removed two small handheld instruments for fine detailed work.
Charles pulled a crate over to the door of his lab and stood on it; the unstable box shook. He steadied himself and removed the back-panel housing of the ORACLE system and adjusted the parameters of the device’s functions. Few people knew how to work on a watcheye, but he always had an aptitude for electronic work. Plus, the fact he’d studied the schematics of the system while working for Oliver Duncan helped in his understanding. What he attempted to do was dangerous. One wrong move and he could damage the system to a point that whoever repaired the device, could tell someone tampered with it.
Charles’ goal didn’t involve sabotage, but trickery. If he could trick the watcheye into believing he worked in his lab than he could move on the ship without detection. Until the internal computer figured out what he’d done and correct itself.
He closed the panel and stepped off the crate, kicked it aside. He went to his desk, sat at his computer and sent a direct electronic message to Oliver Duncan. He used a low range signal on the old-world wide web. Used by children and teens to play games and send messages back and forth. The ORACLE system didn’t monitor the transmissions, but Duncan did.
Need a transport, Charles typed; his fingers danced across the holographic keys. Can you arrange?
Seconds later a reply came. Yes. I have a pilot, he will pick you up in less than an hour… look for a Monarch transport with Tannador markings, ident number Three-three-seven.
Charles typed back with a single word: Received.
The red light atop the ORACLE system flashed alive and the woman’s voice came back over the communication port. “The system is working fine, Professor… but I’m having a problem detecting you. Your image isn’t appearing on my monitor.”
Charles panicked. He thought he configured the devices without any problems. Then he realized he might have forgotten one critical thing. He swallowed hard… his plan was in danger.
“Professor?” the woman asked again with skepticism.
Just before Charles replied, his student Jonna Grace walked into the room. “Professor I…”
Charles covered her mouth with his hand and held her tight.
“What was that Professor?” the woman raised her voice.
“Can you send a ping through the device again?” Charles asked.
The red light on the ORACLE blinked and flashed again.
“Ah, there you are Professor Long – must have been a glitch – I see you now,” the woman’s tone eased.
“Yes,” Charles replied. “The querulous sound has stopped. The diagnostic must have done the trick.”
“I was about to send a security detail down to you,” the woman said. “ORACLE will watch you, Professor. Central control out…” her voice faded.
“What’s going on?” Jonna asked confused when Charles released his grip.
Charles pulled Jonna to the back of the office. Knowing keywords that wouldn’t alert the watcheye, Charles picked his words with careful thought. “Work here. Don’t leave this area.” He motioned with his hands for Jonna to stay put. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“But I…”
Charles shushed her with a raise of his index finger. “You have to stay here. If you leave, I’ll be in big trouble. Do you understand?”
“No… but I understand the word trouble well enough to do what you say. Where are you–”
Again, Charles raised his finger. He expected Jonna’s question. “Through that door,” he said. “If this doesn’t work – all hell will break loose in a matter of minutes.” He didn’t want to tell her more for her own safety.
Jonna grabbed Charles’ arm and asked, “Whatever you’re doing, is it worth it?”
“Knowledge is always worth it,” Charles replied and pointed at his desk chair. Jonna sat and gave him a worried look.
Charles collected a few things including several palm devices that held his notes with deciphered alien languages in hopes they would help him understand the markings on the cask. He placed them in a rectangle case with a long strap and snapped it closed. “Remember… stay here until I come back,” Charles told Jonna and pulled the strap over his head. He saw the worry in her eyes and gave Jonna a warm smile, telling her he’d be all right.
Charles stood at the door of his lab. He took a deep, worrisome breath. If he failed in fully tricking the ORACLE system, his actions would be detected the moment he stepped out into the corridor. He tightened his jaw and stepped out. No alarms rang, no security detail charged him, and he wasted no time making his way toward the landing bay. He only hoped his tampering would go unnoticed long enough for him to set the system back. As for ORACLE, it saw him working in his office, and walk down the corridor at the same time. Oliver Duncan taught him well.
Thankfully, he’d worked with an internal ORACLE system and not the mainframe ran by Watchtower, he hoped he’d get away with his alterations undetected. But knew it wouldn’t be long before the computer discovered his work. He needed to hurry.
Though most of the people he passed in the corridor recognized him and acknowledged him with a nod of the head. He would nod back, smile but didn’t take time to speak to anyone, though he hoped that alone didn’t draw too much attention to him. Charles often stopped and spoke to someone in the corridors either about an upcoming project or some other topic related to the ship’s agenda.
Charles didn’t have friends on board aside from Jonna Grace and Hyta Winter. Everyone else on Requiem was slaves, officers or members of the family Tannador, who he had nothing in common with, except maybe their discovery of alien worlds. That’s where their commonality ended. He didn’t care about acquisition of wealth. His riches came as knowledge. He’d die for it if need be.
With time fleeting, Charles arrived in the landing bay, he kept in the shadows until he saw the Monarch transport waiting for him. The pilot, a clean-cut, sharp-looking young man dressed in a pressed uniform stood at the shuttle entrance. Charles couldn’t remember the last time he saw a pilot that looked so respectable.
“Doctor Long?” the pilot asked.
“Professor,” Charles replied.
“Then you’re the man I’m to collect. Time’s a little tight, so if you’d get on board we’ll be leaving.”
Charles looked behind him expecting to see Tannador security coming after him. Relieved he took a deep breath and stepped inside the shuttle. The pilot closed the door behind them. With the exit hatch secured Charles took a seat behind the pilot and strapped the safety harness around his shoulder. He’d lived in space all of his life, but despised take off in a shuttle. They shook too much and in doing so shook Charles’ nerves to no end. He sat back, closed his eyes and before long…
“We will dock at Ioshia station in about twenty minutes, Professor.”
Charles opened his eyes. The shuttle cleared the hanger doors of Requiem without him feeling a thing. He let out a sigh of relief, and asked, “Have you been piloting long?”
“For about three years, ever since I went to work for Mister Duncan.”
“Mister.” Charles never heard anyone call Oliver, Mister before. Then he saw the watcheye device on the young pilot’s wrist. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t notice it before. Perhaps he was use to seeing people wearing the devices, that he didn’t notice. Cautious, he asked, “Since when did Oliver use slaves?”
The pilot looked back at Charles and replied, “I’m no slave.”
“But the watcheye on your wrist…”
The pilot smiled and held up his arm, saying, “It’s not real. Neither is this ORACLE system,” he said pointing at the square box at the front of the ship. The red light swirled on top of it and looked like any ordinary watcheye. “Mr. Duncan has
gone to great strides to keep his operation out of view of the Watchtower and the family Lexor. There isn’t another black marketer in orbit with an operation like his.”
“I’m glad you’re so sure of him,” Charles said. Sooner or later the family Lexor will catch on to Duncan’s business and shut him down.
Ioshia station hung in the lowest possible Earth orbit without burning up in the atmosphere, no other station orbited so low. The devilish outpost, considered by the low-born as a refuse for the unwanted, the dregs of society who weren’t low-born, or slaves, they just existed. Some of the inhabitants harvested from Ioshia went on to be servants, another word for slave. Parents who wanted a better life for their children considered selling them to the high-born. They hoped that by migrating to the high-born, their children would work as personal servants and be treated better than slaves that came from a breeding facility.
Charles ended up on Ioshia station soon after his mother Alexis died. She’d grieved herself over Amanda’s death. Charles didn’t have family, at least none that would take him in, so he lived with Oliver Duncan. It wasn’t the best place to live, but Duncan took good care of Charles. He gave him work and put him through college in one of the best universities the low-born offered.
When Charles stepped off the transport the familiar rich smells of the station engulfed his senses, his stomach rolled, and he felt nauseous. It had been a long time since he’d been on board and he’d forgotten how it felt. There were venders in the ornate corridor that led to the main housing area. They called to him and the young pilot while they walked past, pitching everything from outdated electronic devices, to expired food disks covered in patches of gray mold.
Masked in the shadows stood the suppliers of gold, the rich mind-altering stimulant considered the drug of the poor. It’d filtered its way to the high-born, driving up the price, forcing the recreational pick-me-up to be too expensive for the people it was created for.
Charles ignored their stares and calls to him. Without a security force on the station the peddlers were unafraid of being arrested. Charles wondered how he ever made it out of Ioshia alive.
Origin Expedition Page 12
