by Lee Killough
“Are you the only tech?” Mama asked.
“Between her and her minions . . .” Doubrava waved at the encircling machines. “. . . that’s plenty. Show them how the seal works. Please,” he added when her eyes narrowed again.
“It’s simple. A zipper with a tongue-and-groove instead of teeth.” She pointed at a one-inch strip of narrow corrugations inside the flap edge in front of her. “There’s a facing strip on the outer side of the flap on your side. They overlap on the suit’s midline.” She laid her flap back flat to demonstrate. “You pull this up to your neck . . .” A tab on a square slide at the bottom edge. “. . . and the two sets of grooves lock together in an air-tight seal.”
Janna blinked. “That’s it? A sandwich bag seal is all that’s between the wearer and a vacuum?”
Cathmore rolled her eyes. “Not quite. Unfold your side of the suit.” When Janna did so, Cathmore overlapped the two halves. “Try it.”
Janna grabbed the tongue and pulled. The suit began rising off the table, dragging at the magnets on it. She used her free hand to pin down the suit below the slide, trying not to press so hard her moccasins lost contact with the floor, and tried again, pulling the slide parallel to the table. This time it moved, but needed effort. Halfway up she stopped and gave Mama a turn.
Doubrava said, “It’s easier when you’re wearing it.”
“You’ve worn one?” Mama said.
“Everyone in Security has to drill with them as a safety measure.”
After sliding the pull to the suit’s neck, Mama worked a fingernail under the black line marking the edge of the seal section. And failed to pry any of the seal apart. “You’re right. It’s a tight fit.”
“There’s also a safety measure,” Cathmore said. “You know how Thermatex fibers work?”
“Expanding in cold, yes,” Janna said.
“They’re embedded in the tongue ends to mushroom when the suit’s in cold VE conditions and lock even tighter. The techs told me that the crews also wipe the seals with a tacky wax that adds adhesion.”
Mama slid down the pull and opened the flap to run a finger along the grooves. “Can that layer build up over time?”
“So the halves of the seal stop fitting together completely, you think?” Doubrava said. “Zee, did the suit techs find anything like that? They didn’t say so at the inquest.”
“They did find residue on checking the seal with microgoggles, but told me it wasn’t significant, just what they’d expect on a suit whose seal hadn’t been wiped clean as it’d normally be at the end of the shift.”
“So . . .” Mama’s scalp furrowed. “. . . they wipe the seal when they take off the suit and wax it again when they put it on. Maybe Chenoweth forgot to clean the seal on Monday and ended up with a double coat Tuesday.”
“But if the techs found extra wax, surely they’d have reported it,” Janna said.
“And,” Doubrava added, “if extra wax caused the seal failure, their tests ought to have shown it.”
“Unless the force of the seal failure blew away much of it. Ms. Cathmore, what does your multiscanner pick up?” Mama said.
She ran it down the seal. “Traces of a hydrocarbon compound.”
“The wax.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps a reasonable guess, but I do not guess. It’s poor science. I’ll analyze it, and then we’ll know what it is.””
The same thing Borthwick would say back home, Janna reflected. In almost the same razor syllables.
“Thus speaketh the maestro.” Doubrava raised his brows at her. “Would you like us to leave you alone for that?”
“Yes.” Cathmore reached down. At a wave of her hand beside the chair, it slid back from the table — letting Janna recognize it as one that telescoped — and pivoted toward the cabinet behind her. “I’ll let you know when I have results.”
Doubrava led the way out.
In his office again he said, “What do you want to do now?”
“Run backgrounds on our suspects and then interview them,” Mama said.
Doubrava pursed his lips. “If I give you passcodes, you don’t need me for running backgrounds. I’ll be more useful elsewhere in the station. But have Fox notify me when you’re ready for the interviews because Geyer will want me present for those. Passcode for local com and the public level of the datanet is alpha-seven-eight-zeta-one-zero.” While they dug out their cells and entered it he said, “You’ll only need it the first time you log on from your cell or slate. For the Security level, you need a Security code and have to enter it each time, and may be asked to reenter it periodically depending on what files you want to access. Go ahead and use mine . . . Sigma-two-delta-zero-three-gamma-eight.”
Mama eyed him. “That’s trusting. What if we decide to go digging into scientific data?”
“You can’t. Scientific data is stored in a deep safenet level that even Geyer and I can’t access. No one’s supposed to be able to except the individuals entering and storing the data with their personal passcodes. Unless Athena grants an exception.” He paused. “Though it appears the smuggler managed to access it.”
“Could Fontana?”
Doubrava frowned. “I don’t know.”
Irritation flashed in Janna. However legitimate the question, it smacked too much of focusing on a single suspect. “Does Athena monitor who accesses the secure files?”
“That would be one of her functions, yes.”
“Then let’s ask her for a list of all the non-science personnel who’ve accessed the safenet.”
He nodded. “What time frame do you want to use?”
Mama’s scalp furrowed in thought. “The agents’ arrival in Topeka meant they knew the data’s delivery location, so everything but the actual date had to be set by then. Let’s check from fifty-four days ago to seven days ago.”
“Okay.” Doubrava touched his desktop. “Athena, give me a list of non-science personnel who accessed the safenet files between fifty-four and seven days ago.”
Seconds later Athena’s voice answered, “No non-science personnel accessed the safenet in that time period.”
Doubrava spread his hands. “Well, it was worth a try. The smuggler either had an authorized code or stole one to use. Not beyond possibility for someone we’ve seen access restricted construction and hospital areas.”
Janna had to agree.
Doubrava gathered the trays and headed for the portal. “I’m off to be a Security presence. If you need me or you’re ready for interviews, ask Fox to contact me.”
“To business.” Mama tapped the desktop in the spot they had seen Doubrava do so. “Athena, does Director Fontana have access to the safenet?”
“Affirmative.”
“Wouldn’t he be already included in non-science personnel who didn’t access the safenet?” Janna said.
“In that time period, yes. Athena, list times Director Fontana has ever accessed the safenet.”
“State authorization.”
“Authorization sigma-two-delta-zero-three-gamma-eight.”
“Director Fontana accessed the safenet at fifteen thirty-two hours on September twelfth, two thousand ninety.”
Okay, so he had accessed, but . . . just the once, over a year and a half ago.
Did Mama look disappointed? “What files did he access?”
“Director Fontana accessed the files of Dr. Pavel Briacek.”
“What action did Director Fontana take with those files?”
“Director Fontana requested a passcode change from that of Dr. Pavel Briacek to that of Dr. Amelia Cortez.”
Mama’s expression went thoughtful. “Interesting. You’d think if Briacek were just turning his work over to Cortez he’d change the passcode himself. Athena, did Dr. Pavel Briacek die on September twelfth, two thousand ninety?”
“Negative.”
Mama sighed. “What happened to him?”
“Dr. Pavel Bricek suffered a stroke on September twelfth, two thousand ninety and returne
d to Earth on medical disability.”
Janna said, “Were you were thinking he provided transport for contraband, too?”
“A possibility we have to consider, Bibi.”
“That’s well before any challenge to Lanour. If Fontana is the smuggler, would he be involved that long ago?”
“It could be a long term hedge against a time that health or other reasons force him to leave. Doubrava suggested the smuggler used an authorized passcode to steal data. Changing the passcode offered Fontana a good opportunity to make note of it for future use. He might be collecting passcodes each time new personnel are added or personnel change. I wonder if his personnel file suggests anything.” Mama typed personnel files, the Security access, and Fontana’s name.
“Why are you running him again?” Janna asked. “You got his data on Saturday when you called him.”
“Maybe records here have something additional.”
What came up looked as Janna remembered from before . . . the space and flight camps as a child, studying agriculture in college and working at the Lanour Farms before taking over management of the station greenhouses, then moving on to manage the entire station. Marriage to Mercedes Altamira, birth of twin daughters now living on Mars. But . . . the station did include something additional: a psychological evaluation. It described Fontana as ambitious, dedicated, a workaholic. Maybe that explained why his record showed no leave taken back on Earth after becoming director in ‘81. Despite still having a wife in Corpus Christi.
“Don’t all personnel have to return to gravity periodically?”
Mama shrugged. “The station does have two rings simulating gravity. Nakashima said they encourage personnel to spend time there and on strength training in the gym to maintain muscle. Maybe that’s sufficient bone and muscle protection for those who use them.”
“So if he’d rather be here than with his wife, he’s mega devoted to this station. Not a very good motive for robbing the corporation.”
“Unless, as we speculated before, he’s preparing for the possibility of being swept out by a new broom. There’s also that long meeting with Titus in the morgue to consider. Until and unless we have a reasonable explanation for that, he needs to stay on the suspect list.”
True.
Mama typed in Geyer’s name.
The record confirmed Geyer’s military background. Age thirty-nine — older than she looked — born in Annapolis, both parents career Navy. One younger sister. She joined the Marines out of high school and served for ten years. Married Navy pilot Aaron Cherskikh in ‘72. No children. Widowed in ‘75. Served in the detail on Vice President Lorena Velarde’s junket to the Moon in ‘80. Resigned from the Marines that year.
“The space bug must have bitten her on the trip,” Mama said.
Probably, because she join the station’s Security division two months later in ‘81. Served as an officer for just a year before being promoted to deputy chief. Became chief in ‘85.
“She doesn’t take leave off the station, either, I see,” Janna said. “Devoted to her job.”
The tick tech’s evaluation described her as reserved and suspicious, slow to accept new people into her circle but loyal to friends and superiors she respected. Like most leos Janna knew. Did that circle include Fontana? Would she abet him in smuggling?
Mama closed Geyer’s file and opened Doubrava’s.
Ian Foster Doubrava, thirty-five, born in Denver. Never married. Older sister and brother. Mother Melora Foster indeed a major case squad detective — now a captain — in the Denver PD. Father Jamison Doubrava the founder and CEO of Millennium Executive Services, which Doubrava joined after a year in the company’s training school following high school.
Both Janna and Mama whistled.
“So he didn’t just work executive protection,” Janna said. “He worked for his father.”
“Who in the true spirit of nepotism, gave him plum assignments. Philanthropist Jason DeGroot, actress Celine Simon. Still, he obviously proved himself capable to keep getting those assignments. Client safety trumps nepotism. Look. When DeGroot’s plane went down in the Canadian Rockies in ‘78, he credited Doubrava’s hunting and survival skills for keeping everyone alive in the month it took search parties to find them.”
Janna eyed the screen. “I’d call riding herd on The Seismic Alternative’s ‘80 world tour more punishing than ‘plum’, though. He probably wished he was back in that plane crash. And isn’t Alinor Voisin some kind of high society wild child?”
“And Eugene Castelaro there is a notorious corporate raider, target of many a death threat.”
“Like I said, more punishment than plum.” The tick tech characterizing Doubrava as extroverted, highly stress-tolerant, and task and goal-oriented but flexible also said he saw space as romantic and adventurous. “No wonder he gave up working for Daddy in ‘84. Now what about Titus?”
Clell Andrew Titus, age twenty-nine, born in Kitchener, Ontario. Never married. One female sibling. On high school graduation attended the Buffalo Center for Career and Technical Education ‘81 to ‘84, taking the construction track. Hired by McKinney Construction of Michigan on graduation. Worked for them in San Francisco from ‘84 to ‘86, and in Los Angeles from ‘86 to ‘90.
“Reconstruction work,” Janna said.
“A long, hard job,” Mama said.
Though the pictures she saw of the ‘83 quake damage showed San Francisco faring better — having been more prepared — than Los Angeles.
In ‘90 Titus quit McKinney and came to work for Lanour. The record had no psych eval. Maybe not run on laborers?
“If he and Chenoweth are such good friends, where did they meet?” Janna asked.
“The dates I remember from running Chenoweth before suggest San Francisco.” Mama brought up Chenoweth’s file. “Yes. After high school he studied construction tech at his local technical college. Graduated in ‘84, hired by McKinney, and was sent to San Francisco.”
“Same time as Titus.”
“Also like Titus, moved to Los Angeles in ‘86, and quit McKinney to apply at Lanour in ‘90. They’ve re-signed twice for working here.”
Janna drummed her fingers on the desk. “So our two best suspects have the least motive for smuggling or killing Chenoweth. Fontana’s life appears dedicated to the station and Titus and Chenoweth have been friends and maybe lovers for eight years.”
“Relationships change. Titus and Chenoweth’s might have soured, despite Titus’s emotional performance in the morgue.”
“And Fontana might be preparing to lose his job.” She frowned. “I wish we could access their financials.”
Mama smiled. “Let’s try.” He tapped the desktop. “Athena, does the station maintain financial records of its personnel?”
“Negative.”
“We’ve heard an emporium mentioned,” Janna said. “How are purchases there handled?”
“Good question. Athena, how do personnel pay for purchases on the station?”
“Purchases are debited from accounts in the station bank.”
Janna frowned. “There’s a bank but no financial records?”
“Because the company is probably paying into bank accounts down below. Athena, what funds are in the station bank accounts?”
“Station bank contains credit transferred from accounts on Earth.”
Like her allowance account as a kid . . . x amount put in by her father each month. She sighed. “Making the accounts useless for checking on unusual income.”
“Arranging a deal needs communication. Let’s have a look at our suspects’ communications.”
Janna nodded. “But . . . they’d have to be tricky negotiating a deal from here. Security means calls are recorded, with red-flag words and phrases triggering alerts. They’d have to communicate in code that avoids those.”
“I’m thinking he didn’t personally negotiate a deal from here. He has an accomplice on the ground for that.”
That made sense. “Still . .
. same problem with being monitored.”
Mama nodded again. “Meaning they have an excellent code we have to crack. Our advantage is, where monitoring watches for possible security breaches, we know it’s there. Athena, show communication log for Clell Titus for . . . the last sixty days.”
“State authorization.”
Janna and Mama raised brows at each other. Doubrava had warned them they might have to reenter the code.
Mama held up crossed fingers. “Let’s hope it’s the same code. Authorization sigma-two-delta-zero-three-gamma-eight.”
After a few moments holding their breath, the call log appeared on the screen.
Mama shook his head. “If he’s involved in the smuggling and killing Chenoweth, it’s definitely as a minion.”
The log showed just three calls in those sixty days, all to a 519 area code, the most recent eighteen days ago.
“Athena, what is the location of area code 519?”
“Area code 519 is for Ontario, Canada.”
“Titus comes from Canada,” Janna said.
“Kitchener. Athena, is Kitchener, Ontario, in the 519 area?”
“Affirmative.”
“So he could be calling home. Athena, what is the caller ID for this number?” Mama tapped the most recent call.
“Caller ID is Harald Eugene Titus.”
“Calling home,” Janna said.
Mama nodded agreement.
“So let’s move on. To Geyer?”
After hesitating, Mama nodded again. “To rule her in or out as our ghost. Athena, show communication log for Tabanne Geyer for the last sixty days.” He repeated the authorization code.
Geyer had a short log, too. Once a week she called a number in Norfolk belonging to a Simon Geyer, and every two or three weeks another Norfolk number of a Laurel Debrabander. The most recent call to her had been on Saturday.
“What do you think?” Janna said. “It’s close to when the agents approached the Wraiths.”
“We can come back. The other calls look too infrequent for arranging the smuggling.”
“Unless the accomplice on the ground is doing most of the work. You just don’t want it to be her.”
Mama frowned. “She’s another you, works by the book. That puts her low on the list. Athena, show communication log for Ian Doubrava.”
