Timshel
13 Aug 2017Isaiah Evanson
Payson HubThe Zearla System
25 MARCH 3303
Isaiah Evanson stuffed the folded piece of paper into the rough hands of the man next to him, not looking away from the sight of the gathering below them. The balcony afforded them a wide view of the plaza, where people had gathered outside of a Wreaken office to protest. Lines of protesters stood in neat rows behind metal barriers while security forces in riot gear watched the undulating mass.
"What's this?" the man next to Isaiah asked, his voice gravelly. In the age of wireless information transfers and direct messaging, paper carried a covert connotation. He unfolded the page and looked down at it. "Oh, I see," he said, nodding his head. "Timshel, huh? Thou mayest. Interesting choice of name."
"Burn that once you have everything," Isaiah replied, folding his arms on the balcony railing. "I hope that's not too tall of an order."
"Ship's going to be a right pain to scrub clean, but I'm sure we can manage." The man folded up the page and tucked it into his coat pocket. "I assume you've already paid?"
"I have. Just make it happen, and soon."
"Can do."
A few moments of relative silence passed, punctuated by the chants of the crowd. Isaiah studied the ebb and flow, watching people move about. Across the plaza, Isaiah could make out the silhouettes of tactical response officers perched on the rooftop of the Wreaken office. Their uniforms differed from that of the ones on the ground level.
"I ain't due out for a couple more hours," the man next to him said calmly, folding his arms over his chest. "Damn protest has the docking bay all sorts of congested. So, if you don't mind me asking for the sake of conversation, why'd you pick this place to meet?"
"Multitasking," Isaiah muttered, closing his eyes and letting his head droop as he leaned on the balcony for support. "Getting the feel for things, taking a pulse reading, seeing what there is to see."
"What are you hoping to find out?"
"Dispositions. Rumors with merit. Leads."
The man's demeanor changed slightly. Isaiah sensed it in the subtle change of his body language, the way he tensed up at the mention of leads. "What, are you a cop or something?"
"Not exactly."
"Bounty hunter?"
"Used to be. Not these days, although the skills come in handy."
"So what are you then?"
Isaiah turned his head and looked at the man in the eyes, tightening his jaw. "Why are you so keen to find out? I thought this was a no-questions-asked transaction."
The man looked taken aback, pursing his lips. He broke eye contact and shrugged his shoulders. "Mild curiosity I guess. I deal with all sorts but you seem like you're looking for something. Or someone, perhaps."
Isaiah wasn't about to spill his thoughts to a stranger. He'd been on the trail of many things over the intervening months, sacrificing his personal relationships for something... higher? Is that what I think I'm doing? Something for the greater good? But what was the greater good? Who was right? Who was wrong? He felt paralyzed by indecision, not having all of the facts, not even sure of what it was he stood for.
He still had his principles, but for how much longer? He was looking for black and white in a world that was full of gray. Nothing made perfect sense. At best, the powers and people in power were ideologues; at worst, tyrants. He'd fled the Federation because of the underhanded tactics he'd witnessed during his time in the Foreign Service. Corruption and treachery had already reared its head in the Empire, but now it seemed to be coming straight to his doorstep.
Who can I trust?
That was the question though, wasn't it? Who could anyone trust in an age where deception was the only truth?
Trust no one.
"I reckon I better get on my way then," the man said. "I'll reach out to you once I've fulfilled your... request."
"Much obliged."
"You stickin' around to watch the protest?"
Isaiah rose to his full height and stretched, groaning softly as his muscles contracted and relaxed in the station's gravity. "That's what I came here for," he said. "Fly safe."
"You too."
As the man left, Isaiah pulled out his data slate and scrolled through the local Galnet feeds, stopping at the most recent story. He'd already seen it once, but he needed to re-read it again.
Perpetrators of Darnielle's Progress Heist Identified
His mind drifted across the past several months, thinking back on his time with the Legion, his off-the-books investigations. The pieces were fitting together, but what was the endgame? Could Wreaken have had something to do with the tantalum order in Prism? Or was the client, still unknown to him even after the order had been fulfilled, someone more infamous?
The answers, Isaiah feared, were not going to be quite what he was looking for.