Part 4: The « Lost Truth »

Relative Timeline: Ta6Lo63000

Area: Sector F, near Sector K, Goldarm Galaxy

Location: Planet Crash 404

Control: Nation of Neowreck

Affiliation: Universal Administration [UA] (likely)

The Hom walked the filthy streets of a city whose name was certainly as representative of its condition as that of the planet. Here, no modern pavement, but an earthen floor on which grew hideous rusty buildings that testified to a planetary colonization carried out with limited means. At least, despite the absence of real climate control, the atmosphere was viable for his species.

This place exuded poverty, with a few glimmers of illegal wealth. The kind of place where it was best to walk around with a clearly visible illicit weapon, if one wanted to cross it without trouble. An antithesis of the civilized places of the Administration.

Such places were extremely rare in the administered universe. Most poor neighborhoods were extremely clean and care was taken to ensure that everyone had enough to wear and eat a minimum. Even the poorest of ordinary neighborhoods had the right to its own network of police drones, its surveillance cameras, a Network amplification antenna and a war cruiser ready to teleport there in the event of an enemy attack… But this place, undermined by pro-Hogloo terrorism, was one of the rare refuges where the less well-off criminals could still operate in broad daylight.

And yet, even this giant dump, this city where nothing met the standards of health imposed by the Administration, even here it reigned. While many residents were involved in shady business, they generally avoided going too far and would not hesitate to denounce a “real criminal”, in the hope of a substantial reward.

That was why this Hom had set his smart-bubble to distort the features of his face, wanted throughout the universe. His head was wanted for crimes he had not committed, but for which he had no realistic alibi. He had no allies and had to rely on his darkest knowledge in order to survive in one of the rare shadowy areas partially escaping the scrutiny of the Administration. In fact, even his former comrades from the “Liberty” rebellion would not hesitate to denounce him if he sought refuge with them.

Another, less solid, would have sought refuge in addictive substances, such as alcohol, drugs or chocolate, but Libre Lhom was a Homtest. His philosophy of life required him to be able to control himself and bounce back without the help of active substances, the effects of which would not necessarily go in the right direction.

On the filthy walls of this street without cameras, posters printed on paper gave totally unofficial messages.

Members of Assembly: one year of work, then paid for life

Workers: twenty years of work, then poverty-level unemployment!

Further on, a large printed eye scanned the disparate crowd wandering on the road, topped with a “They know what you're doing!” vague enough to make anyone uncomfortable. Another poster particularly caught Lhom's eye: a sort of button was crudely stuck under the inscription “Press here to hear the truth”. Curious, he followed the instructions, deploying his combat nanobots in case of danger. But a sound came out of the button, a sort of homemade music diffuser, playing a revisited administrative anthem, the sound of which was more like a circus than an official anthem:

Under the claws of the Administration,

All plotting together,

The nations of the worlds united!

For the conformity of all!

No more freedoms:

Common laws… so that stupidity reigns!

The Administration is watching you!

The Aaaaadministration, for a standardized future!

Stepping back abruptly, as all eyes turned towards him, Libre quickly moved away from the poster, assuming the shameful expression of the victims of a bad joke. Inwardly, he smiled at it: the anti-administration anthem… It had been a long time since he had last heard it.

Arriving at a crossroads, Libre cast a cautious glance to the right and left before heading in the latter direction. There was little chance that a drone from the local police could pierce his disguise, but he preferred not to take the risk, even if it meant appearing a little suspicious. In any case, all the locals seemed suspicious and so he did not look out of place.

The street was sometimes crossed by wheeled vehicles, or whose weak antigravity power didn’t allow them to travel without scraping the earth, but it was generally an unofficial pedestrian zone. The locals, despite their poverty, still followed the fashions of the current year, sometimes a few months behind, so only their wary looks and the bumps indicating the presence of weapons differentiated them from the citizens living in more pleasant areas.

A group of delighted Elunadoran tourists were walking down the street in the opposite direction, pointing ‘T’ energy devices in all directions: probably some kind of data recording modules. With their strange flowing clothes, their thin waists and their pointed ears, the foreigners were the target of all eyes… They would probably end up with their throats cut somewhere where there would be fewer witnesses…

A huge mass of walking stone brought up the rear of the group, projecting a red light from its single eye. The thing scanned the surroundings like a scanner, but it was probably just an intimidation phenomenon to signal its dangerousness. After all, maybe these tourists were well equipped enough to eliminate any aggressor… Their diplomatic passport would even save them from prosecution if they molested a few bandits…

Libre hesitated. The Elunadorans were not part of the Administration. They were the only known interstellar civilization that had never developed the ability to cross the void between solar systems. Possessing a large number of planets connected by some sort of teleportation portal and having powerful defense fleets within their systems, they commonly used ‘T’ energy for all their daily needs. Although their systems were generally located in the middle of those of the Administration, the Elunadorans had always firmly refused to be part of it while opening reciprocal trade relations.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

If the Elunadorans were known for keeping their agreements, in particular the one that forbade them from sheltering refugees pursued by the Forces of Law and Order, however, their citizens could probably feel exempt from what committed their governments... It was undoubtedly possible to grease their palms so that they would take him out of the reach of administrative justice...

No: the risk of being denounced was too great... and besides, what would he do in these strange countries, without Network access? He was going to stick to his plan. In any case, if there were several ways to stay outside the administered sensors, there was only one to hope to see his loved ones again one day soon: to be pardoned.

There were two options: accomplish a great public feat, or discover a secret compromising enough about someone influential enough to rehabilitate him. His love of epic adventures inclined him towards the first solution, but his realism preferred the second, assuming that the first circumstance would be too complicated to meet.

But who would be influential enough to rehabilitate an alpha+ level agent, convicted of multiple murders of prison officers, as well as the escape of alpha-rank criminals? Deep down, this plan was also unrealistic.

“Hey! Do you want to make a deal?”

Libre turned around, his hand naturally going to his pistol. The small being who had approached him suddenly moved away, his hands exposed to indicate his lack of bad intention. It was a Balgrass, a species of small bipedal lizards with very large eyes. Often considered cute, they were at best con artists, at worst dangerous smugglers. It was a stereotype, of course, as justified as the many stereotypes about the Homs: so, it was absolutely certain that one should be wary of this creature.

“Calm, calm, business, no fight.”

The creature had used the low-administrated, an unofficial language spoken in the underworld. Behind its use of simple words and truncated sentences, hid a complex vocabulary full of innuendo. This language was mainly known by criminals, administrative agents and the Forces of Law and Order. The first category continued to use it despite its mastery by the next two, because this diverted language could hardly be used as evidence in court. This character, as shady as he was cute, was perfectly capable of speaking normally, but clearly expressing what he wanted could get him arrested.

“What do you want? I'm in a hurry.”

“Me good deals, not elsewhere!”

“Not interested, get lost!”

“Wait, wait, not expensive...”

Glancing around, the creature pulled aside the vast coat that covered it, revealing a small jar of a strange golden material.

“Authentic. Jar guarantee: have you seen? Really true. Pecul Kama, always sell real, no one ever complained.”

“Oh!”

Zcarbb honey! This guy sold Zcarbb honey in amber jars: a material that only the Zcarbbs knew how to shape like that. This product was highly illegal for the simple reason that it was impossible to obtain it legally.

“Ah, you see… You know? Really true, not cut. Good for the palate, chases away coughs, cures many illnesses, increases life expectancy, increases fertility: only good! And cheap, cheap for what to be… Just two thousand a bottle… Cheap…”

The creature twirled the bottle in its skillful hands, like a conjurer trying to hypnotize someone.

Lhom scowled. Indeed, it was not expensive for what it was. On the black market, prices could reach millions… Was it even real honey? The jars were authentic in any case… And his scans quickly confirmed that the honey was too… Although most of the supposed virtues of this product were probably imaginary, it was a genuine luxury item. The low price suggested that this criminal had acquired it on his own… How had he done it? What terrible secrets had he passed on to the enemy in exchange for this product?

The administrative agent considered arresting this Balgrass on the spot, before remembering that his head was priced much higher than that of the worst smuggler could be. With an annoyed sigh, he turned away. But the merchant was tenacious:

“But yes, you are interested. No point in haggling: I can't go any lower. Hey, fertility must interest you, right: you Homs, you're trying to invade the Administration through demography, huh? With that, your wife will be able to produce plenty, like a queen...”

Libre's blood boiled and he grabbed the seller by the throat, pinning it against the nearby wall which resonated with a sound of sheet metal. His pistol was already stuck between the moaning creature's two eyes.

“Shut up! There are enough real stereotypes about my species without you adding a false one!”

“J… just two thousand: not expensive…”

A burst of laughter interrupted the scene. Furious, the Hom turned his gaze to the person responsible. A massive, heavily armed Hogloo was watching him with amusement. It was the guy he had an appointment with.

“Well, you must be really on edge to lose your patience like that. Those of your kind are generally calmer… or else they shoot or hit before threatening.”

The renegade agent let go of the smuggler who landed heavily on its own tail.

“You're early. And you, vermin, disappear before I take action!”

“Wait,” corrected the Hogloo, “I'm interested for that price. If I give such a gift to a master geneticist, he'll get me improvements that can't be bought with money.”

Delighted to have done business, the Belgrass sped away on all fours after selling all his pots to the Hogloo. This one teleported them away, probably sending them to his ship. He then turned his attention to his client.

“I did the research you asked for. Regarding Khajraz, we haven't heard from him since... the date mentioned. I assume you managed to kill him.”

Libre tensed: he had never indicated having had a disagreement with the other Hogloo. However, the other one didn’t seem to seek revenge. He probably thought that this settling of scores had taken place in an “honorable” manner.

“I managed to get more information on the content of his mission. Apparently, he was working for… some kind of alliance of terrorist organizations. Although I had some suspicions at first, I believe he didn’t do anything illegal… at least, from our point of view. I managed to get in touch with his superiors, whose names I obviously can’t reveal to you. They gave me this… paper, to pass on to you.”

He held out a folded sheet of paper. Libre stepped back slightly, waiting for his microbots to finish analyzing the material. The Hogloo sneered:

“No: it’s not poisoned. I checked it myself. If I had been paid to kill you, I would have told you already. In any case, it’s not right to get paid to kill someone who is already employing us. I think you’ll find what you need in there. I’m going.”

Having already been paid before the job, the mercenary walked away.

Owning and producing paper was strictly regulated by the Administration, practically forbidden. A relic of the ancient era when forests of entire planets were devastated to feed the Administration's paperwork, before the massive use of plastic and computers changed this way of working. Some suspected the lobbies of these industrial fields of pushing for the maintenance of this outdated law in order to avoid competition, others suspected the governments of leaving it voluntarily: it was easier to monitor computer broadcasts than papers passing from hand to hand...

Libre went to a small deserted alley to read the sheet out of sight, one hand never leaving the grip of his weapon. He was curious: what could those who were responsible for his misfortunes want to tell him? Would he find a means of redemption there?

Mr. Lhom, alpha+ administrative agent,

I very much regret that you have thwarted our plans and hope to be able to find a way to convince you to help us later. Doubting your goodwill in such a matter, I wish to inform you of spatial coordinates that will not fail to interest you, if you go there immediately, before it is too late.

It is obvious that you will suspect a trap on our part, but you have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Your ship is sufficiently well armed to be able to counter most of our unfortunate initiatives.

Know that killers are already in pursuit of you, without me being able to confirm or deny their belonging to our cause. You may have removed all the administrative tracers that were scattered around your ship, a remarkable work for which I congratulate you, but there is a tracer that you could not have imagined.

Should you ever find yourself in too much difficulty, please release our imprisoned allies so that they may help you in your task, in exchange for a little help in ours. I draw your particular attention to Pogastrapi, the Cyclops. He has already received instructions regarding the mission. Since the Ktn-Ktn must receive his instructions from the Hogloo, I strongly advise you not to release him without the agreement of the previous one, who is trained to manage this scenario. Finally, considering Xini, the one who belongs to a certain unnamed species, she will certainly be uncooperative in any scenario. However, she is a universal genius and will accomplish any technical task you ask of her, at least for the pleasure of keeping herself busy. Be careful, however, to keep a constant watch on her, or else she will take control of your ship, which would be detrimental to our plans as well as yours.

I remind you once again that killers will soon come after you, but that the coordinates indicated will bring you additional resources for your survival. Perhaps also for your rehabilitation. I swear to you, and although you cannot have proof it means something to me, that what you find at these coordinates has no part in our shenanigans. However, I think that its use could be useful to both of us.

Hoping that you will make a decision guaranteeing your survival,

Sincerely,

X

(Coordinates corresponding to those in use in the local galaxy are then noted below the anonymous signature.)

Did these terrorists need to be so polite and formal in their letter?