by M. D. Cooper
Shannon felt a surge of pleasure as Calista absorbed the information, then broke out into a big smile.
“Well done, team!” Calista crowed. “The ESF will trip over themselves to sign the contract when they see those numbers, Shannon. A full twenty percent increase? Wow, that’s more than I could have hoped for!”
Jonesy grinned. “But wait—there’s more!” he said. “Right, ma’am?”
Shannon obligingly shrunk the pivot table, pinning it to one side as she opened a second one. This table displayed test results on a slightly modified version of the material: a metal foam.
Engineering Elastene into a metal foam created a surface with an elasticity that was far more successful at deflecting micrometeorites and other impacts than current materials. The material’s shape-memory properties absorbed the impact’s kinetic energy, spreading it across a much greater surface area.
Shannon hummed in pleasure as the data on the second pivot table was displayed. Incorporating this into the fighter’s skin would improve safety margins significantly, she knew. The ESF would love this.
She paused as a notification came in, then gave an audible sigh over the room’s speakers.
“Well,” she said, “it would appear our esteemed friends at the ESF have rescheduled our presentation.” She posted the revised departure schedule on the net for the team working on the prototype to see. They probably wouldn’t mind the extra time—it would provide them an opportunity to give the ship a last once-over prior to loading it onto the transport ship for its journey to the ESF’s military testing facility.
Jonesy rolled his eyes. “Now ain’t that just like the space force?” Shannon felt amusement as he quoted an old human adage, “Hurry up and wait.”
“Well then,” Calista said briskly to Shannon. “Since you have some unexpected time on your hands, think you could spare a few minutes to walk me through your proposed production timeline for those new freighters we’re hoping to turn out for Avalon Mining?”
“Sure,” the AI replied as she switched her awareness from Icarus over to their civilian project, Galatea. Being more of a software innovation than a materials advance, Galatea didn’t carry the hefty price tag the Icarus design carried, which was a good thing where commercial ventures were concerned.
“We’ll easily make the deadline Avalon stipulated,” Shannon responded. “But it’s been three weeks since we demoed the freighter for them, and we’re still waiting to hear back on the contract we submitted.”
Calista nodded. “I’ll have the sales team look into it. I’m sure we’ll have it in hand soon.”
“True, but I’m not going to authorize a production run until we have a contract.” Shannon injected a wry note into her reply. “It’s kind of hard for an AI to begin production on a ‘handshake deal’… given I don’t exactly have hands.”
“I’ve offered to build you a set,” Jonesy interjected. “But I think you like not having a set of hands, as often as you use not having them as an excuse to have one of us do more work.”
“Aaaaand on that little note of insubordination, I’ll just see myself out,” Calista wiggled her hands in the air and headed back toward the lab’s entrance. She turned to address Shannon’s pickups as she reached the doors. “Let me know if you need anything in the interim, Shannon. I’ll meet you at the transport…” she accessed the information Shannon had posted to the net, “first thing tomorrow.”
* * * * *
In another part of the facility, a technician who had been helping run final tests on the fighter volunteered to go on a run to Supply for a replacement spectrometer, when the one she had set up ‘tested faulty’. She scooped up the unit and trotted off with a purposeful gait.
No one noticed her divert to a back office and engage a security protocol for the room. Truth be told, no one had noticed her the past dozen times she had ducked into an unused office over the past few months.
Not that it matters, she thought to herself in annoyance.
Enfield’s files were a lot more secure than she had first thought when she had initially agreed to obtain them. It was supposed to have been an easy way to pick up some fast credits on the side. Unfortunately, the files she had managed to acquire weren’t exciting in the least.
She’d been hoping her handler would ask her to steal something top shelf and totally worth the risk. Instead, her contact had ordered her to copy the weekly logs from the company’s fleet vehicle department.
Who wants a log of Enfield’s shuttle traffic every week, anyway? She sighed. This gig couldn’t possibly be more boring.
Which was weird, because her handler seriously scared the shit out of her.
As a mining platform brat, she considered herself to be pretty tough, and fairly inured to the kind of threats that might freak out most of the population of the ring. But these people....
She’d seen the tattoo she was certain her handler had intended for her to spot: the top half of a compass rose with a starburst sitting behind the big ‘N’ at the top. She might be tough, but she knew better than to go head-to-head with the Norden Cartel.
She waved her hand to project the virtual token she’d managed to clone from an engineer before he’d left earlier that day. It was such a waste to steal fleet logs. Hell, if she was taking the risk, she was going for the big, juicy stuff for herself, like the files for Icarus or Galatea.
She knew a guy who knew a guy over at TransOrbital Systems, Enfield’s biggest competitors. Surely they’ll pay well to get their hands on those specs?
Swiftly, she took a seat at a system node. Flicking her eyes up to her HUD one last time to ensure the security interlocks still held, she triggered the cloned token, and the system let her in.
The flight plans were easy, but every time she tried to grab the icon for Icarus, it greyed out, marking itself as inaccessible from this terminal. Frustrated, she blew out a hard breath. Okay, fine. She navigated over to Galatea. It also flagged as inaccessible, but she proxied her connection through another system with elevated access, and the file tree opened up.
There.
Mentally crowing at her good fortune, she kept the connection open while quickly switching tokens, burning through a few of the fake idents they had given her before creating an untraceable connection to the remote system.
Quickly, before anyone could notice the long-running connection, she dumped Galatea’s data into a network dump only she had access to. Once it had finished copying over, she navigated to the node where her handler had set up a digital dead drop, and sent the week’s fleet logs.
What a total waste.
She considered another try for Icarus, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk. Besides, that data would command such a high price it would be almost impossible to launder the funds.
The moment the logs were in place, she destroyed the tokens and quickly returned the office to the condition she’d found it in. Using a different security token to disengage the security protocol, she exited the room.
Two minutes later, she was on the way to Supply to complete her assigned task.
HUNTING GHOSTS
STELLAR DATE: 07.03.3189 (Adjusted Gregorian) 02:00 local time
LOCATION: Senator’s Office, Parliament House, Sonali
REGION: El Dorado Ring, El Dorado, Alpha Centauri System
“Today, the opposition party released a statement questioning Parliament’s ability to effectively enact a plan to curb the cartel’s increased influence among the mining rigs in the Dust Ring….”
Ben sat at a conference table inside Lysander’s office, and looked from the senator’s avatar to the five AIs that Lysander had assembled. Some represented themselves in human form, like the senator did, while others appeared simply as color-shifting columns of light.
He had asked for a team of AIs, and Lysander had delivered.
Ben recognized two of the AIs present: retired Vice-Marshal Esther, and Space Commodore Eric, also retired. As the others were introduced, Ben realize
d he knew the rest by way of reputation.
Gladys was a brilliant hacker and security consultant, known to have worked with prominent corporations and government agencies alike. Her skill at infiltrating systems—and identifying and eliminating their vulnerabilities—was renowned. As was her penchant for flamboyance. He was rather surprised that Gladys had opted to represent herself as a simple column of light today.
Although, he admitted, hers is the flashiest one. Is that glitter, floating around in there?
The final two members were a pair of AIs whose names conjured whispered tales about black ops shrouded in mystery. Legend had it that the two had been born by special request. Their service had begun in the Marines, but had concluded in the Space Force. The portions of their records that had not been redacted proved that very few could escape an engagement with just one of the twins and come out unscathed. When they worked together, no one escaped them.
It was rumored that Landon and Logan held the record for the longest service-time in the deep black, out of any sentient in the history of the Alpha Centauri system. No one seemed to know what this record entailed or what its significance implied—only that it was spoken of in hushed tones by AIs.
As Ben’s gaze swept across the five, he realized suddenly that his crazy idea to run an off-the-books op didn’t feel so crazy anymore.
Damn, I just might be able to pull this thing off after all.
Ben shifted his gaze from Lysander's five guests back to the senator's representation. Focusing his attention on the files he had highlighted, he splayed out his hand. The gesture caused the files to spread across the tank’s imaging area.
“Here is everything we have been able to piece together about Norden,” he told them. “From what we can tell, they’re an opportunistic disease that has infected every major segment of organized crime.”
He brought the report on the drug raid from a few days ago to the foreground. “Controlled substances.”
He flicked his hand and the report shrunk into a corner of the display as he brought up the next one.
“Arms deals. Everything from the very large to small-time operators.”
Another flick, another report pinned alongside the first box.
“They’ve been caught brokering corporate espionage deals.”
A third box took its place alongside the first two.
“Hell,” Ben dropped his hand and sighed. “There are even rumors they’re branching into human trafficking.” Sweeping his gaze across the visages of the AIs present, he continued, “We believe Norden has agents inside the Secret Intelligence Service, and most likely in Parliament House, as well. Of course, we have nothing to substantiate those beliefs.”
He paused a beat and looked away, forcing his clenched jaw to relax. “To be brutally honest, I’m tired of these assholes operating with impunity. At the very least, we need to cripple them, shake up their command structure. It’s my hope that it will give us the traction we need to ultimately take them down.”
one of the pillars of light—Landon, Ben’s HUD informed him—was the first to reply.
“I’ve managed to get two assets in place inside their headquarters, two people that I alone in the SIS know about. My initial plan was to locate their headquarters, then order a targeted strike to destroy it. But now, after the near-failure of a raid yesterday….”
Ben gestured, and an image of the planet appeared on Lysander’s holo. The image zoomed in on the mountain range just beyond the planet’s capital of Tomlinson City.
“I think our best target of opportunity is here. We just received word that Norden has begun operating a warehouse on the far side of Muzhavi Ridge.”
He highlighted a shallow valley between two peaks.
“It’s in this bowl on the other side of Scar Top Peak. My asset has arranged to have a small bomb placed among some crates containing directed energy weapons. It’s shielded, so its presence should remain undetected.”
Commodore Eric’s mental tone was laden with skepticism.
“It could have if the facility was built by a shell corporation, constructed on the pretense of studying the situation with the tectonic plates,” Ben countered. “And believe me, it had plenty of cutouts. They even received validation from the university—from my own wife’s department, no less.” He added under his breath, “I’m sure they had a good laugh over that.”
“I have that covered,” Ben assured them. “My agent has created a backdoor in the security net, around the bowl, that will create a dead zone for a brief period. With that, we should be able to get close enough to send a command to detonate.”
Ben looked over at Lysander. “This isn’t what I need your help with. I meant it when I said I want to destroy their infrastructure.” He sent another file via his Link, and a projection of the ring near the far continent’s space elevator sprang into view.
“We assume the cartel is based somewhere along the ring on the opposite side of the planet from Parliament House. Yet the ring’s NSAI sweeps have failed to find anything out of the ordinary in any scans of the area.”
“Not quite. It’s pretty clever what they’ve done, actually,” Ben said. “As you know, the undeveloped sections of the ring are comprised of millions of kilometers of unused maglev lines.” As he spoke, the lines were highlighted on the holo.
“These lines terminate at regular intervals, dumping into what are currently large, empty spaces. Someday, as we expand, these will be easily converted to spacedocks, warehouses, parkland, or centers of industry.” More areas flickered as they were highlighted.
“But right now, they’re just empty space. Our friendly, neighborhood cartel has found a way to retrofit a few old barges, some shipping containers, and a few spare maglev cars. They’ve networked these together into a mobile control center that is modular and easily dismantled.”
Ben threw up his hands in disgust. “We haven’t found their headquarters because it’s mobile. My assets inside tell me that after a random number of days, they literally tear everything down, pack it up, and relocate.
“And no one but Victoria North’s number one knows when it’ll happen. For all we know, he just wakes up one morning and decides, ‘what the hell, let’s move today’.”
“We’re working on that, but that stealth tech you mentioned earlier? Our asset explained that they have a way to spoof the NSAI’s search algorithm to keep themselves from being found.
“He says they call it ‘rigging for silent running’. They basically eliminate all superfluous noise by shutting down any system that would emit an EM signature within the scan’s range. It’s even mandatory for all humans to remain perfectly still so that no unnecessary sound waves are created. “
Ben looked from pillar to avatar to pillar, then over to Lysander. “This is where I need your help the most—find their base of operations…and shut it down for good.”
The conversation carried on for nearly an hour, the AIs grilling Ben on what he knew, what resource
s he had available, how he would explain going off-book to his superiors if he were caught—or failed. As the meeting progressed, he became certain that none of them would join in, that it had been a waste of time.
After Ben had answered what turned out to be the final question, Eric glanced at the others and shrugged.
“Seems like a fun diversion. I’m in.”
Gladys’s column of light sparkled as she laughed. “I was in from the moment you said ‘off-book’.”
The other three AIs pledged themselves to the mission, and from there, conversation turned to formulating a plan as to how they would find the cartel’s current base.
An hour later, as the last guest disconnected and the avatars faded from view, Ben stood to leave. As he drew on his jacket, Lysander raised his hand in a restraining gesture. “Ben…”
The analyst turned and gave the senator a questioning look.
“Have you spoken with Jason, as I suggested the other day?”
Ben’s questioning look turned to a frown. “Really, Lysander. I know you’re fond of the guy, but—”
“A deal is a deal, Benjamin,” Lysander said severely. “You agreed that if I set you up with a team of AIs who would assist you, that you’d at least give Jason a chance.”
Ben sighed heavily.
“Okay. I’ll ping him this evening. No promises, though,” Ben warned the AI. “I’ll sit down with him and talk. Feel him out. If I get any sense that he can’t be trusted….”
“Fair enough,” Lysander said.
* * * * *
Calista paused in the entrance to the Plasma Wave and checked the time on her overlay. She was a bit early, but she decided to go ahead and grab a seat.
The bar was a favorite haunt of flight crews. Located just off a concourse in Sonali’s spaceport, which connected several public docks, the Plasma Wave had become an easy place to hook up with old friends or to find out who was looking for crew for a freight run.
