"Anything for you, babe!" I assured him, which only got more laughs.
I thought we'd lose this ball across the hemi line too, but it arced near Elaki, and she just scooped it up without missing a beat and sent it back at a different angle.
We were able to practice for another hour because the next reservation for the court had cancelled. Eventually, though, we hit the gym showers, met up again at the pub, drank, laughed some more, and, exhausted though I was (and tanked up again though I became), stayed up much too late.
Looking back on it, it might have been the best night of my entire time on Mylag Vernier. The best night, maybe, for many years of my life, before and after. For a couple of hours, there was absolutely nothing else in the universe to think about but that ball; for a time, it was only hemi lines, and points, and penalties. It felt almost like a vacation.
The night wasn't even tarnished, overmuch, when Barney and I were both hit with a stunner on the way back to our room, dropping us with a bright dazzle of agony.
OOOOOOOOOO
After about two-and-a-half hours of waiting, I was told that the meeting was about to start.
On the walk over, some nervous guy in a uniform planted himself at my elbow, and instructed me not to speak unless spoken to, and for God's sake, stick to the topic at hand, whatever it happened to be! I should keep my answers short and to the point, and most of all, if instructed to stop talking or leave the room, I was to do so immediately.
We had quite a walk, actually, and the guy dropped off after a bit to see to some other business. We could have used a roller car or slidewalk, both of which I saw in various companionways branching off, but my escort didn't seem to mind it at all. We went through two separate security doors, both with armed guards at attention. I was sweaty and out of breath by the time we stopped outside a set of double doors. A guard called to someone within, and the doors parted before me.
The room was not as big as all this build-up had implied it would be. There was a rounded table in the center which took up just about all the available space. That made it awkward to walk around the thing with all the people sitting there. The table had small Tri-D holos before each seat, as well as a larger one hovering over the center as a general display. A bunch of senior Fleet officers were sitting more-or-less on one side, while the recently-arrived Montaro reps were clustered on the other.
Of these folks, two were likely from Admin, based on their self-important bearings and fine suits. There were also several others, some in Team uniforms, some in civvie clothing of a less-impressive cut, and all with handcomps. I took them to be engineers. I'd never seen a single person in the entire room before.
Four additional soldiers from Corporate Security Space Branch stood, one in each corner of the room, to act as bodyguards. Under the general rubric of diplomatic immunity, they were allowed to carry sidearms openly, even on a foreign nation's warship, putting everybody on the AIN side just that little bit off their game.
No Emaross Basta. No Annia Wi'iloni. Apparently, neither UH nor Meerschaum were invited to this little gathering.
There were only two seats open at the table -- one on the Fleet side, between a man and a woman, both of captain rank, and the other on the Corporate side. I took the latter without prompting.
OOOOOOOOOO
eighteen
* * *
Barney and I told the Station Security investigators that we must have been mugged. And that was the truth, as far as it went.
Indeed, anything of any value was missing when we were brought round by the medicos, an hour or so later. Barney was especially heartbroken about his gym bag. He only got one practice in with the new basket, after all, and it had taken six weeks to arrive. A silver bracelet he always wore was gone now, too. It had been his dad's. That was irreplaceable.
The only thing taken from me had been my wristcomp. It should have been pingable from anywhere on the station, but whoever had it now knew about that trick and had disabled tracking.
The perpetrator somehow managed to get station sensors in the immediate area to hiccup during the attack, so there was no record of anything from those moments (and I even confirmed this later with John and Stinna). To their credit, the Station Security folks didn't buy the mugging angle at all, and Barney wasn't so dim to think it likely either. It's what he told everybody who asked, though -- including me. StaSec said that a full investigation would follow, including more interviews, so, after getting the nod from the emergency med responders, they cleared us to go home. Barney did exactly that, looking sad, and I told him I'd catch up.
Over at an open air market on Centerline Avenue I bought a commring, much like Dieter's. Through the public registry, I placed a call on it to Branden. Because it was a cheap thing I'd just purchased from the company store, all I told him over it was that I needed to talk in person. He had puzzlement in his voice, but agreed. I suggested we meet up at the SpecSign office, assuming it would be safe to talk there. He counter-suggested my favorite little coffee kiosk, implying that it wouldn't be.
We met about a half-hour after the call. It was late, and he had changed out of his business suit. I got a frothy cup of something non-decaffeinated, while the Seven got a bright yellow frappa-cappa-something-or-other. We sat at one of the little wire-frame tables, out of earshot of the counter help.
Brand looked mighty worried when I told him about the attack, even after my assurance that there was no data breach. By contrast, the responding StaSec officers had been relieved when I told them my rig was empty (the fact that I worked for R&D had put them into an immediate sweat).
"I'm concerned about your safety," he whispered, glancing over his shoulder.
"You look like you're concerned about yours," I commented. He turned back; his eyes didn't look eager or professional. They looked frightened.
"I'm in no physical danger, but look, here it is: Kwon has been outed as SpecSign."
"What?! When? How? The place is already in an uproar."
"It came down yesterday. He just acted too much like a spook not to raise flags."
"Well, that sucks," I observed sourly.
"Oh, not at all," he countered, with the first hint of a smile. "He was the one they were supposed to find."
"I'm your trump card?"
He just sipped his frap, glancing around.
"The thing is, even though I fully expected Kwon to be caught...Team might look at it differently."
"Do you mean a SpecSign review of some kind?" I asked. "Why? And what's Team got to do with it, anyway?"
"Team Space Branch will be taking over all security duties on this station. They're going to be disbanding StaSec, and any current Corporate Investigatory units. That means SpecSign. Us. The others in our little group have already been given their walking papers, and I'm being officially transferred to an office position, here on-station."
"Then this whole thing was a waste of time," I muttered, bitterly. I felt it, too.
"Hear me out. My reports have only mentioned you as a consultant, not an operative. If Team gets suspicious, they'll dig further, and maybe burn our investigation. But if they don't, you should be able to continue on."
I actually wanted to continue.
R&D was a cover job for me. SpecSign was a cover job. None of it was real. Yet, it was a worthy endeavor anyway: rooting out what had gone so wrong in R&D, or with the field testing process, that two people ended up dead. I hadn't wanted to do that. Someone had screwed up, sending them out after Shady Lady -- a person likely still in charge somewhere, ready to screw up again.
"With SpecSign disbanded," I observed, "what more can we do?"
"I said, I'm officially transferred."
He looked over his shoulder once more, then leaned in. I did the same.
"When Space Branch first arrived at the jump-point, a courier ship from Interstar came with them. It relayed a classified message to me, straight from...well, a certain member of the Montaro Board of Directors. This is who we work
for. Our instructions are to keep investigating this thing, no matter what. The authority involved is Admin, not Team, and higher up on the company ladder than anyone currently in-system."
"So...?"
"So, SpecSign will go underground. At least, our part of it. Team is to know nothing about this. All across the station, Admin supervisors will be replaced with Team officers. There's no one here now we can trust."
"You have got to be kidding me...!"
I said it much too loudly, and with enough exasperation to draw the attention of the coffee jock behind the counter. I gave the young guy a hard face, and he looked away.
"Careful!" Seven Ursga hissed. "This comes from the top! Are you in or out? This is riding on you, Ejoq! If you say no, we're back to square one. And I don't need to remind you that you signed a contract."
"Not for this, Seven. You should know me well enough by now to understand what pushing me into a corner means. It's a guarantee you'll never get what you want. Call it a character flaw, but if you try to force me into anything, you'll see it in action."
"Is that a threat? Do I have to worry about you, now?"
The question made me stop and think.
Maybe he did.
And, if so, he could just put in a bad word with Team, and I'd be out of Research and Development.
But...would that be such a bad thing?
No job with SpecSign? No job with R&D?
It would mean a ticket out!
The thought struck me hard, like another stun blast. It was the one path through this mess that I'd never considered: unemployment.
As an AIN citizen, I'd be deported if I didn't seek another job, and it would be absolutely above-board. Completely legit. They'd book me cold passage on a Company starliner headed toward the border. They'd make sure I went home. I could give a full report to UH. It could assemble a tidal wave of politicians, bureaucrats, and lawyers to put a spotlight on this project. Shady Lady's crew could come out of hiding, and Mavis could get the help she needed...
Mavis.
Who was unconscious for no known reason.
"Branden, look," I whispered after a time, "I'm not against the idea of continuing our...working relationship, but it will have to be on my terms. R&D is in the midst of a shakeup of its own."
"The whole station is," he injected, eyes still roaming the mostly-empty plaza. "Admin, Security, Maintenance, Fabrication, you name it...they're all standing around, waiting for the axe to fall."
"Well, I got the heads-up that I'm to be retained after the change-over. In what capacity or to what purpose, I don't know. I don't know how this mugging, or whatever it was, might impact that position. And I don't know who did it to begin with."
"Okay, okay, I understand. You're frazzled."
"You have no idea!"
"Lower you're voice, please."
I took a breath, and then glanced around the plaza like he was doing; the paranoia was infectious.
"Is there anything else?" I asked.
He nodded.
"I passed that weird radio signal you found over to a crypto specialist. Might be unrelated to our work, but it's definitely a digital stream. They're looking to crack it."
"Good," I muttered. "This probably should be our last face-to-face for a while."
"Agreed. If we need to talk, I'll find a way to reach out. If you need to report something...well, let's be old-fashioned. What are you drinking?"
"Decaf cappacinno," I told him, reading the side of my cup, which had the coffee style and bean variety automatically printed on it by the espresso machine when it was dispensing. "Uh...Greenbelt Velvet."
"Okay. If it isn't this exact variety, I'll know it wasn't from you. Have you noticed that accounting office on Starboard Road? Big yellow sign? Well, to the left of the entrance is a nook...like a tiny shelf in the bulkhead."
"I've seen that sign. I haven't noticed any nook."
"Good. It's a nothing spot. Leave an empty cup, just like this one, when you have any news. Write down whatever it is on a piece of scrap, and put it inside."
"Maintenance might get there before you do, and throw it out."
"Don't worry about that," he assured, then got to his feet. "Try to get some rest. You look like crap."
"I know. I'm good at it."
We exchanged grave little nods, which only seemed to crown the silliness of the conversation, and then he was gone.
* * *
Barney was more upbeat in the morning, though still upset about the loss of his smackball gear. I mentioned the braclet, but he waved it off.
"Eh, it was a cheap thing. I only wore it because I figured I probably should. My dad was a hard guy to love, to be honest."
That made me sad right at the start of the day, mostly because I understood what he meant.
I looked up Dieter on the public directory, and called him on my new ring. We set up a time to meet at the pub after my work shift (he would have to dash out during lunch -- more overtime). I didn't go into details, of course, though I did mention I'd been mugged. He was silent for a moment, seemingly weighing whether this was a put-on, a code-phrase that I'd just made up, or -- worst of all -- the truth. After a moment, he said he had to go, and that I'd see him later.
I made it to R&D on time. There were new Team security people at the entrance, checking off names from a datapad, and verifying with an IDent scanner. All the installed security systems, including the autogun, appeared to be off-line. I asked about this, but just got a frosty stare for my trouble. New badges were issued, but they only had our names and basic credentials on them. No molecular keys, nothing fancy or high tech. On each badge it was plainly stated which exact sections of R&D, including its Sub-Departments, we were allowed to be in.
On mine, it said Main, R&D General, and Weaponry, as well as a sprinkling of various meeting rooms and offices. Main covered this entrance, the outer offices (including Jake Hammerhülse's), the freshers, a galleyette for coffee and pastries, and an emergency medico station that had been pointed out on my earlier tour. R&D General referred to the big open space. Weaponry was apparently the new designation for Onboard Defense.
Fabrication, R&D Storage, Hull Design, Power GenDis, Starjump, and the rest of Research and Development were all out-of-bounds. Indeed, most of the places open to me just the day before were now off-limits.
Team was everywhere inside the Department as well: at doorways, checking ID's; in offices, checking computer systems; and standing around guarding hardware covered in drop cloths that was awaiting removal.
Jake was talking to a group of uniformed characters when I came in, and he waved me over.
"Made the cut, huh? Go find Ghaz, she'll fill you in."
But Ghazza's office was gone. All of the identical little offices over there were gone, replaced by a squad of military technicians and construction bots. Even the walls had all been taken down. Team grunts were busy clearing away scrap and rubble, and tossing it all into various dumpsters. R&D General was now a bright, fully-lighted, scurrying madhouse, filled almost entirely with johnnies too busy to stop and chat. In fact, it seemed like they'd been ordered not to talk to the locals, because I got ignored or waved away several times when I made the attempt. Finally, I saw somebody I thought I recognized who wasn't in a uniform, and she pointed toward the back of the cavernous space when I asked Ghazza's whereabouts.
I found her near a rounded corner, trying to set up an extensible partition that kept falling over. She wore a crisp business suit, and shiny shoes. I grabbed one corner of the partition before it beaned her, and held it steady while she set a few clips in place.
"Thank you, Ejoq. What a zoo!"
"I'll say. We're evicted?"
"Temporarily. They're remodeling the Sub-D project leader's offices, and finally putting them all together -- Hull Design, GenDis, and Fabrication managers are getting brought over with the rest of us. They would be seriously pissed-off, if there was anybody left in those sections from before. Oh, and les
t I forget, you have an interview with a Seven Nuellan in...what time is it?"
"Quarter-to-eight hundred hours. Ish."
"Okay, in about fifteen minutes. She's set up in the big meeting room for now, but she'll have a permanent office over by us, when they're finally all built. She's some kind of Team liaison officer, and has a bunch of people in there today that you need to talk to. They want to go over your background, licenses, and certifications. You can still get culled at this point, so tell them whatever they want to hear."
"What do they want to hear?" I asked, getting nervous.
"Who knows?"
She shrugged apologetically, then had me move her desk around while she set up a portable Tri-D unit that turned out to be even more broken than the last one. I pulled a neck muscle, and it bothered me for the rest of the shift.
CPS07 Floyeen Nuellan was of average height, and had a set, well-composed face below short brown hair slicked back in the new efficiency style. Sitting in a semi-circle around her were five other people, men and women, also in uniform. She intro'd herself, but not them, and they didn't volunteer their names.
"Please have a seat, Mr Dosantos. I'll get right to it. Team has determined that you may have a particular skill-set this project requires. If so, it will save us time in recruiting and vetting someone from outside the system. This interview is to determine if that truly is the case. We'll be asking about your personal, professional, and training histories. If you're comfortable with that, I'll need you to read and sign this privacy waiver right now."
She handed over a tablet, and I scrolled through a fairly standard interview permission form, signing it at the bottom.
Then they got into it.
They were on a tight schedule I suppose, because they started off by just reading from my résumé and asking for confirmations. I was born on such-and-such date in Jarden system, over in the Alliance -- yes or no? I had a mother and brother still in Jarden -- yes or no? I was not married; I had no dependents; I had the following licences and training certificates, and they were all in good order -- yes or no?
Risk Analysis (Draft 04 -- Reading Script) Page 24
