The Journey of Rick Heiden - Chapters 45 and 46
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This novel contains 50 CHAPTERS, and every post will have 2 chapters each.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
An eruption of rapid tang-tang-tangs reverberated inside my head the instant I arrived on Earth. My lagging consciousness reasserted itself, and I realized I sat amid a hailstorm of bullets pounding my ship from all sides. I braced myself in the seat and stiffened my head against the headrest for a rapid vertical ascent. The moment of downward pressure felt more familiar than Earth's gravity, but the faster the ship moved, the less I sensed the motion.
My ship, the Berlioz, and I rose high into the air, well above the tightly gnarled sea of trees called Aokigahara, the suicide forest, where the portal had lain hidden for hundreds of years. Mount Fuji's snowy western face had an orange glow; I had arrived on the island of Japan a few minutes before sundown.
The ship's sensors alerted me that two fighter jets from a nearby military base had turned my direction, flying at Mach 2, and would be upon me in seconds. It was most likely the Americans. Thanks to years of subscriptions to various science magazines, I knew that Earth's aircraft traveled less than Mach 5. Engaging the rear thrusters, I departed, rather than toying with them by waiting until the last second. They abandoned the pursuit when I surpassed their speed and altitude limit. I knew returning to Earth to save David would make a target of me again; it went with the territory.
David's letters implied that diplomatic discussions with the Japanese had gone well, so I found it curious they allowed the Americans to garrison at the portal. Then again, given the position the Japanese were in with the Americans, could they stop them? Whatever the answer, I made a record of my unwelcome in the ship's log.
A Jiyuvian named Gabriel had proclaimed himself Jiyu's adversary. He caused my return to Earth. He claimed he sent what he called a Trojan Horse to Earth to hunt David and kill him. If true, I concluded he meant the mercenary named Salvatore Greco, as the Trojans were Greeks, and the name Greco means 'of Greece'. Gabriel must have used his Prime-Sharer ability to program his mind to commit the deed. However, after having given Gabriel a Revertor vile in his juice that morning, he should rapidly lose that ability. Once I returned home, I would use my Prime-Share ability on him, force him to awaken Amare and Dmitry, and then that will be that, but first I had to find David.
We had sent Greco and Lopez, the two American mercenaries we found at the second portal, back to Earth 30 days earlier at the beginning of the jear. Thirty days on Jiyu measured a rough equivalence to six days on Earth, give or take some hours. He had ample time to perform his task. Had I arrived too late?
My ship, the Berlioz, a stunning black beauty both fast and versatile, culminated hundreds of jears of Jiyuvian technology. An A.I. friend named Venn designed it, forged it, and at the request of Amare, gave it to me. From where I sat, the 180-degree screen covered much of the cockpit interior. Panels of touchscreen controls surrounded me, and a holographic yolk for maneuvering floated within easy reach.
The ship's computerized teacher released me from instruction before the beginning of the jear; so, I made the trip to Earth with the knowledge of the ship's inner workings. I knew that upon detecting possible hull damage, the vessel would pressure test the envelope for leakage.
The Berlioz could do many things, but it could not cloak itself, so the potential of future engagements with various militaries worried me. However, the ship's nanotube covering could absorb a range of electromagnetic radiation frequencies preventing ground radar from detecting the ship's presence and weapons from locking onto it. Without that ability, and its collision avoidance systems, the Terrans firing an air-to-air or ground-to-air missile might have proved more than the Berlioz could handle, and I had no desire to put the ship to the test. So, we, the ship and I, hovered just below the ionosphere at 70 kilometers (43 miles) altitude for safety, but I would never find David at that distance. I contemplated how to land in London, avoiding the invasion of another country's airspace during the descent. Before that could happen, however, I needed to make a phone call.
The pressure test revealed no holes in the hull of the ship. "Thank you, Venn."
I left the cockpit to search the stowage between the folded jumpseats. While digging into my things, I glanced into the mirror I had attached to one of the cabinet doors. Although I had slept a full night's sleep the previous evening on Jiyu, the shadow across my eyes and the expression of worry made me appear tired. I took a deep breath and tried to think more positive things, like David's amazement at seeing my full head of hair. I knew the greater musculature I earned in my gym (intended to distract me from the sexual drought I experienced in his absence) would please him. Also, he wanted me to grow and not feel as though he must hold my hand every moment. I had realized my capability by then; much had happened after he departed for Earth. One occurrence had left me with the bloody hope he would forgive me.
I found what I sought; I brought my mobile with me. The service would stay active thanks to the automatic payments taken from the money left in my London bank account. To reach the mobile service, though, we would have to drop down to no more than 10,000 feet, making the Berlioz an easy visual target. Instead, I had the ship's computer hack into a European internet satellite, adapting an interface, the Berlioz could then transmit a local Wi-Fi signal for an internet call. The encoded, raw data took time to crack, but it proved no match for the ship's onboard computer. It took less than 20 minutes to interface with the satellite. The instant it did, I called David's mobile, but it went straight to voicemail. Either he had turned it off or it lay outside the network range. I left him an urgent message.
I called David's friend, and member of the Prime Minister's Cabinet of the United Kingdom, the Right Honourable Amanda Newton. I knew nothing of British politics and little of its governmental departments. As a former exile from the United States, and an asylee of the United Kingdom, I couldn't vote, so I never bothered to learn. David trusted Ms. Newton. He told me she would know where I could find him, but she never answered my call, and her overloaded voicemail refused my message. I concluded the time had come for the last resort.
Amanda Newton held the position of Secretary of State for Home Affairs, and it took time to track down a public number that could route me to her office. I accepted the impossibility she would answer, and fully expected to reach Amanda's 38th undersecretary or some such distant functionary.
I thought to use the title that Mason insisted on calling me. Titles captivated the humans of Earth. They demanded attention, providing a level of distinction and respectability not afforded the likes of Joe Schmo from South Acton. The automated answering computer for her office left me on hold for what seemed like ages, listening to the most god-awful music, interspersed with assurances of speaking to an actual human sometime before Christmas.
"Secretary of State Amanda Newton's office, Eliza Davies speaking, how may I help you?"
"I am Captain Richard Heiden of the SJS Berlioz, mate to the Jiyuvian Ambassador, David Levitt. I've just arrived through the portal in Japan. I have made an unsuccessful attempt to contact David's mobile, and the attempt to reach Ms. Newton's private number has failed as well. As much as I dislike having to go through channels, this public number remains my last-"
"Captain Richard Heiden or whatever," she said, "I refused to fall for such nonsense two days ago, and I won't fall for it now, good day."
At which point, she rang off, hence the reason I have loathed contacting people through channels. In a less than polite tone, I called her back. After another lengthy wait, which provided ample time to fume over the situation, she once again gave me the standard greeting, to which I immediately injected, "Ms. Davies, do not hang up on me!"
"Captain Heiden?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"One moment, Captain."
"Captain Heiden," said a new voice, "I'm Caroline Walker, personal assistant to Secretary of State Amanda Newton. I don't know if you remember me, but I wish to apologize to you for the confusion. As you might not realize, we've had the occasional prank call."
"Yes, I remember you, Ms. Walker. What made the difference?"
"We record and log every call," she said. "I had the secretary send a copy of all calls regarding Jiyu to my computer. I believed I recognized your voice from when we met the day you left."
"Well, I appreciate that you took my call," I said, "and I apologize for having to use the internet, but I have no mobile service in my ship forty miles above the Earth."
"Is that the ship you had before?"
I paused a moment to consider her unusual question. "Oh, I get it; we must have certainty, mustn't we? I didn't have a ship before. Please, challenge me directly so we can get on with why I called."
"Tell me the name of the ship you took from Genoa to Osaka," she said.
"We took the Torekka Maru from Venice to Yokohama, not that we made the full journey. Does that satisfy you?"
"Again, I am sorry. What can I do for you, Mr. Heiden?"
"For clarity," I said, "I am Captain Richard Heiden of the SJS Berlioz. I need to speak with Secretary of State, Amanda Newton. As I said, she did not answer her private number."
"My apologies, Captain Heiden. Let me give you another number to call if we lose the connection." She did so. "Ms. Newton has a meeting until eleven o'clock this morning."
"Does this meeting take place at the Cabinet Office?"
"No, she held a special meeting at the Home Office today," she said.
"I see. Could you tell me the time and date in London, please?"
"It's 10:57 a.m. on Friday, November 30th."
As the Berlioz's computer listened to our conversation, it noted the time and date, adjusting our clock to match Earth's and when I glanced at my watch, I noted that it had changed to read the same time as the ship on a 24-hour dial, as I learned on Jiyu that the watch only appeared analog.
"Thank you for that. Ah...Please, tell Ms. Newton I called. She's a busy woman, I know, but I must speak with her. I will arrive at the Home Office in half an hour. Due to the method of my arrival, I will require an escort into the building, so if she would have someone to, please, step out front at that time, I will meet them there. I know that's a lot to ask, and I do apologize."
When the call ended, I searched an online map to find the Home Office located at 2 Marsham Street. I programmed the ship's computer to make a drop to the front of the building to let me out. The instant my body cleared the hatchway, the Berlioz would leave at high speed when its altitude doubled the height of The Shard, London's tallest building. It would then place itself in geosynchronous orbit well out of harm's reach.
The mini-bot I came to call a "Captain's Attendant" shadowed me everywhere. Due to the incident on Jiyu, the vessel carried Venn's upgraded version of them. He replaced the fly-sized original with an adaptive robot the size of a Japanese beetle bearing an intrinsic connection to the ship. It could contact the Berlioz regardless of my location, including underground. It could fly cloaked as a security measure, trailing me, providing a means of communication, or it could alight on my clothing to ensure I remained accompanied. I also had the ship monitor the frequency used by the communication enhancement that usually connected me with Iris on Jiyu. With it, I could call for the ship in the case of an emergency, but that means only functioned while in range.
I dug into my backpack to remove some of the gold Venn gave me. I thought to leave most of it on the ship. Venn gave me an equivalent of 500 one-quarter ounce blank rounds in aurum. The 139th Prime, known as Aurum, made them and named the coins after himself. He minted and marked these, inexplicably rigid, 5 troy ounce coins at 99.99% Fine. I gave one a closer inspection beneath a light. The bottom of the back of the coin had a tiny, embossed number in high relief: 000,000,000,000,021. Astonished, I searched the other coins in turn, and each one had its own number.
"You must be joking," I said to myself.
After a thousand jears of automated mining and minting, Aurum's enormous vault held hundreds of billions of coins, possibly a trillion or more. Had Venn taken them all? Did he have them counted and categorized by number? He must have, for in my hand, lay the first 25 coins, minted a thousand jears ago on Jiyu. My body trembled at the potential. Together, they amounted to 125 troy ounces of gold, valuable by themselves, I knew. I would have no difficulty selling the gold at the exchange, but the low mintage numbers might garner an above-market price. I put the first 10 coins in the side pouch of my bag, and the rest in stowage.
During my descent, I gave the military aircraft from any country, including the U.K., no opportunity to intercept us. As the Berlioz and I made the final leg of the drop, I donned my pistol harness and jacket. I took my backpack from stowage, tossed it over my shoulder, and squatted in the hatchway. I grasped the brace when I opened the hatch and squinted at the misty, chilled air that swept into the compartment. When the Berlioz made a gentle touch onto the street in front of the Home Office building, I stepped out, and the ship ascended once again. I blinked at the water droplets that formed on my eyelashes as I watched it leave. A few seconds passed, and I heard the distant sonic boom after the ship disappeared into the cloud cover. The people on the sidewalks, and the workers on the scaffolding across the street, saw the whole thing. I could have used some discretion by landing elsewhere and walking to the Home Office, but the British would find out about the ship eventually.
I arrived four minutes late on that damp, crisp, November 30th. I turned back toward the building to see that Amanda Newton had stepped out the "Passholder" side of the entrance shaking her head.
"Now, I understand why you requested an escort," she said across the distance between us, "They alerted security here." She turned up the collar of the wool coat she wore, which covered an over-dyed skirt and blazer of the same material. Behind her came a man from security, wearing a blue jacket. "Stand down; leave it to me," she said to him.
I tread past the security bollards at the curb, as if they were a point of no return, and we walked toward one another. "I apologize for the dramatic entrance."
Amanda clipped a badge onto my coat. "I take it you're packing heat," she said, using an American idiom.
"Yeah, well, with the kill setting locked out, it's more like packing warmth. Also, I carry fifty ounces of gold."
She laughed in silence, shaking her head. "Just like David, you're both guileless."
I shrugged. "If you catch me lying, what reason do you have to believe me again?"
"In my experience," she said, "that seldom stops anyone. This badge will keep security off your back, and for god sake, don't lose it."
"Thank you." The badge contained my picture from when I had no hair. I couldn't imagine where she got it until I remembered the government had taken my photo during my previous vetting process. "Is David here?"
"Don't thank me yet," she said. "We should talk about David."
Amanda led me below the asymmetrical white screens into the glass-fronted building of the Home Office. We slipped past security and entered the central atrium. On every level, the modern, voluminous space with rows of glass-pane balcony walls had dozens of staring eyes following us as Amanda escorted me to the secured wing. I had never experienced the intensity of the eyes that observed me that morning. I could feel them upon me, like fresh meat entering a prison. I imagined that David had to cope with that level of curiosity every day.
Her office, one of the coveted corner offices, commanded the best view the building offered on the fifth floor with the tower of Big Ben and the London Eye in the distance. The room had lots of light. A broad, nutmeg-colored cherry wood desk of convex shape sat in prominence before the concave glass outer wall.
She hung her coat on the rack near the door to the left.
I opened my coat, showing her my weapons. "I should leave this on."
"Probably best," she said, then walked to her desk, picked up a white envelope, and proceeded to the sitting area of her office. She sat sideways on the tufted grey velvet Chesterfield, patting the seat in front of her.
I accepted her offer and dropped the bag at my feet.
"Would you like coffee or tea?"
"Thank you, but no. You wished to speak with me. What's wrong with David?"
"I'll get to that, but I have several things you should know," she said. "I don't know what David told you in his letters to you, but I'll briefly fill you in on what's happening here, especially the last ten days.
"The Foundational Enhancement has spread in the industrialized nations, but not as fast as we expected at this point. So far, it has advanced more quickly in industrialized countries that lack a decent healthcare system, namely the United States. The third world had not been hit yet, and David tells me that when it does, if it spreads solely by sexual means, the deaths there, in the places where they have less food, will slow its progression. KGSC released its gelcap of the enhancement two days ago. Japan will be the first to receive it, but after that, it's anyone's guess.
"The world's economies have seen significant changes, and so far, we've managed to stave off a rapid decline, but the U.S. has suffered more than any other because they continue to be mismanaged. Corporations that can have begun to plan their response to it, and food production is up globally, but the projections indicate that long term, increased production is not sustainable.
"No one, especially the younger generations, like the name of the Foundational Enhancement. So, social media has provided one that seems to have caught on. They call getting the enhancement to cure your ailments, getting Ironed Out. People openly discuss looking for or selling some Iron."
"Iron?"
"Foundational Enhancement, FE, periodic table, iron, get the picture?"
"Ah! Clever, I actually like that better myself," I said.
She nodded. "It's catchy." She paused a moment to think. "During the last ten days, after the repercussions became real to the people it will affect most, financially speaking, a backlash began. A few of the countries controlled by monied interests have begun speaking out against Jiyu. They represent mostly 20th Century technology. They fear that any technology that you will bring to this world will put them out of business, and it most likely will."
"You mean the United States."
"They are one of the main sources of contention, yes, along with all the major fossil fuel producing countries," she said, "but virtually every country has at least a few speaking out."
"No one here should seek to hold back progress."
She nodded. "There are plenty of people here who will pick profit over progress every time. But, for a change, the UK agrees with your sentiment, and we are taking steps to meet the future. Much of the European continent also agrees, and many technology-loving Asian countries as well. There are people all over the planet who see Jiyu as a net good, even in the US. However, the world has its share of dinosaurs, fear mongers, and Luddites, many of whom are world leaders."
I took a deep breath. "I haven't a clue what to do about those people, other than to ignore them."
"We're going to keep an eye on them privately," she said, "but publicly ignore them."
"Has David's presence helped?"
"In a message that all the networks sent out, he told everyone how it worked, what to expect, and said that light at the end of the upcoming tunnel does exist. He pressed the point that surviving the tunnel will happen, but how many of us make it to the other side depends on how much we care about those around us."
"He's not wrong," I said, "and I'm sure that the choir listened, but did anyone else?"
"Yes. The British Government is listening; we said we would. We know that fighting this would tear this country apart more than letting it happen. And so far, things have come together in the UK to prepare for the worst. Many countries are following our model of how to survive this. Everyone else will do as they've always done, and we can't make them do otherwise. We agree with David though. Once these other countries see us continue while they struggle, they will probably get onboard, but that may be too late for some of them."
"What has the UK done to help itself?"
"We've stockpiled enough food for everyone in this country to survive nano-integration."
"That sounds great. How many people have gotten Ironed Out?"
"It's still early days," she said, "but by last estimates, only about 1%, so a rough 660,000 people UK wide. The larger cities make up the biggest portion of that number, and of course, it grows daily. It seems that selling Iron has become a booming short-term business."
"How is the UK government looking at this for the future?"
"Most of us have chosen a pragmatic view," she said. "This country has seen devastation before, so we will overcome, but if our effort to stave off the world's economic collapse fails, this planet will need the help of Jiyu to prevent our societies from deteriorating into a new dark age."
"Do you see it as that dire?"
"If you don't," she said, "then you either know something I do not, or you're more naïve than I thought."
"I understand. We will help. We have every desire to, and you might be surprised at what can be done, but this world will have to bend if it doesn't want to break."
"No doubt," she said. "Now we've come to David. He left two days ago, I don't know where he has gone, and it worries me."
"David told me he would inform you of his whereabouts. Why didn't he?"
"I don't know," she said. "We know he took the train to Paris, but that's all. No one reported anything unusual about the train, and it reached the station in Paris on time." She held up the white envelope the size of a personal letter. "Let's see what this says. It's been a wrench, but he addressed it to you, and I promised him I wouldn't open it, so I haven't."
She handed it to me. It remained sealed, and the front carried my name in David's print. I opened it. Inside, I found the key card to the penthouse at the hotel. I read it aloud.
My dearest Rick,
I apologize for not handing you the key and telling you this in person. I left something for you in the hotel safe under your name. I don't know if Amanda's curiosity will make her read this, but she can't see what I left you. Say nothing to her, let me tell her when I return.
All my love,
David
"Whoops, looks like I shouldn't have read that aloud, oh well." --I noted the date on it-- "He gave you this Wednesday."
"Yes," she said, "Wednesday morning. He gave that to me in case you turned up, and there you sit. Did he know you were coming?"
"I don't see how he could have."
"So, does Jiyu need David, or do you?"
"I came to warn David. He's in danger of assassination from a Phalin mercenary named Salvatore Greco. I bloody hope I'm not too late. But no, I don't need David the way I once did. He will find me...different.
"Salvatore Greco," she said, "we will look into him." She thought for a moment, tilted her head, and leaned forward. "So, Captain Richard Heiden of the SJS Berlioz, that sounds a little pretentious for you."
She hadn't fooled me, and I found it amusing. "I see through you like that window right there," I said. "Claims of pretension to elicit an ego restoring need to tell all. Perhaps, you saw nothing more than a flying car."
"Did I?"
I knew by the tone of her question that she desperately wanted to know about my ship. I just stared at her, and the whole thing gave me a belly laugh. "It will happen one day, Amanda, but not now. We must prioritize things."
"Of course." Her lips, subtle in the pink shade of lipstick she wore, curled into the tiniest of smiles, telling me I hadn't misread her. "As a question of greater understanding, I know what HMS, USS, DKM, and IJN stand for, but what does SJS stand for?"
"Sovereign Jiyuvian Ship," I said.
"So, it's not a military vessel."
"No, the ship is mine."
"Sovereign," she said with a tip of her head. "Do Jiyuvians see themselves as sovereign?"
"What has David said to you?"
"We haven't broached the subject. Unofficially, what do you think David might say?"
"Funny you should ask. Our friend Julien Le Gal said that as the first non-citizens of this world, you will have much debate about how to treat us, but I see no debate on how to treat someone who has no master."
"So, you claim sovereignty," she said, "like our queen."
"Minus the compulsive servility and the bowing and scraping, sure."
Her forehead wrinkled as she adjusted her posture, and her eyes narrowed. "Do you think you're better than us?"
I gave a profound sighed knowing why she asked, the typical human modus of finger-pointing rather than looking within.
"No," I said, "I see us all as equals. The difference between you and me is not in how I view you, but in how you view yourself. Think about this, if the queen is sovereign, then human sovereignty exists. You should ask yourself why it doesn't apply to you. Only one honest answer exists, and it doesn't involve money, breeding, genetics, tradition, religion, or a god." I stood from the sofa. "I must apologize, Amanda, for the abrupt departure, but I should go." I held up the letter. "David has made a request of me that I should see to. Afterward, I must eat and see to my finances. Does the government have any objections to my selling any gold?"
"Would it matter if it did?"
"Of course," I said, "why else would I ask? We're friends, Amanda. So, if anyone, including a British government official," --I gestured to her-- "should visit Jiyu, no one would conceive of denying them anything necessary. Money is necessary here; that's not my doing. I wish to work within your system, not subvert it. So, what would you have me do?"
She stood with her arms folded, almost looking down her nose at me. "Would you have us turned into something more like Jiyu?"
I thought about it for a moment and saw that she required disarming. I lifted my right hand, wiggling my fingers. "See this hand? You might call it a helping hand." I reached out as if to shake hers, and she reached out, grasping mine, almost out of reflex. "If you need me, you can reach out for my help, and not to suggest that I won't make any reasonable conditions on that help, but my business with you ends at the tip of my fingers and no further. Do you understand?"
"Like David, you're no fool," she said. "You both would love to see us more like Jiyu, but you have the foresight and forbearance to not push it."
"This world will have to evolve as it does," I said, "so if it becomes more like Jiyu, it won't be at our insistence."
She nodded. "I don't know how well the idea of treating Jiyuvian people as sovereign will go over, but if we treat the queen as sovereign and she behaves herself, I see no reason to deny the accommodation of your people with the same understanding." As we continued holding hands, she shook it. "I admire that you took the chance with that level of honesty."
"Well, you're quite reasonable," I said. "I see why David likes you."
She smiled and went to her desk. "I have something else for you." --she wrote something down-- "We know where you took your gold when last you came. That company has a decent reputation, but someone who wishes to remain anonymous requested that I give one of you this at an opportune moment." She handed me a card.
"Leatherdale of London. This carries the Royal Warrant too. Interesting. So, which member of the royal family made the request?"
"I promised I wouldn't say," she said.
"Well, then I won't pressure you, but may I know the reason for corralling me into this location?"
"You haven't viewed the internet, have you?"
"No, why?"
"All over the world, people have an interest in Jiyu," she said, "so anything Jiyuvian has become valuable, and as such, the queen openly designated Leatherdale of London the outlet for Jiyuvian valuables because they will ensure provenance. A Leatherdale auction could sell your empty backpack for many thousands of pounds. Before the queen made the designation, thieves might recognize you and steal anything you have, thinking they will make money from it. Now, that's less likely to happen."
"What prompted that?"
"Someone stole David's sword, and as we want to ensure your safety and goodwill, the queen took it upon herself to assist you."
"That's a thoughtful gesture," I said. "I should send her a note of thanks. Of course, taking something to Leatherdale also provides royal dibs on what we bring here."
"It does that too," she said. "Just so you know, foreign ambassadors and diplomats don't pay income taxes here, just VAT when purchasing and we can reimburse that over a certain amount. Sell your gold, do what you must. David trusts you, so I trust you, but I will have to trust you in the hands of the director of MI5, Mr. Haywood. I've written his number on the back of that card.
"I know this is bad timing, but my ex-husband, my daughter, and I are taking the weekend abroad. She has shown interest in going to a theme park in France that her friends have visited, and since she has never made a request of that sort, we're taking her there; they make special efforts for children with autism, and while we are there, Robert wants to discuss getting her the foundational enhancement. It's already helped several children with autism, but it's a big step."
"You've not ironed yourself out either, have you?"
"No, it comes with the pheromonal connection," she said. "I wouldn't want a connection to just anyone."
"I can understand your position. You're already naturally connected to David."
She nodded. "He admitted that. Anyway, you have my private number. Should I not answer you, I'll ring you back when I can, so please, if you find David, let me know. He worries me."
"I know you love David too, so you have my word."
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The misty rain had stopped, but the dreary overcast hung heavily over London. Amanda called for a government vehicle to transport me. She wanted to know what David had left in the hotel safe as much as I did. The typical black Jaguar pulled into the lay-by in the front of the Home Office, and I climbed in.
I sat in the car, staring out the window at nothing, biting my thumbnail with worry.
I arrived at the hotel near Trafalgar. Its interior looked the same, contemporary decor with the massive chandelier. They appeared to have shaken up their hotel staff, however. Jatin, usually the night manager, worked the front desk, wearing a beautiful navy, slim-cut suit. He looked a far more handsome man than Mikesh, who I expected to see.
"Ah! Mr. Heiden," Jatin said, "what a pleasure to have you with us. Did Mr. Levitt not come with you?"
"No, I didn't inform him of my visit," I said. "He'll turn up, no doubt. And I go by Captain Heiden now, so please get used to it. I figured I would see Mikesh. Does he have today off?"
"Mikesh no longer works here." Jatin leaned over the counter between us. "The owner fired him for letting the man into your rooms."
"Why? We never complained."
"It somehow came to the owner's attention," he said, "and he promoted me to day manager."
I looked at him askance. "I'm sure. I understand that David left something for me in the hotel safe. May I have it, please?"
While Jatin had gone to retrieve it, I scoped out the lobby. The guests that checked out that morning had left by eleven o'clock, and most everyone else had gone for the day or to lunch, leaving minor traffic in the main hall. This caused me to observe the conspicuous twenty-year-old with the digital camera photographing me. Unfazed that I noticed him, he continued. When he felt he had enough, he walked to me and thanked me for allowing it. A sturdy and stout figure, he appeared my height with chestnut brown hair so short that it clung to his head, light blue eyes, and pecan color skin, in a tone as even and clear as those I had seen on Jiyu.
"My name is George. If you would ever consider giving me an interview, Captain Heiden, please call me." He gave me his card, a little bow, and departed.
His card stated his name, George Wood, his number, and informed me that he worked as a freelance journalist. No doubt, the website about us would pay handsomely for the information I might give him.
Jatin returned a minute later with a small, stiff, manila envelope the size of my palm. I took it, and as I felt famished, ordered room service before taking the lift to the penthouse.
With Aiden's bug detector, I gave the room a thorough inspection. Surprisingly, I found nothing. The place looked the same as before, minus David. His clothes, including his jeather uniform, hung in the closet. I added my extra set alongside his. I picked up and sniffed the collar of his jacket. Jeather doesn't smell like leather, and as it had the treatment, it held no scent of David. Disappointed, I rehung and straightened it on the hanger.
I settled in and sat at the maple table, ready to open the envelope when my food arrived. As hungry as I had become, I didn't wait to eat my double order of Indian spiced chicken with curried vegetables and brown rice. During my meal, I inspected the packet. I sniffed it. Even with the pungent Indian food before me, its paper scent also held no lingering hint of David, or I would have detected it. It had paper inside. I carefully opened the flap and tried not to damage its ability to close again afterward. From the envelope, I pulled the folded piece of stationery.
My dearest Rick,
I will not know when you get this. If I haven't retrieved it from the hotel safe, I see two possible scenarios. You have come before I am due back on the Sunday after I left, or I have made an error, and I haven't returned. Although dangerous, I have an opportunity to get information, so I've gone to see Clement O'Byrne on the continent. If you've received this before Sunday, don't come after me; I want you safe. If I have not returned, however, you could be in danger.
I miss you, my love.
Your mate,
David
Due to his strange disappearance, I had no intention of allowing him to go it alone, despite his assertions. I immediately turned off all location services on my mobile (just in case) and called Amanda. I told her he left to talk to Clement O'Byrne on the continent.
"Why the hell would he do that?" she asked. "Is this about your kidnapping?"
"No, David's not the vengeful sort," I said. "He wrote that O'Byrne has information. I want to go after him."
"If I know David, he told you not to."
"Yes, but neither of us will listen to him, will we?"
"I won't," she said, "but you surprise me. We need to know O'Byrne's location. We will find him, and I'll call you back. I don't know how long this might take, so get comfortable."
"I have yet to see about my finances, anyway. I have my mobile, so let me know."
As I finished my meal, I thought to make the ship more easily accessible for a rapid departure. From orbit, a controlled descent, with passengers took about half an hour, but without passengers, about twenty-five minutes. I had nowhere to land the ship, and the penthouse balcony would never hold the weight. I wouldn't have wanted to leave it hovering there for an unknown amount of time. I would have to think of something.
I phoned Leatherdale of London. After a polite greeting by a woman with an overly polished, posh voice, I told her my name and intentions. She said she looked forward to meeting me and that Mr. Leatherdale would insist on personally caring for my needs. I expected to hear a great deal of fawning during our conversation, but thankfully that hadn't occurred. She seemed genuinely friendly.
When I reached the address by cab, I found nothing more than a couple of ornate, green patinated, metal lamp posts, and stone steps leading up to a door the shade of juniper. I almost mistook it for a residential building; I expected a storefront. I entered the outer door and stood within the vestibule lit mostly by the fanlight transom behind me. Leatherdale of London kept the interior door before me locked, so when I knocked, someone buzzed me in.
The well-lit outer office, with its traditional stained wood paneling, contained an elaborate array of millwork. They had their "Leatherdale of London" logo on a caramel color, leather background centered behind the reception desk. The person to whom I had spoken, a woman with espresso-colored hair, wore a black, long sleeve, sheath dress that reached her knees. She contrasted dramatically with her surroundings in that everything else had straight lines. "Welcome, Captain Heiden, I'm Tabitha Mayland." She smiled and held out her hand for a dainty fingertip handshake. "I informed Mr. Leatherdale of your arrival. May I take your coat? Would you like tea or coffee?"
I politely declined, waiting less than thirty seconds before Leatherdale showed. He appeared 50 years of age, dark hair with masculine features, wearing a navy checked suit that made me swear we had the same tailor on Savile Row. Mr. Leatherdale had an ingratiating smile and spoke with confidence in a tone that I found pleasant to my ears. One must assume he hadn't grown a successful business and earn a royal warrant by grating on the nerves. He led me through a doorway, hidden behind the panel containing their logo, to the rear of the facility.
Immediately, on the other side, sat rows of open jeweler's cabinetry; the opening faced the customer. I presumed he had no concern about his posh clients stealing the merchandise. Inside the cabinets lay a profusion of precious stoned jewelry and petit objets d'art (tiny objects of art). Along with this stood tall, enclosed glass cabinets for various statuettes and vases, like Han Dynasty this, and First Egyptian Dynasty that, and many others from an abundance of eras and areas throughout the world. The unblemished and exceptional quality of the pieces I saw made me wonder if my modest coinage belonged among such treasures.
He led me into a darkened, square, windowless chamber the size of a sitting room.
"Welcome to La stanza dei tre Tiziano (the room of the three Titians), or at least it would be if they were real."
The lighting cast almost everything in deep shadow, and I couldn't see much. Stylish cherry wood cabinetry covered three of the walls, floor to ceiling, with an illuminated open space in the center of the three main walls for a female portrait by Tiziano Vecellio.
I leaned in close to the nearest. "It's not a print, it's a real painting. Whoever painted them was good. Are these reproductions?"
"No, they're the forgeries I purchased from the forger at a ridiculous sum of money, a mistake I made early in my career. I placed them here to remind me. The police had me positively overjoyed when they got my money back."
"What about the forger? In prison, I presume."
"Oh no, what a horrible waste that would have been. I didn't press charges, I hired him to restore paintings. I keep his talents busy and pay him quite well to stay out of trouble."
He flipped a switch on the wall near the door. In the room's center, my eyes drew to a stunning, serpentine square, bird's-eye maple island cabinet, upon which lay a black felt cloth. He had lit the space with task lighting in a soft white glow that displayed the wood's striking appearance without harsh glares. He opened a drawer of the island by its pull and held it, removing a pair of white cotton gloves. When he released the pull, I watched the drawer soft-close itself. From another, he removed a magnifying glass and a loop. He spoke to me all the while.
"I would love for us to have many opportunities to do business together," he said. "I do hope we become good friends."
"After the forger story, I think I would like that, but after seeing your merchandise on the way back, I am wondering if what I bring will fit among those lovely things."
"Well, I admit," he said, "I do carry some beautiful pieces of a quality never found in antique shops. People bring them to me from all over the world. Those things you see out there are my recent acquisitions, and while many of them have value by themselves, I won't buy or sell just any old item. I may appear to you like a simple merchant and auctioneer of old and unique things, but anyone could do that. Selective people, especially members of the peerage, don't want just an object. You can purchase an object virtually anywhere. What they want is to own a piece whose story and provenance compels them to have it."
"Really," I said, "like what?"
He gave me a blank stare. "You're going to make me work for it, aren't you?" He smiled and tossed the gloves onto the cabinet. "Come with me, my Jiyuvian friend, for I have just the example to demonstrate what I mean."
He led me out into the main room with the display cases where he stopped before a headless, blue velvet bust designed to display jewelry worn around the neck. The choker on display held more diamonds than any piece of jewelry I had ever seen. The vulgar thing must have weighed a ton.
"28 thousand carats on 647 diamonds. It has gone through a bit of restoration, but even so, the story is what makes it valuable."
"By itself, how much is it worth?"
He shrugged. "I haven't a clue. Unquestionably, not as much as someone might ask for it. Corporate interests manipulate the diamond market, and despite the quantity used, diamonds are only made of crystallized carbon, the fourth most abundant element in the universe. Diamonds aren't remotely precious (never let anyone tell you otherwise), and they have an absurd monetary markup. No, like all the things I sell, the reason this piece has excellent value comes from its story.
"This choker," he said, "caused the decapitation of Marie Antoinette. Not single-handedly, to be sure, but it played an instrumental part in the scandal it caused. Many people believed that someone secreted it to London, dismantling it for its diamonds, and they did to a great extent, but you see it here fully restored."
"So," I said, "as a piece of history, how much would an item like this bring at auction?"
"I expect it to bring anywhere from five to eight million," he said. "The lower quality of the diamonds in the piece give it a lesser, perceived value. So, without the story, its value would drop considerably."
"I understand."
"Shall we?" He gestured toward the private room once again.
I set my bag on the floor and retrieved the coins. I placed them obverse side up in order of the number on the reverse. I felt they were in excellent condition, considering they were buried at the bottom of a pile of coins for a thousand jears.
Mr. Leatherdale's eyes lit up when the first coin came into view. He didn't immediately pick one up. He leaned in close to view them with his magnifying glass. He took a sudden, deep breath but continued to study them.
"Would you mind if I recorded our conversation and my observations?" he asked.
"That's fine," I said.
He took out his smartphone and set it onto the cabinet, where it recorded everything said.
"At first glance, these ten coins are unlike any I have seen. The coins are in excellent condition. They're thick, and from the color alone, they're almost pure gold. The rim has an extraordinary rise and is divided into twelve sections, like the numbers of a clock face. The field is plain and polished. The relief is of a cup, and the legend says aurum beneath it in all capital lettering." He took a gloved hand and turned each of them over. He began to describe the reverse, and he stopped talking when he noticed the numbers. He checked each coin and then gave me a wide-eyed gaze.
"Yes, I know," I said.
"I'm stunned," he said. "Gold bullion from another planet is one thing, but are these really the first ten out of a potential, one coin short of a quadrillion?"
"Well, we don't have that many, but yes," I said.
"How many do you have?"
"Oh, I couldn't say. It's a bit like guessing the number of jellybeans in a giant pickle jar; there's quite a lot."
"They're not dated," he said. "How old are they?"
"They're about a thousand Jiyuvian years old, and that's a bit over a thousand in Earth years. What sort of value are we talking about, the market value of gold?"
"Oh, no. No," said Leatherdale. "These are so special, they're the kind of thing a country might gift to a neighboring country's royalty." He searched his phone for a minute. "These are 10 five-troy-ounce coins, at the current market value, that is a little more than 47,500 British pounds in gold. They're far more valuable than that. Individually, the value decreases gradually as the coin number goes higher, eventually reaching an asking price near market value somewhere around coin number 500, I should think, except for the ones with significant numbers --the ones that equate to specific dates and the like-- but these as a set?" He stared at them for a moment. "Their value depends on the story. What can you tell me?"
There I stood in the moral quandary that I hadn't quite realized I would find myself. Selling the gold as gold wouldn't result in this problem. Selling the gold as evidence for information that I give Leatherdale about Jiyu by 'telling their story' felt like a betrayal. Providing too much information about Aurum would lead to questions about him. What would I say? Then I recalled what David told me about him.
"A man named Aurum had commissioned the coinage," I said. "He led our people a millennium ago. The cup on the front depicts his crest. Aurum finalized the polishing of Jiyu into a shining light of civility and harmony from the structure established by the ancestors. That's all I can say."
"Did he have any scandals?" he asked. "People love scandal."
"Every civilization involves a few scandals," I said, "but none that involve the coins."
I didn't know much about them, but I had a distinct impression that any scandals involving them hadn't happened yet. Would I generate one by selling the coins on Earth? I bloody hoped I wouldn't.
"I happen to know Jiyu doesn't use money," he said, "so why do these coins even exist?"
"I think Aurum predicted that Earth would know about us one day," I said, "and he created the coins due to his forward-thinking. So, knowing that these begin our new-found friendship, their low mint numbers, and a relatively decent story to accompany them, what would you give me for them? And don't lowball me, I have a notion for how much you could sell them."
He smiled as he pondered, searching for an answer that we both would find pleasing. "To establish me as your sole importer of unique Jiyuvian goods, I will give you half for what I sell them, and for you alone, I will hold to that half for whatever you bring, on the condition that you accept that I will be choosier after number 500. The ones I reject, you're welcome to take anywhere you like."
"And the price tag is?"
"For the first ten, roughly 1100-year-old, solid gold coins minted on another planet by a leader who helped civilize his people into a harmonious society near the time of the reign of our King George the Third --that is if I take your time differential into account."
"Oh, you know of that," I said.
"Of course, you should know as much as possible about whom with you're dealing. Believe me, I will throw in the differential; it connects the buyers to the story. I will have a luxurious case made for them, and people will find them irresistible. I could easily get 20 million pounds for them at auction from a Jiyu enthusiastic billionaire somewhere on this planet, but naturally, I have customers to whom I give special treatment, and the set will most likely go to one of them. So, I will give you ten million for the set, and I think that's quite generous. Bear in mind, any further sets you bring will have a drastic drop in value. I know 10 million may sound like a lot, but these are the first ten coins and the first objects from Jiyu to come onto the market; that makes them remarkable."
I found it impossible to disguise that level of astonishment. I thought perhaps as much as a million, but twenty million blew the top off my Richter scale. "Do you often sell things in that price range?"
"It happens," he said, "and twice, I can name where the item realized a far higher selling price at auction. Regardless of how much I make, you will get the ten million today. I'm essentially buying them from you and selling them on to someone else at double the price. We'll see how it goes. The coins could surpass my expectations, and if they do, I will ensure that, in the end, you get half of the hammer price, including the ten million."
"You won a Royal Warrant," I said, "so I trust you will not embarrass the queen."
"To do so would ruin me," he said, "you better believe our transaction is entirely legitimate. Have we a deal?" He held out his hand for me to shake on it.
I shook Leatherdale's hand. David was right, monetary value made no sense, and I recognized it as the epitome of placing a higher value on something that served no real purpose.
"I will draw up an agreement and a bill of sale. If you provide an account to transfer the funds, we will have finished."
I liked Mr. Leatherdale. I felt at ease with him, and no doubt, so did whichever royal had apprised the queen of the opportunity he presented.
We both used the same bank, and once he transferred the money into my account, I verified it through the app on my smartphone. I couldn't believe it happened that easily, but they had only transferred digital money, just some numbers on a screen. Before I left the room of the three Titians, Mr. Leatherdale told me something that didn't surprise me.
"One last thing," he said, "I have heard tell that the schematics for a device of Jiyuvian manufacture have turned up somewhere on the internet. A friend who wishes to remain nameless has asked me to make an inquiry. Would you happen to know where he can acquire one?"
I began to see a pattern with Mr. Leatherdale. He had a talent for placing me in moral quandaries. Of course, I knew the item in question. He must refer to the device that Pearce lost to the Americans. "Nano programming device" was a cumbersome appellation causing me to call it simply an NPD. I didn't know how much information Pearce gave to the Americans. They apparently knew how to use the device if they used it on him. Depending on his friend's identity, telling Mr. Leatherdale could equate to telling the British.
"I will tell you if you tell me who wants to know," I said.
"My dear, Captain Heiden, I have given my word; as a man of honor, you know that I cannot break it."
"I understand, simply tell them that I should be skeptical of any information they read on the internet. I really couldn't discuss that item with just anyone. No offense to you."
"None taken," he said, "I would prefer to remain uninvolved, I merely asked as a favor to them. But--aahm--I've seen a photo of it. Out of concern for myself and my fellow humans on this planet, is it dangerous?"
"In the hands of a madman, anything is dangerous, but I assure you the maker would not have built it with danger in mind."
I found a branch of our bank a few blocks down the street on Pall Mall. I didn't mind a stroll for some cash.
Pall Mall held several of the traditional gentlemen's clubs that I had the penthouse on Jiyu modeled after; venerated institutions to which any man listed in a "Who's Who" belonged, at least decades ago. Whether they held the same prestige or mystique, I couldn't say, but unless they had evolved, they most likely had stagnated into the product of a bygone era for which the modern world found little use. I passed a few of them on the way to the bank, their stately entrances a portrait of dignity and permanence, the essence of Victorian and Edwardian architecture found in London.
I made sure to bring my wallet with me when I returned. I had my debit card and my identification. Even with the difference in hair, the bank had no problems, and I received cash from them in pounds and euros, which I tucked away into my wallet and bag.
I returned to the Penthouse by half-past two o'clock to wait, thankful to have means and a place to settle.
To take my mind off my impatience and channel my anxiety, I retreated to the one thing that I've learned that helps me. I changed into my exercise shorts. The sturdy coffee table in the sitting room looked perfect for the inverted workout I created to challenge my balance, strength, and endurance. I had only performed any of those exercises a few times, and even though I could easily do them right-side-up, the inversion made them far more difficult because of the balance I must maintain and the continuous effort of my arms. The level of concentration required to do them served to block out all other unactionable worries allowing me to merely exist in the eternal moment of now. During my routine, I began to sweat, and my muscles shook after twenty minutes. I thought to give up when someone knocked on the penthouse door. I didn't expect anyone, so I lowered myself to the floor and stood up.
Taking one of my pistols, I crept to the door. Another rapping sounded. I looked through the peephole and saw the smirking figure of Cadmar giving me a wiggly fingered wave of hello. He knew I stood there; he watched me through the door with those incredible synthetic eyes of his.
I opened the door. "What are you doing here?"
Cadmar, the last person I saw before I left Jiyu, stood before me once again, with his handsome features, reddish-blonde hair, and his fiery red beard. He wore the same cocoa brown pants and olive-green button-up, over which he then wore a black coat and a backpack identical to mine over his shoulder. He stopped wearing his Trust uniform for a reason I had yet to understand.
"Aiden sent me," he said.
"What for?" I allowed him entry and closed the door.
"David's not with you?" he asked, looking around.
"No, and I will leave when I know his location."
"I have news," he said, "just after you left, Pearce came through the portal at the temple with his son, and I discovered why he never registered him in the US."
"Why?
"He used the nano-programing device he had to create a clone combining the DNA of himself and his mate Oliver. The boy has no mother."
"That's incredible," I said. "So, how did he reach the portal?"
"He used the diamond that he stole from the Louvre. He got it back from the Americans."
"Impressive. It seems that Aurum was right to call the Prime Share enhancement 'Princeps'," I said. "That means Ruler."
"He also told us that David is in trouble. He learned that the Sudanese know how to track David's location. I'm not sure why that's important, but he said David would want to know. He tried to contact him but couldn't reach him. He wished you luck."
We stood there for a long moment as I lingered in Cadmar's presence, but there was more. He stood within arm's reach, and my enhanced memory made the connection when I caught a whiff of his scent. I remembered it from the night he and I were together. I realized I had gotten a hefty dose of it on the hospital rooftop when he held me. I felt my senses betraying me. It seemed different somehow, but why hadn't my connection to him gone dormant? "You shouldn't be here, Cadmar. I'm here to find David. You should go home."
Cadmar shook his head. "Pearce and Aiden specifically told me to stay and assist you."
"And after everything between us, Magnar agreed for you to come."
I saw his eyes study my face, and they lingered on my lips. He took a deep breath. "Magnar didn't argue.
"They think he could be dead," I said.
"We all hope not."
"...but just in case," I said.
"Would you really want to be alone?"
"And when we find David?"
"I figure that being near you, without you, while you stayed with David, sounds far better than remaining on Jiyu indulging in the memory of a few hours that I had no right to enjoy with another man's mate."
I didn't know what to say to him. Cadmar had a way of leaving me speechless, and I couldn't tell him no."