by Vanessa Muir
“We need access to the facility, and then to the storage room,” Charlie said.
“Not so loud, please,” Droggo said and tossed his luxurious hair. “I could get into trouble for this.”
“SSG has your back, Droggo. We work independently from the State, remember? We don’t fall under Mem Store’s jurisdiction.”
That placated him a little. His shoulders relaxed, and he moved to the entrance of the building. He swiped his wrist across the pad on the doors, activating the clearance chip beneath his skin, and they swung inward.
“Here we go,” he said. “Hurry up, before someone sees you.”
Thunder rolled overhead, and three arcs of lightning split the black sky. A flash of light which lit everything, the darkest corners, the rats on top of trash cans, and a distant streeter on the far corner.
Charlie cocked her lapels against the chill, then entered the facility. “We would’ve asked the technician here, but he won’t have the clearance to access the memories once they’ve been stored.”
“Yes. I know.” Droggo shut the doors behind them and peered out into the night.
“Why don’t you want to be seen?” Charlie asked.
“It’s just unorthodox, doing this late at night. It’s not within my scope of duties. I — uh, this way, this way.” Droggo had been about to say something more, she was sure of that. They’d already reassured him that the SSG would cover for him. He couldn’t get in trouble for helping them.
So, why? Why had he broken a sweat?
The man led them to the bank door and used the retina scanner and thumb pad. The lights blinked green and the door swished back.
Charlie anticipated a flood of fog from within, but the inside of the memory bank section of the facility underwhelmed her. Shelves filled the space and stretched backward a few paces. Bottles of MemXor, the tiny pink pills inside squashed up against the glass casing, lined them.
“This way,” he said. “You’ll need the access codes for the bank itself.”
They followed Droggo down the aisle, and the bank’s door slid shut with a pneumatic hiss.
“When do you think the rest of these expire?” Eli asked, in hushed tones, and nodded to the drugs.
“Let’s hope not today,” Charlie replied. Though, it’d make it easier to catch the perp if he came rocketing back in here ready to kick ass and take thumbs.
Droggo led them through the silence and cold, their boots clacking on the white tiles. They rounded a corner and blue lights overhead cast an eerie atmosphere over their expedition.
“Here,” Droggo said and halted in front of a terminal.
“This is it?” Eli asked. “It’s a computer?”
“Of course,” Droggo replied. “What do you think memories are?”
“I don’t know, like fluid filled test tube thingies?” Eli scratched his temple.
“Memories, thoughts, they’re all impulses, they’re data. Just like the data you store on a computer. Same thing, different make up. The extraction machines find a way to copy and make sense of the information in the mind. They translate them into binary, understandable code.”
“You lost me,” Eli said.
Charlie patted her partner on the back. “It’s not important. What’s the feedback like on these things? Do we read them? View them?”
Droggo pressed his thumb to the screen, and it hummed and switched on. A passcode box appeared. “View them. They’re like videos. Movies, if you will. Translated snippets.”
“How many times can you watch them?” Charlie asked.
“An infinite number. Unless they get corrupted by a virus. Highly likely, since most hackers are focused on memory corruption these days. Memories are money. Give me a moment.” Droggo touched his hair, that obsession had to be unhealthy, then raised his fingers again. They danced across the screen in a specific sequence.
Thumb, pinkie, forefinger, thumb, middle finger — Charlie lost track of the rest.
“That’s it? No numbers?” Eli asked.
“Too easy to crack. We’re in,” Droggo said. “I brought two incorruptible drives. One for each of you. They’ll take the memories, and you should be able to view them wherever you need to.” He removed the small sticks from his pocket. He inserted them, then tapped on the screen and started a copying process. “It should be relatively simple from here on out.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning once we’ve copied, we’re leaving this area and not coming back,” Droggo said and rubbed his forearms. Charlie noticed. Still on edge?
The copy process took a few minutes, shocking since Charlie was accustomed to the blistering speed of high-tech devices. Perhaps, the memory data was just that complex.
“That’s it,” Droggo said. “That’s my part done. I’ve got to get back. They’re expecting me in a meeting.” He handed them each a drive, and they pocketed them.
Just like that, they had the case in their pocket. “Your cooperation is appreciated,” she said.
If he hadn’t cooperated, she probably would’ve forced him, anyway.
10
She took her tablet home with her and set it down on the coffee table in her tiny apartment. Charlie hadn’t spent much time decorating the place. She moved a lot, whenever SSG sent her on an assignment to another city, or even to the other hemisphere, she packed up what she had and left.
What she had culminated in: a sofa, a double bed, a couple lamps, her tablet, and a photo album which contained pictures of her mother. That was it. That was all she needed, apart from consumables.
Charlie hurried to her kitchen, the drive burning a hole in her pocket. She tugged a pre-made meal out of the freezer and banged it into the re-heater, then punched a couple buttons. It pinged almost instantly, and she brought out the steaming bowl of noodles and greens.
She grabbed a beer from the fridge, a plastic fork from the drawer, then returned to her spot.
The view from her living room window provided a glimpse of the horizon free of city skyscrapers, but even on the twentieth floor, the noise from the traffic drifted up to interrupt the serenity.
She’d have given anything for an assignment out in the wilds. Where green things grew and murderers didn’t care about drugs.
Charlie gulped back some beer, set the food down next to her tablet, then brought the drive out of her pocket. She examined it.
“Incorruptible drive. Incorruptible.” Wonderment should’ve been the response, but no, she had only questions. If memories could be transported in these, why store them in the cloud in the first place?
Access codes cost money, storing memories was a roaring trade for Mem Store, but these drives could add to the revenue stream. The letters “RO” were printed on the side of the drive. Research Only. These weren’t for sale and probably wouldn’t be anytime soon.
She inserted it into the side of her tablet and let it sit there.
Charlie picked up her noodles instead and forked them into her mouth. She tasted nothing, saw nothing. She withdrew into her mind.
Natalya Maxis had known her killer personally. That changed everything.
This wasn’t just premeditated. It was targeted. It was purposeful, in that Natalya had made contact with this individual. Perhaps, she’d agreed to give him something, but when it had come down to the wire, she’d refused.
Or she’d been unaware that he’d used her. Then why switch off the cameras? Why extract memories from him in the first place?
Natalya had known something about those drugs. Perhaps, she’d wanted to protect the man she’d extracted from. It explained why she’d turned her back on him, why she hadn’t been alarmed at his appearance. She’d trusted him.
But why hadn’t he killed her before? There had to have been ample opportunity, and with the cameras switched off no less. What could’ve possibly spurred on the urgency for this attack?
Dots wriggled toward each other, loose ends which wouldn’t quite connect. Charlie was on the brink of something. A tenuou
s link between the expired drugs, the memories, Natalya Maxis and… who?
“Who are you?” she whispered. Her fork hit the bottom of the bowl. She shoved it aside and picked up the tablet.
It was time she found out who he was.
Charlie clicked the button on the side of the tablet, and the screen lit up. A long list of videos, each labeled by date, popped up. She selected one which fit the missing fifteen-minute time slot, held her breath.
A passcode box popped up.
“What? Impossible.” Charlie clicked again, but the box jerked on the screen, demanding the code she couldn’t provide. Had the researcher played them?
Charlie set down the tablet, burning frustration in her belly — could’ve been the crappy dinner — then slipped her phone out of her pocket. She tapped the slim pane and brought up Droggo’s number, accompanied by his ID image.
She dialed him and hit the pressure plate at her temple. Ringing filled her ear. She drummed her heels on the carpet.
“Fuck’s sake,” she muttered. “Pick up.”
Droggo’s mailbox responded. “The number you have dialed is unavailable at present, please leave a message for Droggo Boersma after the tone.”
“Droggo, it’s Charlie Spade with Stormshield Services Group. It seems the memories themselves are encrypted. I need the key from you if it’s numeric, or your finger code if it’s not. Contact me as soon as you get this. Thanks.”
The call clicked off. Thunder rolled outside, and the black sky finally broke. Raindrops pelted from eternity and struck the window, the roof, burying her in a rush of sound.
A strange feeling developed in her solar plexus. Droggo would’ve answered his phone. Surely, his meeting would be over by now. It was after 11 pm. Even researchers at Mem Store needed their sleep.
Charlie dialed Droggo’s number again, pressed the plate a second time.
A formal tone screamed in her ear. “The number you have dialed does not exist.”
She froze. Called again.
Another shriek of noise. “The number you have dialed does not exist.”
Charlie’s gut rebelled. She placed the cell on the table and doubled over, clutching her middle and shaking her head. “Fucking re-heat meals,” she grunted. But this had more to do with that sense that Droggo hadn’t lost his phone or coverage. Someone had lost it for him.
She’d been blocked from the evidence which would blow the case wide open.
Charlie had one option left. Memory preserve her, this would hurt worse than a bullet to the brain.
11
“This is an inappropriate hour to call.”
“Hi to you too, Dad,” Charlie said and clenched the beer bottle in her right hand. She’d knocked one back to work up the courage to make this call. Speaking to Nathaniel Spade drove her blood pressure up even when she didn’t want something from him.
“It’s 12 am, Charlotte. What’s the urgent news?”
“News?”
“I assume it must be something of great import if you’re interrupting my studies, girl.”
“Right, your studies.” Her father was one of the head researchers at Mem Store, and Absalon Shamood’s right-hand man. He’d helped create the MemXor drug, though he’d never shared much about what he did at the research facility.
Less was more when it came to his daughter. Everything she knew, she’d taught herself. For a while, she’d seriously considered joining Mem Store to placate him, but the realization that nothing would appease him had hit home in time to save her from that fate.
“I want to know what happened to Droggo Boersma,” she said.
“Who?”
“He’s a researcher at Mem Store. Junior. He was meant to be in a meeting there tonight,” Charlie replied.
“A meeting? I’m afraid there weren’t any meetings at Mem Store tonight. If there had been, I’d surely know about it.”
Charlie’s blood turned icy. No meeting. A trap? Had they lured Droggo to the building and locked him up? Or worse? No, that was too paranoid. Surely, the State wouldn’t do that. They didn’t have a good reason to.
Unless there was something in these memories they wanted to keep a secret.
“I know he’s at Mem Store,” Charlie said. “He’s working closely with me on a case.”
“Ah yes, the Natalya Maxis case.”
“H-how did you know about that?” Stupid question. Her father had the inside track on all things in Corden Prime. Always watching, waiting, plotting. It was part of what made him perfect for the company and the State.
“Oh dear, you know how I know about it,” Nathaniel said, then sniffed. “When are you going to give up the foolishness at Stormshield and join me at the facility?”
When pigs rained from the sky.
“Don’t start this again, Dad. I didn’t call you to talk about career choices.”
“No, only about a junior researcher. Ridiculous. Do you really think I have time to keep track of everyone who works at the facility in Central?”
“It’s incredibly important. He has something I need,” Charlie said. Something she couldn’t ask her father for since he wasn’t directly connected to the Corden Prime Pi Sector Facility. And one she wouldn’t ask him for, even had he been.
“What do you need from him?”
“It’s case-related. I can’t discuss it.”
“You know better than to hide things from me, sweetheart. I always find them out in the end.”
A chill shuttled down her spine. “Can you at least try to put me in touch with him? Ask one of your secretaries to find him.”
“No,” Nathaniel replied. “I’m not going to do your job for you. You’re a grown woman, now. You made this choice all by yourself.”
“That’s right, I did. And no amount of persuasion on your part is going to change that.”
“Why do you always disappoint me?” Nathaniel heaved a sigh. “Don’t I deserve better than this? I’ve dedicated my life to providing people with a way to live on, to be remembered. I’ve given so much of myself, and in return, what did I receive?”
“Money? Awards? Power?”
“A child who’s willful and disobedient. You should have listened to me after your mother died.” Nathaniel’s voice was a drone. It helped her to think of him by his first name. It was better than the alternative — a constant reminder that she was related to him. “I care for you, so I’ll keep the offer on the table. Leave Stormshield and take up a position at Mem Store. They’ll fund your studies, dear.”
“No,” she replied. “No. This isn’t why I called, and I won’t be pulled into this. Good night, father.” She moved to hang up.
“Wait, Charlotte, wait,” he said.
She faltered in spite of her better instincts.
“Don’t forget where you came from. What you are. You’ll never be better than those who made you. Tread very carefully, dear. People are watching you. So many people.”
Charlie jammed her finger on her temple pad, and let out a yowl of anger. Why did he have to be like that every time? She couldn’t call him up and have a regular fucking conversation with him, without the detached, passive-aggressive bullshit. That part about people watching her was new. What was that, some new tactic to make her screw up?
Ever the disappointment, Charlotte. They should fire you before you mess up again, child.
Not so subtle persuasion. Part of her wanted to believe that he said these things to encourage her to follow in his path so that she’d spend more time with him. But Charlie knew better than that.
In all her twenty-two years, the man had never spent quality time with her. Dinners had been eaten in separate rooms, him poring over the latest research paper, her staring at the clock on the wall.
Mother’s death had brought an era of silence and suppressed anger.
Charlie jammed her eyes closed and refused the tears, the lump in her throat. She had no one and no help. That was fine. That was the course her life had taken. It was what she’d
chosen.
A message pinged through on her timepiece — an issued alert from SSG.
She frowned and pressed the screen. Words drifted across it.
Emergency meeting scheduled. Eli Yoke and Charlotte Spade to attend. State members present.
“State members?” Charlie stared at the message. “Why?”
12
Eli and Charlie had been assigned seats on the left side of the conference table, a long, sleek black slab which separated them from two State heads and Boss Ink.
Ink sweated beneath his yellow and blue uniform, dark half-moons gathering under his armpits. He didn’t like formal meetings and never had. Bureaucracy was beyond him — he was an enigma in the SSG. One of the best because of his lack of fucks to give.
But boy, he gave a lot of fucks right now. The two Councilors on either side of him could strip him of rank if they chose. The State was independent, but complaints to the head of the SSG from these two? That was a recipe for early retirement.
“Everyone settled?” Ink asked. “Good. Councilor Herod.” He gestured to the gray mustachioed man on his left. “Councilor Orcation.” The hand moved to the woman on his right, sharp, hooked nose, and hawk eyes. “These are our two operatives working on the Natalya Maxis case.”
The name should’ve been upgraded to project, by now. Quivering loose ends. Positively quivering, and she still couldn’t grasp them.
“Eli Yoke and Charlotte Spade,” Councilor Herod said and touched two fingers to the center of his mustache as if it was a fake and he worried it’d fall off.
“Charlie, please, Councilor,” she said. “It’s what I’m known by.”
The Councilors eyed her, and the sausage breakfast mushed around in her belly and protested. If Ink was scared, then she had a right to be too. She wasn’t that much of a hard-ass.
“We’ve come to discuss your progress on the case,” Councilor Orcation said. “We’re interested to hear your theories.”