Sentients in the Maze: Symbiont Wars Book II (Symbiont Wars Universe 2)

by Chogan Swan

  Jonah pulled away from the curb, circled the block, and headed back to his house. “What’s in that bag, a body? That thing was heavy! How were you even carrying it?”

  “Don’t be nosy, Jonah. A girl never tells what she keeps in her purse.”

  Jonah snorted. “Purse?”

  “Patience, Jonah. I’ll show you when we get back. It’s my hope chest.”

  ~~~{Jonah}~~~

  Spread out on the table and floor of the war room, the contents of Tiana’s hope chest were an exotic window to the past for Jonah. Even Tiana wasn’t familiar with everything there. Her other branch had put them in the locker without updating the memory crystal. Jonah was still trying to wrap his head around what that meant.

  They weren’t even finished cataloging everything yet. He’d asked for a sick day tomorrow to go to Charleston then decided to take the afternoon off too. The ramifications of Tiana’s… time capsule overwhelmed his ability to focus on sales predictions.

  Jonah read the list of items entered into the spreadsheet so far. Among them were two Borchardt C93 pistols in mint condition in the original cases. Tiana had brought 5,000 rounds along for them too. Jonah had figured they would all need to be re-loaded, but Tiana assured him the custom mix in the cartridges would be stable for much longer. Two Mauser C96 pistols, a make Tiana had not seen, bore serial numbers placing their manufacture dates as 1898. Since they were also in mint condition, they’d bring in about $5,000 each. Several crates of guns and ammunition remained in the sub-basement of ‘her house’.

  Tiana sat on the floor in a patch of sunshine adjusting one of Jonah’s shoulder holsters to see if it would accommodate the C-93. Jonah pulled his attention back to the table… so easy to just sit and watch her.

  The next items on the list, bearer bonds, came to about $100,000 in face value. None of them had earned interest for decades; it wasn’t clear how much they were worth. The bearer certificates were also an unknown factor. One jumped out at him though—250 shares of the Tabulating Machine Company—a business that had merged with others to create IBM.

  There were 650 gold double-eagles, all uncirculated and packed in metal tubes, individually wrapped in paper.

  “So they wouldn’t clink when I carried them,” Tiana explained.

  Just the base price of the gold in each of them was over $1,000 on today’s market. Jonah cataloged their dates and mintmarks, discovering all qualified as collector’s items, bringing a bonus of at least $900 each because of their condition. In addition, one fourth of the coins were rare, and warranted an additional bonus between $500 and $70,000 each. Most sold for around $5,000 on Ebay. But, one of them couldn’t even be valued—the legendary lost 1849 double eagle. Many historians doubted it even existed, but, evidently, the designer had made two as prototypes for the double-eagle design. One sat on display in the Smithsonian; the other on the table in front of him. Stored in a glass case, it shone like a miniature sun; he doubted an ungloved hand had ever touched it.

  The room held incredible wealth. But, if they sold anything legitimately, it would create a publicity storm Tiana couldn’t risk. A claim to prior ownership was unprovable, and a sale would bring the IRS down on her.

  “Water, water everywhere,” Jonah whispered.

  “Well, what do we do with it?” asked Tiana.

  “Not sure yet,” Jonah said, reaching into the file for one last envelope, with a stamped wax seal. “Tiana, there’s a letter addressed to Tiana Morgan, and the mailing address and return address is your house at 1114 Harrison. It's postmarked 1895 August 10. Here’s a note attached to the envelope. It says to bring this, unopened, to the law firm of Sackett and Sackett and speak to the caretaker of file number seven. It looks like your handwriting.”

  Jonah handed her the letter. “Sackett and Sackett?”

  “I knew a Charles Sackett, one of the flatland Sacketts,” she said, tapping the letter thoughtfully. “He was a friend of Edward’s. Edward helped him get his legal practice back on its feet in Lynchburg when the Appomattox courthouse burned.”

  Jonah did a quick search entering keywords: Sackett, legal and Lynchburg then skimmed the results. “Sackett and Sackett merged with another firm in Lynchburg in 1959,” he said. “Sacketts still practice at the firm though, and it’s six blocks from here.” He looked up from the screen. “They’ll still be open for another hour. Any reasons not to go now?”

  “I suppose not. It stands to reason I should take my own advice.”

  “True, and, if nothing else, it will give you a chance to see the neighborhood. File number seven may not have survived, but it won't hurt to check.”

  Tiana stood and put on her blouse and skirt. She strapped the knives on her thighs and slipped into the shoulder holster, settling a Borchardt and two extra magazines in place then throwing her caftan over the ensemble.

  “Are you thinking there might be trouble?” asked Jonah.

  Tiana shrugged. “Charles Sackett was a gentleman and a man of honor. I liked Charles Junior too, but 120 years is a long time to keep a secret. You should carry too.”

  “But I don’t have a concealed carry permit,” Jonah said.

  Tiana arched an eyebrow. “You don’t need one,” she said, pointing to the guns on the floor. “The US government has decreed these are not firearms, but antique collectibles, and this Mauser will fit nicely in the manbag I bought for you at the community market.”

  “How did you . . . ?”

  “I sold one of my dresses on Craigslist. Not everything has to fly above the radar, you know.”

  “Nice,” Jonah said, chuckling. “I’ll try to remember that. Good use of current expression too. Okay, let me see my new murse then.”

  Chapter 8 (Letters from home)

  Jonah and Tiana came down the public stairway and headed toward the Allied Arts building where the firm of Williams, Sackett and Overstreet occupied the top two floors. Tiana craned her head back to see its 17-story stretch skyward. “You will take me on a tour of New York and Chicago someday soon, Jonah. I want to see the buildings, but this one will do for now.” She ran fingers over the greenstone facade as they walked to the side entrance. As they waited for the elevator, she inspected the details of the Art Deco architecture.

  “I told Edward he should invest in Otis,” she muttered as they rose to the penthouse level.

  The door opened with a chime and they stepped into a sedate, luxurious lobby. Jonah followed Tiana as she strode to the front desk. The receptionist looked up and greeted them, “May I help you?” she asked in a warm voice. She was tall, wearing a gray silk dress with matching scarf, and had a sleek librarian look that Jonah couldn’t help but find appealing.

  “I would like to speak with Mr. Sackett, regarding file number seven.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “I expect, he has been waiting for me,” Tiana said with a smile.

  “May I have your name?”

  “I’m afraid it’s a confidential matter,” Tiana said, radiating an icy southern charm with a smile.

  “I’ll ring his office,” said the receptionist, punching in the extension without a hint of fluster.

  Jonah had to admire the professionalism her response required and his estimation of Williams, Sackett and Overstreet went up several notches.

  “Mr. Sackett, someone here would like to speak with you about file number seven.” Her voice lifted into a question at the end. She listened then put down the phone. “If you will follow me, Mr. Sackett will see you now.”

  They followed her sensible heels down the walnut-paneled hallway to a door that boasted ‘Charles Sackett V’ on a brass plate. She ushered them into a huge, mahogany-paneled office with the required books of law lining the shelves surrounding a matching art nouveau desk and conference table.

  Charles Sackett V stepped out of an adjoining room filled with safe-locked cabinets. Dark-haired, in his early thirties and built like a professional basketball player, he carried an ancient metal combi
nation file box and an envelope.

  “Thank you, Grace, that will be all for now,” he said to the receptionist without taking his eyes off Tiana.

  Grace closed the door with a quiet snick as she left.

  Sackett placed the file on the desk and came forward. “Tiana Morgan, I presume?”

  Tiana nodded and held out her hand, “Mr. Sackett.”

  “Charles, please,” said Sackett, taking her hand. He looked uncertain as to whether to shake it or bow and kiss her fingers.

  “Charles then,” she smiled. “This is my partner, Jonah.”

  “Jonah, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Sackett, nodding to Jonah.

  “Likewise,” Jonah said.

  Sackett turned to Tiana. “May I speak freely?”

  Tiana nodded. “Please do.”

  “We expected you twenty years ago. I wasn’t giving up, but I’d almost talked myself out of believing you existed.”

  “I was detained, but can’t share any reasons or details at present.”

  Sackett nodded. “I wouldn’t have expected you to at this point, but we both have hurdles to navigate first. Shall we start by comparing letters?” He held up his envelope. Tiana reached into her shoulder bag and held hers up as well.

  Sackett nodded, “I believe we are supposed to review both of them together. The contents are two originals of the same letter; both handwritten by Tiana Morgan.”

  “Two originals.” Tiana laughed. “A nice way of phrasing things. Shall we sit at your lovely table?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Jonah, would you sit on my right please?” Tiana said, sitting on a corner of the table and leaving the end of the table for Sackett. Tiana placed her letter on the table. Sackett placed his letter next to hers and sat.

  “Do your partners not have offices on this floor, Charles?” Tiana said, looking around the office,

  “No, I keep all my files and offices separate for security reasons. Their offices are on the floors below us.”

  “That accounts for it. Well then, how shall we begin?”

  “We are supposed to open the letters together and begin by reading them aloud in unison, following the directions we will find there.” Sackett removed two letter openers from a decorative vase on the table and handed one to Tiana. “You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined doing this,” he said with a nervous chuckle. He deftly slit his envelope’s top seal and waited for Tiana to follow suit. “I’ve also practiced opening envelopes a lot.”

  Tiana smiled, “You made elegant work of it, Charles.” She opened her own envelope and let the letter fall out on the table. Together, they picked up their letters and spoke.

  My dear daughter and heir,

  I should let you know this is Edward’s idea. And, as I am sure you will remember, when he gets an idea he will not give me peace until I satisfy him. In this case, I think it is, in fact, a good idea. Before going further, however, Edward wants us to make sure everyone is representing their identity honestly.

  So now, you should ask the caretaker of file number seven, ‘What is the nickname that Edward had for Charles the first?’ If he or she does not have the correct answer, I suggest you do something drastic to rectify the situation.

  “Smokey,” said Sackett.

  Tiana nodded. Jonah noted that Sackett looked relieved, though not surprised, that nothing drastic would be required.

  “Shall we continue?” asked Tiana. They both began reading the letters again.

  If an impostor is not on the floor in need of a mortician, you may now show the caretaker the attached evidence.

  Tiana stood and raised her caftan, turning around to display the base of her spine and the tail extending from the cutout she’d sewn into her harem pants.

  Jonah thought that Sackett did a creditable job at a professional inspection before saying, “Thank you. I am satisfied.” and turning back to the letter.

  This next part is for your benefit, my daughter. The key code is 24, the message follows…

  A string of numbers followed; the recitation went on for about a minute. Jonah wondered what it was like for Tiana to get this letter from someone she used to be, at least in her memories, yet not remember writing it. Maybe the nii adapted to this kind of weirdness by experience or just biology.

  The string of numbers ended, and Tiana sat for another minute, apparently absorbing the meaning behind them.

  “Thank you, Charles,” she said at last. “Can you give me an account of the trust estate that you are holding for me? If you don’t mind, please start with the property at 1214 Harrison Street. Has that been retained?”

  Sackett opened a folder and pulled out a few sheets of paper. “This is only a summary, of course.” He shuffled to a page near the bottom of the stack. “It took my grandfather some time to reacquire the property on Harrison Street after the court took it over in the process of trying to assess the estate for taxes. Nepotism was involved. One of the judges made sure the house went to his favorite niece, for substantially less than its value. So, following your . . . mother’s? ….”

  Tiana nodded permission for the use of the word.

  “. . . instructions to be discreet.” Sackett continued. “My grandfather reacquired the home ten years later, when the judge in question was . . . injudicious in certain other areas, and the financial backing for the property evaporated. Grandfather mentions some unfortunate redecorating he was unable to remedy. Your trust owns the home, and—though it occasionally appears on the market—all sales are in truth limited lease agreements to responsible, vetted tenants within our organization.”

  Jonah breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Tiana said. “Can you prepare a similar agreement for Jonah and include an agency fee to be paid to Ms. Gloria Scaliano for her assistance? Please include a non-disclosure agreement for her that includes all circumstances, parties and the non-disclosure agreement itself.”

  Sackett scribbled notes as she talked then went on, “The file seven trust fund has been administered according to your mother’s guidelines, avoiding speculative investing but focusing on certain science and technology ventures. We’ve been careful to spread the investments internationally to avoid attention and diversify the portfolio. Most of the resources administering your investments work within international privately-held consulting firms which we . . . that is to say, you are either sole owner or the controlling partner. We maintain an identity for you reflecting your interests in science and technology. You hold degrees in a number of fields and your identity has contacts that will allow you access to the scientific communities of the world if you so desire.”

  Sackett pulled another envelope from the file. “Your passport photo corresponds to a drawing made by your mother detailing what you would look like when you emerged.” He slid the envelope across the table to Tiana. “I must say she came quite close. We had to change your name for security.”

  Tiana opened her passport and looked at the picture. For Jonah, it was surreal to see a version of her face on a passport with a photograph he knew she’d never posed for.

  He cleared his throat, not trusting his vocal cords to behave well, “Excuse me. About how much would you estimate is the net worth of all the assets and holdings you are summarizing?”

  Sackett looked to Tiana who gestured brusquely. “In the future, Charles, please answer questions Jonah has as though I had asked personally. Jonah is my full partner and should be treated as such in all matters.”

  “Of course. My apologies Mr. Brandyr. The question is a bit hard to answer. Many of the assets are in Swiss accounts and lockboxes for which no one except Ms. Morgan has the codes. The wealth on the ledger exceeds the combined net worth of the individuals now regarded as the top two most wealthy in the world. We were somewhat handicapped by the stringent need for secrecy; on the other hand, some of that estimate is depressed because of holdings in long-term investments we consider undervalued. Since we don’t have stockholder
s to satisfy, the time for return on investment is not as short as the norm. That is the value set aside for her personal funds; the value of the organizations under her control is much higher.”

  “I understand,” Jonah said. “It changes the way you think about investing.” He shook his head. It was strange; he’d had a much easier time accepting that Tiana was a stranded waif from outer space than he was in now coming to grips with her incredible wealth. It made him reel mentally to consider what Sackett had said about her assets. The millions of dollars’ worth of collectibles and assets now in his attic was small change in comparison.

  “Do you have any more questions, Mr. Brandyr?” asked Sackett.

  “No, I’m sorry. I’m sure you would have gotten to the bottom line more quickly without the interruption, but it helps me to see the big picture first. I can fill in the blanks later. In other words, upwards of 160 billion in US dollars. . . . Please continue,” Jonah said, trying not to display how much the answer rattled him. He wondered about all the hidden assets. How much more could those be?

  He looked at Tiana. She raised a finger, asking Sackett to wait, and returned Jonah’s gaze. Then she reached out and touched him on the wrist; the brush of her filaments ran over his skin.

  “Charles,” Tiana said, “I think we need to regroup later to discuss this. Is there information I can glance through and discuss with you later? I could also use a little walking-around money.”

  “Of course, Ms. Morgan,” said Sackett. He selected a thick Kevlar envelope and handed it to her.”

  “Thank you, Charles,” she said, paging quickly through the enclosed papers. “I also think you should now address me by the name of the identity you’ve so thoughtfully prepared.”

  Sackett nodded, “Of course Ms. Archer.”

  “Is there a history of Adrianna Archer’s life as well? I’m sure I’ll need to learn my . . . cover story. Ah! Here it is.”