Exolegacy, page 10
But now his brain had made a connection between his mother’s passing and his brother. Ehrenfeld didn’t think that Alsón had been in communication with their parents on that trip at all, but there was no way to know that, other than to ask Alsón himself, now that their parents had both passed on.
Ehrenfeld felt the familiar throbbing of an imminent headache and he sat down on a nearby bench. His gait had slowed to a stroll when his mind had started working on this new problem, and now he found himself in a small unfamiliar public garden. The bench he had chosen was hidden by hedges around a bend in the path, giving the appearance of being alone, except for some ancient marble bust opposite the bench. The effect was such that when seated on said bench, the sitter was confronted with the face of some long-dead philosopher. The name engraved beneath the bust was weather-worn and chipped, only the first few letters were legible, but Ehrenfeld didn’t recognize it anyway. There was a quote just below it though that had at one time been overgrown, and so protected from the eroding effects of the Wien winter.
‘Tatăl este necunoscut fiului până când fiul devine tată.’
Ehrenfeld recognized the language as Romanian, but didn’t speak it. Regardless, his rudimentary knowledge of Latin was enough to understand the gist of it: “The father is unknown to the son until the son becomes the father”. He didn’t think the quote was overly esoteric, as are such that grace other marbled busts dotting the city. But there was a hint of truth to it. The more he thought about it, the more he could apply it to his own situation, even if he weren’t a father in his own right. In a way, he had actually become his father through the inheritance of his childhood memories. Given, they weren’t from when his father had been a father. It was self-referential in a way that the long-dead speaker likely had not intended.
Fatherhood aside, the memories had served to teach him perspective. His father had experienced a very different childhood than he had. He was forced to make his own way, and as they say ‘grow up too fast’. Ehrenfeld was never forced to do that, though he took it upon himself to try. The grief and regret of his unspent childhood had left a hole in his emotional core which had up to now never been filled.
Shaking off his reverie, Ehrenfeld stood and worked his way around the hedge back to the less claustrophobic interior of the garden. His mind now resolved to reconnect with his brother. The clues now embedded in his mind now held too much sway not to. The nagging connection between his mother and brother needed to be addressed.
After regaining his bearings and working his way back to his apartment an hour later, Ehrenfeld sat at his desk and pulled up a blank communication window in the projected display. He sat for a while, thinking about how he should actually broach the subject with Alsón. Personal communication wasn’t really a skill he had developed, nor had needed as a bureaucrat. He dictated a few false starts to the display, but ultimately swiped them clear. Why was this so hard? It wasn’t as if he were accusing his brother of being complicit in the details of their mother’s death. Was he?
He sat back heavily in the desk chair and let out a long breath. The pulsing in his temple was becoming uncomfortable; if he didn’t address it soon, it would grow to become unbearable.
Moments later, as Ehrenfeld was in the kitchen rummaging through the cabinets to locate a pain reliever and perhaps a drink, he heard the notification tone emit from the desk. Pill swallowed and drink in hand, he walked over and waved the display to reverse for his perspective. There was a message. It was from Alsón.
24 Mother
Ehrenfeld,
I know that this is out of form for us to be communicating, but something has come up here on Tiras. I was going through our parents’ effects in their home—I can’t refer to it as my own at this point, though I feel a foreign sort of comfort here, even from the beginning… It’s hard to explain. Perhaps you can commiserate if you’ve experienced our father’s ‘gift’ to any extent.
In fact, it is precisely this ‘gift’ that has triggered the issue at hand. You remember that he ‘gave’ me his later life. Well, it laid out the truth of our mother’s condition. It’s not what you’ll find in any documentation back there in Wien, but it ties in directly with the fact that we now can experience our father’s memories such as they were given to us.
I don’t know how much I should really lay out in a message through these channels, official as they always are from this end, and thus sensitive to curious parties.
Let me know if you can help. I think that we can begin to fill in a lot of the blanks for each other.
Als.
P.S. Hildy’s here too.
Ehrenfeld set his now empty wine glass on the desk having read through the brief message twice over. His first thought was of the emotional rollercoaster that his father’s memories had put him on, and how his siblings might have dealt with their own inheritance. His might have been the most emotionally taxing, he thought in a rare moment of introspection. The disparity between the man he had become and the child his father was, was significant. On the other hand, Hildy must have experienced their parent’s early years and even her own childhood from a distance. Ehrenfeld was thankful to not have witnessed all of that. His own failed marriage was a testament to his inability to experience love in the way that others wanted, but that was a dark road to let his mind wander down.
So his siblings were together on Tiras now. He wasn’t so shocked to learn it in fact, with Hildy being more prone to anything up the gravity well than her brothers, and Alsón already forced to visit his inheritance. And knowing that they were both together and him alone back in their shared childhood home didn’t really affect him either, at least not historically. His mind had been doing things to him lately, and he wasn’t so sure of his resolution to plant roots and never move from Wien.
Ehrenfeld signaled up a composer on the display and began to dictate a message to his siblings in response.
Alsón & Hildegard,
I am happy to learn that you are together in our parents’ last home. I, however, am quite comfortable in their first. I have taken part in our father’s ‘gift’, as you say, though I am still working through the ramifications of it in my own way.
I would be interested in hearing more about Mother though, but I will find another avenue to reach you regarding that story. I understand your reticence to communicate over official channels, as a bureaucrat, I know all too well the paperwork involved in official transworld communications.
Give me a day to set something up and I’ll be in touch.
Ehrenfeld.
Then he sent the message, stood up, and walked to the front hall to change his shoes and grab a coat. He would need some more secure equipment than was readily available at home.
Three hours later, Ehrenfeld returned home with two bags filled with off-the-shelf packaged electronics. He had been required to visit several stores and preferred to make all of the purchases in person so as to not leave a digital trail through online delivery services. Before Alsón had been born, Ehrenfeld was very much into tinkering with small electronics and servos. He even excelled in his programming classes in primary school, but lost interest in it when he entered secondary school; more hormonal pursuits had occupied his mind then. Nevertheless, he retained much of the basic knowledge of setting up computing systems and networks, updating his knowledge was easy as well, and as soon as he had his new traceless terminal assembled, he connected to the net through a proxy. Now it was time to send that second message. His overestimation of time to compose a second response made him smile. He hadn’t done much outside of work in many years and the unfamiliar familiar motions of assembling tiny screws and wires brought back a feeling of accomplishment that was absent in his chosen career.
A & H,
Father’s crystal was illuminating, I hope it was equally so for both of you. You mentioned something about Mother? Fill me in and I’ll see what I can find through various channels here.
E.
He kept the second message brief. No need to be verbose when the exchange was less likely to be tapped. Sure, there were ways, but the first two or three messages from a fresh terminal wouldn’t raise any flags. Especially since he didn’t use proper names.
The day had gotten away from him, and even the early summer evening had become dark. Ehrenfeld decided that he would let the messages fly to their destinations, and back hopefully, as he slept.
25 Reunion
As Gin exited the relative darkness of the port into the Zelmas sunlight, she shielded her eyes from the glare. The force of the air hit her as well, the ozone smell was stronger outside and she had to force herself to take normal breaths to acclimate to it. The smell was an effect of the ecopoiesis and was supposed to dwindle as the Manisae-introduced flora took root. For now, though, Gin let out a series of sneezes to clear the tickle in her nose.
“Gesundheit!” came a voice from her immediate right.
Gin spun around to find Als standing just outside the exit to the port. He dog-eared the printed book in his hand and stooped to pick up a thermos on the ground. “What are you doing here?” She asked as he handed her the thermos.
“That’s for you, some coffee to take the transit edge off. Do you really think that I wouldn’t hear that you were on your way? A friend told me when you’d arrive, and I thought to surprise you.” He smiled and tucked the book under his arm and offered Gin his other. “If you’re ready, we can either get something to eat, or head straight to the estate.”
“I’m famished! I’ve just slept for over a week and all I’ve had for breakfast was from a tube. Let’s get something to eat. You seem to have acclimated a bit since you arrived, know a place?”
“Of course,” Als smiled. “I’ll take you to the place I went when I landed. Let me call some friends and we can meet them there.”
Half an hour later, Als and Gin were installed in the same booth that Rez had taken Als to a month ago. Xikse was conversing with the proprietor and Rez had just sat down on Als’ other side extending her hand to Gin.
“Doctor Hernandez! I’m so happy to finally meet you. I’m Doctor Rezida Donauri, and I’ve followed your work closely.”
Gin took Rez’s hand and shook it politely. “It’s good to meet you Doctor Donauri. How do you know my brother?”
“Call me ‘Rez’, please. Als and I arrived on the same shuttle actually. Xikse was on it too, but he was there specifically to meet Als.”
Gin’s eyebrows raised, “Oh, really? ‘Als’? When did you adopt that nickname?” She turned toward her brother.
Xikse joined them just then and offered an explanation. “Doctor Hernandez, I was curious to meet him because of my work with your mother actually.”
“‘Gin’ is fine. And Als, please try to call me that as well, I don’t want to confuse your friends, and we’re not children anymore. But back to Xikse’s comment: Mother? I think you all should fill me in a bit…”
Als started with his initial experiences after leaving Gin in her suite at Unity Station but was soon interrupted by Rez. She apparently didn’t think he was spending enough time on ‘important’ details. Als sat back and let her take over, sipping his drink and picking at the platter of food that Xikse had brought.
Only when Rez paused to take a few bites herself, did Xikse have the opportunity to provide some backstory and context for his relationship with the Hernandez family.
By the time Gin had been caught up on the exploits and stories of her brother and his friends, it was dark outside. The conversation didn’t dwindle though, and she was far from tired, having caught up with any sleep debt in transit. It was her turn to catch the group up with what she had been up to. The discovery of Xikse’s relationship with her mother, and even more so, her mother’s discovery of the initial memory crystals, connected a few previously stray dots in her mind. Rez maintained a working knowledge of Sentite, and Gin now had an understanding of the cover-up that had withheld the truth of the discovery from Humanity. These were precisely the people she would need to know to pursue her true purpose here.
Gin started her story with an overview of her efforts and part in the development of Sentite. She introduced her absent colleague Atla, though glossed over Ilona. When she delved into the technical aspect of Sentite and her efforts to further develop it, leading up to the uncovering of the existence of Noachite, Als’ eyes glossed over. Rez and Xikse leaned in though and soaked up the details. When she brought up the connection that she had found between Sentite and Noachite, both Rez and Xikse looked at each other in understanding.
“There must be some sort of mine near Noachis Terra then,” Rez said.
“I do not know where you are referring to,” Xikse said. “We do not use your names for the geography or geology here. But there may be a reference to it on our own maps. I will see if I can get an official map of Tiras for you to use, but it will not be tonight I think.”
That brought the four of them back to the present, they realized how late it had turned and agreed to meet back at the Hernandez estate in the morning. Rez and Xikse said their goodbyes and excused themselves until the following day.
The platter of food had been refilled dutifully by the proprietor over the course of the evening, to a limit. At some point, he had stopped as if to hint that he would like to leave at some point as well. To no avail. The group had powered through oblivious to their host. As Als and Gin stood to leave as well, they noticed the note on the table adjacent indicating that the meal was on the house. “That was kind of him,” Als reflected. “I hope we didn’t put him out too badly though.”
The two siblings made their way out of the city by way of the automated tram that ended near the estate. By the time they both stumbled into the home, they were too tired to continue. Als beelined for his bed, taking only a moment to indicate to his sister what room she could use and bid her a ‘Guten Nacht’.
26 Trouble at Home
Gin’s sudden departure both from Luna as well as their nascent project with Ili, threw Atla for a loop. For years, they had shared nearly everything about what they were working on, but since the passing of her father, Gin had been distant and distracted. He may have rethought the addition of Ili to the team if he had bothered to think about the effect that it might have on Gin. But that was one of the reasons that he and Gin got along, neither put too much effort into thinking of the consequences of their own actions. They didn’t usually mind when others failed to do so either.
Ili was affected as well, though not nearly in the same way that Atla had been. While Gin was here, they tended to clash, and Ili would constantly be in proximity to Atla when she was around. Once Gin disappeared, Ili had loosened up considerably, though was put off by the sudden departure of half her team. Since there was no—apparently territorial—reason to be constantly around anymore, Ili left him to further the project alone most of the time, only requiring brief updates once every three shifts.
Progress in the first few days was slow. The momentum of the initial excitement of a new project had died off, and Gin’s absence left Atla with no one to bounce ideas off of. When you take the ‘peer’ from ‘peer review’, science fails. So he found himself drifting into ‘background research’, which more often than not was checking on unrelated projects via the university network. Different departments within the research wing rarely communicated with each other, but they all secretly kept tabs on their colleagues’ progress and especially their levels of funding, even if the latter was meant to be confidential. Leaks tended to happen that way as well, but Atla had the new project sequestered on an air-gapped server, so theoretically, his work was safe from prying eyes.
Unfortunately for some of his colleagues, budgets didn’t always allow for such advanced measures, so the Aryabhata Law School was often tossed copyright cases to help alleviate the losses incurred from leaky record-keeping and compromised servers.
Fortunately for his colleagues, he wasn’t prone to looking for alternative income sources based on their work, nor did any of the ongoing projects he knew about interest him. What had caught his interest though, was his own private server. It wasn’t something that he normally had access to, and since he had a little background dabbling in programming, he decided to take a look around.
The server root only showed the file system that he had set up the previous week. Not much interesting there, but he knew that what you can easily see is just the surface of the true server structure. A few keystrokes and he had the lid off and was looking at a list of foundational files in the back end. Atla leaned in and scanned the list. Most of the files were standard function files with a few higher-level encryption ones interspersed. Then he found what he was looking for, essentially the “copyright page” of the server. It would show him the specs and details of the maker and owner of the drive. He wanted to know who exactly Ili was connected to back on Earth, or at least who was expecting the server when the project was finished. Atla’s mind jumped from name to name of major entertainment companies, wondering who might benefit from their advances.
Halfway through the file, he found an IP address hidden in a transmission function. He spun to his personal terminal and called up a secure portal to the net. The IP was a redirect, and it kept bouncing. Atla watched a string of subsequent addresses, all with different prefixes. Apparently, the transmission was masked by multiple redirects across Earth. As he stared blankly at the scrolling numbers, trying to think of a next step, his blurred vision started catching a repeating combination. “2a02” kept appearing as a prefix every twenty or so lines. Atla reached out and paused the trace. Scrolling back up the list, he highlighted the first address that started with 2a02 and did a search for it. Only two results came back. Trying again, but with one less section to the address, suddenly a new list appeared. All starting with the same first seven sections to the address! Only the last section had a variation. “Ha! Sloppy…” Atla muttered to himself. He pulled up a window to do a geographical search for the address. A significant amount of the data being saved on Ili’s “secure” server was being transmitted to the same building in Wien, Austria. Whoever was accepting it had made a sloppy effort to mask their reception by shifting the last section of their IP address, but Atla had caught them.
