by James Cox
Robin crushed out her 'stick and lit another one. What little she'd eaten lay in her stomach like a lump of stone. She thought to work on the transactions she grabbed but with little progress. The work wasn't difficult she simply could not concentrate on it. She jumped when the door opened.
"Robin, I'm done now."
She followed Robert back inside. Carl sat on the bed now, wearing a loose robe and looking at Robert's terminal. He indicated a chair beside the bed.
"Robert told me you started grabbing data on your own. Care to tell us why?"
Carl spoke casually but Robin felt an icy command beneath it.
"You're looking for smuggling, right?"
Carl nodded.
"I'm not a certified accountant but I can think of a dozen ways to hide just about anything, and that's not even concentrating hard. If you don't know the exact transfer codes and the policies behind them it's almost impossible to separate the legal shipments from the illegal ones. Especially if the data is striped across multiple databases or cross-linked between caches."
"And?"
"B-by Federation law extraplanetary entities must maintain at least two months of raw data past their last backup." Robin grew nervous as Carl's stare didn't waver. "The easiest way to do that is with a rolling compression backup. Of the individual transactions. The... The Rugger package logs them with a progressively digested signature. It... It usually compresses daily or weekly. That way the old data can be purged automatically. If... Since dataspools are an inexpensive dense medium most companies don't bother purging old transactions. T-transactions compress well. They just... just put a new spool when the old one fills up."
"So we have raw data," said Carl, "What good is it? If, as you say, we need the structure then we don't have a hades of a lot to work with."
"Once we have the transactions isolated and sequenced we can run stochastic metrics against them using... whatever we're looking for. We locate the raw data, trace it through the process and see where it goes."
"So we somehow decrypt these transactions, mystically infer their structure and that takes us to exactly what we want? Pardon me if that sounds a bit difficult."
"That was my job, burnit!" Robin didn't bother concealing her anger. "Will you stop looking at me like I'm going to steal your children?! I'm sorry I rutted up your precious plan but I was just trying to help!"
Carl's expression softened. "Slib. How long will it take?"
"As long as it does. Cutting and stripping transactions is the easy part. The hard part is the native encryption. Will you at least give me some idea what we're looking for?"
Carl nodded.
"Depending on what you have we should get results in eight to eighteen hours. Sooner if I start now."
Carl considered, then nodded again. "Do you need me to help?"
"No," said Robert, "We need you to rest."
Carl started at him but it merely bounced off.
"Lady, shall we?"
With both terminals meshed Robin managed a fast analysis on the data. She relaxed when Carl's breathing turned slow and steady. Now she cut the transactions easily and ordered them quickly. Robert squirted her the data they had and she set her metrics as tight as she could. Estimated run time: seven hours and thirty-four minutes for a rough interval.
"Pyronic," said Robert, "Shall we grab some eyelid?"
***
Robin slept uneasily. Again and again she tried to treat Carl only to see her mother laying before her. Drunkenly she guided her hover, unable to avoid the cargo transport full of data transactions. After the crash Aunt Lilly watched with disappointment as nurses and aides handed her medical instruments and keycards and she tried to work with them. They stared and stared so hard and her hands shook so uncontrollably the patient died. Her mother died. Again and again and again...
Robin jerked herself awake. A few deep breaths calmed her body but her mind refused to cooperate. She fought to stay awake but sleep took her again. And the dreams started. Again.
"Morning, lady."
Robert puttering around the room woke Robin. Weak morning light seeped through the windows and she thought she heard distant thunder.
"Breakfast?"
Robin nodded, grabbed a 'stick and headed for the fresher for a good, hot shower. When she finished both she felt better. When she finished dressing she felt almost civilized.
Robin picked at her food. Before she and Robert left Carl woke, moved stiffly to one of the chairs and began reading newsmods. Robin didn't want to think about the excruciating pain he must feel but his expression wavered not at all. What appetite she had vanished as Carl brought her dreams back to haunt her.
"Deep thoughts," asked Robert, now starting his second plate.
"I... I'm not sure what I should think," she said, "Carl..."
"Then think on this. What happened to him, that's how these folks operate. What's more, they don't particularly care who they operate on. Carl is trained. He's trained and he's one of the toughest spikers you'll ever meet, no blather. That's why he went last night instead of me."
She shuddered at this. "Are... Are you CA Special Ops?"
He didn't answer for a while. "Does it matter if we are? Would you believe me if I said no? Or yes? Robin, the people we're after are animals and that's on a good day. They see average folks as credit-cattle. They don't care about anyone except as to how much they can profit from it. You're logical, take that to its conclusion. Will they worry if someone or some-ones ends up hurt or killed?"
"I... I guess not."
"Well, you'd best know it, lady." The waiter brought him a box and several books. "I have a few things to do. This is some breakfast for him and a few books to keep him busy."
"But... Wait. Can't you take me with you? I thought we did well as a team."
"We do, dear, but what I have to do I'd best do alone." Here he grinned. "No offense."
Back in the room Robin found Carl reclining in his chair with his eyes closed and gentle music playing on the holovee. She put down the box and books softly and reached to turn off the holovee.
"Don't, please," said Carl without opening his eyes, "I kind of like that channel."
Robin fought the urge to jump when he spoke. "Robert sent breakfast and some books."
"Thanks."
While he ate Robin powered up her terminal and checked her results. When she made to move outside Carl coughed.
"I wouldn't," he said, "Unless you want to get wet. It's supposed to rain hard today."
Robin started massaging her data. Carl finished his meal, lay back in the chair and started reading one of the books. Before long he let it slide down, lay back his head and closed his eyes again.
Robin spent the morning isolating and decrypting transactions. Carl dozed, she thought, but whenever she stepped outside for a 'stick his eyes opened and he looked at her a moment before settling back again. Around noon her stomach began growling.
"Hungry," asked Carl.
"A little," she replied. Then her stomach roared.
Carl stood and moved around stiffly. Then he moved his arms and legs to limber them. By the time the two of them reached the hotel's restaurant he moved so well that, had Robin not known of his injuries she'd not have seen anything amiss.
"Doesn't that hurt," she asked softly.
"Hurts like hades," he replied, equally softly.
Their dessert arrived and Carl dug in with gusto. Robin managed a few bites before shoving the plate aside.
"If you're not going to finish it," he whispered, "get a go box and take it with us."
"I think I'm old enough to see to my own feeding," she hissed back waspishly.
"Do it anyway," he replied, smiling at a passing couple, "We have a cover to maintain and you never know when you might need that energy."
Those words killed whatever appetite Robin might have had. When she made no move to comply Carl waved to the waiter and asked on her behalf. The waiter boxed the dessert with a smile Robin almost couldn't match.
Robin let her fury build all the way back to the room. Carl's behavior, so reminiscent of Aunt Lilly, raised a cloud of emotions Robin didn't really need.
"Thank you very much," said Robin with all the acid she could muster.
"Welcome," replied Carl, ignoring her emotion.
Not wanting to swear at him, Robin stepped out on the balcony for a 'stick. The forecast storm had arrived with passion so she huddled under the upper balcony's overhang. Lightning and thunder rumbled in the distance and the not-so-distance and as the wind threw rain at her Robin began taking deep, calming breaths. When the lightning flashed she mentally swore at Carl and she imagined the thunder as the impact of her words. By the time she finished the 'stick she had tamped down most of the turbulence inside her. When she walked back into the room she saw Carl fidgeting and rubbing around one of his wounds.
"Don't do that," she said sharply, "It's itching. Do you need your bandages changed?"
"Yes. Robert should be back soon."
This time only pure exasperation welled up within Robin. "Lay down. I can do it."
Carl only scowled at her.
"Or not," she said, "I know you don't think I'm worth much but I bloody well can change burns. That's one thing I can do and if you don't want me to then you can ruddy well stop taking it out on me!"
Robin found herself furious and breathing fast. After a moment she managed to calm herself and gentle down her expression. Carl's didn't change.
"Slib," he said pointing to one of Robert's bags, "Kit's there." Then he removed his shirt and pulled down his pants enough to expose the wounds.
Robin opened the burn gel and antiseptic and pulled out a tightly-rolled sheet of mediskin. She marveled at what Robert managed to pack into his kit. A surgeon could operate from it and some of the items there required commensurate licensing.
"I need to remove the old bandages first."
Robin carefully measured the skin patches then sprayed them with solvent. By the time they softened she had the replacements ready. She removed the old 'skin, carefully cleaned the wounds and applied antiseptic. When it set she applied the burn gel and gently pressed the new skin patches into place. She bit down hard on her memories as she worked. The wounds were still raw and ugly but all showed ample signs of healing and none of infection.
"Good job," said Carl, buttoning his pants and shirt.
"Thanks."
"Welcome."
"Medical training?"
She didn't answer.
"Have you had medical training?"
"No," she finally said, "Experience."
Robin busied herself cleaning up the debris. She felt Carl looking at her but ignored him.
"What experience," he asked.
Robin ignored him as she worked to repack Robert's kit properly.
"What experience," he asked more firmly.
"Nothing. I don't want to talk about it."
Lightning-fast Carl reached out, took her arm and pulled up her sleeve. She flinched but he held her firm and pointed to one of her worse scars.
"Something to do with that," he asked, evenly as always but slightly tinged with curiosity.
Robin struggled against his grasp. Neither it nor his expression changed. When she finally remembered to lever against his thumb she broke his hold.
"Yes," she spat, "Something to do with that."
Robin sat and powered up her terminal. She didn't really feel like working on the data, she just wanted Carl to shut up. After a moment he rose and sat beside her.
"What happened?"
Robin said nothing.
"Robin, what happened?"
When she still didn't respond he reached over and slid the terminal out of her reach.
"I was eight. Momma and I were coming home from a movie. A cargo hover jumped lanes and rammed us." Robin ignored the tears forming and falling uncontrollably. "Momma died. It... It took them nearly four years to finish with me. Nearly four years in the med center. Nearly four years of them ripping off the skin and trying to patch me and put it back on. All the operations..." She sniffled and choked back the words.
"They did a good job."
"NO! They didn't! They didn't." Hate, anger and disappointment boiled up within her. "They did a rotten job. They did a feces-lousy job! They're horrible! They're..." Again she bit back her words.
Silence grew between them. It grew and it grew taut. Finally he broke it.
"Is that why you're so jumpy about those scars?"
Robin swallowed the words she wanted to scream; the words he couldn't possibly understand. She clenched her fists and soon her arms shook with the effort to contain her emotions.
"In case you didn't know that's most of why I could out-fight you so easily. Every time you started thinking and adapting all I had to do was trace one or look at it and..."
Robin's control snapped! Unaware of standing she rained furious hard blows on him, swinging as fast as she possibly could. Anger backed her every move; she kicked and struck especially at his wounds. She threw punches, kicks, elbows, knees and even a good bite.
***
Robin sat at the table, her breath coming in short gasps. The rage finally burned itself out. Carl sat at a safe distance, his shirt stained where one of his wounds broke through the mediskin. Or, thought Robin, perhaps she did that.
"I should probably fix that," she said, pointing to his side."
"We can do that later. I think there's something else you need to do first."
She looked at him.
"Don't you think it's time you got over those scars?"
Robin stared at him, shocked.
"You... You don't know," she said, "You have no concept!"
"So explain it to me."
"You... You can't possibly understand! Nobody looks at you like... like..."
Robin fell silent. After a moment Carl shrugged.
"'The little shredded girl,'" she finally managed to say, "or 'burn baby.' Or 'Ribbon Facy.' That's what they used to call me." Now she swiped at the tears welling out. "Then th-they laughed."
"That's when you were in school?"
Robin nodded.
"Were you the top of your class or just close?"
"I had to study hard. To keep up my grades. It's not easy when you have to miss a week or two every few months."
"So you made lots of high grades. Set some curves."
"Yes. You think I deserved to be called..."
"No, I do not." Carl cut her off cold. "I did, however, think you were intelligent enough not to let a bunch of eight-, nine- and ten-year-old kids run your life for you."
"You... You..." Robin scrambled for the words.
"If you're going to scream," he said, "Step outside. These rooms may be soundproof but my ears aren't." He picked up Robert's kit. "I think I'll change these myself."
Carl stepped into the fresher. Robin wanted to scream. Instead she turned and punched the bed as hard as she could. Then again, then again. That Carl pulled the story out of her infuriated her and his offhanded dismissal of it infuriated her more.
"I didn't hear anything," said Carl as he emerged from the fresher, "so I take it you stepped outside or dealt with it."
"I'm polar."
"Good. I'll let you work on your data, then." He changed his shirt. "I need to check a few things anyway. I shouldn't be gone long."
Robin sniffed at this and he left. She lit a 'stick, powered up her terminal and started working.
***
Micah walked down one floor and over a few rooms. Ferrel sat behind a spare terminal with several monitors hooked into another one.
"How long have you been back," asked Micah.
"Since just before lunch. Before you ask the burn went well, information secured, duff covered and details tended." Ferrel grinned. "And you, my brother, gave a most excellent performance. Vera would be proud."
"Vera would skin me and dip me in acid," replied Micah tiredly, "Twice." He poured a strong shot. "Opinion?"<
br />
"A lot depends on what she does with the data," replied Ferrel, serious now, "That link to Landsrey's was mighty thin and not easy to find. She has similar data to mine but I had a lot more background and experience."
"What about the transaction analysis? That doesn't seem feasible to me."
"It's counterintuitive but plausible. She does have a six-sigma clever way of approaching data. A lot of what she does is discounted in League theory. There's a lot of room for error to creep in but she seems to have a workable way of minimizing it or at least putting a boundary on it. I'm taking notes, full truth and no blather."
"So is she genuine?"
"I'm ninety-nine on it," said Ferrel.
"And the one?" Micah answered his own question. "If what she said is true, and we have no reason to believe otherwise, she might just be cold and detached enough to slip under the orbits with it. Peer disassociation, isolation and loss of family can have mighty powerful and profound effects."
"How are you doing?"
"I'm polar," said Micah, patting his re-wounded side, "She just broke the 'skin. As for the rest, I've had worse."
"That's not what I meant, my friend. You know that."
Micah's expression softened. Ferrel, long accustomed to his manner, saw the fatigue and uncertainty there.
"Another session like that and I may be the one kicking and screaming."
Ferrel glanced at him angle-wise.
"What," asked Micah.
"If she does find Landsrey's Refuge," said Ferrel, "I have the beginnings of an idea for a good, solid test."
Micah's expression grew grave as Ferrel explained.
"That's platinum and polar orbits if she's a plant," said Micah, "but what if she isn't?"
Ferrel shrugged. "We make sure she can handle herself and the situation."
After a long few moments of thought Micah nodded. Ferrel's plan was, unfortunately, better than anything he had.
"What about our other concern?"
"I'm on it."
***
Robin jumped when the door opened and Robert walked in.
"Just me, Robin," he grinned, "Where's Carl?"
"He went out to do something. Umm... He said he'd be back soon but I don't really know what time he left."
"Hrm." Robert considered a moment. "In that case he should be back soon. If not we'll adapt." He examined her terminal. "Any progress?"
