How I Got Here: "Friends In High Places"
17 Jan 2024Columbuss
Commander Justin Estok. Stardate 17-JAN-3310."Does the name 'Bianci' mean anything to you?"
Placing the unlit end of the cigarette between my lips, I watch as the tip of it glows bright orange. A tendril of smoke rises up in a coil, dancing in small circles before disappearing, somewhere, above my head. I suck at the filter between my lips, listening to the sizzle as the burning ember crawls up the length of paper toward my mouth before dulling and turning black. With a slight flick, the ash falls off, extinguishing itself with a hiss at the bottom of the paper coffee cup beneath.
Somewhere outside the office, a communicator buzzes with an incoming call before going silent and being replaced with a voice belonging to a face I haven't seen. Two more voices slowly crescendo before fading out again as they pass the doorway. Somewhere outside, among the various rows of cubicles filled with various analysts of varying degrees of confidentiality, a water cooler bubbles as it refills it's lines. Rows of clocks line the walls displaying multiple time zones from a plethora of different star systems while a ticker scrolls by with headlines from GalNet. Each analyst keeping a close eye on any news story that might break pertaining to the section of space falling under their jurisdiction.
These people, it's their job to know the headlines of whatever story GalNet decides to run before they reach the public. If GalNet runs a story and this agency doesn't already know about it, you can assume someone's getting fired. Despite this particular office being located in Winter's section of The Federation, organizations like this one all benefitted from increased budgets thanks to Hudson's proactive detection initiative. In the days before The Nine, this office might have been half this busy. Now, there were hundreds of fresh new Agent's all searching for crime and corruption wherever they could find it. Every single one looking for terror plots in every dark corner of Federal space.
This place, the office here on Ito Orbital, it's the central nervous system of covert Federal investigations for Liberal Command. Interstellar security, it isn't all about space flight and dogfights. Policing Federal star systems and hyperspace routes isn't always about threats and ultimatums. It isn't always interdictions and warrant scans. Most all interstellar security, it's done on paper. The sound of spinning hyperdrives, it's replaced with the buzzing sound of copy machines. Pulse cannons and missile racks, they're replaced with staplers and pens. That constant hum you hear, it isn't from the on ship power plant. It's from the florescent lighting in the ceiling.
"I knew I'd see you again," a voice says upon entering the room, "I just didn't think it would be this soon."
"Good to see you too, Aly," I reply, before extinguishing what's left of the cigarette in the paper cup and setting it down on the table next to the chair.
Alysianne moves from the periphery of my vision toward the desk in the center of the room. She's traded the street clothes she was wearing the last time I saw her for a smartly manicured suit, typical of Federal Agents who tend to have an office door with a name plate on it. Setting down the stack of files she carried in with her on the corner of her desk, she settles in to her chair before flicking her wrist at the holographic computer display in the center. A transparent star map appears, hovering in the space above the plethora of paper work on her desk, each star outlined in blue light.
"If I know you, and GalNet is anything to go by, you've been busy," she says. "You've been making a lot of noise outside of Federal space. The kind of noise that's hard for someone like me, that's tied to it, to keep quiet."
"Keeping tabs on me are you?" I ask. "I thought that tracking device was removed."
"You don't need a tracking device to find out where you've been," she replies, flicking her wrist again and projecting GalNet headlines from Loha and Paresa as she swipes. "There's four dead men with ties to organized crime in a busted open lab in the Loha System... oh, and what's this I'm hearing from my friends who work The Empire about a shootout in... Paresa was it? If there is one system in the galaxy that doesn't need any more headlines..."
"Look,” I say. “Regarding the bodies at Renenbellet, they must have been Grill’s people. He must have found out we’d gotten to Ardulo and sent them to silence Abbott. It’s what I would have done. And as for Paresa, well, I hope you're talking about what happened at Koishikawa," I snap back. "That ‘League of Mandu‘ fiasco, that had nothing to do with me..."
"Ugh, don't remind me," she says, rolling her eyes. "A bunch of overzealous upstarts."
"Those 'upstarts' nearly started a war."
"That's Hudson's foreign policy for you," she says. "Ever since The Nine, every flag waving, chest puffing, ‘Earth First’ nationalist see's terrorists wherever they look. Anyway,” she says, “I take it you found Abbott at least."
"I did."
"And?" she asks.
"Let's just say he won't be helping us any more than he already has," I reply.
Reaching into my jacket pocket, I remove a data disc and hand it to Aly. She looks at it curiously before diverting her eyes back to me. She slides the disc into the computer before files begin to open in the space between us.
"What is this?" she asks.
"These are flight records and cargo manifests for an Imperial corporation called Nova Matella out of the Paresa system. This is where Abbott sent the package of Cirillium that Ardulo was talking about."
"Paresa is an NMLA hotbed. How did you get this?" she asks.
"Probably best not to ask," I reply, before she shoots me a sideways glance.
"Wait a minute," she says. "Did you say ‘Cirillium’?!"
"I believe it was used as a catalyst in the explosion on Al Mina."
Aly moves her hands to the projection, tucking the records on the screen behind another group of files. After some leafing, she pulls up what appears to be a blue print of Ito Orbital along with a file titled "Damage Report".
"Look at this," she says, pointing to the screen. "This is the damage report from the Nine Martyrs attack that took place here. It looks like the explosives left behind a significant amount of something called Octahydro-Tetrazocine. This looks like the chemical compound left over from residual Cirillium combustion. I knew I recognized that name."
"Any idea where it came from?" I ask.
"I'm sure whomever is still working the case has some idea. I can look into it. Did Abbott tell you anything about Rising Damp?"
"Rising Damp was Ardulo's contact, not Abbott's," I reply. "Abbott wouldn't have known who Rising Damp was. If Rising Damp was going to be anywhere, they would have made the arrangements at Nova Matella after arranging the package with Ardulo."
"So that's why you were in Paresa," she says. "You were taking this information from Nova Matella. I suppose that explains the shootout."
"I said not to ask. Suffice to say, It would appear these 'New Imperials' are as tight lipped as the old ones," I reply.
"So," she says after a deep breath. "This 'Rising Damp' procures a load of Cirillium. Sends it to Ardulo for analysis. Ardulo sends it to Abbott who then ships it on to Nova Matella and the NMLA. So how did it end up being used in The Nine Martyrs AND in Al Mina? Where did it go when it left Paresa?"
"That's why I'm here," I reply.
Aly stands, pressing her suit down across her frame and striding toward the sink near the corner of the room. Reaching into a cabinet, she pulls out two tumblers and a bottle of brown liquid. She walks it back over to the desk before setting the two tumblers down and, holding the bottle just off center from each glass, letting the rotation of Ito do it's thing, begins to pour a few fingers of liquid into each.
"Federal Reserve?" I ask.
"Would I pour you anything else?" She says before holding the glass up and clinking it to the side of mine.
"This is good work," she says after sipping at the sharp liquid, the burn showing on her face as it goes down her throat. "A little unorthodox and off the cuff, but good work all the same. This information is helpful to us, here at Federal Investigations, but I fail to see how any of this is helpful to you. You've lost the trail. It looks like everything dries up with this... Nova Matella company."
"Not exactly," I reply. Setting down the glass of brown liquor, I sit down at Aly's desk before flipping my hands through the projections. I pull Nova Matella's flight log and shipping manifest back to the center of the screen. Gliding down the register, Aly moves in behind me to get a better view as I settle on a dated shipment log.
"What is this?" she asks.
"Does the name 'Bianci' mean anything to you?"