Fire on the Frontline

by Trevor Wyatt

  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 around 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 wi
th 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.

  The High Cleric says something that seems to upset the Noble Marshal, who is now speaking and gesturing wildly. Then Szaad shoots to his feet and appears to yell something. His movements are forceful, showing that he’s all riled up. Yanik, too, begins to rant, yelling as well, I presume. The argument goes on for another thirty minutes before Szaad points at the door and the Noble Marshal storms out. Then the feed dies.

  “Play again,” I say.

  I watch it over again. This time I try to read their lips. I’m not so successful because the angle is just so bad. But I am able to pick up a few words that gives me the impression that the two were arguing about the Pro-Ascension movement. I appears as though something about the direction of the movement wasn’t sitting well with one of the two.

  I also picked up some words that I didn’t really understand. “Greater good” and “sacrifice” were two words I don’t want to hear used in a sentence, especially when a revolution is about to take place. These are trigger words that herald an action that’s probably going to cost lives.

  I watch the short clip for a
couple more times before I’m satisfied that I’ve seen all I need to see.

  “Computer, play second recoding,” I say.

  The next thing I hear is a conversation.

  “I don’t want to have any part in this,” one voice say. Its thick, hardline nature suggests that it’s the soldier.

  “No problem, Yanik,” says the other voice, which is thick, but weathered. I assume this is Szaad.

  “At least, speak at the rally,” Szaad says.

  “I don’t think I should,” Yanik replies. “I’m too upset to bring my thoughts together. Perhaps, I need time to think about how you can even conceive this.”

  I hear a sigh, which I assume comes from an exasperated Szaad.

  “Look, you can think all you want, but you need to speak at the rally,” Szaad says. “A lot of people are going to attend. The true believers of our way will get a definite boost if you spoke to them. Perhaps, you can share you ideals for the movement and see what they think. If they stand with you, then I’ll stand with you.”

  There is a slight pause.

  “Okay, Szaad,” Yanik says. “I’ll speak—”

  And the audio ends abruptly.

  No-One

  There is more going on here than we, the Union, had thought. Szaad and Yanik were clearly knee-deep in some scheme of their own, which apparently spiraled out of their control, resulting in Yanik’s assassination. But who, exactly, had him killed? There is no shortage of players on the Sonali side, of course, but it could well be that there is a Terran influence somewhere in the mix.

  I lean back with a groan. What have I gotten myself into?

  More than that, I realize with a stab of guilt: what have I gotten Gresh into? Well, there’s nothing I can do for him now. The sad fact of the matter is that he is on his own. As a Sonali dealing with Sonali, he’ll probably be able to handle his situation.

  That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

  Since I can do nothing for Gresh, I had better do something for myself. This operation seems to be unravelling, which means I am going to have to get myself to a safe house until things cool down. There’s no guarantee that such place will have its own atmospheric conditioning like my apartment does; I don’t have to wear a regulator here, which is a huge relief. But if I must wear one, I will. People on the run can’t afford to be picky about their accommodations.