by M. Alan Marr
“What cash?”
“Does he have it?”
“I didn’t give him any cash.”
“What’s your name?”
“Dev Caelestis.”
The cop opens Dev’s wallet and looks at the contents. Driver’s license, black American Express card, ATM card, and several business cards: Bank of America manager, Gillespie manager, and three cards from the law firm of Williams, Goldberg, and Bloom, Esquires. The cop turns Dev around and lightens up just a little. “What happened here?”
“I’m not exactly certain,” Dev answers plainly. “I was walking along, and that man accosted me at gunpoint.”
The cop is surprised at Dev’s choice of words. “Accosted? And then?”
“I disarmed him.”
“How did you do that?”
“I grabbed his wrist and applied radial pressure. He fired a single shot in that direction. I increased pressure, and he released the weapon. I . . . may have broken his wrist.”
The second cop squats down to look at the assailant’s contorted hand. “Ya think?”
The first cop looks at Dev’s eye. “How’d you get that?”
“He struck me after I disarmed him.” Dev sees the other cop is trying to see his face, so he leans his head over slightly.
“And then?”
“I hit him back.”
“Hit him pretty hard it looks like,” the cop says.
“What else was I to do?”
Another approaching siren is heard. The paramedics arrive and quickly go to work on the downed and still unconscious attacker. Dev watches compassionately. The cop looks at Dev’s clothing and can tell he doesn’t live in this area. He continues his questioning.
“What are doing walking around here?”
“I was just exploring. I took the train from Midtown a few hours ago. I walked around the downtown area and ended up here.”
The cops see Dev’s eyes are clear, and he doesn’t seem to be under the influence or lying. The second cop runs Dev’s information in the police car and finds he has no outstanding warrants or prior police involvements, and that his license was issued only days ago. “No out-standings, no priors,” he tells the other cop. The second cop turns to Dev. “You just moved to Atlanta?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you picked a hell of a part of town to explore.”
“I didn’t realize this area was dangerous.”
“Look around you,” the first cop says. “What the hell are you thinking?”
Dev looks at the shabby, dilapidated area. “I’m thinking I need to improve my observation skills.”
“That would be a good start.”
The EMTs load the unconscious man on a gurney. The second cop handcuffs the man’s non-broken wrist to the rail and speaks to one of the EMTs. “How is he?”
“Broken wrist and possible fractured sternum, definite concussion.”
“Yikes.”
“No entry or exit wounds,” the EMT adds. “What happened to this guy?”
“He hit him,” the cop says, motioning to Dev.
“With what, a sledgehammer?” The EMT notices Dev’s eye and realizes he needs to assess his condition. He looks at the cop for permission to treat Dev. The cop nods.
The EMT puts on a fresh pair of gloves and speaks to Dev. “I’m just going to check your eye.” He gently puts his fingers on Dev’s face and checks for broken cheekbones and around the orbit of his eye. Dev winces slightly. “Doesn’t look too bad. Any other injuries?”
“I don’t think so,” Dev replies quietly.
“Mr. Caelestis,” the first cop says, as he removes Dev’s handcuffs, “you don’t strike me as a public menace. You picked a very sketchy part of town to explore.”
Dev rubs his freed wrists. “I’m inclined to agree.”
“We’re going to need to take you to the station and fill out some paperwork and take a statement.”
“Very well.”
ATLANTA POLICE DEPARTMENT
MAIN PRECINCT
Dev is sitting alongside a desk with the first cop. His wallet and iPhone are sitting next to the file the cop is writing in. The police station is busy with various perps, junkies, and prostitutes. It is unlike anything Dev has ever experienced. Paperwork is filled out regarding the attack and Dev’s explanation of events.
“Sir, what exactly is the process here?” Dev says to the cop.
“Well, you don’t have a criminal record, that’s a good start.”
“Isn’t there some kind of dispensation for personal defense?”
The cop snorts. “You’re allowed to defend yourself. But you practically killed that guy.” The cop can see that Dev is being honest (and somewhat clueless) and leans toward him. “I noticed you had several business cards in your wallet.”
“I do,” Dev replies, and then realizes he must be referring to the law firm. “Oh, I retained legal counsel here in Atlanta to handle my personal affairs. Should I contact them?”
“It might be a good idea.”
Dev isn’t sure if he should reach for his iPhone on the desk. “May I?”
“May you what?”
Dev feels like the cop is fishing for something. “May I contact my attorneys?”
“Those are the magic words.” The cop slides his desk phone toward Dev. He dials the number from memory.
“You know your lawyer’s phone number by heart?”
“It’s only ten digits,” Dev replies, putting the receiver to his ear. “Williams, Dev Caelestis . . .”
All he had to do is tell Williams where he is.
“Don’t say another word to the police, I’ll be right there.”
Dev hangs up the phone.
The cop looks at Dev. “What did he say?”
“He said not to say another word.”
The cop shakes his head. “Lawyers.”
Twenty minutes later, Williams and another attorney from the firm enter the precinct and are taken to Dev and the cop. Dev acknowledges Williams upon seeing him, but does not know the other man.
“Ah, Williams.”
“Mister Cae—” Williams sees Dev’s eye. “Oh my God, sir, are you injured?”
“I’m fine.”
“We’ll straighten this out in no time.” Williams turns to the cop. “Bill Williams, from Williams, Goldberg, and Bloom. I represent Mr. Caelestis. Has my client been charged?”
The cop sits back in his rickety chair. He knows the drill. “No.”
“Has my client been read his Miranda Rights?”
“No.”
“Is my client under arrest?”
“No.”
“I’d like to confer with my client in private, Officer.”
The cop has been through this a million times. “Follow me.”
Dev and the two lawyers are taken into a small witness room. The battered table has attachment points for shackles. Williams introduces the associate lawyer, Joseph Stiles, a criminal defense litigator. Dev gives both attorneys a full recount of everything that happened and his entire conversation with the police, leaving out no detail.
“Oh my God, sir, you could have been murdered!”
“I disarmed him.”
Williams looks at the other attorney. “Joe?”
“I’ll go speak with the officer and read his report. They haven’t charged Mr. Caelestis, and it doesn’t appear they have grounds to hold him further. Based on what I’ve heard, I don’t think we have a problem. I’ll place a call to the DA’s office just to make sure.”
“Good, go.” The litigator excuses himself. Williams looks at Dev’s eye. “How badly are you hurt, sir?”
“It’s nothing.”
Williams is anxious. “Mr. Caelestis, now is not the time to be cavalier!”
“I was struck once. I’m sure the other guy is in more discomfort than I.”
A half hour later, the report from the hospital comes in. The gunman’s sternum is not broken. He does have several dislocated ribs, a c
oncussion, and a broken wrist. The litigator conferred with the associate lawyer at the District Attorney’s office. Not satisfied, Williams calls the DA himself. Five minutes later, the DA calls the Chief of Police, who visits the cop in person, letting him know that although Mr. Caelestis did break the attacker’s wrist and hospitalize him, the injuries sustained are the direct result of his illegal actions visited upon Mr. Caelestis. Furthermore, Mr. Caelestis was simply defending himself and is free to go. The cop, rather put out by the apparent high-level interdiction, enters the witness room and slides a large envelope containing Dev’s wallet and iPhone on the table toward Dev.
“You’re free to go,” the cop says. “The matter is finished, but I’m sure you knew that already.”
Williams is relieved. “We’re driving you home, Mr. Caelestis. Right now.”
On the way out, Dev stops by the police officer’s desk to thank him for his prompt response and dedication to duty. The cop still doesn’t understand why Dev was in that particular part of town and is not entirely certain he believes he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. On the other hand, Dev doesn’t present as a drug seeker or crime kingpin. His conduct, appearance, dress, and even the contents of his wallet, paint a very different picture. That, and he has a string of high-power attorneys at his beck and call, making Dev out to be just a naive rich guy.
“Mr. Caelestis,” the cop says, “you appear to have more money than sense. I’d explore better areas if I were you.” The cop adds, “You’re very lucky you didn’t get shot. You had three guns pointed at you today.”
Dev suddenly realizes what the cop means: he could have been shot, not only by the assailant, but by the responding officers. Suddenly, all the news broadcasts Dev has seen concerning recent police shootings hits home. He nods to the cop in full understanding and leaves with his attorneys.
Dev is pretty quiet in the car. He notices the firm’s driver, a man he heard Williams address as Phillip, steal a couple of glances at him in the rearview mirror. Stiles sits up front. Dev and Williams are in the back. On the way back to the hotel, Williams assures Dev they will stay on the case to make sure there are no difficulties, and will do their best to have the record expunged. Dev nods in acknowledgment and stares out the window, wondering whether his experience at the police station, specifically the expedience, was due to the fact that he was innocently defending himself, or because he retained a highly connected law firm. Based on everything he’s learned and everyone he saw inside the police station, he realizes it is most likely the latter.
Once back in his suite, Dev immediately composes an Observation Report detailing this disturbing experience. Not disturbing in terms of life or death; he deals with that all the time. Disturbing because his treatment was likely the result of favoritism based on wealth, position, and from the statistics (and most disturbing of all), his appearance.
It is a lengthy report and includes criminal statistics and incarceration demographics taken from a computer search of public records. There is a knock on Dev’s door. He looks at the clock and sees the time. He had been working quite a while. Dev closes his laptop and answers the door. It is Chaz, back from his flight and dressed in civilian clothes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call first. My iPhone ran out of juice and I forgot my charger.”
Dev happily sighs. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Chaz notices the side of Dev’s face is sunburned. The way Dev is standing, he could not immediately see the black eye.
“You too! Looks like you got some sun.” Chaz’s expression changes after Dev closes the door and faces him. Now the black eye is in full view. “Oh my God, what happened to your eye?”
“I had a minor . . . issue today,” Dev says with dread as he walks into the living room. They sit on the couch, where Dev tells Chaz everything that happened downtown.
“Holy shit, Dev, you could have been killed!”
“That’s what everyone keeps saying.”
“And you broke the guy’s wrist?”
“Yeah.”
“Were you not paying attention to where you were?”
“Clearly not.”
Due to the events of the day, dinner is ordered from the room service menu, and drinks had from the minibar. Chaz leaves early to let Dev get some rest. Dev ends up taking a long, hot shower to wash off the gritty feeling he’s had since leaving the police station. Standing before the steamy bathroom mirror, Dev stares at his reflection. He applies some kind of salve brought from home, and his black eye instantly feels better. By tomorrow the bruising will be nearly gone. Dev puts a robe on and returns to the living room and quietly contemplates the events of the day. How could he have been so careless as to walk right into a dangerous area, unarmed, and unaware? He really could have been killed three times over today. His mission would have failed, and his technology would have been discovered. Certainly, his weapon and interlink device in the safe would have been found when the hotel vacated his suite. His ship might even be discovered before the Admiralty would have ever sent a search team. Dev’s lapse of judgment could have had far more repercussions beyond his own individual demise. He will be more cautious in the future. Much more cautious. The threats in this world are real, and in many ways, more dangerous than the ones nobody on Earth knows about. No one except Dev.
Chapter 9
Mex-Star One
0145 Hours
Dev is still wide awake. Crime statistics and his own random brush with death only emphasize the need to make contact with the Admiralty. There has to be an answer. That thought preoccupies his mind. Plan A (relay buoy) unavailable. Plan B (ancient technology in Mexico) didn’t work out either. Plan C (exposing the Recon ship) must only be a last resort. Dev absolutely needs to report on his progress—or lack thereof— but doing so will require more creativity if he is to maintain security.
All of the lights in his suite are off. Standing at the large glass windows, Dev ponders the dilemma for some time while staring up at the heavens. Then he sees it, a tiny pinpoint of light smoothly traversing the night sky. Dev smiles slowly and utters one word: “Satellite.” In that moment, a plan begins formulating in his head. Of course, he knew the answer would be in the stars. Dev checks the time, nearly 0200, a bewitching hour on Earth, and elsewhere. Most bars across the United States and many parts of the world stop serving at this time. Most businesses are closed. Hospitals are on the night shift. Reduced manning seems to be a universal theme at this hour, even on Dev’s world. Biorhythms begin ramping down, and Human beings are genetically predisposed to sleep. For those working the late shifts, reaction times slow; sleep has to be held at bay. Most people are home with the lights out. Perfect timing.
Dev retrieves his off-world interlink device from the safe and fully engages the special protocols on his laptop. A complex cryptology program is set up that will mask everything he is about to do. The hotel Wi-Fi system is up and running, and at this hour there is little demand on bandwidth. Not that it would matter; Dev’s device taps into more than just the hotel server.
The cosmos program identifies two geosynchronous communications satellites in optimal position that can be re-tasked for this operation: one belonging to the United States, the other belonging to, of all places, Mexico. Data from both satellites fills two panels on the screen.
“Mexico, you may yet save the day,” Dev says aloud. Under his breath, he somewhat shamefully adds, “And my commission.” Dev knows this idea is not without risk, but at least it wouldn’t chance the discovery of his ship. The data panels reveal the implications of temporarily borrowing one satellite versus the other, listing each satellite’s workload. The US satellite covers not only telecommunications, but central region air traffic control, some military operations, part of the power grid, and a great deal of ancillary media transmissions. Conversely, the Mexican satellite is tasked only with telecommunications, and not that many at this hour.
Dev programs a quantum data probe for what he is about
to do. A separate window on the computer shows a bright dynamic probe graphic, like a caged energetic entity, ready to be unleashed in a very unsuspecting world. Further programming cues up the Mexican agency’s computer network and satellite operating system. The laptop generates a programming pathway for the data probe to enter its system. And unlike computer viruses found on Earth, the quantum data probe is designed to enter targeted systems by stealth, bypassing security protocols on the subatomic level between the binary code, and execute its instructions once inside. No current precautions on Earth can prevent, interfere, or even detect this invasive extraterrestrial instrument.
Dev takes a breath and then unleashes the program. The gates to the data probe open, and the graphical representation instantly enters the system. So fast is the intrusion, that by the time the graphics indicate the probe is released, the operation has already sprang into action.
Up in high orbit, the reaction control thrusters on the Mex-Star 1 satellite fire several short bursts. Down on the ground in Mexico, the late shift at Mex-Star Operations is suddenly overwhelmed with alarms and flashing alerts that their satellite’s control systems are not only going awry, but that its RCS thrusters are actively firing. The technician watches as data coverage in Mexico slowly goes off the grid. He picks up the nearby phone, but like everyone else in Mexico right now, he has no dial tone.
The graphic on Dev’s laptop shows the target satellite and its transmission dish slowly rotating away from Earth. Dev quickly enters right ascension and declination numbers on his laptop and presses enter. The satellite’s RCS thrusters fire again along multiple axes. Another screen window shows the satellite’s transmission path moving across the sky toward the designated coordinates, a group of seven stars forming a half-circle like a crown; The Crown, as Dev knows it. The constellation is plotted on the computer. One of the stars, slightly brighter than the others, is circled and a second point is plotted within the perimeter, labeled Trieste. A string of numbers and coordinates follows. The cosmos program opens up a window and plots a dashed line away from Earth to Trieste. Mex-Star 1 appears on the plot, along with its moving transmission line from the satellite, inching its way toward matching the dashed trajectory. The two trajectories are close to merging, but are not quite there yet. The numbers on the trajectory screens count down and reach target coordinates. The satellite’s thrusters fire again, halting the satellite’s motion, just as the line of transmission merges with the dashed line. The two lines flash, indicating they are properly in sync.
