“It has come to my attention that a historian is being sent to Earth 7 to investigate the use of modern comms on a planet rated Primitive 3,” Professor Trill said as he adjusted his frame on his padded leather seat in his office. Two men stood at attention across the desk from him. Collins and Hope were the two highest-scoring agents in the entire class.
Trill started a holocast, and a picture of Koven appeared. It was not his best picture, and he looked like he had been surprised when the picture had been taken.
“This is Koven Modi. He is the agent you need to stop.”
Collins nodded her agreement then Hope did the same.
“You can see by his assessment scores that he is sub-median on battle skills. But don’t let that fool you. Look at his strategy scores. He consistently is at the top of his class. So before you conclude you are dealing with a weakling, know you are dealing with a weakling that is smarter than you. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” said Hope, followed less than a tix later by Collins.
Trill poured himself a glass of Pluto water and took a sip. Collins and Hope could have been thirsty, but Trill didn’t care. He wanted them to know that he didn’t care.
“Koven Modi is being sent to recover technology on the planet. You are being sent to ensure that he fails in his mission.”
“What is his deadline?” asked Hope.
“He has until the next regular departmental meeting to complete his recovery mission. If he fails, then we will be able to make the case that the historians are stretched too thin and should welcome our offer of assistance. If he fails and the council decide to reset planetary memory, I will be informed as soon as the decision is made and will escalate to Dean Midge that this is further evidence they need our help.”
“Can’t they wipe the planet clean and sell it?” asked Hope.
“Yes. But I will intervene with the dean before that happens. And if they succeed in wiping the planet, then I have a plan for that outcome too.”
“What is it?” asked Collins.
“I’ll share that with you later,” replied Trill with a smile. He took another sip of Pluto water to remind them of their place.
“There is one important rule. Only one. And you must not break it,” Trill said slowly and deliberately.
“Yes?” asked Hope.
“Do NOT kill Koven Modi. Under no circumstances are you allowed to kill him. In fact, if he dies by your hand, I promise you this: you will die by mine. Is this perfectly clear to you?”
“Yes, sir,” said Collins. “But what if he is trying to kill me?”
“Use your PPS to prevent that. If your PPS is down, then the rule tells you the outcome: you die. Permission to kill Modi must come directly from me. Let me repeat, DIRECTLY FROM ME.”
There was a brief moment of silence among the three of them.
Trill didn’t need to explain to them the procedure when a historian dies.
Historians are people obsessed by facts. Facts of events, facts of circumstances. They turn over every stone, look in every corner, go down into every cellar until they have a clear picture of the truth and can share that with others. So when one of them dies, it is a significant event. They unleash an investigation into the death that is far more thorough than any other. Professor Trill was certain that the death of Koven would expose his interference on Earth 7. It may also expose his interference on other planets. And he was scared of having his most vital secret exposed.
Trill’s nightmare is to be put inside of one of the historian recertification rooms for questioning. It has happened before. Not to him, but there was a Math professor a few years ago that was accused of murder. It did not turn out well, and they found the professor hanging in his holding cell.
“But don’t worry too much about your own skins. He’s weak but clever. But not that clever.”
Collins looked at him with a puzzled expression.
“I know both of his parents,” said Trill. “I wouldn’t consider either of them to be in the top tier of academia. Second-rate minds at best. They would have to spend a fortune with a geneticist to get their son upgraded from their meager intellect.”
Hope nodded his understanding. Collins nodded hers as well.
“The technology is held by the Cult of Allor. I’ve shared the inventory of the technology and their locations with you in your briefing report. Read it several times before you arrive.”
“Excuse me, sir,” said Collins. “How do you know what tech they have?”
“Professor Collins,” Trill replied, “Earth 7 has been in play for a long time now. We’ve had a sociologist hidden on the planet for the last one hundred revs. He has prepared the list and also the list of tech they have learned to use.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Collins.
A brief word should be said about how to kill someone wearing a PPS. It’s not easy. In fact, it is damned near impossible. It requires forcing someone into a corner or other type of space where they can be blocked from exiting. Think of it like a fat person pushing someone into a corner with their belly. It kind of works that way.
Once the intended victim is captured and can’t escape, then the hard part of it all begins. The waiting. Sometimes it takes many days for the trapped to finally turn off their PPS in order to climb over the blocking PPS eggs of their captors. And when they do this, they can be shot with particle weapons. And they can shoot you too, if your PPS is turned off in order to shoot them. But most of the time this is not what happens.
Most of the time it takes days before the trapped decide to make a climb for it. Most often their captors have been awake for days waiting for this moment. Exhausted and tired, they can wait no more and fall asleep. So in most instances, the captors wake up from a brief nap after several days of waiting, only to find their captive long gone.
No matter what the outcome on Earth 7, Trill had to protect one vital bit of information more than any other. No one could discover the assistance he was providing to Professor Klept.