The Board Member involved with Rittensoor was Franco Lubomirski, now deceased. Lawrenceson discovered that the archive had just received his records.
They were off-limits, but this was because all Board Member records were supposed to be handled by Archive Directors. There was too much material, and the Directors delegated. Lawrenceson used this, and the fact that nobody cared, to get access.
He found nothing. He scoured the files, but it was all mundane, respectable, unremarkable. No mention of the troupe, no mention of any debaucheries.
He kept looking. He slept at his desk, running searches, skimming video. And then there was something: the journal of a Lubomirski agent, who had been instructed to go out and emulate Rittensoor. Hoping to find juicy details, Lawrenceson pored over the journal.
Disappointment. No descriptions at all, just musings about morality and meaning—cut short, because the agent disappeared. Curious, Lawrenceson realized that the journal hinted at things. Things the agent knew that had to be hidden. And they must have been hidden in his shipâ€™s systems. The ship belonged to Lubomirski. Its systems were backed up to his records.
Lawrenceson found what the censors missed. Giddy, he holed up in his apartment to go through it.
And it was boring. No debauchery, just medical files and interviews.
Bitter and disgusted, Lawrenceson gave up the search. Hoping to see at least some invasive procedures and attractive women, he watched more of the video.
With a destabilizing lurch, he realized what he had found.