Office of the First Minister, Administrative Tower 1, Mica II
Mica Majority
Periphery
21 October 3059
15:22:00 local time
"Are you absolutely sure he said Katherine, Melissa and Hanse? As in Steiner-Davion!" Alister Caronna, Minister for Interstellar Relations, asked Michelle for the 20th time, each time it seemed like the effort aged him 10 years. Turning to First Minister Larson, "The Blake Damned Royal family of the Federated Commonwealth! This can't be true! Are we absolutely sure it even was Vondrasek? I mean, according to the report from those Mercs you hired," he added, throwing an accusatory glare at Chris who was standing by Jennifer holding her hand. "his city and forces were completely destroyed." He paused briefly to look wild-eyed around the room to see if anyone else seemed to be siding with his logic. It didn't take an expert to read exhaustion written on the faces of the First Minister and Director Timberman, a mix of fear and uncertainty on Michelle and Jennifer's parents, blind terror engraved on Jennifer's face, and finally letting his gaze come to rest on Michelle who bore a strange expression of serenity. For Michelle's part the entire ordeal had a kind of surreal quality.
Just 6 months ago her and Jennifer's nightmare was finally over. Two weeks ago Chris, a leader in the mercenary group's special forces, had delivered them back to the safety of family and friends. With a little too much fanfare, orchestrated in no small part by Minister Caronna, who seemed at the time to be all too happy to celebrate the Majority's victory over, what he called in his speech, "pirate scum and criminals". Now, facing both the possibility of said "scum" Ivan Vondrasek, bloody pirate lord and brutal former ruler of a large part of the remote Periphery world of Astrokaszy, had not only survived, but confronted Michelle here on Mica II just over 24 hours ago. The Minister seemed on the verge of breakdown.
Pushing him over the edge was the even more frightening possibility that one of the leaders of the most powerful royal families in human existence was apparently behind a genocidal attack on a tiny world just to recover some information. Information that Vondrasek had planted on Michelle, and promised would extend his "difficulties" to Michelle.
Director Clyff Timberman, head of security and defense for the Mica Majority, rubbed his eyes and let out a long sigh. "It was Vondrasek. Once he emerged into the corridor Michelle was in security cameras got a clear view. My security people are still exploring the damned passage system he used. It seems to have been there since the factory was built, and extended several times."
"Damn those thieving bastards, I knew the production numbers didn't make sense, always a little off! Don't worry the supervisors use to say! They've been stealing straight off the line for years!" Michelle's father interjected in a huff.
"That may be," Timberman continued, looking seriously at Michelle's father, "it's very likely someone, or some group(s) of your employees knew of the passage system. What's more troubling is they probably sold the information to Vondrasek's people in the first place, or actually kidnapped Michelle and Jennifer themselves and pitched the plan to Vondrasek." That thought hit Michelle's father like a brick in the face. His face contorted as he worked through the thoughts, emotions and implications of that statement, but before he could put his ever escalating emotions into words, Timberman continued.
"My people are interviewing everyone who current works, or has worked for the company who's still on planet, as well as all contractors. If there's internal hands in this, we'll find them. In either case, that's not our greatest concern right now."
"NOT OUR GREATEST CONCERN!" Michelle and Jennifer's mothers shrieked in concert, Michelle's mother leaping to her feet. "Your saying that someone who worked for my husband actually took our daughters and put them through hell is not a concern!" Michelle's mother spat at Timberman indicating Michelle and Jennifer and leveling an accusing finger at Timberman.
"Anna." The First Minister spoke for the first time in a firm, but gentle tone that caught the entire group off guard. Jennifer jumped at the sound, and Michelle knew why, Vondrasek always used a similar tone whenever the consequences were most dire. The last time Michelle and Jennifer were together and Vondrasek used that tone it resulted in two other hostages being escorted into the middle of his "court room" and summarily burned alive.
"He's not saying that it's not important," Minister Larson continued, casting a look of concern at Jennifer as he spoke "he's saying that he'll find those responsible and they'll be brought to justice, but this other information," he said turning to look at Michelle, "has serious consequences for all of us," he said pausing to look carefully at Michelle, then added "if true."
"Exactly Minister," Timberman added, "My apologies Mrs. Hoffman, I don't want to seem insensitive. In my position, planetary concerns have a tendency to take priority."
"Your not taking this seriously?!" Alister injected, clearly trying to control his tone. "I can clear this nonsense up, Duchess Suthen Rein of Woodbine is a personal friend. I'll simply contact her and I'm sure she can dispel these fantasies!"
"No Alister." First Minister Larson said firmly, "the Duchess is well placed, but even asking the question could bring down the wrath of the FedCom government, without the need for mysterious hidden armies. If this information is true, Katherine will take every step necessary to crush opposition. True or not, coming from us, a little state in the Periphery, it would be seen as an insult to one of the most beloved members of their ruling family."
As the heated discussion continued Michelle's thoughts turned inward, tuning out the banter. HE would do it, just for fun. HE'd let it slip that I had the information just to watch our worlds die. Michelle looked around the room letting her gaze rest on her leaders, her parents and finally Jennifer. I can't let him win! I won't be used for his amusement anymore! How am I going to stop him from simply spreading a rumor and stepping out of the way? He said the necklace had the information, how can I convince anyone out there that I don't have it anymore? I could report it stolen, but that won't stop them from coming and destroying everything just to be sure. I could make a copy and send it somewhere. But what if they found out it was a copy? I. I don't know…
Slowly the reality slid into place, there was no escaping it. As long as they thought she had the information, or even knowledge of it, they would come wherever she was. That's it! That's the answer! Oh…
As the inescapable solution to the current reality filled her conscientiousness, Michelle let the world around her come back into focus and realized with a start that her uncle, First Minister Larson was looking at her intently. He nodded slightly, as if both confirming her thoughts and conclusions, his face grim and etched with concern.
"This is ridiculous!" Minister Caronna's now shrill voice interjected for the umpteenth time, sound the last level of awareness to penetrate into Michelle's conscious mind.
"I'll leave," Michelle said at last. Spoken plainly but firmly, the effect was immediate. Silence filled the room to bursting, as all eyes snapped to Michelle.
"What?!" Michelle's mother nearly screamed into the silence. "You will not! Why would you leave?" Her eyes wide, her expression half-way between wide eyed disbelief and panic.
Michelle looked at her parents calmly, each in turn, the simple firm look in her eyes seem to have a calming effect, before responding, "He's going to do it. He'll let who ever is behind this know I had the information, if for no other reason than to watch us die. Maybe because we escaped, " she added nodding in Jennifer's direction. "Either way, I believe he will do it. If they, who ever the hell they are, would wipe out one Periphery world to cover it up, they'll wipe out ours." Having reduced her mother to speechlessness, she looked around the room to take in the reactions of all gathered. Jennifer looked strangely calm, her thoughts clearly inwardly focused, she did give a short nod as their eyes met.
Jennifer's parents seemed be falling apart, looking desperately between Michelle, Michelle's parents and the officials present for some kind of guidance.
Minister Caronna was clearly deep in thought, no doubt plotting how to spirit Michelle off world and spin this for political gains.
Director Timberman held Michelle in a steady gaze, his expression one of deep thought and concern, trying to determine if there were any other practical options.
First Minister Larson and Chris both mirrored the Director's expression, each searching for any viable alternatives.
After what felt like a lifetime of silence, her uncle spoke first. Keeping his voice level and firm, but marked with concern, "That would only work IF the people responsible knew you left, and still leaves the question, where would you go? Where would you be safe?" His last question was clearly genuinely heart felt.
Before Michelle could respond, Minister Caronna jumped in as if on cue, "Why the first part is no problem, we'll host a grand send off. As for the second, We'll send her to Woodbine as an ambassador. No one will assault Woodbine, especially not the ruling family, and an ambassador is entitled to their protection! I can make the arrangements with the Duchess herself!" He added with a snap of his fingers, clearly trying to reassert himself as having the connections to make anything happen.
"While I agree even the Archon of Tharkad would not casually launch a full scale assault on Woodbine," Director Timberman responded, giving Minister Caronna a level glare of irritation and using a tone bordering on parental lecture, "however, if these allegations are true, Katherine has used assassins on both her parents, I'm sure she wouldn't hesitate to kill an ambassador from the Periphery, and the Duchess herself if it meant covering that up." That sobering thought seemed to finally wipe the smug look off Minister Caronna's face.
"I was thinking Canopus." Michelle injected calmly into the resulting gap in discussions. All heads turning again to Michelle, faces painted with expressions of alarm.
"Why Canopus?" Minister Larson asked simply.
"We stopped there on the way back here," she said indicating Jennifer and Chris with a quick glance, "they've got a big military as I understand it, and no love of any inner sphere house. Whoever these people are might think I stashed the information on Canopus. Besides, when I was there it looked like there's lots of places I could work and just disappear." For a full minute no one talked, her parents fidgeted nervously, her mothers eyes darting between Michelle and First Minister Larson. After what felt like an eternity, Michelle added imploringly, "Uncle Thorfinn, please. I know Vondrasek will do it, and I won't let him hurt people I love any more. I can do this. I have to."
The First Minister's eyes looked a little misty, as he looked away from Michelle to Director Timberman. Without any more prompting, Timberman jumped in, "It might work. IF they took the bait. We'd need to fabricate a duplicate necklace, and feature it in recordings as part of his," he jerked his head in Minister Caronna's direction, "grand send off." He looked at Michelle with an expression of deep concern, she hadn't seen from the otherwise stoic defense director before, "Canopus is a dangerous place without the need for outside attackers. While true, they have a standard hatred of inner sphere forces, they also have a money beats all philosophy. Assassins work openly throughout the Magistracy, or hell, just pay the government enough and they'll capture and hand deliver someone to you, Ambassador or not," he added throwing an sardonic expression at Minister Caronna.
"Well, I don't know," Michelle responded, for the first time feeling flustered. Michelle didn't like being challenged when she was the one sacrificing herself to save everyone here, and the irritation edged into her voice as a sarcastic tone, "Where do you think I could go and avoid Katherine Steiner-Davion?!"
"To the Privateers." Chris interjected flatly. All heads snapped around to look at Chris, whom most had forgotten was even there. "Steiner-Davion or not, we won't sell you out, and if they're going to get to you it'll be over all of our dead bodies."
Michelle smile beamed, she hadn't considered joining the mercenary group but now that Chris had offered, it sounded like the one place in the universe she'd love to be. "Can you train me to be a Mech warrior?" She asked.
"MICHELLE?! What has gotten into you?!" Her mother demanded.
Michelle spun to face her parents, "Mother, you can't know what I've already been through. But the one thing I've decided is, if I have to be a piece in someone else's game, I'd rather be a knight than a pawn."
"I'll go with you." Said Jennifer simply, stunning all gathered for a second time. "I've been a pawn in more ways than one, and I'd like… No. I need to do something more than be the victim." She looked at her own shocked parents, who had not yet had a chance to even process this, "If they come for Michelle, and she's not here, they'll take me. And this time I won't be coming back. This way I'll at least learn how to fight back." Jennifer looked up hopefully at Chris as she finished.
"Uh, I can teach you the basics, but our XO runs the full Mech training program. I will say it's not an easy path," Chris offered with some hesitation, "it takes a lot of training…"
"But you didn't have a problem with that other girl from Astrokaszy, everyone called her Ghul, and she's my age." Michelle countered
"Yes." Chris started with some trepidation, "but, she already knew the basics, and she's on Jessica's training regiment. My guess is by now she's wondering why she choose to join. Those Mech pilots go through hell." Thinking fast, he added, "It also helps that she's brought her own Mech. Without one trainees have to wait it out as a basic soldier and hope for the best. Most times the best never comes. We're far more likely to lose Mechs, and pilots, than gain them."
With that Michelle's smile faded, and her mother's expression relaxed.
"I'd like to speak to the young ladies for a few minutes, " Minister Larson said, "privately," he added firmly but gently.
After a couple of minutes of protest, spearheaded by both Michelle and Jennifer's mothers, Director Timberman managed to usher everyone else out of the room, leaving Michelle and Jennifer alone with the First Minister.
With a heavy sigh he looked up from his desk and looked at each girl in turn, before finally beginning, "What's happened to you both was terrible and no one should have had to endure what you did, much less two young girls just out of school with your whole futures in front of you."
He paused a moment, clearly not comfortable with what he was thinking, "I agree that your departure might avoid disaster here, but I am not happy about sending you off as bait to endure more. I am at a loss to see any other reasonable course of action, and I'm not totally convinced that your departure would completely deter anyone this determined to suppress information, from destroying Mica II, just in case. But I am your Uncle, and your Aunt would kill me if I didn't try and discourage you from this. So I'll ask again, here without the pressure of friends, family, and political "support", are you sure you want to do this?"
Michelle and Jennifer looked to each other, unspoken pain and thoughts shared now as they have been since they were rescued, before looking back and saying together, "We're sure."
"There's no other way, " Michelle added.
"And this mercenary group, I know they saved you, but remember they are mercenaries. They do everything for money, and money alone."
"Not this group uncle. I've seen them, I don't know why they do what they do, but it's not just money that drives them. In the Holovids mercenaries are always the tough-as-Mechs, kill-em-all-and-let-Blake-sort-em-out types. But this group just… isn't. Oh they're tough, and some of them may be crazy, but they almost died to the man to save us. Mercs don't do that."
"Ok, well, if that's the path, then I'm going to make sure the Merc Captain has every reason to add you. I'm going to buy each of you a BattleMech from the local market, that soldier Chris and Clyff can help you pick the best ones for their unit."
Michelle and Jennifer's jaws dropped open. Stunned they just sat there gaping at the First Minister. "I…I" Michelle stammered.
"Thank you is the customary response." Her uncle responded with a half smile, still bearing guilt and sadness from the outcome.
"Thank you!" both exclaimed before running to give the First Minister of the Mica Majority a most undignified group hug.
Nadir Jump Point
Inner Surge
Periphery
20 Oct 3059
08:10:00 local time
A bloom of heat in the vacuum of space gave the only warning of an incoming Hyperspace field. 27 seconds later with a burst of electromagnetic energy a small ship emerged into the system, barely larger than a standard Dropship, the vessel looked like a private yacht of some mind bogglingly wealthy inner sphere businessman. The markings on the hull indicated the ship hailed from the Free Worlds League.
Just over 60,000 kilometers from the precision arrival point an armada floated, buzzing with activity as fighters, Dropships and shuttles of every variety moved around and encircled a fleet of warships that would have impressed even the clans.
Silently, almost immediately after arrival, a small personal shuttle emerged from the port bay of the tiny intruder and sailed smoothly toward the center ship in the gathered fleet.
Archon's Dagger (McKenna class Battleship), Nadir Jump Point
Inner Surge
Periphery
20 Oct 3059
08:45:00 local time
The shuttle docked gingerly with a starboard side docking ring three-quarters of the way up the massive warship toward the bow. Docking clamps locked and the safety lights shifted from red to green as the pressure and atmosphere were equalized. The shuttle's sole occupant strode with confidence into the airlock chamber as soon as the shuttle doors opened, depressed the open button on the inner door and came to full salute at the sight of the Officer and 12 armed soldiers standing just on the other side as the doors slide open cross-sectionally.
"Identification," the Officer snapped without returning the salute.
The woman, dressed in civilian clothes fashionable in core-ward planets of the Free Worlds League, reached into the duffel bag she was carrying to retrieve the requested information, causing 12 soldiers to drop into a firing stance without prompting. The woman paid them no heed as she produced the necessary card and presented it to the Officer.
The Officer scanned the card, turned in place and saying as he turned, "Follow me." The security entourage surrounded the woman as they proceeded further into the ship.
Arriving at their destination, the Officer entered a code into the console to the right of the heavy double doors and waited. Minutes passed, no one moving. The woman, despite civilian clothing maintained the same parade field stance as the Officer and soldiers around her.
With a snap-hiss the bulk doors opened revealing a massive office suite, dimly lit by point lights highlighting carefully placed priceless objects, each on obsidian black cylindrical columns placed around the room. The Officer waved and he and the woman proceeded into the office alone, marching with formal military precision to the large desk set three-quarters of the way to the back of the room.
A high backed ornate chair stood behind the desk, back to the room and it's newest occupants. Beyond the desk, floor to ceiling "windows" provided a breathtaking view of the gathered fleet and with the planets of the system and the galaxy itself providing a backdrop. Once the two arrived at the desk they stood at attention waiting for the man in the chair to acknowledge them. Slowly the chair turned to reveal John Thomson, uncontested leader of the gathered armada.
He wore an expensive, if simple, black suit with clear military influences in the cut, but no insignia. His neat short cut beard and mustache perfectly accented his hard chiseled features. The woman thought the man she knew to be in his late fifties would have looked handsome, if not for his eyes. His dark, almost black, eyes were cold, merciless, like a bird of prey or monster of myth. His gaze, which never wavered, dug deep into the soul of those before him, and promised swift retribution for daring to show any sign of weakness or challenge.
So, this is what characters in fantasy tales felt like when standing before dragons, she mused as she willed herself to remain rooted at military attention never shying away from the penetrating glare.
"Greetings ambassador" Thomson's deep base voice, always smooth and rumbling like distant thunder, another of this impressive leader's many weapons, often causing chills in those around him as the sound echoed in the pristine spartan office.
"Greetings my Lord. I have gifts from our Benefactor." She placed just enough emphasis on gifts and benefactor to convey the unspoken intent, "Given to me personally." The last bit a reminder that he wasn't the only one in the Archon's service to enjoy authority, but not too much as to be an insult.
"Of course, please…" Thomson gestured toward his desk with a wide wave of his hand, indicating four empty display mounts arranged on his personal magnificent black wood rostrum.
With deliberate care the woman removed three wooden boxes, removed the contents of each and placed them carefully on the first three pedestals. A small statue carved in ivory of some cat-like mythical beast, clearly ancient and priceless. A pair of antique hologlasses likely over a thousand years old, also priceless. And a coin, Kuritan from the late 2900s, valuable but little in comparison to the other three. As she finished she returned to parade attention, waiting expectantly.
Thomson removed his watch, a priceless antique time piece in it's own right, and placed it on the fourth and final pedestal. The otherwise plain looking mounts seemed to glow slightly from within, then a holodisplay appeared in the air before him, nearly invisible and completely unreadable from any viewing position other than his. He read calmly, when finished he paused a moment, and looked to the woman, "Do you know the contents?" A simple question. The Officer knew immediately this was the most dangerous kind of question.
"Some, my Lord." The woman responded, "Our Benefactor shared some key elements in the event I was not able to recover all the artifacts before needing to come find you. And one additional piece, action must be taken by February."
"Oh? Why the rush?" Thomson seemed almost amused by the addition.
"The targets have become bold. They are preparing to leave the inner sphere." She added matter-of-factly.
Thomson nodded, then turned to the Officer, "Divide the fleet. I want one unit with a three Cluster Galaxy of clan tech in Smoke Jaguar formation and colors. One unit of two regiments, Kuritan, Sword of Light formation and colors, but provide four full wings of fighter support. The remainder of the fleet will reorganize and prepare to either augment at a moments notice, or provide extraction cover. Both new units should devise separate plans to travel to Schuyler and arrive, faux clan first, with a 5 day lead to allow for grounding and deployment. Execution in the shortest possible window. The remainder of the fleet will go to Nykvarn pirate point 4, on the far outer edge of the system and wait until signaled."
The Officer nodded and immediately started taking notes on his tablet.
"Activate our resource on the Invisible Truth, Morgan's services are no longer required, relieve him of the burden of the Marshal's office before the end of February." He added nodding to the woman, who returned the gesture.
The Officer finished capturing his notes, then looked at his commander, "For preparation purposes, is our objective individual or group; and who should be designated leaders of the new formations?"
"Your still young enough to pass for Clan, albeit an old one, perfect for a second line force, you will lead the faux Jaguars, and I will lead the Kurtian "relief" force myself. Reserve forces will be commanded by Donnaldson." The officer nodded and made the notes, "Oh, and we're off to finally lay our little Napoleon to rest."
That announcement almost dragged a gasp from the Officer, not that it was completely unexpected at some point, but the day had finally arrived. Assassination had been tried on Victor, three of the best had failed just this past January. One of the founding purposes of this battle group was to ensure the Archon's success, with plausible deniability, at any cost. That said, attacking Victor Steiner-Davion directly while he's leading the reformed Star League forces was by far the most direct and open the group has ever been tasked with. Not an unwelcome opportunity.
Thomson turned to regard the young woman again, "I assume that was all?"
"Yes my Lord," she responded crisply, a slight bead of sweat forming on her brow from the effort of containing her composure in Thomson's presences and an unsettled feeling at attending his preparations.
"Then you are dismissed." He said casually. An interesting word in this unit.
"Thank you my Lord." She turned with military precision and exited the office at a pace slightly faster than a normal march would have achieved.
As the doors slid shut, the Officer keyed an entry into his tablet. Inside the well insulated office the sharp rapport of a single shot was barely audible. The Officer looked to Thomson expectedly.
"The hologlasses." He said gesturing, "a dubious early attempt at true holo projection, questionable at best. Her ship's contingency device has been disabled, our systems informed me before she was aboard, a confirmation of questionable loyalties." He finished without further elaboration.
"Shall I recover the asset, " the Officer asked nodding in the general direction of the ambassador's waiting jumpship.
"Bug-Eye's are obsolete for a reason." Was all that was offered.
The Officer began to enter commands into his tablet again.
Suddenly a chime sounded, and an angry red light glared from the Officer's tablet. At his touch a visual comm opened revealing the Dagger's captain, "Commander!" He barked without preamble, "the Arctic Lynx is attempting an unscheduled Jump! Orders?"
Thomson responded before the Officer, "Fire at will! If she makes the jump, order the Inquisitor to hunt her down and destroy that ship Captain, no survivors, no witnesses!"
"Affirmative my Lord!" With a perfunctory nod to the Officer, the comm ended, the roar of the ships main Port-side weapons opening fire before the conversation ended.
Thomson looked briefly annoyed, but the moment passed quicker than a summer's rain, leaving his normally calm demeanor in it's place. "She must have been wearing a bio monitor," was all he said, "We will proceed, you will lead an faux Jaguar assault on Victor's forces on Schuyler, I will arrive masquerading as the Kurtian relief forces, with convenient timing for the first time in the DCMS history," he said, smiling slightly at his own rare show of humor, "depending on the actual execution, either your forces will be able to kill him, or I'm afraid it will look for all the universe as if Theodore has decided that Omi's relationship was ill conceived and he's decided to correct the situation." He finished with a genuine smile, that caused a chill and shutter in the Officer he couldn't completely suppress.
To cover his lapse, he asked, "And our old friends from Astrokaszy?" He had been tasked with tracking the old Privateer's since Astrokaszy with the expectation that Thomson himself was planning on hunting down and smashing their old comrades personally.
"Ah, sadly, duty calls, and while I relish the thought of crushing those insignificant bugs myself, the time has come to move beyond the past. Not to elevate young Martius to status beyond his station, but it is time for him to join his parents." Pausing for just a moment, he added, "Send the Jackal. Triple pay if I can celebrate this over Victor's grave before the end of March. Use my personal accounts, at least I'm putting my money toward good work." Thomson considered for a moment and added, "10 times if he can eliminate the entire unit."
The Officer raise an eye-brow, but then keyed the necessary notes and actions into his tablet. A chime sounded again and the Officer opened the vid comm, the Captain looking this time considerably worried, and in this unit with very good reason, "The Lynx made the jump Commander. The Inquisitor is calculating a pursuit now, they'll be jumping as soon as the most probable solution is plotted."
The Officer looked to Thomson, who now looked considerably annoyed, "Proceed. And tell the Captain of the Inquisitor I expect better results than what has just been displayed."
"YES my Lord! They won't get away!" The Captain said, sweat clearly visible on his face as he finished. The Officer closed the comm without adding to the orders.
Lucien Davion Memorial (Minimum Security) Prison, Belladonna
Crucis Reach
Federated Commonwealth
28 Oct 3059
10:22:18 local time
A soft chime from the ceiling-mounted comm. indicated a waiting message. The room's only inhabitant let out a soft sigh. He neatly folded the news flimsy he was reading into his lap as the delicate china teacup in his right hand found its way to the desktop, still gently wafting steam, warming the room with a slight ginseng scent.
"Yes?" The man breathed as much as spoke. More of a half sigh than the intended question.
"Visitor for you, Mr. Christianson. Please proceed to the visitors lounge."
His right eyebrow crawled toward his hairline as several questions sprang to mind. His eyes flicked momentarily to the vidphone on the desk; if there had been trouble, he'd have been called. While the phone was only active during "privilege periods," usually business hours of the day and select hours of the weekend, there were ways around that. This is a minimum security prison, after all, mostly housing political activists, questionable businessmen, and naughty minor nobles too public or too important to mix with "real" criminals. He'd heard that the attached women's prison was even more posh. Trusting that all was still well, he put voice to the most natural next question.
"Who is it?" He asked to the automated system.
"Mr. John Smith" The pleasant but flat feminine voice replied.
Mr. Christianson smiled; his lawyer was the most forgettable man in the universe. From his plain but neat hair cut, conservative (two seasons out of date) suits, quietly competent middle-of-the-group personality, right down to his name. The very reason he chose him.
"Very well." Mr. "Christianson" rose purposefully out of his favorite of the room's two chairs and strode unconcernedly toward the cell door. The door slid open at his approach in the same way one might expect from any shopping facility. With the prison system now granting him essentially free access to the direct path from his cell to the visitor's lounge he could stroll at his own leisure. Realistically this type of prison was more of a minor inconvenience than a real institution of reform. Only spoiled nobles ever thought to cause trouble, and even then the people and systems of this kind of institution were setup more to keep them safe than prevent them from indulging in their momentary fun. However, a prison like this offered some idiosyncrasies that simply couldn't be found anywhere else.
"Mr. Christianson." John Smith rose from the visitor's table, where he had been sitting quietly waiting for his client, and extended his hand. Mr. Christianson took the offered hand and shook it approving of both the arbitrary location of the table and Mr. Smith's crisp traditional cut grey business suit which had probably been a more or less popular style for the last thousand years or more.
"Mr. Smith, what brings you here? Did something new develop with my case?" Christianson put just the right amount of anxious enthusiasm into his voice and face as would be expected from an off world business man "wrongly" accused of illegal business practices. The truth of the matter was Christianson had inserted himself into the role of "bad guy" of someone else''s little melodrama. How relieved Mr. Karson-Fassel, a politically ambitious distant relative of the Fassel family, had seemed when Christianson was arrested. Confused, oh yes, that it hadn't been his long time political and business rival, but he turned it around in the media nicely and was later elected Mayor. If today''s news was to be believed he is a shoe-in for a role in the Belladonna planetary government to be announced latter this year.
"No sir," Mr. Smith responded in his usual non-committal tone, "I received a package for you." Before Christianson could speak, Mr. Smith reached into his brief case and produced a small, and obviously opened, package. It looked to be roughly 27 cm tall by 18 cm wide and only 4 cm thick. Handing it to Christianson he continued,"It arrived via priority courier early this morning from your company. I felt it best to deliver it immediately."" A short and concise explanation that provided all the pertinent information, but offered no unnecessary details. How very lawyer like. Very typical of Mr. Smith.
Christianson accepted the package with a smile and a polite thank you. The package had no doubt been scanned dozens of times and probably hand searched by the prison guards as an added precaution, he wasn't a noble after all. As usual with no other business to attend to Mr. Smith departed in his typically efficient, bordering on abrupt, way.
Back in his cell Christianson examined the package very carefully. The shipping label did indeed have his "company" information as well as several clues, useless to anyone not familiar with the simple adjustments. First, it was shipped to his lawyer rather than to him directly. Second, it was sent priority courier. Third, it was addressed to G. K. Christianson. Finally, it was shipped from a local office in a specific area of town. "Gregory Kail Christianson" smiled, just slightly, so as not to tip off those who watched the security tapes. After nearly a year in this quiet little "resort" it was time to go back to work. His message read loud and clear: "JOB, priority customer, time is important, departure is prepared." The final piece of information would be the item itself.
Upon clearing the packaging it presented itself as a very nice holo-picture frame made of some exotic wood. There would be no electronic message, that would be too obvious. Christianson turned the item over examining it like any business man with a new tech-toy. There were no external markings except the seller''s mark clearly engraved on the back of the frame:
Lyal's Rare Goods, Canopus
Canopus. Interesting, thought Christianson. Reaching for his currently enabled vid phone he punched in the number for his office voice message system. No time like the present, he thought, too bad for Mr. Karson-Fassel. With the receiver half way to his ear, he paused, On the other hand, as the saying goes, Christianson considered slyly, perhaps Mr. Karson-Fassel could be useful. Perhaps my Karson-Fassel's original plan would be better, in case I require his cooperation later...
He began entering his pass code pausing 4 seconds after the third number, instead of 3 seconds after the second as he initially intended, then completed the pass code. The soft feminine voice stuttered the first letter of the first word in the welcome followed by the last letter in every word after that, apparently suffering from the worst malfunction to date, before proceeding to playback 2 meaningless messages. His message system always stuttered letters at random, and now to those listening in would appear to be breaking down entirely.
Four hours later division 8 of the local police, better known in the Balladonna press as the business criminal and fraud division, received a rather complete trail of information from an anonymous source. If the same system which quietly relayed the information to the police didn't receive a confirmation code in 24 hours then it would resend the information to a law firm containing a certain completely forgettable, but thorough, lawyer.