*Taps mic experimentally. Blows dust off it.
Uhh.. hello? Anyone still out here, or did you all wander off? Well, if there is anyone left, I've just finished a new chapter. I've finally managed to leap some of the plot-hurdles that were holding me back, and I think things will soon be good once more.
This chapter is a bit of a recap, summarising some of the plot points from earlier chapters. It also sets us up for what is to come. If anyone notices any glaring holes in the plot, please let me know, I've been inside it for far too long to look at it objectively.
Anyway, enough BS, here it is:
=============================================
Othaglot and Cane, Chapter 23. For previous chapters, click
here.
=============================================
The “Bocca al Lupo” lowered itself gracefully into orbit, and from my viewport I saw the distant outline of the Worthwhile Endeavour, no doubt preparing to leave by now. It wouldn't have done my credibility as a fugitive much good to arrive on a naval starship, and so I had been given a feasible cover story and transferred to a civilian craft about week from Plenty. She was registered locally, and I couldn’t be sure whether the crew’s boisterousness was normal behaviour for Plentians or whether they were simply glad to be home.
I was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was Enyemin Cane.
“Mr Othaglot, good to see you in the flesh at Last.” He said, in that jovial way of his.
“Quite astonishing that, ah, incident on the way over. Dashed sorry to have put you through all that, but I suppose now your killer is out of the picture, so to speak.”
I had my own doubts about this, as I had discussed with Commander Lock. I made a non-commital sound.
“Anyway, the intelligence people asked me to brief you. No doubt they’re afraid to send one of their own people in case you read their minds and find out all their dirty little secrets.” He laughed heartily, but we both knew there was probably truth in his remark.
I shook the senior Cane’s hand, and took a moment to look at him more closely. Like his nephew he was a little shorter than the Earth-born humans I had met, probably as a result of Plenty’s above-average gravity. Like Captain Frasier he seemed to be somewhat rounder than the norm, but unlike the unfortunate captain he dressed almost to accentuate the shape, thus increasing his already considerable presence. He spoke loudly and, if the accent assigned to him by my translator was a reflection of his true voice, with a hint of privilege. As he came closer to me and took a seat, I noticed that his skin was indeed blue- I had dismissed this as data corruption when I had seen it in his Messages. I was sure that this wasn’t a natural colour for humans so asked him about it, eager to find conversation and with it an opportunity to study his mind.
“Oh, the skin. Well, call it a disguise. That nephew of mine tells me it’s terribly out of fashion, and that I should use my natural coloration like the youngsters do, but what he fails to realise is that I have an image to maintain. Now by homeworlder standards I’m as shocking and unruly as anyone else on this planet, but most of the locals regard me as something of a conservative- Last of the Old Colonials, they call me. To them I’m just a harmless, blustery old stuffed shirt with his foolish head full of cobwebs and overpriced brandy... oh, this probably isn’t making much sense to you, dear boy, but just take my word for it when I say that sometimes it pays to be underestimated.”
“Not in my line of work.” I replied. “In my job I have to give the impression that I’m twelve times smarter, quicker and tougher than I really am.”
His smile gave way to laughter, before turning into an altogether more serious mood. “Well then, my boy, I’m glad I’m not a detective. I certainly don’t envy you the task before you now.”
“I have extensive undercover experience, and I’ve studied the Viking culture in depth. I’ll be fine.” I asserted, noting with grim irony that I sounded twelve times less scared than I really was.
“Well, I may have some new information to help you along. Most of what we know was included in the report I sent to you in Outlier, but we’ll go over it anyway, just for the sake of being thorough.”
I appreciated this scrupulousness. I was beginning to suspect that the man beneath the façade was someone I could really work with. He opened a small case and extracted an array of papers.
“We have identified your headless Viking.” he began “I have his details here, but to tell the truth they are of little interest. The important thing is that he was a trusted member of the Jormungund clan, recruited four years ago by this fellow.”
Cane showed me an image of a thin human with a large mass of hair on the lower half of his face.
“His Viking name is Tor Hammer, but he was born Jemmt Andrel Viscount. Middle class, well educated, various radical political affiliations in his teens and early adulthood. He came into a little money at a relatively young age and built himself up a small business empire- legitimately, as far as we can tell. Then, despite his success, he cashed most of it in and joined the Jormungund back on Earth, around 10 years ago. Back then it was just another gang of drinkers and brawlers- rather odd company for our entrepreneur- but he soon made his way to the top of the pile. Information is sketchy about this period because the intelligence agencies pretty much ignored the whole viking phenomenon until Mr. Hammer started making his presence felt.
He first caught intel’s attention four years ago, when they noticed that his name was turning up repeatedly in conversation with various ambassadorial types. I’ve met him myself on at least two occasions. It seems he had been using his old business connections to cultivate contacts and even recruit in political and diplomatic circles. A year after that he handed control of his clan over to his second-in-command and came out here to found the Plenty chapter. He’s been holding meetings with various alien parties for some time now, and we’re fairly sure he’s used the Jormungund to do ‘favours’ for the Sallegan and Sergetti. Nothing necessarily illegal, but all very secretive: Information gathering, couriering and so on. There are suggestions that he may even have contacted the Piundon.”
“What do you think he’s hoping to achieve?” I asked. “If money was his only motivation it would have paid him more to stay with his business pursuits.”
“That’s the big puzzle, and we’re hoping that you will be able to answer it for us. This latest stunt- the so-called ‘petty theft’ from the military research lab- is a definite step up in the scale of the Jormungund’s activities. We’re hoping it will give us- give you- the opportunity to uncover their agenda.”
“So you’re sure that the theft was perpetrated by the clan?”
“No. We are sure of the thief’s identity, but we’ve no solid proof that he was a Viking. We are sure that he was a known associate of Olric, your headless man. We believe they hadn’t seen one-another for a few years, and then suddenly they were spotted together several times in the weeks running up to the break-in. Both of them disappeared from view immediately afterwards. Those facts, combined with our belief that the Jormungund have been doing these ‘favours’ are enough to make us suspect that he stole the data on their behalf.”
In my opinion there were far too many uncertainties underpinning this case, but that’s the difference between police work and intelligence work. Spies don’t have to prove their assertions before a court. They are accountable only to their own superiors. I pressed for more information.
“What sort of data was stolen?”
“It was the design for some kind of new armour, apparently. Supposed to protect warships more effectively from weapons damage, give them an advantage in combat. We assume they were stolen on some foreign government’s behalf- the Sallegans, probably, they’re always trying to keep up with us- but it’s possible they have something else in mind.”
“Something else?” I was alarmed. “You think the Vikings are planning to use the information themselves? Build warships with it?” The idea of a fully armed warship crewed by a crowd of rowdy, helmet clad drunkards like Loorl filled me with a kind of dread I had never before experienced.
“We can’t afford to rule it out. The Viking organisation has quite a bit of funding behind it, thanks largely to Mr Hammer, and to tell you the truth the only thing we’ve managed to predict with any certainty so far is that we never know what they’ll do next. In short, we wouldn’t put anything past them.”
This was an extremely unsettling notion. How could I ever hope to survive in such a chaotic culture? Cane sensed my discomfort and changed the subject.
“Anyway. As I say, the thief and his associate both disappeared after taking the plans, we assume they were in hiding together. We knew about his connection to the Viking fellow so we started watching the clan immediately, and that way we’re almost certain that neither of them had a chance to pass the stolen data to the rest of the Jormungund. However, we’ve since been able to work out Olric’s movements and he left Earth just two days after the theft, 12 hours before his friend was slashed to death. The plans weren’t found on the body.”
He made a significant face at me, no doubt checking to see that the importance of this statement had sunk in. It had.
“So Olric could have had the data, in which case it may have been taken to Outlier and then stolen by the Gla when he was beheaded.”
“Yes.”
“Alternatively, it’s possible that the thief held on to the plans. If his killer really was my suspect, then she could have taken the data. From Earth she must have gone directly to the Cue Cappan homeworld, and from there to Outlier.”
“That is another possibility.”
“Or, one of them handed the data over to some unknown party in the two days after the theft.”
“Perhaps.”
“Finally, Olric or the murderess could have passed it on, hidden it or lost it anywhere on their travels between Earth, Outlier and my homeworld.”
“Also true.” The human said, solemnly. “That’s why we’ve brought you in. We have people searching every rock between here, your homeworld and ours, but as you can imagine their chances aren’t good. For now our best chance of finding out where the designs are is by infiltrating the Viking organisation. That is your primary objective. Your secondary objective is to find out why they took them in the first place. If it was under contract from a foreign government, we want to know which one. If not, well then we definitely want to know what they’re up to.”
“What about the Cue Cappan secret service? Have they been able to give you anything?”
“Only you. They say they’re investigating their own Viking clans and the movements of your suspect between Earth and Outlier, but to be honest they don’t seem very hopeful.”
I looked into his mind, and I was fairly sure that he wasn’t holding anything back. He himself had obviously been briefed on a need-to-know basis, since it would be very hard for him to keep secrets from me. Unaware of my psychic scrutiny, he paused and pulled his face into an expression I didn’t understand. It was my turn to speak, but I didn’t know what to say. Eventually, I asked the only question I could think of.
“Where do I start?”
“We’ve identified a likely starting point for you. It’s a bar in Primavera called the Bifrost Lodge. It’s a popular spot for Vikings from the Loki clan. The man you’ll need to speak to is one of them. As well as being a part of the cult, he’s known to deal in stolen goods, and he has contacts with the Jormungund, who are all keeping their heads down following the theft. Your man’s name is Erik the Shed. Make yourself known to him, and we hope they’ll make themselves known to you.”
I bobbed my eyestalks in agreement. “And what about my identity?”
“We’ve gathered together the information we have the woman you were tracking, and to be honest there isn’t much. We know that she travelled under this false identity to get to Outlier,” he handed me some convincing Cue Cappan documents in the name of Gleesl, “and that she used the name ‘Sloo’ aboard the Marilyn. That might be her real name.”
“If it is, it’s only part of it.” I explained. “She was joined, so her full name would be longer than just “Sloo.”
“I see.” Said Cane. “Well, following up your own investigations, your homeworld colleagues have been able to inform us that she was a member of the Hreidmar clan there. Also, it’s possible that news of her escape from Outlier and the subsequent destruction of the Marilyn will have made its way here. The Lupo was in Gamallon at the same time as you, so if anyone asks, you can claim that you wanted to make your trail as complicated as possible and took a shuttle across to the Lupo shortly after leaving Outlier. We’ve already made the necessary changes to the records, in case anyone tries to confirm it, but if they should speak to a member of the crew you could be in trouble. For that reason I recommend you stay here another 24 hours and go down to the surface tomorrow. The Lupo will be leaving orbit shortly afterwards, making it a little harder to disprove your story.”
I was comforted that they were at least trying to cover every possible angle for me.
Cane reached into his case once more, and produced a few items for me.
“Here’s a Viking helmet. You may want to wear it in to get those distinctive sore patches on your eye stalks.” They really had covered everything. “Here’s an emblem for your clan- I believe you should wear it on the helmet, seeing as you don’t have any other garments. We’ve also procured for you a cheap, market- bought translator. It’s not as sophisticated as the one you currently carry, I’m afraid, but your Frontier Order issue equipment is something of a giveaway.” He smiled, but I could tell the smile was hiding something else. I reached into his mind and touched upon was a sense of finality there, as though he were arming a soldier for a battle from which he knew there could be no return.
“There are various other items in this bag. There’s no weapon, you’ll have to get through customs fair and square, but we can direct you to a place where you can buy one. Illegally, I’m afraid, but we’ve made arrangements to ensure the local police don’t catch you at it. There’s some information about your clan in this data pack, you’ll have more than enough time to familiarise yourself with it tonight. I can keep your own belongings safe for you if you like, or I can have them forwarded to your office.”
I chose the former option and handed over my carry-pouch: It contained my only possessions for 50 light years and my entire identity. Cane stood up, gesturing with the hand that held the pouch.
“When this is all over, come and find me at the foreign office to pick this up. I’ll have a large brandy and a cigar waiting for you.”
I mumbled a thankyou and bobbed my eyes.
“Is there anything else you need?”
I could think of nothing.
“Then I’ll bid you farewell, Mr Othaglot. Farewell and good luck.”
Re: Othaglot and Cane - Story Thread
not a 
Hybrid Mode
