Unseen Friends, Unseen Foes

by Alcuin Fromm

Table of Contents parts 1, 2,

part 1

The translucent elevator soared up the exterior of the towering Ministry of Intelligence, and Lemm’s heart soared with it. Below his feet, the tops of countless skyscrapers of the Imperial capital fell away, while above him, the dizzying pinnacles of yet taller buildings seemed to twist and bend by the rapidly changing perspective. Lemm closed his eyes and savored the moment. He ran a finger over the pristine golden bar on the right shoulder of his uniform.

“Ensign?” asked the other man in the elevator.

Lemm looked around as if the man might have addressed someone else. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re an ensign, are you not?”

“Oh, yes, I am,” said Lemm with a sheepish smile, “Graduated the Academy just a few weeks ago. I haven’t gotten used to my new rank yet.”

The man smiled as the elevator began slowing. “You will. Thank you for your service, ensign.”

Lemm pursed his lips and nodded, keeping his eyes lowered. “Well, I haven’t served yet, sir,” he said. “But I launch in three days on the I.S.S. Intrepid. It’s her first voyage.” He looked up at the man, unable to withhold a smile. “And mine.”

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Lemm stepped to one side and allowed the man to exit.

“Just remember,” said the man, “sometimes duty will demand you go places you don’t want to go. Be ready when the time comes.” He nodded and left, leaving Lemm alone.

The elevator renewed its ascent and, a minute later, came to rest with head-swimming deceleration at Floor 312. The doors hissed open. Lemm stepped onto a long hall, his bright shoes clacking on the synthetic marble. A single door loomed at the end of the passageway, flanked by two heavily armed Imperial guards, one of whom produced a small scanning device as Lemm approached. “Your chip, please,” said the guard.

Lemm shook his head, unbuttoned his uniform coat, and reached into an inside pocket.

“Moral exemption,” he said. “We still exist. Can you believe that?”

The guard said nothing as Lemm produced a datapad. Lemm tapped the screen a few times and brought up his personal identification codes, which the guard scanned. The device chirped its approval. The door slid open and Lemm entered the office of his father, Yellevar Meetrich, Minister of Intelligence.

A glass dome covered the immense room. The bright light of the Jennokian sun reflected off the building tops, creating shining islands on a sea of clouds. In the room’s center, a bearded man wearing a crisp uniform sat at a desk cluttered with datapads, comm devices, and portable computer terminals.

Lemm marched up to the man so engrossed in his reading he had not noticed his son’s entrance. Lemm cleared his throat. “Good evening, father. You summoned me?”

Startled, Yellevar looked up, smiled, then frowned upon reconsideration. Lemm did not feel encouraged. “Evening, Lemm, sit down,” he said softly. “Please, sit.”

Lemm obeyed. Yellevar continued to stab at his datapad. Lemm waited, his patience gradually melting into uncertainty.

“Sorry, Lemm, just a moment,” said Yellevar, scratching his beard. “I’m all backed up on my work.” He skimmed a status update from the planet Ireth. “Any graduation parties this week?” he asked absently. “Pre-launch parties?”

Lemm smirked. “One has to have friends before one can be invited to parties. I’m somewhat deficient on that first point.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Yellevar, not looking up. “Too busy with studies and your interests to make friends, eh?”

“Like father, like son.”

It was Yellevar’s turn to smirk. “You and I are somewhat unsocial, it’s true.”

“Unsocial, and plagued by a profound difficulty to tell each other bad news.”

A silence followed. Yellevar set down his datapad as his face reddened beneath his beard. He looked away from the device and stared at his son with troubled eyes. “I need to ask you a favor, Lemm” he said finally.

Lemm suppressed a heavy sigh, frowning instead. Yellevar stood, folded his arms, and began pacing the spacious office.

“I’ve lost contact with one of my agents,” he said. “One of my best agents. He’s been stationed on the planet Olmenin for the past two Imperial Standard years, but has not made a report in over an I.S. month.”

Yellevar stopped at the edge of the glass dome gazing up at a nearby building. “Not even the most incompetent agent simply loses contact with the Ministry,” said Yellevar. “And certainly not an experienced professional whom I know personally. Something is wrong on Olmenin.”

Lemm furrowed his brow and ran the name through his memory. “It’s a newly joined Imperial system, is it not?”

“Yes,” said Yellevar as he turned around. His voice became more insistent. “And we need to keep it. We desperately need to keep our position strong on Olmenin. The Engineering Corps is building a tactical Relay Station there that will make it impossible for Revolutionary ships to pass within a hundred parsecs undetected. And Lemm...”

Yellevar strode back to his desk and sat down. He leaned forward and lowered his voice, as if the audio-shielded room might be somehow bugged. “Lemm, we’re losing the war. Our forces are stretched so thin throughout the galaxy that a major campaign could break through anywhere. The Olmenin System is a pressure point ready to burst open. And what’s worse” — he swallowed — “I’ve even heard reports that Uln Xor might be active in the system.”

Lemm clenched his jaw when he heard the name of the Revolutionary leader who had caused the death of hundreds of thousands of Imperial citizens through uprisings and guerrilla strikes on over a half-dozen systems. The two men stared at each other in silence for a moment.

“And what does all this have to do with me, father?” said Lemm slowly.

Yellevar paused, then said, “If our military is stretched thin, then my spy network is stretched even thinner. I need your help, son.”

“Well of course, father,” said Lemm, a sense of dread welling up in him. “That’s precisely why I joined the Imperial Navy. To help you and the Empire against the Revolution. That’s why I’m shipping out in three days. Right?”

Yellevar’s face contorted with anguish. “I know son,” he said quietly. “And I couldn’t be prouder...”

“But?”

“But this situation is absolutely critical. Holding our defensive position at Olmenin could save the entire Empire. Losing it could lead to total defeat.”

“But what am I supposed to do? I’m no secret agent, father. No spy. You know that.”

Yellevar nodded.

“I’m a tech man,” continued Lemm heatedly. “A programmer. I deal with computers, not with people.”

Yellevar stopped nodding and gave his son a sad smile. “But you have one thing of which I am in dire short supply.”

“What’s that?”

Yellevar’s smile vanished and just the sadness remained. “Trust. I can only employ people I trust, and there’s no one I can trust with this mission...”

“Except me.”

“Except you.”

Lemm let out the heavy sigh he had been holding back.

“Won’t I be recognized? I’m the son of the Minister of Intelligence and a graduate of the Imperial Naval Academy. A two-second search will bring up my whole life.”

“You won’t go undercover, of course. You will be sent as Lemm Meetrich, Naval graduate, Junior Ambassador of the Imperial Diplomatic Corps and an assistant to the Imperial Ambassador Ziisch who is currently off-planet, but should be returning to Olmenin soon.”

“And then?”

“Find out what happened to my agent. And find out what’s happening on Olmenin.”

Lemm stared out the dome for a long time. A massive starship glided majestically upwards out of the clouds. Lemm watched it accelerate out of sight. He unthinkingly touched his ensign’s insignia again, this time pricking himself on its point. He winced and looked at a dot of blood on his fingertip.

In a flash, he remembered himself as a young boy, his arm ripped and bloodied by a fangrat attack while he had been out playing with his siblings. Yellevar had come sprinting at the sound of his screaming children. Before Lemm had even realized the severity of his wounds, his father had snapped the neck of the beast and was carrying his son back to the house. Their roles had been suddenly reversed. Lemm was no longer a boy who could only receive, but a man who could also give. A new resolve took form in his chest.

“When do I leave?”

Yellevar’s sad smile returned.

* * *

Lemm hunched over the back of the captain’s seat, staring at the dazzling blue, green, and white globe through the cockpit window. The unfinished Relay Station orbited high above Olmenin’s surface. Construction ships swarmed around it like bees around a hive.

The captain hailed Olmenin Flight Control for the fifth time, and, for the fifth time, he and Lemm listened to the same response: “Stand by. Landing coordinates incoming.”

The Captain shook his head in frustration. “Damnedest thing,” he said. “Never had this happen before.”

Lemm frowned and waited. He had made good use of the flight by pouring over background material about the missing agent, researching the historical and political situation on Olmenin, as well as putting the final touches on a new AI program he had been tweaking for a long time.

Lemm drummed the captain’s chair with his fingers. “Maybe they—”

The comm channel crackled and a computer voice broke in. “Imperial vessel IDC 7501-A, please proceed to Landing Platform H1-Q3-R437-ARF45-8-19.”

“Finally,” said the exasperated captain. “Strap in please, sir. We’ll be on the ground in a few minutes.”

Lemm nodded and left the cockpit, his sense of foreboding increased.

* * *

Stepping off the ship’s gangway and onto the landing platform, Lemm took a deep breath of fresh air for the first time in days. Olmenin’s gravity was 1.15 of Jennok’s and Lemm could immediately feel the extra pull. He consoled himself that, if nothing else, his time on Olmenin would prove to be good exercise.

The octagonal landing platform stretched away from the Olmenin Central Spaceport on a horizontal pylon. A narrow causeway ran the length of the pylon and connected the platform to the main tower. Far below, a strange bird screeched. Lemm looked beyond the edge of the platform and realized how high he was. The Spaceport was an enormously tall column with hundreds of landing platforms branching off the vertical central core like the boughs of a tree. His platform was almost at the apex of the column, high above the tops of the next tallest buildings.

A rotund man with a dour expression rushed down the causeway and waddled his way towards Lemm. The man’s frown disappeared and changed to a glowing smile by the time he got close enough to speak. “Greetings, Ambassador,” he said in a boisterous, breathless tone, reaching out his hand. “I am the Imperial Secretary of the Interior Beranon Tinnoli. Welcome to Olmenin!”

The Secretary grasped Lemm’s hand and shook it vigorously. Then he yanked Lemm towards himself, spun to one side, and put a chubby hand on Lemm’s back, ushering him with surprising force towards the causeway. Tinnoli leaned in close to Lemm’s ear.

“We must talk,” he said in a panicked whisper. “You must come to the Imperial Embassy tonight. Do you understand? It is a matter of life and death!”

Tinnoli released Lemm and switched back to his previous voice.

“I trust you had an agreeable flight? I do apologize heartily for the delay in your landing permission.” He gave a hearty chuckle. “If there is one thing you can be sure of, it’s that bureaucratic difficulties are always—”

The Spaceport door opened and a gaunt figure, followed by a stoic-faced escort, strode across the causeway towards the two men. “What is the meaning of this?” yelled the man still a good distance away. “Why has the Junior Ambassador’s ship been diverted to this platform? I had to cross half the Spaceport to get up here.”

Tinnoli frowned and shrugged. “I have no idea, Consul Anróyif. I was just telling our guest about the—”

“I am most displeased,” said the Consul. “Tinnoli, what the blazes are you even doing here?”

“Consul, it was an unbelievable coincidence, but I happened to be passing through the Spaceport when I noticed an Imperial vessel descending. Amazing!”

The man eyed Tinnoli suspiciously before turning to Lemm. “Junior Ambassador,” he said, emphasizing the first word, “I must say I am most perplexed and not at all pleased by your arrival on Olmenin. The Diplomatic Corps has simply foisted you upon us. I have no time to babysit the wayward sons of politicians who can’t be bothered to raise their own children.”

Lemm turned bright red and clenched his jaw. “I can assure you, Consul Anróyif,” said Lemm in a calm voice, “my presence here will not inconvenience the Imperial Consulate at all. On the contrary, my assignment is to assist the Ambassador in any way I can, while gaining valuable experience for my future career.”

The Consul gave Lemm the same suspicious eyeing he had given Tinnoli. “We’ll see about that. The Ambassador is travelling with the Regional Governor as we speak. You’ll be the Ambassador’s problem when he gets back. Until then, I’m swamped with the preparations for the Governor’s visit. I have no time for this nonsense. You couldn’t even land on the correct platform. That’s no good sign, young man. You will report to the Ambassador’s office at once. All your expenditures must be paid for by the Diplomatic Corps. Is that understood?”

He cursed, not waiting for Lemm to answer. “If it were up to me, I would have told the capital to leave you back there where you belong. I am most displeased.”

Consul Anróyif turned to leave but stopped as he noticed an Imperial guard had stationed himself at the door to the Spaceport. The guard stepped forward and made a curt bow.

“Who in Creation are you?” said Anróyif.

“Security detail for the Junior Ambassador, Consul,” said the guard.

“On whose authority?”

“The Diplomatic Corps, Consul.”

Anróyif rolled his eyes in disgust. “Of course. I don’t have time for this nonsense.” He scowled and marched past the guard to the door, his escort a step behind, then called back over his shoulder, “And make damned sure your expenses are paid by the Corps. Especially this security detail.”

The stocky Secretary of the Interior smiled and nodded to Lemm.

“Our illustrious Consul,” said Tinnoli. “He’s an excellent administrator, underneath the gruff exterior. I won’t say he has a heart of gold, but he knows his duty and usually does it.”

“That’s already something,” said Lemm.

The guard walked up to the two men. “Ambassador, I am your security detail, Captain Quonn Fengrick. I shall escort you to your lodging in the Consulate. Will you please follow me?”

“Yes, captain,” said Lemm. “Thank you.”

Tinnoli touched Lemm’s arm and looked him gravely in the eyes.

“I shall see you soon, Ambassador.”

Then he turned and strode down the causeway, leaving Lemm in the care of Captain Fengrick.

* * *

Though not partial to luxury, Lemm could not fail to notice that his tiny cabin in one of the Consulate’s auxiliary buildings had never been intended for an Ambassador, even of Junior rank. He suspected that Anróyif, despite his apparent lack of time, had personally selected the lodging for its austerity. The paneling on the rear wall had been removed or never installed, exposing conduits, pipes, and electrical cabling. Cheap-looking New Art holos covered the other three walls. The cabin did not even have a full bathroom, but only a wall-mounted hygiene station located just underneath a vague smear of three-dimensional mauve.

Lemm changed and made a quick visit to the hygiene station before stepping out of the cabin. He found the captain still outside his door. The man saluted and followed Lemm down the hall.

Outside the building, hovers and speeders raced in all directions on seven different altitude levels. Lemm pulled out his datapad and began searching for hovercab services, but the captain interrupted.

“Since I am responsible for your safety,” he said, “I must also be responsible for your travel arrangements.”

“I see.”

Fengrick led Lemm to an underground parking garage where a silver four-seater gleamed under the artificial lights. The captain opened the rear door for Lemm, then took the driver’s seat.

“Where would you like to go, Ambassador?” said the captain as he raised the hover off the pavement with a low hum and glided along the serpentine tunnels back to the ground level.

“The Imperial Embassy.”

“Yes, sir.”

They emerged from the garage and Fengrick whipped the hover into the rapid flow of traffic.

* * *

To be continued...

Copyright © 2024 by Alcuin Fromm

Proceed to Challenge 1050...

A sequel, Trust Me, begins in issue 1018.