by Weston Ochse
“These are state-of-the-art trackers?” Wincotts asked. Short and dark-skinned, he was in charge of “special security,” which according to Kash meant the synths.
“Yes, sir.” Prior said.
“How long has this been going on?” Flowers asked.
“Has to have been recent,” Prior said. “We didn’t pick this up before.”
“Have you found the locus of access for the rats?” Hoenikker asked. Both security chiefs looked his way, and shook their heads.
“There’s no way to determine how they’re getting in,” Flowers replied.
“Maybe if you hack the signal of the trackers,” Hoenikker suggested. “I assume they are transmitting data. The trick would be to get your own data, and see if perhaps the trackers have memory storage, then see where they all started.”
Everyone was looking at him now and he didn’t like the feeling.
“Of course, you could also try and determine where the data is being received.” He felt his face turning red because of the attention. “That wouldn’t be too hard, I’d imagine, if you have some comms personnel with up-to-date training.”
“That makes perfect sense,” Wincotts said. He turned to Flowers. “Let me handle this, Randy.”
Flowers nodded. “Have at it.”
Wincotts rubbed his hands together. “Our rat infestation just became an infiltration. Can’t have that,” he said, leaving the lab. “Can’t have that at all.”
10
Communication Specialist Brennan was bored out of his mind. He’d been tasked with deciphering the model and type of MPDTs they’d found on the rats. It was a job anyone could do. Buggy and Davis got the cream job.
They were assigned to hack the devices so that they could get the log history of the data contained in the memory. Brennan would have loved to do that, but he’d been on Oshita’s shit list for a long time. So, out of spite, Brennan ignored his assignment and returned to playing his Colonial Marine first-person shooter. He’d played this before. Hell, he played it every day—it was the only thing keeping him sane in a station at the ass end of the universe.
Brennan was on level forty-three of a fifty-level game when his screen blinked red. He had no choice but to pause his game in progress.
Checking the warning, he noted that there was an unauthorized signal going out. He’d seen it before, but had been unable to pin it down. Now that it was live, he would be able to trace it. He actually grinned as he realized the envy Buggy and Davis would have when he solved this one himself. It didn’t take five seconds to see that the signal was coming from a comms closet at the end of a dead-end corridor.
Brennan saved his game, grabbed his portable display, and headed out. He passed Rawlings, who saluted him with his coffee cup. That guy was never in his office. Plus, he was far too nice. There had to be something the man was hiding—but then, Brennan thought that of pretty much everyone.
Four corridors later and he was at the access panel. Pulling a tool from his belt, he removed the top two screws and let the panel fold open on its lower hinges. Rats immediately poured out of the wiring and onto the floor, causing Brennan to back away, almost tripping, wondering where the hell the rats were coming from. He began shooing them away with his feet, landing a couple of solid kicks. When the way was clear, he approached the access panel and quickly noted a vid display unit secreted behind the wires. Pulling it out, he tried to access it, but it required either a code or a fingerprint to enable. Common security practice.
Whoever had been sending out the signal had definitely used this terminal. Which meant that this vid display was probably used to send either a burst or an encrypted transmission. If he could determine whose device it was, then he’d know the perpetrator. He grinned as he came up with the word perpetrator.
Buggy and Davis were going to be so envious.
He hurried back down the twists and turns of the corridors.
* * *
Five minutes later Brennan was in the entryway for Logistics, standing at the counter that separated him from the staff. Fields, Fairbanks, and Chase each sat at a terminal.
“Still playing the game, Brennan?” Fields asked. He’d been an actual Colonial Marine, and liked to make fun of Brennan’s pretending.
“That old thing?” Brennan said. “Quit that a long time ago.”
“It’s not too late to join the real corps, you know,” Fields persisted. “You’re still young enough.”
“What, and give up all of this?” Brennan widened his arms to take in the room.
Fields laughed and shook his head.
Fairbanks eyed Brennan and came over to the counter.
“What can I do for you?”
Brennan held out the vid display. “I need to figure out who this belongs to.”
Fairbanks stared at it. “Where did you find that?”
Brennan’s eyes narrowed. “Doesn’t matter. I need to know who it belongs to. It’s locked so I can’t log in.”
“Then I don’t know if we can help you,” Fairbanks said, still not touching the device.
“What do you mean? Don’t you have inventory control numbers?” Brennan asked.
“Maybe whoever owns it is looking for it. Have you considered putting it back?” Fairbanks asked.
“Putting it back? What?”
“Wish I could help you,” Fairbanks said.
Chase came over. “What’s going on?”
“Guy took a vid display from where someone left it, and doesn’t want to put it back,” Fairbanks said.
“Guy? Who are you calling ‘guy’? It’s Brennan, Fairbanks. We’ve known each other five years. What the fuck’s going on?”
“Why don’t you put it back?” Chase asked.
Brennan had thought this was going to be easy. It was anything but. If he had to guess, he’d think they were trying to make it harder.
“Listen,” he said slowly, trying to calm himself down. “I can’t get into the security details, but this vid unit was used to contact someone outside the station. I need to know who it belongs to.”
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Chase nodded.
Brennan wanted to choke someone.
“Hand it over,” Chase said. “I’ll check the inventory control number.”
That’s what I said in the first place, Brennan thought, but he handed it over without saying so.
Chase took it to his workstation, sat down, and pulled out a micro reader. He focused it on a rear corner of the device. After a moment it beeped and a number appeared on the micro reader screen. Chase pulled up a document and compared the numbers.
“Found it, but you won’t like this.”
“What do you mean I won’t like this?” Brennan asked.
“This unit isn’t assigned to anyone. It’s extra, and should have been in storage.”
Brennan thought about that for a moment, noting that Fairbanks was still standing behind the counter, staring at the device.
“Who was the last one to inventory it?” Brennan asked.
Chase punched at his own screen. “That’d be you, Fairbanks.” He turned to look at his fellow log specialist. “That would be you.”
“I just listed it in the inventory,” Fairbanks said. “Anyone could have taken it.”
Chase glanced again at his screen. “It was supposed to be in Supply Room Six. That’s dedicated to high-value long-term supplies. We keep it locked.”
Brennan couldn’t help but feel that Fairbanks looked as if he was going to jump out of his skin.
“Someone must have broken in,” Fairbanks said.
“I don’t think so.” Fields swiveled his chair around. “I was just in there yesterday, and there was nothing wrong with the lock. What’s the access log say?”
Chase tapped the screen a few more times. “It says that you accessed the room, and before you it was Fairbanks, the day he came back from leave. Why’d you go into the supply room, just when you returned, Fairbanks.”
“I… I…”
Brennan’s eyes narrowed. Could it be that simple?
“Fairbanks?” Fields stood, holding out the unit. “What did you do?”
“I… I…” Fairbanks gulped. “I swear to you, I didn’t do anything. I took a display with me when I went on leave. I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I needed something to do on the shuttles. I was just putting it back.”
“You know you can’t use station equipment for personal use,” Fields said. “What if we had a surprise inspection?” He stood and approached his coworker. “Next thing you know, you’ll be playing first-person shooters and pretending to be a Colonial Marine.” He laughed and patted Fairbanks on the back.
Chase rolled his eyes.
Fields went back to his workstation and sat.
Fairbanks made eye contact with Brennan, but quickly looked away. Brennan stood in his spot for a moment, then shook his head and turned to go.
“What are you going to do now?” Fairbanks asked in a hushed voice.
What was Brennan going to do? What was there to do? He guessed he’d report it. Maybe go back and track down the signal again, and see if he couldn’t decipher it. Brennan shrugged.
“I don’t know,” he said without turning. “Maybe nothing.”
Then he walked out the door.
11
Shit. Shit. Shit.
It was all Fairbanks could think.
All the effort. All the worry.
And it was Brennan. Fucking gamer Brennan, who never did any work, who’d found him out. How could that even have happened? What had he done to the universe to deserve such a thing? And now Brennan was probably going to make a beeline to Security, and turn him in.
“Fairbanks, what’s wrong?” Chase asked.
“If you’re worried about us turning you in to Section Chief Jamison, forget about it,” Fields said. “We got your back. Just don’t do something that stupid again.”
Just don’t do something that stupid again. Famous last words.
“I got to go,” he mumbled, and headed to the door.
“You got cleanup tonight,” Fields said loudly. “Don’t forget. Come back from wherever you’re going, so you can clean up.”
Fairbanks waved his hand to acknowledge and almost ran out of the office. He went down one corridor, then another, searching for Brennan. He didn’t know what he’d say when he found him, but Fairbanks needed to stop him, or things would get out of hand.
“Looking for me?” Brennan asked. He was leaning against a wall when Fairbanks turned the corner. Fairbanks halted, eyes wide, breathing heavy. What was he going to say? What could he say? That he was committing industrial espionage? That everything would be fine? “There’s nothing going on here. Please run along.”
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Brennan looked him up and down.
Fairbanks didn’t know what to say, so he merely nodded, blinking rapidly.
“What is it?” Brennan’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you communicating with?”
“I can’t say,” Fairbanks said.
Two security guards turned the corner. A man and a woman. They were chatting, but stopped when they saw the two men. All four eyed one another as the guards passed. Brennan waited several seconds, long enough for them to get out of earshot.
“You have to say something,” Brennan whispered. “What happened, Fairbanks? I thought you were a standup guy?”
“I am a standup guy. I just… I just—”
“You just what?”
“I just got in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He felt a sob pushing free and he swallowed it. No way was he going to cry about this. “What are you going to do?”
“By all rights, I should go to Security.” Brennan shook his head.
Fairbanks felt his stomach sink. He didn’t want to go to prison.
“In fact, that’s what I’m going to do.” Brennan turned and left.
Fairbanks tried to speak, but nothing would come out. So instead, he returned blindly to his quarters. He was almost to his door when he felt the bile rise in his stomach. He ran to the bathroom across from his room, hurled the door open, and spewed into the toilet. The door shut behind him, leaving him on his knees as yellow bile swirled against the metal. The smell of it made him retch again, his back arching with every heave until nothing came out.
After a few moments, he reached out and used the toilet to help him get to his feet. He washed his face and hands, but didn’t have the courage to look at himself in the mirror. After wiping his hands and face, he exited the bathroom, used his handprint to enter his own room, and slouched onto the bed.
He wasn’t sure how long it would be before they came for him. Five. Ten. Fifteen minutes.
Three knocks.
He glanced up and stared at the door.
Hyperdyne Corporation had given him a vial. They said to take it if he was caught. It was a way out. He stood and shakily pawed through the clothes in the top of his dresser.
Three more knocks.
Just as he was about to give up, his hands curled around the small glass vial. He removed it and placed it in the palm of his hand. It wasn’t any longer than a section of his middle finger, and held an amber liquid.
Three more knocks. Insistent.
Try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to take it. He shoved it into his pocket, then went and opened the door, ready to accept his fate.
To his surprise, it wasn’t Security.
Brennan stood in the doorway. He pushed his way past Fairbanks and into the room.
“I thought you went to turn me in,” Fairbanks said, closing the door.
Brennan walked to the back of the room and turned. The foot of the bed was to his left. The small desk and chair were to his right. He grabbed the chair, spun it around, and sat on it cowboy style.
“Sit down,” he said, gesturing to the bed.
Fairbanks glanced at the door. “Are they coming here?”
“I said sit down.” Brennan rolled his eyes. “I didn’t go to Security, okay? Jeez, relax why don’t you?”
“Then what…” Fairbanks sat down slowly, never taking his eyes off the other man. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple, really.” Brennan spread his hands. “We’re going to make a… a transaction. I don’t make an issue about this with Security, and you’ll be around to provide me with whatever I want. I’m tired of living like a prisoner. I know you have backups for all the swag the section chiefs and the station commander have. I want some.”
“You want some—wait. You’re blackmailing me?” Fairbanks asked. His fear evaporated as if it had never been there. It was replaced by an equal amount of anger.
“Call it what you want.” He shrugged. “Just so long as we come to an agreement.”
Fairbanks stood. “What if I went to Security and gave myself up, and told them about the blackmail?”
Brennan grinned. “That’s easy. I’d tell them that you tried to offer me a bribe, and I refused. But you could wait until you give me stuff, and then I couldn’t go to Security. I’d be culpable.”
“Or by the time I give you stuff it’s too late,” Fairbanks said, “because you can say it’s a bribe that you didn’t want to take, but were forced to.” His mind was racing.
Brennan’s grin grew wider.
Fairbanks wanted to slap it away.
“That’s pretty smart of you, Fairbanks,” Brennan said. “You’d make a good criminal. Correction, you are a good criminal. That’s probably why they picked you.”
“I am not a criminal.” Fairbanks took two steps forward.
Brennan stood. “Sure you are… or do you prefer the word ‘spy,’” he said with air quotes.
“I’m neither.” Fairbanks balled his fists.
“Then what are you?”
Fairbanks thought of the way Hyperdyne was blackmailing him. He thought of what Brennan was trying to do to him. He knew what he was, and he said it out loud.
“I’m a victi
m.”
“Oh, please.” Brennan snorted. “Save it.”
That was it.
Fairbanks brought his right fist around and slammed it into the side of Brennan’s face. The man stumbled with the blow.
Fairbanks hit him again.
Brennan fell to his knees beside the desk.
Fairbanks grabbed his head and began to slam it, over and over, against the side of the desk. Blood splattered the wall. A moment later pieces of gore began to litter the desktop. At first Brennan tried to speak, but all he could do was grunt each time his head slammed against the hard surface.
Five more times until the grunting stopped, then Fairbanks let go of the man’s hair. Brennan slumped to the floor like a bag of meat. Fairbanks stared at his hand, then at the body.
What had he done?
He’d killed the man.
But his anger still fueled him. He’d do it again if he had to. He was tired of being a pushover. He was tired of being forced to do things that he didn’t want to do.
He heard a groan.
Was he still alive?
Brennan’s hand twitched. His fingers moved like the legs of a dying spider. He tried to roll himself over, and just managed to do it. His eyes were crossed. Teeth had broken through his cheek.
Fairbanks shuddered. Had he done that? The enormity of it hit him like a brick. He stumbled back. He should get help. Maybe they could still save him.
Brennan spit out several teeth along with a bubble of blood.
Fairbanks shoved his hand into his pocket and felt the poison vial. He pulled it out and stared at it. A small glass filled with amber liquid. Really just the size of a tooth. Without thinking it through, he opened the stopper, knelt, and poured the syrupy fluid into Brennan’s open mouth.
The dying man choked once, then swallowed to clear it. An eye found Fairbanks and seemed about to cry.
Then everything went still.
Fairbanks hurriedly pushed himself back so he was sitting with his back against his bed, and buried his face in his hands. He sat there for a long moment, then he began to chuckle. Just a titter at first. Then actual laughter. Soon he was giddy with the moment, as full-blown guffaws rocked the inside of the room. He realized two things.
