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"Code of Honor"
Rating: PG-13 Five Matre de Soleil. Mother of the Sun. The Montclaire family’s summer estate lived up to its name. Large golden flowers lay in circular-shaped plots behind the electrified gate. Each building was made of quarried stone, painted blue and trimmed with yellow and white. Marble fountains circulated fresh water at strategic points of the estate, then cleverly dug channels funneled that water to where it was most needed. Philippe’s family was not only business-savvy, but practical as well. Malcolm closed his eyes and basked in the late summer warmth for a moment. It felt good on his face; after spending so much time on a starship, he’d almost forgotten what sunlight felt like on his skin. Not because of the lack of alien suns, but because he was usually worried about being shot at, or killed, or attacked, or... “Commandant?” asked Albert Allemande. The current head of the CSF called out from an upper window of a nearby building. “I think you’d better come up here.” Malcolm nodded and brought himself back to the present. He entered the Visitors’ Building. Like the other buildings at Matre de Soleil and at the EdML compound, it was lavishly decorated and furnished with rich carpets and curtains. The first floor was the recreation area. He saw an ancient foosball table next to a pinball machine, and a poker table set up next to the mini-bar. He shook his head in wonder; if Travis and Trip found out about this place, both of them would’ve thrown a party and invited everyone who could come. Then he noticed an odd smell, almost like...burned electronics? “Is everything all right?” he called, and almost immediately, a burst of sparks erupted from the room off the rec area, accompanied by a colorful tirade in French and English. Malcolm fought to keep a stern expression as he walked to the door. “That’s done it,” Allemande said in a flat tone. “Every time we’ve tried to access the computer terminals, they’ve self-destructed. It’s as if someone rigged them against tampering.” “Are you all right, Mademoiselle Vairnes?” Malcolm asked. “Mais oui,” agreed Trudy Vairnes. The young information tech brushed the remnants of burned insulation off her jacket. “The damage is to the equipment and not to the person accessing the information. A virus rips into the main program, then races through the subroutines. Zut allors, this terminal will make an excellent calculator.” “A simple but elegant way to destroy any incriminating evidence,” Malcolm said. “Oui.” Allemande sighed, then clapped Vairnes on the shoulder. “You’ve done your best, Trudy.” She shook her head. “There’s got to be a way to find out what has happened here. With your permission, Commandants, I will go to the main Operations building and see if there is anything I can do there.” “Go, then, Trudy.” Both Allemande and Malcolm watched her leave, her shoulders shaking with frustration. “We are all affected by the Comte de Jeunier’s disappearance, Commandant Reed.” “Yes,” Malcolm agreed softly. “I would trust Emil with my life.” “He insisted on accompanying Monsieur Trieste here, despite my protests,” Allemande went on, as he wiped sweat off his forehead. His blond hair already glistened with moisture. “I wish he’d listened to me.” Despite the situation, Malcolm smiled faintly. “Since when have you known Emil to do something he didn’t want to do?” “Never.” Allemande sighed and shrugged. “I blame myself for Emil’s disappearance, but I know the best I can do is try to find him and bring him back, along with Monsieurs Mayweather and Trieste and your father. Come, let us check the second floor. Perhaps we will find something the initial sweep missed.” They walked up the shiny wooden stairs to the second level, which held private rooms. Sofas, couches, televids, and twin beds. They found the one that Paul Mayweather had stayed in during his visit. Nothing had been touched; the desk was impeccably neat, with expense and operations reports on labeled PADDS on top of stacks of hard-copy printouts. Malcolm found that odd: why would Paul leave such sensitive information lying around so casually? He picked up the topmost PADD and switched it on. Suddenly, there was a flash of light and a jolt went up Malcolm’s arm, making him drop the PADD. Allemande was at his side; the noise attracted other members of the investigative team. “Are you all right?” Allemande demanded. He gestured for the team’s medic to attend to Malcolm’s hand. “Just startled,” Malcolm said ruefully as he waved off the medic.His hand was a slight pinkish color, but there was little damage. “I should have realized that the PADDs were also rigged against tampering.” Lieutenant Dumond glanced through the stack of print-outs. Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “All gibberish, jumbled letters and numbers.” “We’ll take it with us, just in case,” Allemande said, “Monsieur Mayweather may have encrypted the information.” He glanced at Malcolm and added, “Non?” He nodded in agreement, then Malcolm noticed that all eyes were riveted on him, as if they looked to him for orders. Technically, he wasn’t in command, but it seemed that Allemande was more than willing to let him lead. “A good idea, Albert. Nothing seems to be out of place in Monsieur Mayweather’s room, as if he hadn’t been here when he was taken—“ “Or someone could have cleaned up after he was taken,” Dumond pointed out darkly. Malcolm frowned and drew a finger across Paul’s desk, but there wasn’t a speck of dust. “Perhaps,” he said. “Lieutenant, have we located Commandant de Jeunier’s, Philippe’s or Admiral Reed’s rooms?” “Oui, Commandant. They’re all neat, almost too neat.” “Albert, I want vids of whatever’s in this room. Lieutenant, show me Admiral Reed’s room.” Dumond nodded, but not without a look of sympathy. She led Malcolm down the hall to the last room on the left and pushed its door open. Malcolm looked inside: all neat and clean, down to the military corners of the sheets on the bed. It definitely looked like how Stuart Reed would have kept things, ship-shape and perfect. Yet...there was something off about the room. Malcolm couldn’t definitely put a finger on it... He frowned and walked in, making a slow circuit around the room. Uniforms and casual clothing hung in the closets, all arranged by color and function. Shoes, all spit-polished and pointed toe-outward. PADDs on the desk, though Malcolm knew better than to access them now. The walls were painted a soothing ocean blue, with dark hunter green carpets. The barest necessities sat on the bathroom shelf: shaver, shampoo, soap and towel. All neat, almost too neat. Dumond was right; even a neatness fanatic like his father wasn’t quite this tidy. He studied the buttons of the lamp next to the bed. One of them had been depressed so far that it had gotten stuck. Malcolm reached over and pushed the button next to it, expecting it to pop the first button into place. Instead, the lamp flickered to life, but not with a sunny beam of light. Instead, it beamed an image onto the ceiling. “Lieutenant Dumond, close the curtains!” he told her. “It’s some kind of holographic image, and I can’t see it in the sunlight!” She pulled the heavy drapes together, immediately plunging the room into gloom. The holoimage strengthened and grew sharper. Malcolm recognized it as a star map of Alpha Centauri, Vega, Draylax, Aldebaran and the other Colonies with Trade Consortiums. A red line pulsed from Alpha Centauri to Draylax, then continued on to Altair and ended at Vega. Malcolm reached up and touched Draylax. A secondary screen opened next to the image of Draylax’s star and information scrolled on it. Iora Limited, 5 representatives, neutral. Altair: Altairian Consortiums, 7 representatives, hostile. Vega: Atasaka Incorporated, 8 representatives, hostile. Malcolm touched Aldebaran and read: Nanjani Corporation, 4 representatives, friendly and Alpha Centauri: EdML, 8 representatives, neutral. By the time Malcolm had touched every star that had a planet with a Trading Consortium, he had a general idea of the volatile political game. One thing he noticed was that the “hostile” Consortiums had more “representatives” than the ones that Stuart Reed had deemed “friendly” or “neutral”. The sole exception was EdML; it was a disturbing imbalance of power. If EdML joined the “hostile” Consortiums... And if the opposition is no where to be found... “Lieutenant Dumond, will you get Commandant Allemande?” “At once, sir.” She trotted out of the room, then came back with Allemande in tow. The older man’s eyes widened at the starmap projected on the ceiling. “Albert, is Sophie Du Pries in control of EdML in Monsieur Trieste’s absence?” Allemande nodded. “Yes, she is. She’s loyal to Trieste and his vision for the Consortium, but I’m not sure how long she’ll be able to hold out against another takeover attempt.” “Please let her know that I wish to meet with her at once. The future of EdML is at stake, as well as the welfare of the ones who are missing.” “Yes, Commandant.” Allemande gestured to Dumond and the two hurried out of the room. Malcolm saw a tiny data chip embedded in the base of the lamp. Gently, he pried it out of its slot, unconsciously bracing himself for yet another painful jolt. Either the chip registered his biosigns or Stuart Reed knew his son would find it, for Malcolm retrieved it with no problem. He slid the chip in his breast pocket and quickly strode out of the room. He had to get in touch with Travis; if the route was right, they were going to find Paul, Philippe and Stuart on Vega. |
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