Tales from the Service: The Pillars of 779C

2952-06-11 – Tales from the Service: The Pillars of 779C 

Turning the tablet over in his hands, Reade Marinou turned and looked back to the hilltop on which he’d landed his survey-ship, around which that double ring of boulders stood. It was hard to imagine that this stinking atmosphere had been the home of alien sapience, but it was less hard to imagine that species in long decline and eventual ruin amid the splendid, dramatic landscapes of ‘779c. His sensors had failed to pick up any lights, not even cook-fires, on the night side of the world through several orbits. Whoever they were, they were either entirely gone, or so nearly so that it would be the work of a lifetime to find the remnant. 

Tucking the tablet under one arm, Reade continued to the water’s edge to collect his samples. As he did so, the clouds over the far shore parted, and something glinted on the top of a dark hill. Whatever it was, to create a reflection he could see at such a distance must have been large indeed. 

After marking and pocketing his samples, Reade pulled out his magnifier and set the meta-lens to its maximum setting. No matter what settings he used, the reflected light from that distant hill appeared only as a blinding white patch on the device’s screen. He couldn’t see anything on any of the other hills beyond the water; that wasn’t too surprising, with the rangefinder displaying eighteen kilometers or more. If he was going to find out what was causing the reflection, he’d have to fly over there. 

Reade scoured the beach for other things to stuff into sample containers for more than an hour, regularly looking over his shoulder at that distant reflection. When the clouds closed in again, it vanished, only to reappear somewhat dimmer a few minutes later when they parted once more. As he watched, the light waned rapidly to almost nothing, lingered for another moment, then went out altogether. 

Once again, he tried the magnifier on the spot, and once again, he saw nothing remarkable; the rugged shoulders of the hill appeared as tree-covered as those on the near side of the water, and its bare, rocky summit bore no signs of artifice. 

With one last look at the beach, Reade turned back toward his ship. The curved hull of the PCS Tern that Survey had issued him was easily visible on the hilltop for most of his return hike, so he hardly needed to use the locator beacon. Apart from the horrendous smell, he decided this planet really was quite pleasant; perhaps the climate engineers could do something to reduce the odor and render the place fit for human habitation. 

At the top of the hill, Reade stopped to walk around one of the standing stones. No matter what angle he looked at it, he saw no sign that the stone was shaped by intelligent hands, and it bore none of the markings on the tablet tucked under his arm. He made a far more cursory examination of another of the boulders, then shrugged and clambered up the boarding ramp and into the sweet air of the Tern’s crew cabin. 

“Give me a local terrain map.” Reade angled his head up as he spoke, as he always did when issuing commands to the computer. For some reason, he always thought of the ship’s automation systems as “above” him, even though the computer core itself was behind the paneling on the port side of the narrow corridor leading to the cockpit. 

“Specify range.” The toneless voice, configured to Reade’s preference, could never be mistaken for that of a human. He’d seen too many Survey spacers go a little mad out in the wide emptiness of the Frontiers, and start treating the pleasant voice of their computer system like a close confidant, or even a lover, and he didn’t want to walk down that road. 

“Thirty kilometers.” Reade closed the hatch behind himself and unzipped the front of his environment suit.  

The center of the compartment grew bright and a white mist seemed to fill it as the holo-projectors warmed up. In a moment, the mist cleared into a translucent relief map three meters across. The mountains on one side rose around Reade’s knees, and a narrow sea, a miniature of the one whose water now occupied his sample jars, occupied much of the center of the compartment, and the far shore rose into a line of dramatic hills on the far side. 

Reade took two steps into the middle of the sea, then knelt down and looked at the hills. The one he was looking for wasn’t difficult to pick out; it wasn’t taller than the others, but it was broader than most, with steep shoulders falling down almost to the water’s edge. “Is there a good landing spot near this?” 

“Unknown.” The computer helpfully placed a pulsing starburst at the point of Reade’s outstretched finger. “Further information required.” 

Reade nodded, stood, and headed for the cockpit. Within a minute, the Tern was airborne, and within three, it was hovering over the top of the hill where he’d seen the glinting reflection. From the air, he couldn’t see anything that might reflect that much light, but with trees crowding the slopes almost to the summit, he suspected that whatever it was, would be somewhere below the canopy. 

“Landing site found. Autopilot route computed.” The computer helpfully painted holographic indicators in front of the viewpanel. “Initiate?” 

“Yes.” Reade took his hands off the controls, and the Tern wheeled and began a circling descent toward a clearing between two projecting ridges. A few twisted, black stumps jutted out from the thick underbrush, but the autopilot avoided these. The landing skids crushed down the plants with a rasping noise, and then the Tern once again came to rest. 

Despite his interest in finding the reflection – he felt certain that it would be more evidence of the departed former masters of this world – Reade took time to collect samples of every species of plant growing around his new landing site. By now, the afternoon was getting on, and he briefly debated bunking down and waiting for the drones to come back. He certainly wasn’t pressed for time; another twenty hours on 779c wouldn’t do any harm. 

All thoughts of waiting until morning vanished from his mind when, rounding the tail of his ship, Reade saw something reflecting light jut within the trees. Stowing his sample containers in a pouch, he pushed through the chest-high shrubs until they failed under the shade of the massive, high-crowned trees. 

Reade didn’t have to walk far before he came to the source of the reflection. From the forest floor, a pillar rose, hexagonal in profile, with its top squared off. The whole thing was a single crystal of clear quartz – or its local analogue – but its inside was shot through with silver filaments which seemed to sparkle in the light of the sun. 

Walking around the pillar several times, Reade used his suit cameras to capture images from multiple angles. Surely this was the work of intelligent hands – even if crystals of this magnitude could form naturally, they would do so far underground. 

Even as he considered whether this single monolith would have been able to reflect the light he’d seen from nearly twenty klicks away, Reade spotted another flash of reflected light beyond the first pillar, and then another. Each one lit up when touched by the light, as if it was more than mere reflection, and surrendered its glow reluctantly when the rays filtering down through the trees moved on. It seemed the whole hillside was studded with the pillars, but that with the sun so low in the sky, only a few at a time caught any light. Perhaps earlier, with the sun overhead, most of them had been shining. 

Reade took a few more still images, then retreated toward his ship, certain now that he would be staying one more day. 

It is for the safety of these crystal pillars that Mr. Marinou seems to have omitted the catalog number of the system from his account; by his description these alien artifacts would be quite beautiful art objects even without their mysterious provenance. No doubt, after the war, Survey will bring a xenoarchaeological team to the site to fully investigate it, and to search for more samples of the writing on his tablet. 

Unfortunately, Marinou did not include any images of the pillars in his account; evidently he thought this too great a risk. 

Details

Tales from the Service: The Courier’s Profits

2952-06-19 – Tales from the Service: The Courier’s Profits 

This account was presented to me a few months ago, but for what will, I think, become obvious reasons, we were told by both the submitter and Naval Intelligence to sit on it for a while to ensure that we were not releasing sensitive information. 

Our submitter here is none other than the outgoing director of the Alien Sapience Welfare Authority for the entire region, who has served in that capacity for about three years. This account will span at least three of our weekly episodes, and I would expect it represents the most interesting thing to happen during his tenure. 

In this first section, we see why one should never try to strong-arm a government agency. It never ends well, no matter how innocuous the agency. 

The spacer woman across Ris Bleier’s desk glared at him as he read the data slate she had just passed him. She clearly wanted to be done with the errand that had brought her as quickly as possible, but he did his best to focus on the text and not to take offense; spacers were always itching to get back out into the black, whoever and whatever else they were supposed to be doing.  

Fortunately, the first few sentences grabbed Ris’s interest, and he soon stopped glancing up at the slate’s courier. If what he was seeing was true, that would explain why someone had paid this woman to hand-deliver a data slate directly to a director of the Alien Sapience Welfare Authority, when it would have been free to send the same data over the HyperCast network. “Can you verify any of this?” He asked, tapping the screen. 

“Some guy paid me to put this in your hands, I don’t even know his name.” The woman crossed her arms. “I’ll be honest, Director Bleier, I haven’t read anything more than the first couple words, and that told me not to go any farther. Reachers never do us any harm, but if we start skulking around their dead, they just might.” 

Ris set the slate down and met her gaze evenly, wondering whether to believe this assertion. A particularly foolhardy spacer could make a lot of money with the information she’d been carrying. As she had pointed out, that spacer could also potentially kick off a whole new era of conflict in the process. “I think I know who gave you this.” He drummed his fingers on the slate. “How much did he promise I would pay you?” 

The woman grinned and stuck out her chin. “Thirty thousand. And we both know it’s worth a lot more than that.” 

“It’s worth a lot more than that as long as it stays quiet.” Ris shrugged. “And a lot less if half the spacers in Sagittarius know about it. How do I know you won’t be selling copies of this information to every rogue and adventurer on The Sprawl?” 

The woman arched one eyebrow. “I do delivery, not exclusivity. But it’s only good business to give your people a head start, eh?” 

Ris narrowed his eyes and smiled. “Indeed it is. I am prepared to pay your thirty thousand for, say, one week of exclusivity. Half up front, half at the end of the week.” 

“Fair trade.” The spacer shrugged. “I'll take my fifteen thousand in small chits, please. Got some shopping to do, if you know what I mean.” 

“There is a process.” Ris held up his hands. “Allow me to fill out the correct forms so you can collect from my treasurer.” He pushed the slate to one side, woke up the holo-display in his desk, and began calling up forms. Most of them were numbered lists of fields with cryptic names, so he didn’t even bother to hide the fact that the first few forms he filled out had nothing to do with a payment release. Only the last one did, and he made a show of typing “pay in hard currency” into the notes field. 

For her part, the spacer quickly lost interest in the paperwork, barely glancing up when he turned the final form around in the hologram for her inspection. She grunted at the note authorizing the payment in chits, then stood. “Good doing business with you, Director Bleier.” 

Ris stood in turn, smiling again. “Maybe we’ll do business again soon.” He arched one eyebrow. “The treasurer’s office is to the left, down a few doors. He should have you paid in a few minutes.” 

The spacer smiled, anticipating the sudden influx of credits, then hurried out of the office. Ris waited for the door to close, then commed the port controller’s office. It was time to requisition a ship to go investigate the report on the slate. One of the nice things about Ris’s position was that, in times of great need, he had the power to commandeer civilian ships to accomplish his errands; he had the perfect ship in mind for the task, and its commander would be momentarily too busy to do anything about it. 

Details

Tales from the Service: The Courier’s Vessel

2952-06-26 – Tales from the Service: The Courier’s Vessel 

As we indicated last week, this story is one of the many examples of a private citizen trying and failing to outwit a government agency. Unfortunately, the reverse is usually the outcome of such attempts, save for in situations where the attempter has extensive knowledge of the workings of that department. 

Though most people associate the Alien Sapience Welfare Authority with managing the resident xenos aboard human habitats, this bureau actually has purview over a number of human-xeno interactions, and is theoretically tasked also with ensuring that xeno-crewed vessels respect and are respected by the Law of the Spacelanes. Though this responsibility is rarely employed, they seem to relish the opportunity when it arises. 

Director Ris Bleier and his compatriots were just finishing up the port controller paperwork for a private starship requisition when a commotion in the hall made most of the people in the briefing-room look up. Ris, knowing what the noise was all about, merely raised a hand and waved. “Let her in.” 

A moment later, the door opened, and a short, wiry woman stormed in, with two of the controller’s security men following close behind. The holster at her hip hung empty; she would have had to surrender her weapons to enter the port authority annex. “I demand you release my ship this instant. This is an illegal-” 

“Captain Bermudez, if you would care to learn just one thing about government bureaus...” Ris stood and extended his hands to either side to indicate Controller Vasilou and the dozen-odd other government officials in the room, smiling broadly. “It’s that we are very careful not to do anything illegal. You will find I am on very firm ground.” 

“Stealing my ship is legal now? What is this, the damned Hegemony?” Elenor Bermudez, who had gone to great lengths to avoid introducing herself on their last meeting, was trembling with rage. 

“We are not confiscating your ship.” Ris shrugged. “We are merely requisitioning it to handle urgent business that I was only just made aware of. I do apologize for the inconvenience, but my department will compensate you for your lost time and revenues.” 

“Please, Miss.” Controller Vasilou stepped between Ris and the spacer. “The possibility of such a situation is no secret at this or any port in a conflict zone. You were informed as soon as the request was formalized.” 

Bermudez glanced between Ris and the Port Controller. “I won’t hand over the codes. Toss me in the brig, and we’ll sort this out in front of the magistrates tomorrow.” 

Ris smiled again. “You will find that our judicial apparatus here on The Sprawl is quite backlogged. It may be a week or more before a Magistrate can look over our paperwork, and by that time I will have gotten clearance to overwrite your ship’s computer core and proceed.” 

“A... A week.” Bermudez’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what this is about? Insurance?” 

“If you wish to look at it that way, I cannot stop you.” Ris picked up the slate he’d been working on and tapped his way through the next few items on the form. "I am unfortunately legally required to ask you if you would like to accompany the vessel on this errand." He raised one eyebrow. 

“What?” Bermudez took a half step back. “Damn, if that’s an option, yes I’m going. No way I’m letting you government boys plunder my cabin.” 

“What do you take me for, one of those brigands from the Revenue Agency?” Ris tapped the Alien Sapience Welfare Authority badge on his chest. “ASWA has no need of or interest in your belongings.” He tapped the slate again with a flourish. “Mr. Vasilou, I am finished here. Do you have any more forms for me?” 

“Only departure clearance forms.” Vasilou stepped back. “You can complete those once you’re aboard.” He waved to his men flanking Bermudez. “Take her to her ship and put her aboard.” 

The two guards strode forward, and one put his hand on Bermudez’s shoulder. She shrugged off his touch like an insult, and turned on her heel. “This isn’t over, Bleier.” 

Ris watched her go in silence. When the door closed behind her, several people quietly returned to temporarily forgotten tasks. 

“I suppose you won’t be telling me what this is all about, Director?” Vasilou sighed. 

“When I get back, I’ll send you a copy of my report.” Ris dropped his shoulders. “I only hope it will be a brief read.” 

Details

Tales from the Service: The Courier’s Departure

2952-06-26 – Tales from the Service: The Courier’s Departure

Departure clearance, unsurprisingly, took only moments to acquire once Ris Bleier and his hand-picked team were aboard ship. He disliked Howard Helios Hughes from the moment he stepped aboard, but the ship was, unfortunately, ideal for his purpose – fast, anonymous, and unlikely to be associated with a government bureau in any Confederated port on the Sagittarius Frontier. The fact that commandeering it also kept its skipper from selling any secrets a second time was of course critical as well. 

Captain Bermudez, of course, took Ris’s obvious distaste as a personal victory. The more he scowled at the dented paneling, the scuffed, stained deck plating, and the signs of shoddy repair work evident in almost every compartment, the more smug she became. She offered no tour, so Rahat Kuriega, an engineer Ris had picked up from his own cutter’s maintenance crew, led Ris and the other two ASWA men around the vessel with the help of its decade-old registration schematics. This proved mercifully short – on one end was the cockpit, with two chairs facing an arc of outdated control interfaces, and on the other was a closet-sized engine-room. Between these, filling a flattened tube, one could find three cabins, a decrepit lounge, a food-fab, and a filthy sanitary compartment, all accessed from a single fifteen-meter strip of corridor. The small cargo compartments, though capable of being pressurized, were not attached to the pressurized crew space. 

Brianne Giffard, a pilot normally in charge of the ASWA courtesy shuttles, was at the controls when Hughes took off. Ris, standing behind her, did his best to ignore the presence of Captain Bermudez in the copilot’s chair, arms crossed over her chest. Clearing the mad tangle of docks and cranes that was the outer works of The Sprawl proved no trouble for Giffard, and soon, their course was laid in, and the ship was on automatic guidance. 

As soon as the pilot’s hands fell from the controls, Bermudez cleared her throat. “Thanks for not smashing my ship.” She stood and stretched her arms. “I’ll be in my cabin.” 

Ris met Giffard’s eyes as the skipper of the commandeered vessel flounced out of the cockpit. He knew what the pilot was thinking – they could have just as easily gone after this rumor of a crippled or derelict Reacher ship in his cutter, or in one of the less obtrusive courtesy shuttles. Why the trouble of using this unkempt ship and its unwilling owner? 

Ris was, however, not in the business of explaining his decisions to his subordinates. He merely shrugged and left to see to his own berth. Of the two cabins not claimed by Bermudez, he had elected for the smaller one, leaving the larger to his trio of subordinates. How two men and one woman elected to divide that space was, of course, not his business; he had no intention of ever entering their cabin. 

Ris’s cabin, barely large enough for his bags to fit between the bunk and opposite wall, proved as uninspiring as when he’d first seen it. The dingy metal walls lacked even a viewpanel to break up their monotony. A chronometer glowed from the center of a corner desk no more than half a meter across, providing the only illumination until Kuriega came by to replace the overhead light-panels. 

Ris, however, refused to let these drab conditions bring down his mood. All he really needed was a place to sleep, and some solitude to catch up on a backlog of low-priority Welfare Officer reports from the outlying stations; this cabin would serve well enough for a few days. 

Before he opened any of his bags, though, Ris stripped the bunk down to its rectangular polyfoam block mattress, rolled everything up, and kicked it into the corridor. He would not be trusting Bermudez’s laundry under any circumstances. One of the bags contained a set of smart-fabric bedclothes that would fit to any size of bunk, and he soon had these laid out and constricting themselves around the mattress. 

A knock on the door-frame drew Ris’s attention, and when he turned he saw Art Lund, one of his department’s most experienced linguists, standing over the pile of cloth. “I’m pretty sure you’d have more space in the big cabin if you swapped with Giffard, Director.” 

“This is acceptable.” Ris shrugged. “This expedition is not a vacation.” 

“Oh, aye.” Lund arched one eyebrow. “Which is why I’m wondering what makes a regional bureau director take up field work. You could have sent someone else.” 

Ris smiled. Sometimes, to someone with so long a service record as Lund, he might reveal his purposes, but this was not the time. “I could have, Art. But I did not.” 

“Fair enough.” Lund held up his hands. “I guess the promise of Reachers cuts to even the coldest bureaucratic heart, eh?” He turned to leave. “Want me to take care of this trip hazard?” 

“I would appreciate it.” Ris gestured to the bundle. “Find somewhere to store them. Perhaps on the other side of the airlock, just to be safe.” 

The fact that a bureau chief like Bleier would personally see to such an errand perhaps should have tipped off his subordinates that what they were doing had a real chance of being very, very important, but it seems that none of the four people who accompanied him on this voyage had any inkling this might be the case. This, despite all of them knowing, in general, what they were looking for – a wrecked or possibly very badly damaged Racher ship, as opposed to an empty shell like the ones we have described encounters with on previous occasions. 

The importance of locating such a tragic scene, in Sagittarius no less, seems to have been lost upon most of the people attempting it, at least until they had it in front of their eyes. 

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