Betaen 6. Part Four. More confusion. More answers. A Kiura. 22 more episodes.
Betaen 6. Part Four 0
Betaen 6.4 0
“The She Chronicles” being read by Comle Kiera. Apartment of the Comle. 2799
„Are you OK?“ he’d said.
I nodded, trying not to cry.
„I am just thinking about that photo of my father on the jump“ it wasn‘t even a complete lie. I was. I couldn‘t stop thinking about it. Not now. Not when it was the reason I was doing this to him.
He nodded. Didn’t say anything. Drank the last drops from his glass. Sometimes he could be really understanding. I think that is why I fell in love with him. I shouldn‘t have. I should have left it at the first casual sex. Left it when I noticed the empty bottles and the haze covering those normally so expressive eyes. But instead, I told him he had to sober up or I wouldn’t be there anymore. And he did. If I was honest with myself, and that night I could be brutally honest, I didn’t want to leave him then. He gave me something no one else ever had. Maybe I was searching for the father I had lost, I don’t know. But whatever it was he gave it to me. No one else could. I didn’t want him to leave then, and I didn’t want him to go through that door now. As I watched his Adams apple bob as he drank, I felt my life leave me and I knew I was dead. I would never be who I was again. No matter what happened later. If the plan the Inspector had worked or not. I wouldn’t be this me ever again. I already missed her.
Betaen 6. Part Four. 1
Betaen 6.4 1
Excerpt from the “He Chronicles” Written 2468.
I had been out of prison three days when I saw her. At first, I thought it was like it had been in prison. I’d see her and the other her and all of them would mix up in my brain in a frothing soup. I would think of the cold marble of that floor and moss on beeches and wind in my hair and lights and blood and then I would scream and afterwards I would sleep. They said I am normal now. They can let me out. According to the papers I read the day I got out it's been 7- and one-half earth years. Not counting the time for the interrogations and the trial. With all that it's been eight years, three months, two days and a few hours. You see - I can’t keep them straight in my mind anymore, the two of them flow into one, but I know when I lost her. To the minute when that light blotted out everything and blotted out her. When I awoke on that cold floor. When I saw the blood and knew what had happened.
They never found her body. As long as my wife and the cop were one I didn’t understand much. Just marble, moss, light, blood. Prison has its advantages when you are mad. I had a good psychiatrist though, for the longest time I thought she was my daughter but I don’t think I ever had a daughter. A competent woman who helped me and now I am out.
But then I saw her. Eight years three months two days and seven hours after the last time I saw her - when I said to her, I’d be right back but I just had to get a good photo of the moon rising over the mountains outside the city. The lights of the mines and the trucks and the moon, they had fascinated me since the first time I had seen them.
But I couldn’t be sure it was really her and not one of those damn creations of my mind. So, I ignored it. I told myself I was creating the things I wanted to create, hell, in prison I created not just a daughter but an entire fucking family. I was walking through our past; I think I just created her to be there with me. Until two days later when I saw her again. About a block behind me, not trying to hide but still obviously doing her cop thing.
I walked back towards her, unsure of what was going to happen. Unsure if it was real. I had seen her so many times in prison. And I know she wasn’t there.
She didn’t walk away. She just leaned against the bricks of a store front that had been redone in earth retro. Watched me as I walked to her. The last steps were possibly the most difficult I have taken in my life.
„You’re looking good“ she said
„Are you real?“ I asked.
She took the crumpled picture of her father out of her pocket.
„Who else would have this?“ she said „And yes I’m real“
I just looked at her. I couldn’t speak, think, and I am pretty sure I didn’t breathe.
„It’s time you came with me“ she said „It‘s been too long and I couldn’t wait anymore“
Betaen 6. Part Four. 2
Betaen 6.4 2
Earth. Stuttgart-Paris tube. Km 389 3205
Who was that man? Kiera thought. NO. No. NOOO! I am Malaica. Malaica. Her breathing calmed again and the fragments swirled around her. It was the man who had met the Princess. The one who had walked away from her as she washed dishes. Why did she keep seeing these people? Who were they? What did they have to do with the murder? She had to calm herself. She could not let these mad visions break the bin ventra.
Parsons paper. She had to concentrate upon the Parsons paper. Why was she seeing other lives as she tried to concentrate on the future? She was seeing the distant past but she was concentrating on the near future. Something was drastically wrong. Something was happening to her that she did not understand. She had even began to think she was someone else. Never had something like this happened to her in the bin ventra. Visions and thoughts yes. But these clear memories of people she did not know. Never. Parsons paper. Kitten Wool. Change. Can not be changed. She saw the words clearly. Cannot be changed. What could not be changed? She felt time take her again and though she now fought against the wave she was too caught to free herself.
Earth 1835 Chateau in Southern Germany
The servants had all taken ill. It had began with Sammy, the negro bartender, usually always jovial and laughing. Suddenly he had been taken with stomach cramps and they had put him in the wagon and driven him to the doctor. He bled him and they brought him back. When they had returned all the servants were feeling ill. He was certain he knew what it was and as he carried Sammy into his room on the upper level he questioned him.
“Have you been smoking that fouled weed again with the other servants?” He asked.
He could feel Sammy’s heart leap and he knew, regardless what he said, what had happened.
Sammy nodded, after the bleeding he was too weak to speak.
The general laid him in his bed. His back pained him from carrying Sammy the four flights of stairs to the servants quarters but he had always been a jovial companion and a good servant. It was the least he could do for him, seeing as how so many of his brethren were mistreated and beaten daily.
That he could say for himself. Never had a person in his employ been in servitude or slavery. They were always free men and women, free to go when they had a better position or wage, free to join in union with whom they chose without his imprimatur.
“Will I be released Sir?” Sammy whispered from his bed. He was so pale he almost white.
“No Sammy” he said “But in the future, ferment the leaves less.”
He turned on his heel and walked down the stairs. He could not let Sammy see the laughter in his eyes. Strangely his leg had not bothered him and he had not needed his stick. Just as he had not needed it to carry the Princess into her chambers the evening before.
Earth. Stuttgart-Paris tube. Km 400.
She had been that man again. The old General. Old in his own eyes; but she had been him, he couldn’t be more than 40. Maybe that was old in whatever time that had been but not now. What did he have to do with the Parsons paper? What did he have to do with the murder? She was certain he was a clue. He had something to do it with it although he had lived so long ago. Something central and important. It was but a brief moment but she held to it. She knew it was important and she would need to remember it. The limp. His leg. Why did she think of that? Then she was in the waves again.
Betaen 6. Part Four. 3
Betaen 6.4 3
Earth. Zeit laboratory. 2020
It had all been a lie. His father had not been killed on the ski slopes but right here – in that chair that Samuel would soon strap himself into. If he had performed the last calculations correctly – his father hadn’t – he would soon be the first time traveller the world had known. He would be famous. More importantly he would know what had happened on the Lady Grey. Who had murdered who and perhaps even find out why. He trembled as he sat and he felt the cold sweat between his buttocks. It was fear. He didn’t want to die just yet. He wanted to solve that mystery, the scandal that still hung over his family so many generations later. A scandal that made little sense – his great great great great grandfather had been a man of honor, so much so that dreams about the Princess upset him. How could he have murdered her and the Austrian Captain? Disappeared without a trace? None of the three were ever seen again, just the blood and the innuendo.
He leapt out of the chair and strode quickly to the command console. He had to check the last calculations again. Just to be certain. He spent an hour going over them all again. He could find no flaws. If the theory his father had was correct then it had to work. He would soon be sitting at that card table. Soon he would know. The desire to know overcame his fear, and although he was now dripping cold sweat onto the keyboard he pulled himself away and slowly walked to the chair. He sat and then tightened the straps around his legs and chest, used his teeth to tighten his right arm to the armrest. His left was still free. He still had to type in the final command. He swiveled the keyboard in front of him and breathed deeply.
“Goodbye Mom” he said as he pushed the enter key.
Betaen 6. Part Four 4
Betaen 6.4 4
Earth. Home of Samuel Zeit 2001, Chateau in Southern Germany 1835
Samuel turned the page.
“Man is this boring. He’s off about one of his horses again!” He looked up at his mother “is he ever going to fuck her??”
Margaret shook her head. At the moment that was all he had in his head. Sex. She assumed it was normal for a boy that age - David had never stopped thinking about it.
She studied her son in the afternoon light. Somehow she had the feeling that since he had been reading these notes that he was less sickly, more manly - as if parts of his great great great grandfather were beginning to show in him.
He waited on the second step of the broad flagstones steps to the house. There were four steps. There had been 8, narrow, steep steps that pained his back. Madame had noticed and had them changed for him. That he should think of her now - now as he waited for A. His heart leapt as he heard the clatter of the hooves of her carriage as it rounded the corner into the carriage way. How could he be so cruel? How could he be so deceptive? He had always been a man of honor. He had never been cruel to his subordinates - sometimes harsh, but never cruel. Not like many of his fellow officers - men who enjoyed their position and their rank and let it be felt by everyone. His highest compliment had been from a young French corporal who was now an Emperor - you sir are the first officer I have met who cares about his men. I will remember that. Yes. The Emperor himself had said those words to him. Now he was certain he knew nought who he was. That did not matter. It was his betrayal that mattered. A betrayal he could not fathom, could not control, could not stop. For he did not want it to stop.
The carriage was at the foot of the steps and the footman had already opened the door. He hurried down the flagstones, grimacing as the pain in his knee and back bit at him. That pain was his conscience of that he was certain. There the quack surgeon had been correct. His mind did give him pain when it felt he was in betrayal. But the rush of warmth to his heart, to his very bones, when he saw her masked the pain more than the opium ever could.
He motioned the footman away and offered her his hand. She took it and stepped lightly from the coach, then fell against him. Instinctively he embraced her so she did not fall. She took the second to put her soft moist lips to his ear and whisper
“Have you forgotten me sir?” Her voice was husky “Did you receive my mail?”
He knew what she was asking. The portrait. Its crumbled burned hulk laid among the ashes of the fire in the cigar room. But the photograph of her, laughing slightly, her large eyes turned towards the photographer - it burned his soul.
“Yes” he whispered “It was a remarkable letter for so young a woman”
She smiled and stood, releasing the arm she had put around his waist. He could still fell the heat, still feel the moisture of her breath on his ear. Still feel the pang in his soul.
“You smell like smoke” she wrinkled her nose “In the city all the men smelt of smoke. Everywhere, on the street, in the parlours, even in the restaurants. There was no escaping it!” She had left her hand lying lightly on his arm. Gallantly, trembling inwardly, his manhood still gorged form the embrace, he escorted her up the steps.
“I am sorry my dear” he said “While we waited I enjoyed a cigar in the cigar room” he looked at her, taking in the soft beauty of her face, the waterfall flow of her hair that had fallen from its knot “If you do not like it I will refrain in future”
She tightened the pressure on his arm. “For me you would give up your fine cigars?”
His thoughts raced. For her he would give up everything, but he could not tell her that. The dishonor would be too great.
Madame met them at the doors.
“My darling A!” She embraced her tightly “How was the city?”
Betaen 6. Part Four. 5
Betaen 6.4 5
Earth. Stuttgart- Paris tube. Km 503 3205.
The pen. Suddenly Malaica thought of the pen. She knew that pen. She tried to keep the kaliesoscope away, concentrating. The inspector. Yes. Now she was on the right track. The inspector. Pers Larsen ship. The investigation. The notebooks. The pen.
Betaen 6 orbit. Senate Spaceliner. Inspectors Suite. 2465
He waited the hour and a half and then added another half an hour. Then he flipped the anti-snoopers back on. They were all green. He smoked another cigarette and read another 10 pages in his novel. They were still green. Only then did he take the notebook out of his folio and read what was now the new third page. He balanced the tablet on his knee and opened it to the first page of the green notebook from her friend:
“She gifted me this today. A notebook. Leather bound. Beautiful. The touch of the paper. The smell. She says it is for me to write my poems, my thoughts, perhaps draw. That I can't draw is one of the many flaws of mine she overlooks. She also gifted me a fountain pen. Historic. Ancient. But in perfect condition. With a bottle of ink. It feels so good in the hand. Nothing we make now can compare to it. It’s all so surreal. So twentieth century. I love it.”
He furrowed his brow. Fuck. The tablet fell to the floor as he jumped from the chair. It took him about six strides less than normal to get across the room and to the wall safe where he had put what else he had taken from Pers Larsens desk. He was so nervous he fucked up the combination the first time. Calm down he told himself. He only had two chances and then everything inside would incinerate. He walked back to the chair and picked up his packet of cigarettes. Shook one out and put it between his teeth. Lit it. Stood there and didn’t move while he smoked it. Let himself calm down. Stubbed it out a bit before he should have and walked slowly back to the wall safe.
This time it opened. He pulled out the fountain pen he had taken from Pers Larsens desk. Closed the safe. Checked the anti-snoopers. Walked slowly back to the red leather armchair and sank into it. This time it didn’t give him the comfort it usually did. He thought he knew why.
He picked up his tablet from the floor. Flipped it back on and opened the file on the murder of the young cop on Betaen 6. She looked a lot like his assistant. They could have been twin sisters. A younger version of Emira. Flipped through the photographic evidence until he came to the pen.
“Fuck” he said it slowly and deliberately as he felt the cold sweat run down his temples.
He turned the pen in his hands over again and again. They had 360-degree photos of the pen. They had been very thorough at the crime scene. After all, one of their own had been killed. The pen in the photos was silver colored, probably stainless steel if it really was a twentieth century antique - and he didn’t think a woman of Emira’s position would fake a gift - and the barrel or whatever they called it on a fountain pen was fletched like a basket might be. He felt the fletching on the stainless-steel pen in his hand. He magnified the photo and read the words “Spec Design” on the cap. Same words on the pen in his hand. He was sweating more now, and he needed a cigarette, but he stopped the urge. The cap of the pen in the photo had been scratched. If you could read the words, it was to the left of the clip used to hold the pen in a pocket. He put the tablet down on the fake wood stand before he looked closer at the pen in his hand. If they were the same there was no need for his tablet to fall twice.
He held it at first with his thumb over the spot where the scratch would be. Then he moved it. He was being childish. Hiding it wouldn’t make it go away.
It was the same pen.
He checked the anti-snoopers again. Not that they would think anything of him holding a pen, they’d probably seen it a thousand times before. They were green. He put the pen beside his folio and breathed deeply. Slowly removed a cigarette from the package, put it between his lips and lit it. Sat, staring at the anti-snoopers while he smoked two more cigarettes. They never changed color but he did. Some color came back into his face and he could feel his hands again. The pen. It bothered him more than it should. Why? He lit another cigarette but it didn’t help. There was just that feeling of wrongness deep in his mind and he didn’t know why.
Betaen 6. Part Four. 6
Betaen 6.4 6
Earth. Paris -Stuttgart tube. Km 503.2 3205
Malaica had read everything the inspector had ever written. Everything. Even scraps of paper that some scholars were still uncertain he had written. She had never read that. She had been him for a few brief seconds. The inspector himself. Nowhere had he said that the pen he found at the first, faked, murder scene of “she” had been the same fountain pen he found in Pers Larsen desk upon the Star of Beaumont. Never. She knew she would soon hold that same pen in her hand – and that it was that pen the murder victim had written the note on Parsons paper with. Why? Why was she seeing this? Was someone trying to affect her investigation, plant false leads in her timeline? She didn’t have the feeling they could be false. She felt they were truer than what she had learned. That she was finally seeing through a veil that had been held closed for far too long. A veil that needed to be ripped aside. But how could she see these things? She needed, she wanted, to see more. She concentrated on the waves lapping around her and chose …
Betaen 6 orbit. Senate Spaceliner. Inspectors Suite. 2465
Were Pers Larsen and her friend the same person? How could that be? Oh shit, he thought. It was the problem again. What the fuck was going on?
He should read further. That might help. Read the page and compare it. Compare the handwriting. As always the nicotine had helped him think. It also made it much more difficult to see anything in the room. It was covered in blue grey smoke.
He forced himself to pick up his tablet, open it, open the files on the case and get the copies of the pages of his green notebook. He opened it to the page he had already read - the first page. Then he opened the black notebook from Pers Larsen and read the new third page.
Pers Larsen had written, in a handwriting not dissimilar to that in the green notebook:
“She gifted me this today. A notebook. Leather bound. Beautiful. The touch of the paper. The smell. She says it is for me to write my stories and my thoughts.
She also gifted me a fountain pen. Historic. Ancient. But in perfect condition. And ink. It feels so good in the hand, like being reborn. Nothing we make now can compare to it. It’s all so surreal. So twentieth century. I love it.”
The Inspector whistled between his teeth. It was almost word for word the same page. Just minor differences. The handwriting was almost identical to his eye. The “S” was slightly different but not so much that it couldn’t be from the same person. He knew two things though. One was that he had just seen Pers Larsens corpse on the ship still circling the planet 500 meters planet side, and two; that her friend was still incarcerated on Mars. Only the problem could fuck things up like this. What was her friend to the problem? What was She to them? Because if there was one thing he had learned in all his years- there were no coincidences.
He flipped the page in the notebook. In the green notebook from her friend, it had been a poem. Here it was some cryptic notes. Probably navigation comments. They made no sense to him, but it made his heart lighter. Read the next page. It wasn’t a poem either. He hoped against hope that there would be no poems.
This book is too special for the mundane and the daily. I could fill its pages with my love for her or what we did together last night but that too would be a waste. Instead, as it is a twentieth century book and a twentieth century writing instrument, I will write some thoughts I have lately been having as if they were based in the twentieth century. This should be intellectually challenging and enjoyable both at the same time.
If the handwriting hadn’t been almost as indecipherable as that of her friend he could have passed it off as being the notebooks from two different people. But deep in his mind, and in his bowels, he knew they weren’t.
He turned the page again. Slowly, as if he were afraid of what he might see, and to be honest with himself, he was. Very afraid.
It was a diary entry. He read it. Twice. There were hints of the problem in it. Communication, though Larsen didn’t know it when he wrote it. They never did. If it were Larsen, if it wasn’t really him. He didn’t really understand all the things the problem could do. You never knew.
“Perhaps I will have grandchildren and they will remember me. Tell stories to their children. After that I will be nothing and never remembered. I would like to be remembered for a while but I know now that I will not. Im not a serial killer, or a brutal politician, or anyone except that what I am - a man who navigates space ships through space and time. I am good at it, probably the best, I won’t be falsely modest – but not that great that I will be remembered. I am no one special. Not like her. Emira is someone special. She will be remembered.
I would like to write and paint and photograph but in the little time I have for it I can’t see anything I write becoming so worthwhile it lasts. Why should it? I am just not good enough to be remembered and that is fine with me. For a long time it wasn’t. Until I met her. She changes your perspective on many things so quickly that somedays I think I am a spinning top.
As I walked back to my cabin from the bridge today I realized, suddenly, as if it were an epiphany, that I am going to die. Like the quadrillions before me. I will be forgotten. And I don’t care. And suddenly when I said that to myself I felt as if I could do anything – anything that was open to me.”
He took up the fountain pen and walked with it to his desk. He was Luddite enough that he too used a fountain pen quite often. He opened the bottle of ink, fumbled a bit with the mechanism, but got the pen to draw it. Let a few drops fall onto a pristine sheet of paper. Then he walked back to the chair and the book. Slowly. He knew the academics would slaughter him if they knew what he was about to do but he had to. He had to protect her as much as he could.
With a deft hand and a strength he hadn’t felt for years he scratched out the name “Emira” until it was only a black blotch on the page.
He had laid the book aside. It was too much for him, but he had started it and he would have to finish it. If She asked for the books, to see them - and he knew She would - he had to ensure they were clean. So, he would have to read.
He opened to the small leather band he had stuck between the pages as a bookmark. Adjusted his glasses and began to read.
Betaen 6. Part Four. 7
Betaen 6.4 7
Betaen 6. Office of the Comle. 2796
“As I walked back to my cabin from the bridge today, I realized, suddenly, as if it were an epiphany, that I am going to die. Like the quadrillions before me. I will be forgotten. And I don’t care. And suddenly when I said that to myself, I felt as if I could do anything – anything that was open to me.” The black notebook of Pers Larsen.
Elf-gegu took the notebook in her hand. Pers Larsen, He, and now the Inspector. All of them had been read by the committee for truth. All of them passed on to the Comle. For the Comle must make the decision. Comle Elf-Gegu knew that decisions had been made before. Censorship they used to call it. The very beginning of their existence had been altered. She too had first learned the variety that had been chosen. But she had found the truth here in the notebook of the Inspector. No wonder they had altered it. No wonder that the Inspector's notebook had been kept safely under lock and key for so long. But the scholars were clamoring. Both He and She had spoken of it in their chronicles. It couldn’t be kept hidden any longer. But it could be parsed. Cleansed. She did wish that she could pass the responsibility and the entire job on to someone else. A Minister. Such as Lillian had passed the decision onto Emira. But she was Comle, and she was new human, and those things were not done. She also was a child of Emira. They did not shirk from fear.
She read. And with the thick black permanent destructor she changed the molecular structure of the words she decided to hide forever. They would only be with her. When she passed through the dne they would pass with her. She sighed. But so it was. It was for the best.
2799
Kiera hurried up the stairway. She didn’t have the patience now to wait for the elevator. Her guard preceded and followed her. She let the guards open the office, sweep it, though she could feel the kiura cry for her. When they nodded she entered, walked to the safe, opened it, rummaged until she found the folio. She dismissed them and they took up station outside the door. Inside it was the original notebook of the Inspector. A notice had been attached to the cover.
Released for publication under order of Elf-gegu, Comle. Redacted by Elf-gegu. 2796.
There was a second page beneath the book. She took it in her hands.
I knew you would open this Kiera. When you type in the password on your tablet and open the notebook you will have but these moments to read it and then it will be lost forever. This is my kiura. Yes. The kiura is not a myth. When we pass into the dne we are given that chance. It is difficult and most do not take it but I did. This kiura has existed through time now, as we know time for what it is. Clan Ain Aibrach felt it two thousand years ago. He wrote of it in prison. He even called it a kiura. How often have we all read that and ignored it? How vain we are.
First I must ask you why do your call yourselves the children of Emira?
Because you are.
Betaen 6. Part Four. 8
Betaen 6.4 8
Earth. Paris-Stuttgart Tube. Km 401 3205
Malaica swam back from the memory. A kiura. It was a kiura she was in. Perhaps like one like those dolls they had on Gargeth 3. A memory within a memory. She hadn’t known the name of Comle before Kiera. Elf-Gegu, one of the assimilated names, a conservative name. But what she had been doing wasn’t conservative at all. What she had done - a kiura - wasn’t conservative at all.
Again she asked herself, just before the waves pulled her deeper again, what I am supposed to learn?
On board the Star of Beaumont. 2465.
What did Pers Larsen, the Inspector, and my murderous friend all have in common?
They wrote on paper with ink. Not everything of course, but that which was either very important to them or must remain forever secret. While I filmed the folios and the computers the Inspector quietly and discreetly put the two black notebooks he had found in the upper desk drawer into a specially sewn pouch on the sleeve of his suit. Sometimes having a Luddite friend can be useful.
Other than those notebooks we of course found Pers Larsen. Dead. Like the others strewn around him. It looked as if he may have shot himself. Regardless, someone did. Through the left temple. That would fit for a suicide, he had been left-handed. I made sure not to look at the Inspector as I slowly turned around the room and observed the corpses. If he found anything that we could use he would get it without their having to know about it. The SP knew enough. Now it was time we started to fill in the puzzle.
“Don’t wobble so damn much” the voice spat in our ears “it’s making us all sick down here.”
I nodded just so they’d know I had understood. Quick. More than I needed too. Managed to suppress my laugh.
“We are re registering the bio registers on the ship.”
It was the Colonels voice. Of course she would still be there. Would have to see his corpse. Should have known I’d hear her voice again.
“Everyone?” The Inspector asked
“Of course” she said “Why would we waste all those beautiful data points we have?”
She said that to scare us. Both of us knew it. If she only knew that I was a full set of data points already ahead of her. Created by the man now standing beside me. The guy who had set up the entire data point system – DEEP - for creating unbreakable identities. The Colonel either must have missed that class in SP school or they were getting sloppier as they got cockier. I tended towards the latter.
Unknown bar on earth. 2468
I realized I had been wallowing in the past. Probably because I couldn’t take the present. It was too much for me. I’m a hard nut. Very few things can crack me - but He can. Just by moving an eyebrow, changing the inflection of his voice. I had been so terrified I would lose him when we started to explain that I ran away into my memories. Again. I’ve noticed I do that a lot since I doped him with the Catenol. If I had a psychiatrist, they would probably say I did it too much. They might even be right. But it kept me sane. What I called sane. In this fucked up universe we share with the problem what else could I ask for??
He was finishing the last olives. I’d been away, as I had started to call my daydreaming, for maybe 5 or 10 minutes. The Inspector looked at me. I could see the question in his eyes.
“I was just remembering our episode on that ship that doesn’t exist.”
The Inspector nodded.
There was no need to bother him with even more information overload than he already had. I was personally amazed that He was managing to take in what we were revealing to him now. If I considered it, I think I may have been so overwhelmed by it that I would shut off - but He hadn’t - yet.
Betaen 6. Part Four. 9
Betaen 6.4. 9
Excerpt from the “She Chronicles”. Written 2459
“He gave me a poem today. About moments. About missing me when I’m traveling. The damn job takes so much. So much time. So much energy. I don’t know if I have enough left for him” Personal Diary. Emira. Dated 2441 Released from containment 2758.
I awakened in the quarantine suite again. I think it was the third day. I hadn’t spent the first day learning and studying myself. I was still too lost. I had just died please be to remember. I spent that day like I did the days after my father died. In bed. With a pillow over my face soaking up the tears and the sobs. I wished He were there to hold me and comfort me but He had murdered me so that wouldn’t be on the agenda.
I had to start to learn who I was, so I picked up the folio and broke the bio lock. I think that may have been one of the most difficult things I have ever done or will do. It was more difficult than putting the Catenol in his drink. Because now I was helping kill her. When I started to read those pages she was really dead. Forever. If anyone remembered her it would only be him. And at the moment I was pretty certain he didn’t even know who he was.
Betaen 6. Part Four. 10
Betaen 6.4 10
Excerpt from the “She Chronicles”. Probably written 2468
It was easier walking around the pond with the Inspector and talking about following my friend than it was to really do it. I had learned surveillance with the best of them, after all I was a sociologist on special assignment remember? I wanted to see him so badly I felt as if I was boiling inside, but that same rolling boil in my blood also held me back, scared me. What if he looked at me and told me to fuck off? He’d have every reason to do so.
I knew where he was staying, had since he landed, but I had to force myself to take up position across the street from where he was staying. There was that part of me that was too afraid of what might be. He was staying in a half-way house in the middle of the city. He didn’t know it yet, but he didn’t have to stay there.
Our justice system may be screwed up but at least they paid you for the days you worked while you were incarcerated and at normal wages, not slave ones, and he had been a damn good photographer before they jailed him. So they used his talents – of course after his brain started to function somewhat normally again. One of his photos of the Mars wasteland now hung in the MoMA on three different planets. They’d put that money into his account as well. They could have cheated him, he never would have known, I don‘t think he knows even now that he has a photo in the MoMA. I would have liked to see his face when he looked into his account and saw that he was – not overtly rich – but rich enough to not ever have to sit in cattle class again. He probably thinks it all came from postcards. He had been doing an OK business in postcards before my murder. Postcards. Created in 1869. Still being sent 600 years later. Somethings were just meant to be.
I was loitering in the shaded doorway three houses down the street and across. I would have preferred to stand in the sun because it was damned chilly in the shade but that would have given me away. As much as I wanted to see him there was a part of me that didn‘t want to. I was like a recovering alcoholic with a good bottle of wine. I wanted it but I also knew I didn‘t. It was late in the morning before he came out. I had been standing in that chilly doorway for almost 2 hours. My feet were frozen, I would be happy to finally walk. He was shaking his head and muttering to himself, looking down at his communicator. He’d probably just pulled up his bank statement. I was actually getting my wish.
I followed him down the street. Yes, I had been right. He headed right for the bank, buzzed himself in. I sat at a table at a little cafe across the street. Ordered a coffee. The waitress was kind enough to also bring me a blanket. I put it up over my head just in case he glanced out the window. The blanket was warmer than the coffee and I could see the bottom of the cup before I even drank any, but that wasn’t why I was there – it did however explain the lack of customers. He would never have been able to drink it. His coffee had to be scalding. When it was lukewarm he’d tip into the planter.
Betaen 6. Part Four. 11
Betaen 6.4 11
Excerpt from the “She Chronicles”. Probably written 2468
He came out 45 minutes and another cup of weak coffee later. I had made sure to pay as soon as the second cup came. I took off the blanket, folded it neatly and laid it on the chair. I wanted to make sure there was enough distance between us that he wouldn‘t catch on. I knew from the reports I had forced myself to read that he had been a quick learner in prison.
There was a moment there today when I thought he’d seen me. But it passed as quickly as it was there. It must have been the light. I was back far enough. I was being careless though, I know. I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to turn, scream the name of the one who had been dead for so long, and run to me. I wanted him to fall into my arms.
And I didn’t.
So I hung back. Used my tradecraft. And he didn’t see me.
The day turned out to be warm. I could have followed him without even seeing him. He walked through memories. He walked to the apartment where we had lived. The rabbits still cavorted in the grass of the park across the street. He walked to the docks, where we had stood and watched the ships. He walked to the building where he had his studio after we got together. He walked to the restaurant. But he didn’t go in. He just stood outside for the longest time looking in, perhaps looking back. Seeing her. Seeing me. Both of us long dead to him.
Betaen 6. Part Four. 12
Betaen 6.4 12
Excerpt from the “She Chronicles.” Probably written while on the Rising Motion returning to Earth. 2463-64.
The Inspector and I and the team had spent one and half earth years, almost 2 Bepgidt 4 years, on that planet, straightening up the mess the mad governess had left. Then we got called back to earth. Jump calculation times were getting even slower so we planned on a year to 14 months travel. If he’d let me do the jumps, we would have been home in three. But I knew the reasoning behind it. I hadn’t been murdered to pop up somewhere else and get myself dissected.
It was sometime between the third and the fourth jump, just after we had stopped at Pilous 2 for supplies for the rest of the journey. A liner needs a lot of food and wine and good Ritluvian brandy if it is to be anything at all. The Inspector came into my suite and handed me a sealed folio.
“I think its time you read this” he said
I was sitting behind that nice wooden earth desk replica with a cup of coffee when he handed me that folio. I still remember that the coffee had been too warm for me and I had set it aside. It would be cold before I tasted it again.
I just looked up at him quizzically.
He motioned for me to open it. Outside it was marked with the usual top secret and classification levels. This one was classified nine. I had never seen a level nine classified document before.
“I think this is above my pay grade”
He sat across from me.
“It’s about 6 levels above your pay grade.” he said “But I’m certain you are going to want to read it.
“What happens when I break the seal?” I asked.
We had heard all types of stories about what happened when you broke the seal on a level seven or higher document before.
“Only one way to find out”
I broke it with the bread knife I had on the plate beside my coffee cup, I had had breakfast delivered to the room that morning.
Nothing happened. Nothing at all. The seal broke. That was it.
I opened the folio. There was nothing in it. Page after page of emptiness.
I looked at the Inspector and he laughed as he handed me his tablet.
“Hold it above each page, one after the other”
As I held his tablet above the page words, tables, photographs all suddenly appeared. When I removed it they didn’t disappear.
“That must have a been a let down for a lot of people” I said
He laughed again as he pocketed his tablet. Nodded and motioned for me to read. I had expected him to leave but it was obvious he wasn’t going to. Then again, he probably had to stay. Make sure I didn’t copy anything.
“You’ve got 45 minutes before they fade back into nothingness again. Every activation is recorded. This will be the third time I have opened it. It shouldn’t raise any suspicion but I won’t be opening it again. So make sure you read carefully.”
I looked at the photograph on the first page. I knew who it was. I felt a sickness in my stomach and my hands trembled. It was her. His wife. The one who had died of the flu. Not in the first wave, nor the second or the third but the fourth. 10 years after the first wave. One of only 105 women to have died of the fucking flu. 2 years before I met him.
I looked up at him and he held my stare but said nothing, just motioned for me to read.
Her photo.
Her name.
Birthplace.
Birthdate.
Date of death.
School records.
She had been intelligent that was for damn sure. Probably the most intelligent woman I had ever investigated. Three doctoral theses. All cum lauda. All from the best Universities. All in different majors. Chemistry. Space Biology. Political attenuation. It was like she was pre-destined to be part of the senate. And she had been. The youngest member ever. She had been a full member of the senate 5 years before the flu. A year after the flu, 2444, just before the second wave hit, she became Lillians assistant. Helped organize the scattered police forces on earth that put down the McDonald rebellion. She had been powerful. Very powerful. He’d never told me any of that. None.
Betaen 6. Part Four. 13
Betaen 6.4 13
Excerpt from the “She Chronicles.” Probably written while on the Rising Motion returning to Earth. 2463-64.
I flipped through the next pages. Committees she had served on. Then after the second wave when the triumvirate took over, she wasn’t one of the three, but she was officially titled Adjunct to the first triumviri. That was Lillian. The woman who still controlled the confederation, even now. The woman who in the end I answered to.
I looked up again. He knew where I was without asking. He could see it in my eyes.
“It’s true” he said.
I instinctively looked at the anti-snoopers on the walls. All green.
I started to close the folio. I didn’t want to know this. He put his hand in between the pages.
„No“ he said. „Its too important. No matter what you feel right now - you have to read it“
He motioned for me to continue to read.
I sipped at my coffee as I turned page after page. Committee after committee. Decision after decision. Hard decisions. Like the one as the third wave began. They named her Minister of the Interior early in 2445. The third wave hit just a month after she had been appointed. Hope 2, the beacon of freedom they had called themselves, went up in anarchy and then in open rebellion. A team of elite soldiers from Hope 2 even assassinated a Vice-Admiral. Lillian and the triumvirate sent orders to stop the rebellion on Hope 2. The Admirals refused to follow them. Then they sent her. She had relayed the orders to the fleet. She had overseen the destruction. Ensured that the men who called themselves admirals did what needed to be done to save the confederation. They had killed everyone on the planet. Atomic bombardment from space. Hope 2 had cost almost a billion people their lives. The planet would be uninhabitable for a thousand years. But it had saved the confederation and everyone who knew anything was certain it had saved quadrillions.
“Did he know this?” My voice was weak and meek and at first I wasn’t sure if the Inspector had heard me.
“Flip to Appendix three. It’s the last one because it’s the one that is the least important to them in the file. For us it’s probably the holy grail.”
He’d lit his second cigarette.
I flipped to the last page and then back three. Appendix three was itself only three pages long.
His photo.
I smiled and stroked it with my thumb.
His name.
Birthplace
Birthdate.
School records.
Betaen 6. Part Four. 14
Betaen 6.4 14
Excerpt from the “She Chronicles.” Probably written while on the Rising Motion returning to Earth. 2463-64.
He’d also been damn smart. Probably why they stayed together. I wondered what he saw in me. I wasn’t in this league. Not at all. In fact I had never known people like this. Well I had. I’d slept with him for four years before he murdered me.
Job records.
Commendations.
His research reports, just the titles. I don’t think I would have understood them anyway. And a boxed and circled remark stamped beside them. Good work. But not in the interest of the triumvirate. Stamped by Lillian but signed by her. His wife. He had told me about losing his position in the university. He was still a bit bitter about it. Wondering why. He had thought it had to do with his being a man. Being a survivor. That they didn’t want men in those positions anymore.
“She did that to him?” I blurted it out.
He shook his head.
“She did that to protect him. Much like what you did on Betaen 6”
“Why?”
“She knew a lot more about Betaen 6 than probably both of us together still do and you can talk directly to the problem. She got her reports firsthand. She was the Minister of the Interior, responsible for the entire police force. The entire navy. She got all the reports from Betaen 6. And if he was even hinted at in a communication, she killed it. I have seen one that got through because it didn’t go through the correct channels. Luckily the problem never names the ones they can communicate with. But she knew. She knew who they were asking for. And she knew the danger to him. They had asked for a researcher. One who did what he did. And the triumvirate began to look for him. Every single communication in which they pointed at him, hinted at him, asked for him - she destroyed it. And if she had to, she destroyed the messenger. And I think, like you, she loved him. She removed him from the public eye. Hid him away from their surveillance.” He swallowed “Just like you did.”
I looked at the page where my thumb was resting.
Date of incarceration for murder.
“Pushed him to open a studio.” I said, remembering pillow talk we had had. I didn’t want to remember what I had just read. I would think of anything but that. Anything “Had his first volume of poetry privately published.”
The Inspector nodded. And lit a third cigarette.
I read on. The day he opened his studio. The report on the value of his photographs. The publication of his second volume of poetry, and a new letter from Julia - Number two in the triumvirate. Deeming him unsuited as the cohort for a woman of her status. That she should divorce him and take the appropriate mates. Men whose names still carried some weight in the confederation. Emiras‘ rebuttal letter. Lillians short 15-word plea to her.
“My love. For the sake of the triumvirate and the confederation you must toss him aside!”
Her one-word response.
“No”
That ended appendix three. I didn’t want to read anymore. I was feeling ill. Physically ill.
“He knew nothing?”
The Inspector nodded.
“Basically nothing.“ he blew out blue smoke. “Just that she was a politician and did some important things. Not who she really was. Not what power she really had”
“Did she really die of the flu?”
He looked at me.
“There is nothing written but the official coroners report. She was one of the 105 women that died of the Ritluvian flu. One of 7 that died in the fourth wave. You can believe it or not. Thats up to you.”
I closed the folio and the bio locks snapped shut. I wouldn’t be able to read it further now anyway.
And if I looked inside myself, I didn’t want to know.
Betaen 6. Part Four. 15
Betaen 6.4 15
Apartment of the Comle. Evening after the assassination attempt. 2799
“Of course.”
The Colonel strode past the guards and into the bedroom of the Comle.
“Comle?” The Colonels voice was low, like the lights.
Kiera rolled in her bed. Felt the pull of the bandages but ignored them. She was Comle. She felt no pain. She refused to think of Eric at that moment.
“Yes, moin Colonel?” She spoke the L‘s. It had been a joke between them for years.
The Colonel smiled. No one else could have noticed it as a smile but Kiera did.
“What would you have me do Kiera?” It was a broken plea.
Comle looked down onto her bed. The sheets were wet from her sweat. Sweat of pain and purgatory. Not the sweet wetness after sex with Eric.
“Find them all. If you have to use force it is authorized. Try not to kill them if you can.“ she stared at the bed again “and tell them on earth they have two weeks to agree to meet with me now or I will order..” she faltered, looked across the room at the photo she had in every room where she was. Emira. The woman who had saved the confederation. “Hope 2 on Earth.”
She looked up. The Colonel was her friend. She had few of them.
“What do they want?” She whispered
The Colonel shook her head.
“Don’t go there Kiera”
She nodded. Picked up the book and opened it to the last page she had read. The Colonel knew the interview was over.
The Colonel felt faint. But she knew what she had to do. Her loyalty was to one and only one. She too was a child of Emira. She turned on her heel and left.
______________________
“Colonel?”
She looked up. The Captain and her had worked together, lived together, partied and fought together for over ten years. The Captain was the guardswoman that had saved Eric. That was akin to saving Kiera, for the Colonel knew how much he meant to her. That gave the Captain freedom, but the Colonel knew she wouldn’t use it - she would always be “Colonel”. Not “Ah-Geld-Rid.” Only her mother still called her that, and her mother was aging. She had been a late child, but even 350 years after the Ritluvian flu there were never enough male children. All of the brothers born before her had never scarred. And they had died. So, though she was biologically old, her mother tried for another child. 350 years and the assimilation later but it was still the same. A boy child either scarred within the first six months or it died. She wondered if the N’Hai N’Hai would have assimilated had they known that they would never find a cure for the flu? That part of her that was still vaguely separate, still pure N’Hai, nodded within her and she knew it would have happened at any cost. The desire for physicality had been everything – and worth every sacrifice. Before physicality they had been free in time but trapped, unable to leave Betaen 6.
She turned her inner thoughts back to her title; it was like being a parent she thought. You went from your name to Mom or Dad, or the other monikers used across the universe. She had never called her mother by her name. You had a title and a position that went with it, but you were no longer known by your name, only by your title. Like her. Colonel of the secret police. There were days she was proud of it. And others where she wished she still had a name.
Today was one where she was glad she had no name. It was very difficult for the new human to do what she had to do. But she had searched her timeline and it was right. It had to be.
“Yes?“
“The squads are mobilizing” the Captain looked down at the tablet in her hand “We have thirty-three confirmations. All old humans. About half from Earth. All arrived only a few days ago”
The Colonel nodded. Stood up slowly. She couldn’t let her subordinates do the dirty and nasty work alone. She had to be there. She walked to the wall safe and unlocked it. Checked that the pistol was loaded. Holstered it.
“Jus ad bellum.” she whispered.
She was glad that at the moment she had no name.
Betaen 6. Part Four. 16
Betaen 6.4 16
On board the Wing of Merkur. Spaceship to Betaen 6. 2798.
“Anyone doing these things is an object of horror and disgust to the Lord, and it is because the nations do these things that the Lord your God will displace them. You must walk blamelessly before the Lord your God." Deuteronomy 18:9-13, TLB.
They met in two groups in the recreation area on the lowest deck. Careful not to be seen with someone from the other group. There were 19 of them on the ship from earth. The other fourteen would arrive from other planets. Only the team from earth carried the makings of the bomb. The others were only necessary to complete the holiness of the mission, not its aim. Gabriel’s group were the ones that had smuggled the explosive. The other group, led by Joshua, had the electronics. They talked in the code they had decided upon in the church on earth. The ball was the bomb. The umpire the electronics. The goal was obvious. They talked as if they were discussing a pua-tut match, certain no one could follow even if they were eavesdropped.
“The umpire must be very correct”
The others nodded.
“She is, isn’t she?”
“It will be her first game, but in the test matches on earth she did very well”
There was a murmur of agreement.
“She will walk with ?”
Gabriel raised his hand.
“I have been chosen to be her companion”
Yhomad nodded. As much as he despised Gabriel and his lack of faith, he was an excellent boxer and he had fortitude. He would was a good choice to carry the electronics.
“And who will bring the ball to the game?”
Ruth raised her hand.
Yhomad found Peter’s choice of Ruth to carry the bomb a mistake. But she was the concubine of Peter, and Peter was the leader of the faith. He had little he could say, and what he had already argued on earth had brought him nothing. They didn’t even have weapons! They would be brought from the others, the periphery dwellers. Barbarians, but they could bring the weapons that they might need. Yhomad hoped they were ardent believers, so many of the other worlders he had met were bumpkins. It would have been so easy to smuggle them on board. There were no controls, none of the scans and searches Peter had told them of. They could have carried the Cepetedium in their hands and the infidel demons would not have seen. What bothered Yhomad was that so many of the chosen were men. There were so few men, especially among the believers. If the plan did not succeed fifteen good men would die. He had no illusions about what would happen to them. The demons would not let it rest with investigations and arrests. They would murder them. But they would be martyrs. He was certain the plan would work, even if it had been shown to them by dark magic and evil. Peter had said the vision Marcus had was clean and real, showed the truth and the true believers the way. Peter spoke directly to God and Jesus and Mary. He would know. He would not lie to them. His worries were just from his fear. He would recite the 23 Psalm with all of them and they would lose their fear.
He thought back to the meeting between Peter and the Synod he had overheard. It had been a mere three days before they boarded the space-liner to Betaen 6.
„No“ the old bearded man had said „Your fanaticism could get us all killed. We don’t need martyrs. We need understanding and we won‘t get it through violence!“
Peter had nodded.
„I agree“ he had said „Violence is the last resort of the wicked.“ he had made a dramatic pause „We are not wicked.“
„Then you will abandon this stupid and dangerous plan of yours?“ it was voiced by three of the elders – all men though there were so few men. There were days when Gabriel wondered about that. But only days.
„Of course“ Gabriel heard the oil in Peters voice, heard the lie, but the old men of the Synod didn’t. They wanted to believe that he would follow their path, agree to the Scriptures as they read them. Gabriel had known Peter would go his own way. He interpreted the Scriptures as he needed. And on that day he needed violence so that was what he read.
The policewoman handed him back his passport and his pilgrims papers. Smiled at him.
He smiled back and walked on, waving his green scarf in the wind.
Kiera set the report aside. She had actually smiled when they called her a demoness. It was a splinter group. It wasn’t the Synod. She felt her timeline and knew it was true. She had the proof she needed to slow the sequestration, if not stop it. She couldn’t let earth go the way of Hope 2. She couldn’t let the old humans go that way either. She scribbled a notice on the last page that the Colonel should collect all statements from all the 21 they had been able to capture alive. 6 had been killed by the arresting officers and the other 6 had taken their own lives. She thought she could remember some type of law against that in their scriptures.
It didn’t matter now. What mattered was the necessary arguments against the fanatics Tara was gathering on the council. She felt the scar on her scalp and smiled. That would be one card extra that she held. They had tried to kill her, but she still fought for them. She knew that would carry many to her side.
Kiera lay back down and took up the book again. It was the book. That was what she was supposed to do. It was what the timestamp had meant. The answer lay in the old book of He and She.
Betaen 6. Part Four. 17
Betaen 6.4 17
Excerpt from the “He Chronicles”. Probably written 2468 after his release from the Mars penal colony.
We sat in the restaurant; the same one we were always at except that everything was different. They had changed it in the time that I had been behind bars, but I wasn’t sure exactly what they changed. It was more a feeling than anything noticeable.
She sat across from me just like she always had when she been a young cop, not my wife, although I had a feeling my wife was there too but like I said, I’m still confused. I know who wasn’t there: Jeff, the flu took him; but his friend was: an older man, gray hair but when you looked at him close you noticed he wasn’t as old as he looked. He was the guy who was in the dreams I wrote; and now I knew I had seen him before, probably that’s why I created him in those strange dreams.
But that was not what was bothering me. I had just spent 7- and one-half years behind bars in a penitentiary for killing her. But she wasn’t dead. Why hadn’t she come forward then? Where did all the blood come from? Who had the guns that night? What the fuck was going on?
The questions were so many that they all rolled out of me in a ball of sound that may or may not have made sense.
It made enough sense that they knew what was going on and that they should answer. I kept looking at her. She looked like she hadn’t aged a day, yet her eyes were older. Much older. Older than the eight years. She had seen something horrible in that time and I thought I knew what it was. She was crying. I had seen her cry before, it had broken my heart then, and it still did now.
The older man turned to me – I swear he was the one I had been in those weird dreams - and said he’d tell me what had happened. After all, he was to blame.
I asked him why?
He took a gulp of coffee and started to speak.
“Coffee ain’t as good as Jeff’s. “ he looked at me “ you remember Jeff?”
I nodded. “Ja. He was our usual waiter when my wife and I used to come here. Before the flu”
He nodded back. “The flu took your wife and gave you her” he pointed to her with his coffee cup, dangerously close to spilling it “It took my Jeff and left me nothing. Nothing but the knowledge that only I knew the reality about Betaen 6” he sipped coffee „And until your jump fucked up, I wasn’t sure about that either “
I looked at him quizzically. Now he had my interest.
He pulled a foldable tablet out of his vest pocket and unfolded it. Waved his hand over the screen to unlock it. I thought at the time what a stupid easy way to break a lock, this guy is a cop?? Later I would learn there were 4 more biometrics and a factorial AI. But that was a lot later. A lot.
He flipped the screen around to me.
“ A letter?” I said
He just sipped his coffee.
I read it. He had written it on paper with real ink no less, more than eight years ago. For her. Paper and ink. He reminded me of me. Maybe that’s why I thought I was him in my dreams.
I drank down my coffee in one gulp. I had thought a lot about Jeff in prison. He was the only stable point I had.
“And?” I smiled what I thought was a sardonic smile” you wrote her a letter you were going to kill yourself. And you didn’t. Big fucking deal”
He tapped the screen - towards the end of the letter.
„Read that“
I read:
All I have seen. All I have felt. But I’ve left a dossier for you on the planet. In your new desk. Taped to the bottom of the top drawer. Read it. Remember it. Never forget it. And when you have - burn it. If the higher ups ever get wind of it the problem will be the least of yours.
„And?“ I asked
„That’s why the jump fucked up.“ he looked down into his almost empty coffee cup. „Why she was never supposed to get to Betaen 6“ he looked at her and then back to me.
„Why should this damn letter be so fucking important?“ I questioned, watching him closely with my eyes like I had learned in prison.
„Have you ever heard of a jump fucking up before?“ he asked
„No“ I said
„Actually“ he leaned back in the chair and motioned for the waitress to bring us another round of coffee „there’s been one other recorded account. Spaceplane. 123 people and crew. On their way to guess which planet?“
„Betaen 6“ had to be. Was easy to guess.
He nodded. „It was never reported in the news. Never discussed. Only we knew about it. Those who were supposed to solve those types of things. It was about the time of the fourth wave. But take another guess - who do you think was on that ship?“
I went over the possibilities in my mind. I’d been in prison for almost eight years, so the old news was the only news I really knew. They kept us from the news most of the time.
„Pers Larsen“ I said.
Betaen 6. Part Four 18
Betaen 6.4 18
Excerpt from the “He Chronicles”. Probably written 2468 after his release from the Mars penal colony.
He nodded.
I looked over at her and she nodded back.
I whistled through my teeth. I felt the same as I had on the ship after we found that photo of her father that I had taken 20 years before although I’d never known the man. Lost. Confused. Wondering. And scared.
„Pers Larsen“ he said „The man who was going to rewrite the judicial system and restart the confederation. The man who was supposedly killed on Betaen 6 - the planet he was traveling to - with a plan“
„So he’s not dead? He’s just in another time?“
The old guy nodded.
I finally got up the courage to ask him his name. When he looked at me, deep in my eyes and told me it I felt my bowels tighten. Him. I was sitting at the table with him. He had put me away. They hadn’t sent some pipsqueak to put me away, they had sent him. For a strange moment it made me proud.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and croaked out a question.
„But why her?“ I said „Why shouldn’t she get to Betaen 6?“
He sipped his coffee. Blew on it to cool it and laughed.
„Jeff would never have done that“ he said. I thought to myself that I never would have either.
Then he looked at her as he talked to me.
„Have you ever heard of anyone reversing a Waverly equation? Or even having the simple idea to do it?“
I thought for a moment. He was right. How the hell had she ever some up with that idea? How? She was a cop, not a navigator, and hell, they needed a lot of drugs and shit to even be able to do it.
I thought long and hard about the Waverly equation. Her standing there on the bridge, still sweating from the sex we’d had - during which she’d literally said “eureka! I have it” - explaining her idea to the captain.
I know. Why was I accepting her? Even supporting her? Why did her tears still tear at my heart? She had lied and deceived me and helped put me in prison for over 7 years. But there was something to the situation. Something about it I thought I should know. Should remember. And I couldn’t hate her. Though that was what I wanted to do.
“No” I said. “If someone else could do it then Larsen would be here too”
The Inspector nodded at me. I was accepting enough of him now to give him back that title.
He waved the waitress over and asked her for a round of beers. She walked away. She had no idea who was sitting at that table. Fuck. She’d die and run and tell all her girlfriends if she knew.
“That’s why I wrote the letter with pen and ink. Wanted to make sure there were no traces anywhere. I never thought you’d leave it on the floor for the room scanners to pick up.”
She nodded a little nod and I knew it was her way of saying sorry.
“And because they tried to get you with the jump, I was on Betaen six before you were.” The Inspector said, watching her closely. “That’s why there was no packet under your top drawer.”
He was saying that for me. I knew that. She’d known it long ago. Probably from before she helped him frame me for her murder.
I could feel some bile rising.
„I’ve heard and had enough“ I said „I want to know why you two framed me“ I stared at them both. My best prison stare. „I spent seven and a half years in the fucking pen for something I thought I might have done but obviously didn’t“ I made flippant gesture in her direction.
He looked at her first and then at me. Met my stare. I hadn’t expected him not to. Not him.
„What went wrong on that jump?“
„We ended up in the wrong fucking time“
„What else?“ he said „more personal?“
„The photo“
„Thats why“ he said „Thats why“
Kiera wiped her brow. The medication was making her sweat. She’d better sleep. Even though she could feel the drag of the timestamp almost begging her to continue. That is what had awakened her and driven her back to the book, the urgency, the incessant urgency of it all. She let her fingers run over the bookmark. Over the inscription. Neither time nor fate. How true for them now. She read on. She was still alert enough to understand.
Betaen 6. Part Four. 19
Betaen 6.4 19
Earth. Paris-Stuttgart Tube. Km 95. 3205
Shit. She had just been He. At the table. When he found out. Every school child could remember that part of the book. But she had lived it. Smelt the smoke, felt his hesitancy. He had hesitated. The great He. What the .. the wave took her again, the colors flashing as she dissolved into ….
Excerpt from the “He Chronicles”. Probably written 2468 after his release from the Mars penal colony.
I stared at her for a long time. My prison stare. You either learn a prison stare or the women in there rape you every night. I got raped a lot in the first year. Then I learned. At first I hated them but then I understood and pitied them. It was their way out. Get pregnant, support the species, and you were freed. There were only five men in the prison. One poor bugger never learned the stare. He died after a year. Too much fuperone fucks you up inside.
She looked down. She was crying again; I could see the tears run down her cheeks and drip onto the table.
„I’m sorry“ I said „I didn’t want to make you cry“
She looked up at me and her green eyes sparkled like they had the day I decided to stop washing everything down with alcohol. She smiled and licked away a tear with her tongue, reached across the table. I took her hand. It felt so warm. So good. Just like it had before Betaen 6.
„You’ve got to learn to quit apologizing for things that aren’t your fault“ she said
He’d lit another cigarette and just watched us.
„I just don’t understand with the photo“ I looked from her to him and back. They’d shared a quick look. A conspiratorial look. I had seen that one in prison too. „What has it got to do with it?“
He looked at me for a long time before he spoke.
“Everything” he said “Everything.“ he put money on the table and rose. „But we can’t talk about that here“
I started to get up as well, but she grabbed my hand, the one on the table holding hers.
„Stay here with me“
I looked at him and he nodded, turned and left the restaurant.
The waitress brought us new coffee. She never let go of my hand.
The photo. For some reason I couldn’t fathom, that stupid photo of her father, the one I had supposedly taken and signed, but didn’t of course, was the basis of all that had happened to me. I was not a stupid man before I killed her, which I didn’t, I know that now, but before that I wasn’t a stupid man. For a long while I am pretty certain I was - I could understand very little, even words on a page meant nothing to me but black squiggles and the two of them - both dead to me at that time - were always there, all jumbled up into a person that was both of them and wasn’t. I even thought, for the longest time, I had a family that I also had lost, a son and a daughter. Even named her – but as I gave her the name of my psychiatrist I am pretty certain she didn’t exist. If that doesn’t make any sense to you that’s OK. It didn’t to me either. Some days I would even convince myself they were all the same person. My wife, who died in the flu, and the cop I met a few years later. Sometimes my psychiatrist was one of them too. I just don’t really know which one.
She’d placed the photo on the table, between our three beer mugs. It was very noisy in the bar. Smoky although cigarettes were officially banned because of the health risks. Especially for men. If the Inspector hadn’t been who he was he wouldn’t have been allowed near a cigarette. As always lots of women.
Betaen 6. Part Four. 20
Betaen 6.4 20
Excerpt from the “He Chronicles”. Probably written 2468 after his release from the Mars penal colony.
She got a lot of dirty looks - she was there after all with two men. Didn’t seem to bother her. When we had first went in and sat at the corner in the table he’d obviously arranged for us, a few women had sauntered over and looked us both over, made the usual passes - hey buddy, got some time for me - and sometimes overt - look at my breasts, would you like them?- but I used my stare, he ignored them and she made it clear that both of us were hers. One woman had been a little too forward, hands on my chest, breasts naked against my hair, but she had left hurriedly as soon as She began to stand. Even I was scared of the look in her eyes.
She’d sat back down, drank a large gulp of beer and then wiped her mouth.
„I didn’t wait 8 years for you for some hussy to have you“ she said
I smiled at her, and she smiled back. It was good to see her smile.
„Now tell me what the fuck this photo has got to do with my being in prison for seven and one half years“ I said it slowly and deliberately and was proud of myself. She was still one person. Just her. I felt a bit like I had before Betaen 6.
She looked at him and then nodded.
„Everything“ she said „And nothing at all“
„Riddles?“ I said derisively.
She shook her head and flipped the photo over. Pushed it towards me.
„Look at that signature and tell me you didn‘t sign it“
„A good forgery“ I said
He took the photo and traced his thumb over the scrawl that was supposedly mine.
„No“ he said „we’ve got a lot of means to tell forged signatures. Weight, pressure, angle of the pen - we can measure them all on your signature and then on the possible forgery“ he handed it back to me „It isn’t forged“
I looked at it for a long time. A very long time. The beer had lost its froth by the time I looked up at them. I flipped it over.
„I will admit that’s the photo of the welder I took on the liner“ I tapped on it „But I never knew her father“
„You didn’t“ she said, took a sip of the now stale beer, somehow I had the feeling beer had been better before they put me away „And you did“
„Another fucking riddle?“ I asked.
She nodded. I hadn’t expected her to. And then shook her head. It was like one of those stupid games my wife and I had played before Betaen 6.
„Where is this going?“ I asked
„I think we need new beer before we get into that“ he said „I’ll go get three new ones.“
He tapped her lightly on the shoulder as he went by her. She grabbed his hand and held it there. I looked at him. He suddenly looked his age.
We hadn’t spoken all the time he’d been gone to get the beer. It had taken a while. The bar was, as I have said, crowded. Filled to the rim. Lucky for us some more men had come in while we had been talking, so the women had given up on me. But we had communicated. I knew her eyes almost as well as I had known those of my wife and I knew what a jumble of thoughts were going on behind them. I also knew she was still lying to me.
Or perhaps I was being too hard on her - the woman that had sent me to prison for seven and half years - no I don’t think I was . She was lying to me. I just didn’t know about what or why. We didn’t speak until he returned.
He set down the three beers and we each sipped.
It was a different beer, much better than the first one and I told him so. He just inclined his head in my direction.
Betaen 6. Part Four. 21
Betaen 6.4 21
Excerpt from the “He Chronicles”. Probably written 2468 after his release from the Mars penal colony.
“Do you know what a communicator is?“ he asked me „and don’t tell me its that thing in your pocket!“
I shrugged.
„Someone who can communicate I guess?“
„Close enough to start“ he drank more beer and wiped the froth from his lips with the back of his hand.
He put his hand on the table, and she grasped it with both of hers. What the fuck was going on? Were they going to tell me they were a pair? I always thought he went the other way. At least thats what all the talk was.
„You have to tell him“ he said, looking at her and I could see her grasp convulse and tighten on his hand. I thought that must hurt and was astounded that he didn’t pull his hand away.
She looked at her hands, at the ceiling, at her beer, at other women, anywhere but me. When she started to talk her eyes were focused on the bottom of my beer glass. That is another thing I learned in prison - always know where someone is looking.
I missed the first words she mumbled and said I couldn’t hear her she had to talk louder.
„I can‘t“ she whispered and began to cry. He took his free hand and pried loose his hand. There were welts on the side of his palm from her fingers. Then he took each of her hands in his and just held them softly and looked at her.
„Look at me“ he said
She still stared at my beer glass, as if it could be an anchor for whatever storm was boiling through her.
„Look at me!“ it wasn’t a request and she snapped up and looked him in his eyes.
„You did it eight years ago. Now you can tell him what you did and if you can’t tell him why I will“
She nodded and took her hands away. She was shaking and there were tears dripping from her eyes. I wanted to stand up and hug her, but I knew it wasn’t the moment. I was about to find out something important.
Kiera’s adjutant brought her fresh tea and a small sandwich. The meeting had been arduous and tiresome, and she was exhausted from it. But the senate had voted to support her path, at least for the moment, until they knew more from the questioning of the suspects. Kiera was still waiting for the answer from the Synod on earth. If and when they would meet face to face to discuss these issues. She wasn’t afraid to use the threats she had told the Colonel. To her, Comle, they were only words and only threats. Hopefully to the old men of the Synod they would be a reality they did not want to face. She nodded her thanks and took up the book again. Carefully stroked the thick leather bookmark with her thumb, thinking of poor Eric, still hooked up to machines to keep him alive. But she knew he would live, and that gladdened her, and it strengthened her resolve. Now she just needed the answers she was seeking. They were in the book. She knew it.
She drank down half her beer in one large gulp, swallowed a sob and looked at me, no longer staring at my beer glass.
„Eight years ago, on Betaen 6, the night you went to photograph the moon, the night I was murdered“ she said it all in one long word with almost no spaces between the words, as if it was something she had kept in too long, like a dam had burst and all the water was pouring down the causeway.
„I spiked your drink with Catenol. I gave you enough to make sure you’d be fucked up in your mind for a least a couple of years if not longer. I gave you enough that it might have fucked you up forever.“
She stopped. Drank the rest of her beer. Didn’t move her eyes from mine. I don’t know what she was seeing there but I didn’t like what I was seeing in hers.
„Catenol?“ I whispered „Its so fucking illegal no one can get their hands on it. Just because of what it does. Because its untraceable“
„I got it for her“ he said
That made sense. Of course he’d be able to find someone who made that shit. I tore my eyes from hers, though it was difficult to do and spat it at him „Why you old bastard? Did you decide you wanted some fresh pussy after your lover died?“
There was a slight tightening of his eyes, that was all. If I hadn’t learned in prison to look for those things I would never have noticed it. I had hit him. Hard. Very hard.
„No.“ he sipped at his beer
„No“ he smiled.