A city on Planet New Berlin, engolfed in an icy winter, a place where night lasts for almost six standard months had just entered the dark period of the year. An old looking building with many windows glowed in the night. Another dot that blended into larger dot of light seen from space. Abowe, on a dark sky, space ships glided through the winter air, leaving endless trails behind, that intersected and formed warious geometrycal forms.
Inside a man in his late forties, perhaps fifties walked down a corridor. Lighting was not functioning as intended an flickering light emmited odd sound, that resembled ticking of an old, broken mechanical clock. The man was Franz Maister, a renoun name amongst archaeologists, but not in public. Who is interested in some crazy old archaeologist, digging out past, something that was to remain burried. Noone. However the masses didn't realise the importance of people who worked in this building and across Sirius. Joke, oftenly heard by the centuries old walls of the Institut is perhaps the best explenation of importance and wery existance of archaeologists and historians.
"We can change something not even God can. We can change past."
This joke was in the mind of Franz Maister when he carried his old briefcase full of neural net acces codes to the meeting hall, where his colegues waited.
"The mytsery of Von Rohe's final days is soon to be revealed. "
His steps could now be heard at the wery and of the corridor.
"Only if my speculations are confirmed, only if they accept my theory, only if they understand the significance of my findings"
The door opened and everything went silent. He could only hear his heart beating and blood circulating.
A few hours later two men, both wearing thick clothes, at least for someone who's not from New Berlin sat in a fast food restaurant that became less popular in the past years, mostly due to crumbling relations with Liberty. Their position offered a good view of the rather old looking building across the street. While their jaws were chewing the artificially flavoured hamburgers there was still time to say a few words regarding weather, politics, war and above all money. So those two saw a man walk from shadow of the Institute to brightly illuminated street. The taller, brown haired man seemed quite interested in observing everything that was going on on the street, not much that is. His interest didn't go unnoticed with an almost too stereotypical to be real bartender.
A sentence interrupted guest's thoughts.
Are you looking for some info?
The taller man seemed slightly surprised and for a brief moment silence allowed sound of roaring engines from high above to seep into the restaurant.
Yes, in fact we are. Tell me who is that man over there.
He's Franz Maister, an archaeologist, officially he's normal archaeologist, if you know what I mean.
He paused, letting the mysterious guest add one number to his neural net payment card.
However some say, rumours circle, that he in fact had rather interesting role eighteen years ago. In fact his name didn't appear up until recently in these parts.
Another digit appeared on the neural net card.
Recently his team returned from Omega 11, there they supposedly scanned Planet Deidus for remnants of Von Rohe's ship. ALG provided founds. Waste of money if you ask me. Past, yes past holds many things...
With those final words left hanging in the air the bartender slowly lumbered out of sight.
Meanwhile, across the street Franz Maister was making his way through desolate surroundings to the famously accurate Rheinland public transport station.
It's important to say that people of Rheinland have always been extremely proud of their mastery of time management, always on time was their motto. So with that mentality going strong it's no miracle that trains always arrive on time.
Completely oblivious of environment around him the archaeologist was anything but in a good mood. War has taken its toll, there was no resources to finance something as unimportant as archaeological research. Not to mention that they'll cut all wages to all unnecessary for war efforts. Forced vacation? And just when he was finally making some progress with his research. That was something no archaeologist could stand.
With such thoughts buzzing in his mind he reached his apartment. He didn't even remember the train journey. The specially reinforced door opened with a silent hiss. There, on the floor were slippers already waiting, just as he left them this morning. One thing he couldn't understand is why do all those actors in old Libertonian films, which were by now banned, always wear the weary same shoes they wore walking around the street in their homes. This was one thing he always wanted to know. Is that true. Do they ignore all that horrible disease carrying filth found outside.
A shower washes all the worries of the day away, at least for a brief moment. However not for Franz, not today. Worries that have once plagued his mind came back along with memories. An old scar has started to bleed again. Poisonous industrial waste of Leeds doesn't harm your ship, however scars on yourself stay for a lifetime and so do memories.
Sixteen years ago Sirius was a different place. How fast the time passes. How old was I? Thirty seven. Professor Franz Maister. Why is this surname written in such an unusual way? Who would know. Xenoarchaeology. The one thing he couldn't admit in present times. Professor Franz Maister, field representative of the Rheinland's xenoarchaeological institute. Another institution that is long lost under the veil of time. Heinrich Selb was there too, now missing for almost fifteen years. And Karl Henkel and Jutta Selk and Friedrich and oh, many many others he hadn't seen for so long. Perhaps he walked past them every day, perhaps they were all dead, floating around in the darkness of space.
He slowly stood up, encompassed his flat, the white walls, wooden desk, leather armchair...
Neural net storage card asked for a password.
One by one nine letters were fed to the device.
A file appeared on a display, a file that hasn't been opened for over a decade.
Height:184 cm
Weight: 73 kg
Eye colour: green
Hair colour: brown
Hair style: bald, with some hair remaining at the sides
Facial hair: brown moustache
Military/Forces Background:
None
Your Background & Past:
I, signed below was born on 13.3.764 in Falkensee, New Berlin as the only child in a middle class family. Father's profession was teacher and so was my mother's. With such background I, after graduating from a Gymnasium I continued my education at New Berlin University. Archaeology was my chosen path, achieving doctorate of Xenoarchaeology. thus becoming a doctor of Xenoarchaeology.
At the age of 31 I became part of the Rheinland Xenoarchaeological institute and I'm still officially employed there.
Approved
It was a request for joining Buro der Marinineinintelligenz twenty years old. Maister sighed. So many memories, not every a good one, however memories of events that took place when he was two decades younger. And yes, once one has received a letter that he is no longer in military reserve, he does indeed begin to feel old. He just sat there, his thoughts floated away and things were happening in front of his eyes, as he had travelled in the past.
One half of Planet New Berlin's was bathing in bright sunlight, the other was locked in a bitter winter. High above the famous Ring could be seen, resembling a faint reflection far away, distorted by atmospheric disturbances. A beautiful day, clear sky, sunlight and temperatures just above freezing. Amongst many other minute figures moving around, seemingly with no order a stream of men and women formed, all walking in one general direction, like a flow of a river with many smaller tributaries joining it. Like a journey of a tiny boat on a calm stream just before it reaches rapids, such was life on this cold inhospitable world of Rheinland in beginning of the year 800. Then suddenly an explosion somewhere far away turned this calm stream into a raging torrent.
Military build-up and repressive state machine have been had been something usual in Rheinland for centuries. Then, as the old century tipped over into the new one everything went into an overdrive. Vaterland will be once again great and respected as it once was. Ship after ship, man after man the glorious Rheinwehr grew. Admiral Schultsky died in New York. The Order was running amok and Kusari supported raids agains Rheinland's bases. However the mighty Chancellor didn't stand with his arms crossed, no. And so didnt the inhabitance of every Planet, base and rock in Rheinland.
A ship took off from one of many launch pads on New Berlin. It was a Humpback class vessel, quite old actually, built somewhere around 780. On board was a team of scientists, archaeologists. Mister sat in the cockpit, observing his home planet. In front of him Heinrich Selb found little time to rest his eyes on the view that was once reserved for gods, as the ship slowly passed by a giant battleship, pride of Rheinland. Huge mass of metal slowly eclipsed Fatherland's most important star and as it's shadow completely engulfed their ship, Maister felt a shudder. Everyone on that tiny raft named Humpback realised how small they are and how great their House is. They were part of something much larger and they were proud.
Suddenly a communication device situated in the cockpit woke up with an unpleasant sound of static.
This is RNC Wotan command, to all ships of the West Rheinland fleet. Set course to Omega 7.
Heinrich laughed while turning on the communication device.
To RNC Wotan, may I ask when did our our Fatherland's battleships become tiny armoured transports? Hell, where have we gotten to! And jokes aside, where are you, we can't find you on our scanners.
Potsdam!
Maister was quite used to such jokes. Actually it wasn't even funny any more. He sent a message to that armoured transport, piloted by Institut's greatest comedian.
Herr Karl, you have no sense of humour, I don't know how can Jutta stand being on that ship with
Horrendous, ear hurting high pitched whistle interrupted that lovely conversation.