by Zen DiPietro
“I’ll be right there.” The line closed.
Odd. Em wondered if Brak had some bad news about her health. Why else would she want to see her immediately?
Once in her office, Em paced restlessly. It seemed to take forever for Brak to get there. Finally, the soft, hollow sound of dried bamboo pieces knocking together indicated her arrival. Em signaled the doors to open and Brak entered.
Em immediately smelled anise and smoke. Worry and suspicion.
“What is it, Brak?” Em faced her in the middle of her office.
“I hope I’m wrong. I hope I’m being paranoid. But I think I know what happened to you.”
Em’s heart seemed to freeze in her chest, then began thudding hard, as if to make up for lost time. She found herself sitting on the couch, with Brak sitting across from her, without remembering moving there.
She noticed her hands nervously twining around each other, so she pinned them, palms together, between her knees.
Brak clacked her teeth in agitation. “This room is secure?”
“Of course. I sweep my office for devices every time I return to it. My quarters too, actually.”
“A wise precaution. If what I suspect is true, you might be in some serious trouble.”
Em didn’t find that idea as foreboding as she probably should have. Just the idea of having her crack at figuring out all of the recent events was enough to shove concerns for her safety to the background. “Tell me.”
“About six months ago, Admiral Krazinski contacted me about doing some private research for them. That’s not unusual. The PAC often has particular functions they require from cybernetics, and pay me well to engineer them. The research has also been helpful to advancing the field, so it’s been a mutually beneficial relationship. The unusual thing about the request was that they wanted me to do something I found morally wrong. Implants that weren’t simply therapeutic. They wanted me to adapt the neural implants I use for cybernetic controls for another purpose. Memory augmentation.”
The idea of memory augmentation took her breath. Most of the PAC’s treaties with coalition members and nonmembers alike included a total ban on developing brain augmentation technology. What Brak was saying seemed impossible. What Krazinski had asked for could directly cause the destruction of the PAC. And all-out war.
When she could keep her voice even, Em asked, “What did you say to the admiral?”
“I said no. Of course I said no. The admiral threatened that he’d have someone else develop it instead, but I’d hoped no cyberneticist with the necessary skills would be willing to do it. Artificial augmentation of the brain has always been taboo. Not only would it eventually create a necessity for people to undergo brain surgery to level the playing field enough to compete in life, it would never be a safe procedure. No matter how perfect the technology component, brains are too dissimilar from one another to achieve reliable results. The risk for brain damage would be too high.”
“Could he have been testing you? Making sure you wouldn’t do that kind of research?”
“The thought occurred to me afterward,” Brak admitted. “But at the time, I fully believed it. And now, I have reason to believe that Krazinski eventually did find a willing scientist.”
Em didn’t need Brak to paint a picture for her. “You think I had one of those implants.”
Brak hesitated, then tilted her head in affirmation. “The injury to your brain looks exactly like I’d expect a botched attempt at installing one to look.”
“And it would explain why the external injury didn’t match the internal one. And why my memory was affected.” Em smelled the warm-baked-bread scent of agreement.
That left Em with a lot of questions. “Why the secrecy? Shouldn’t Brannin know, since he’s my doctor?”
“If I’m right, whatever was done to your head was classified. Which makes your head classified. Which makes you classified.”
Em processed that. “Okay, so that means you have classified clearance, then. How’s that possible when you’re not even a PAC officer?”
“My services were wanted badly enough to make it happen. Believe me, I’ve certified a great many documents that ensure my compliance with all security protocols. But only one project I ever worked on was actually top-secret classified. This neural implant thing was something entirely different. I had to go through hoops for higher-than-top-secret clearance that don’t even appear on any official record. And that was just to talk about it.”
“There’s no such thing as higher than top secret.” Every first-year cadet at OTS knew that only a privileged few ever received top-secret clearance. Admirals, captains involved with key diplomacy, and high-ranking security officers. Not someone like Em. Not yet, anyway.
But when all alternatives are exhausted, the only possibility remaining must be correct. “Blackout. You’re talking about Blackout.”
The much-fabled, greatly feared and revered, often considered merely mythical covert special ops division of the PAC. People didn’t even speak of it in public. Just in case naming the boogeyman made him come to life.
Em felt a sensation pooling around her calves and rising up to her knees. She didn’t know if it was dread or excitement. Possibly both. “You’re saying Blackout wanted you to create this neural implant for them. Which makes me—”
“A BlackOp,” Brak finished.
“A BlackOp,” Em repeated, trying the word out. Well, it would explain things. Her injury, her memory loss, and her underreported skills. Her investigation into Wren, as well. Blackout would have placed Em on Dragonfire, which was why Captain Nevitt had not been permitted to select her own chief of security. “Damn.”
It all made sense. She stood and began pacing the room. Brak sat discreetly on the couch while Em thought it all through.
Em tried to come up with an alternate explanation, but no, it all fit too well. It had to be true. Once she accepted that as a fact, her mind flooded with yet more questions. What did Nevitt know? What was the implant intended to do? How and when had it been installed? What was the true nature of her accident? Who was she really? Was she endangering everyone on the station just by being there? Underneath it all, she kept wondering how Wren fit into the puzzle.
“I don’t even know where to start,” she admitted.
“It’s true, then,” Brak said.
Em stopped pacing and faced Brak from behind her desk. “It makes too much sense not to be. But where does that leave me? I need to come up with a strategy to figure out what happened without putting anyone in danger.”
Brak inclined her head slightly. The light in the office shined over her blue-green skin, and its iridescence seemed like a color shift as she moved. “We’ll need to plan carefully.”
Em blinked. “We? You’re no BlackOp. You need to stay as far away from this as you can.”
Brak’s eyes narrowed and her chin came up. “This is about my science. My science is my life. I’m not going to let anyone get away with what they’ve done. I may not have your officer training but believe me, Briveen do not grow up without learning intensive battle skills.” Her lips twitched with the hint of a smirk. “No matter what caste you’re born into.”
Which made Em wonder about Brak’s caste, but it would have been rude to ask.
“All right. I can’t say I’m sorry to have a comrade in all this. First, we need to decide on our first objective.”
4
Translucid Chapter 4
While Brak was still in her office, Em received an emergency call. A fight had broken out on the boardwalk. Two different trading factions had crossed paths and words, then fists, had been exchanged.
By the time Em arrived on the scene, her staff had already gotten the situation under control, but it was her job to decide the consequences for those involved.
Two humans and a Rescan sat in the Deck One security office, looking hostile but only mildly battered. A black eye here, a split lip there. A minor skirmish, then, but Em didn’t tolerate that
kind of rubbish on her station. She wouldn’t let foolish behavior like this put her wards in danger. Because she considered the safety of every single person on the station to be her own personal responsibility. She had a history of being exacting, and she intended to live up to that.
She remained standing, frowning at the two human miscreants as a couple of her middle-ranking staff gave her the details. She hadn’t directly worked with the pair since her accident, and found them both to be effective and professional.
“My problem is that you two have a previous altercation on your record here at Dragonfire, as well as one at Blackthorn. Who knows what you get up to on stations and planets not run by the PAC.” Under Em’s scrutiny, they both dropped their gazes to the floor.
They all knew that she could hurt their livelihoods. Without docking privileges on Dragonfire, they’d be at a significant disadvantage for trading. But considering that none of their documented offenses had caused major injury or harmed a resident of the station, she could afford a measure of leniency. A last chance, of sorts.
“You two will be locked out of Dragonfire for six months. Keep your record clean during that time and I’ll reinstate your docking privileges. If you don’t, your lockout will be much longer. Perhaps permanent.”
The men exchanged a pained expression, but didn’t meet her gaze.
“Also,” she added, “once you do regain your privileges, you’ll be on your last chance. Another incident like today’s and you can forget about ever docking at Dragonfire again. Understand?” She pinned each one with a look.
“Yes, Chief,” one said, while the other nodded.
“My staff will escort you to your ship and you will depart immediately.” Em nodded to the three security staffers standing by the door. They snapped into action, ushering the two out.
“And you. Arlen Stinth.” She focused on the Rescan. “Care to tell me your version, now that they’re gone?”
The woman shifted in her seat. “I was just enjoying a cup of tea on the food court, doing some people watching. Those two sat at my table uninvited and attempted to flirt with me. When I stood to leave…” She trailed off, her shoulders tensing.
Oh, hell no. If they had sexually harassed the woman, Em would change her decision on their lockout.
“They insulted my ship,” Arlen said, her tanned cheeks turning dusky. She sat up straight and fixed Em with a steady look. “No one insults my ship. It might not be pretty, but it’s as solid and spaceworthy as anything else that docks here. I don’t cut corners on my maintenance. I keep my crew safe.”
The angry steel seeped out of Em’s spine and she fought a smile. Arlen had picked the fight, and based on an insult to her ship rather than to her person. “Yes, your record is spotless, both for mechanical checks and your activities on Dragonfire.”
Arlen nodded. Other than puffiness at the corner of her mouth, she seemed to be in good physical condition.
“Do you need medical attention?” Em asked.
Arlen’s tongue probed the corner of her mouth. “I don’t think so. They barely touched me.”
Em allowed herself a grin. “Good job, then.”
Arlen let out a light, surprised laugh.
“I’ll note the incident on your record, but you’re free to go about your business. Those two should have just let you leave when you wanted to. However, don’t make a habit of this sort of thing. I really don’t appreciate fistfights on my boardwalk.”
Arlen ducked her head. “Of course. My apologies.” She stood. “Thank you, Chief.” On her way out, she gave Em a deep bow of respect. A little unusual, given that she wasn’t a PAC officer, but the gesture had seeped into some well-mannered people. Em returned the bow.
Since she was already on Deck One, she did her rounds. She ran into Nix and the girl’s friend Robert, whom she’d called Ratboy the first time she’d encountered him, just after her shuttle accident.
The way the adolescents teased and bumped into one another, Em wondered if they were on the verge of their first romance. Thirteen years old seemed about the right age. The thought made Em smile.
She wondered about her own first romance. Surely there had been one. Without a family to tell her about it, she might never know. She hoped she hadn’t done anything foolish. But then, that was a defining characteristic of a first romance, wasn’t it? Foolishness, and a good measure of awkwardness. She’d probably been as sappy as any other adolescent girl.
Cabot came out of his shop to invite her in for a cup of tea, but she had to decline. She had a ship of PAC ambassadors to greet. He kept her company, though, as she strolled back across the boardwalk toward Cargo Bay Six.
“Lot of ships today,” he remarked.
“Yes. A few had to dock on the stem section and ride the lift up to Deck One. Good thing they didn’t need maintenance. The crew’s already maxed out. Hopefully we don’t get any emergencies in.”
He inclined his head in agreement. “Business is always good when a hospi-ship is docked. They attract the kind of folks that have money to spend. I wouldn’t mind a bit if the Onari made Dragonfire into a home base.”
“You and a lot of people, I’m sure.”
“Your legate seemed quite taken with the Atalan engineer,” Cabot observed.
“I feel like you’re making some sort of point, or asking a question, maybe.” She squinted at him.
He held his hands out palms up, all innocence. “Not at all. Just making small talk.”
“Uh-huh.”
He smiled benignly. “The more ties the Onari has to Dragonfire, the better.”
“Well, I’m not going to marry my legate off just to improve your sales figures.”
Cabot chuckled. “He does seem happy though. Maybe even enough to think about breaking some hearts and settling down.”
Em made a noncommittal sound. Arin’s relationship status was his own business. She didn’t even like dealing with her own.
“I guess this is where I head back to my shop.” Cabot stopped walking several meters short of the cargo bay. “It’s been a pleasure, as always.”
They exchanged bows and Em entered the bay to greet the ambassadors. Since they were only minor government officials for various planets, she expected a routine, low-maintenance exchange. Thank goodness. She had a distinct overabundance of tricky ventures in her life already.
Em was at her desk making out the duty roster for the next week when her voicecom display alerted her to an incoming call. A glance at the chronometer told her that she had only ten minutes left on her shift.
Em answered the call. Wren appeared on the screen, looking harried. She explained that she’d be working late due to a malfunctioning structural integrity field on a ship that had to depart the next day. She wouldn’t be home until very late.
Em felt relieved. Then she felt guilty about her relief. She just didn’t feel comfortable with Wren. What did her marriage even mean? Blackout had installed her on Dragonfire to investigate Wren for smuggling, but instead, Em had married her? Had that been a personal choice, or an executive order?
Ugh. She pressed the flats of her palms against her closed eyes until colors bloomed.
She pushed all of that away from her mind and pulled up Dragonfire’s external security feeds. Once she’d assured the station’s continued well-being, she focused on her investigation.
Brak had opened Em’s mind to possibilities she hadn’t known she should consider. After their conversation about her injury and Blackout, Em had decided she needed to start looking in places that only a covert operative would know to look. If she was a BlackOp, then she knew that those places existed, and how to find them. Theoretically. Just like she hadn’t known she could throw knives until she did it, maybe just looking for clandestine affairs would get her to that jump-off point where her knowledge would kick in.
She just needed to make it happen, somehow.
Okay, brain, she thought. I know you can do this.
She sat at the voicecom dis
play, hand poised. “I need to dig for clandestine communications, Blackout style,” she said aloud. “Crazy secure, hidden stuff. Beyond OTS stuff. Beyond security school stuff. Using methods that no one outside of Blackout would ever…”
Something opened up in her mind and she touched the screen. In increasingly quick procession, she flipped through images, drilling directly into the subspace receiver. Once there, she programmed a temporary ghost relay directly into the code and entered ridiculously long strings of alphanumerics.
It felt almost too easy. Like she’d flipped a switch and suddenly, what she’d needed now rested literally in her fingertips. Though she didn’t find exactly what she’d hoped for.
She understood what she’d constructed. A two-way communications relay. She could open it, and she could close it. Basically, she would have built and dismantled it anytime she needed to send a heavily coded message. It wasn’t the database she’d wanted to find, but of course that had been foolish to hope for. You can’t keep a secret by documenting it. Blackout wouldn’t leave repositories of information for people to find. Although…that made her wonder about her own messages, the ones that had clued her in to her investigation of Wren. Why hadn’t she destroyed those? Had she intentionally left some proof behind?
Hmm, but what to do now. She rapped her palms against the desk as she thought. Sending a message was almost sure to go wrong, with her lack of memory. She needed to receive a message. Before her injury she would have been checking this frequency daily for messages, she realized. Fortunately, there were no missives waiting for her, which would have served as a warning beacon to anyone on the other end that something had gone wrong with her.
On the other hand, that left her nothing to work with. She’d have to wait for a message and hope she hadn’t been tasked with periodic status reports by whomever she answered to.
While she waited for Blackout to contact her and give her an opening, she needed information. The information that, hopefully, could be dug out of her brain by some clever doctors.
