by Daniel Gibbs
“Cracked it,” Brant said. “How’s it look on your end?”
“Like a lot of gibberish, but I assume that’s the official lab reports on Project Life Swarm.” Gina wrinkled her nose. “No discussion about coming up with a better designation.”
“Right. I doubt that was high on their priority list. It’s a marketing…” Brant’s voice faded into a murmur.
“What’s wrong?”
“Are you seeing this? The analysis in the second appendix.”
“Hold on.” Gina flicked past the pages and pages of charts, graphs, and pretentious descriptions. There, Appendix Two, the discussion of alternate and reverse usage. Her eyes widened. As limited as her scientific knowledge was, she could parse jargon with the best, and hidden among the jargon was the downside to Life Swarm. It could bring death.
“If the terraforming devices utilized by Life Swarm are altered, they can foul a habitable planet’s atmosphere,” Brant explained. “The devastation could be reversed, in theory, but by the time atmospheric towers were installed or the devices re-tasked once again, millions could be sick and dead.”
“No wonder the League wants this,” Gina said. “Even if they didn’t sell it to the highest bidder, they could find any number of uses. Imagine those new border worlds, the struggling ones just now voting for independence or to join the Coalition. It’s a weapon of retaliation if they wanted it to be—or they could give it to terror groups.”
“Either way, they could grab the Coalition and shake it by its foundations.”
An indicator appeared on Gina’s wrist unit. She only had seconds before she lost access and the Nosamo mainframe pinged her console as accessing unauthorized files. “Brant? What should I do?”
“Screenshot it with your tablet,” Brant snapped. “I’m doing the same. Do not copy the file or try to transfer it. The mainframe will know immediately, and you’ll be compromised. Cutting access in eleven seconds.”
Gina swept her tablet up and imaged as much as she could before the screen faded to its normal workstation surface. Her muscles tensed as she readied to flee in case something tipped off Nosamo that she’d been snooping around inside a file far above her pay grade. Nothing.
“I’m on with Echo One.” Brant sounded firm but worried. “Take your normal time off this evening, but get to your equipping point. Don’t go home to your apartment. The suit and your gear are already in place. Echo Three dropped them.”
“Roger, Echo Home. Two out.”
Gina dove back into her writeup of the meeting with Blackpoint LLC from the other day. She sang the praises of their mercantile representative, talking up the benefits of issuing Blackpoint a contract for circuit parts. They would provide them at a price eleven percent cheaper than the current vendor, and the product performed with greater efficiency, according to the tests Gina had requisitioned. All in all, it was a good business deal for everyone involved.
Gina submitted the report to Ciara and, her pulse still pounding, left her corporate office for what was likely the last time so she could plunge Nosamo Aerothermic into chaos.
Jackson couldn’t believe what he was hearing—not only from Ramsey, but from Brant’s hurried explanation in his implanted transmitter. “You’re telling me this tech is for a weapon of mass destruction? And we’re gonna hand it over to whoever’s got the most money?”
“Thought you were in favor of that.” Ramsey drained the last of his glass and belched.
“The money part, yes. Hell yes. I’ll take my twenty million and never see you guys again. But… look, I don’t want the guilt that’ll come when I see some sucker’s planet have its air ruined. What happens if it’s a planet we pick to settle on?”
“Quit worrying. It’s literally not our problem. Besides, the benefactor doesn’t care about the potential side effects. Why bother dealing with two-bit terrorists when he can make bazillions unloading the tech on Nosamo’s competitors? They’ll be way better funded.”
Jackson sighed. “I don’t like it. But the money… yeah, I can’t look away from that. It’ll help keep the Rangers off my six for the rest of my life. What about you, Cho?”
“It’s a side effect.” Cho wouldn’t make eye contact with the rest of them. “Let the Coalition and the League and the Saurians deal with it. There are plenty of places to live our lives in neutral space or anywhere else, as far away from here as we can get.”
“I knew he was in for a penny, as the saying goes.” Ramsey slapped Cho’s shoulder. “We’ve come too far in this to back down. Besides, quit worrying—if the benefactor tries to pull a scam, we’ll handle it. So, you two make sure you got everything you need. Five hours from now, we roll the last ball, and fingers crossed, we knock down all the pins in one strike.”
That we will. Jackson mimicked Ramsey’s grin and clinked glasses with him. And we’ll make sure you’re the last pin to drop when we drag you home for the murder of Captain Nelson Garza.
Kiel checked his chronometer. Nineteen hundred hours.
“Ramsey called.” Ferenc looked up from his portable console. “They’re ready to move at twenty-two three zero.”
“Excellent. I’m pleased he’s keeping to his new schedule. Ciara has the codes for the transfer tunnel?”
“She does. Yahanotov assures me he’ll be able to keep a close watch on everything transpiring in the vicinity via our modified drones.”
Kiel smiled. “And they’re all operating up to spec?”
“A few minor glitches, but he says he’s run his updates.” Ferenc shrugged. “It’d be simpler for me to make sure this all goes smoothly if you’d let me join the operation.”
“No. Ramsey’s people should be capable enough of getting the data out of the lab while simultaneously wrecking it. As long as Captain Zhou stands ready to facilitate the interception…”
“Which he is.”
“Yes.” Kiel’s smile faded. “I must say, Ferenc, I have qualms—not about the plan but the odd drive signatures Zhou is sniffing out. Should they prove problematic, we may have to reconsider our extraction.”
“I understand, sir. A passenger transport leaves in two days. I’ve booked the three of us tickets as a backup if we can’t get to Meng Po.”
“Good.” That was why he relied on Ferenc. Having so many variables to juggle in one operation meant one or more might get dropped. Kiel had learned long ago that he needed an extra set of hands to catch those. “Put the final pieces into motion. Send that to Ciara, and make certain she understands her role in ending this.”
“Yes, sir.” Ferenc keyed up a new message on his console.
Kiel considered his dingy surroundings. Only a few days more. Then we can return home for a spell, with our technological windfall in hand, and show those traitorous planets who dare abandon our society for individualistic existence that the League of Sol doesn’t take kindly to betrayal.
He walked toward the back of their shared workspace. “And if we stumble upon Terran scum in the process,” Kiel muttered, “all the better.”
21
Nosamo Aerothermic Laboratories, Sector A120
Bellwether Station
Caeli System
26 November 2464
* * *
The corridors leading to Nosamo’s laboratories were spotless, allayed in the same white and chrome as the hangar bay several levels up. Jackson had never been so cognizant of his reflection as he was then, so it was fortunate he’d maintained his scruffy appearance.
He and Cho strode toward the access door with the typical Tactisar swagger, though for the purposes of their job, they were both clad in the finer threads rather than the down-level armored vests and motley civilian clothing. Cho, thankfully, had turned all business after his long bout with anxiety in the pub. All well and good because Jackson didn’t want to subdue the man any sooner than necessary.
Jackson’s wrist unit pulsed. Ramsey chose text as the simplest, quietest way of contacting them—which was fine by Jackson, who had Brant on c
omms via his implanted transmitter. And while Ramsey knew the signal code to talk to Jackson’s wrist unit, he was unaware of the device’s true nature as a CDF Intelligence upgrade through which Brant could monitor all incoming and outgoing signals as well as conduct basic scans.
Twenty seconds to diversion, Ramsey messaged.
“Did you get that?” Cho murmured.
Jackson nodded, holding his face in an easy smirk. “Yeah. Which leaves the Stalwart security bots.”
“I’ve got them.” Cho consulted his tablet. “Don’t worry about it. Once the patrol drones upload the new programming, those Stalwarts will be as useful as a support post.”
“Sounds good to me. I’d rather not get ripped up by their autocannons, thanks.”
Cho glanced at him as they rounded a bend. “And you’re okay with handling the people?”
Jackson looked him in the eye and told him the absolute truth. “Cho, I have no problem handling anybody.”
“Heck of a line, Echo One. You should audition for War Patrol.” Brant sounded mildly amused, but only mildly. “Patrol drones are coming your way from an adjacent corridor—PRD 99 and our very own PRD 311. Make sure the latter doesn’t get blown up, okay? We don’t really have time to find another robotic traitor.”
Jackson toggled his sleeve transmitter to affirm, his mind already compartmentalizing the information and moving onto the next task. The Tactisar security post up ahead was a pair of alcoves, one to either side of the lab hatch labeled “02,” each one fitted with armored slabs, behind which officers could take cover. The Stalwart guard bots loomed ten paces in front of the hatch, not quite blocking the passage but ensuring an intimidating trip for anyone walking single file between them. The officers were at the left alcove, chatting, when they spotted Jackson and Cho approaching.
“Dammit,” Cho muttered. “It’s Rojas.”
Or as Jackson knew him, Officer 505—Detective Rojas, his supervisor. What’s the man doing up here on guard duty?
A mirror of the same question must have flitted through Rojas’s mind, because he frowned when he saw Jackson and Cho approaching.
All at once, their badges pulsed with red light around the fringes. A warning buzzer echoed from all four sets of wrist units. “Hangar emergency,” an artificial voice grated. “Nosamo hangar east. All personnel in vicinity respond. Suspects armed.”
It repeated twice before Jackson slapped his off. “Sir, we’d better get going. We’re the closest ones.”
“Right, 616.” Rojas turned to the other officer—Petrosky, Jackson realized as he gave the young blond woman a better look. “Go with them, 727. I’ll hold the post.”
The patrol drones swept in, circling toward the Stalwart bots in a hectic manner. Cho frowned at Rojas. “Sir, that’s not protocol. We’ll take over down here.”
“Why are you here, anyway?”
“Orders.” Jackson produced his tablet with a set of commands for them to inspect all the lab entrances and report directly to Ciara Bui, assistant to Mr. Noor—with her legit signature, no less.
He could tell Rojas was puzzled by the signed orders, but given the ongoing alert, Petrosky’s nervousness, and the sheer tonnage of patience Jackson made sure to exude, the pressure was building. Jackson could see it.
Meanwhile, Cho tapped messages furiously on his tablet. “I’m going to have to tell her we’re delayed, sir.”
Messages, nothing—he was inputting commands to the drones. PRD 99 and 311 hovered for a moment around the tops of the Stalwarts. The red eyes of the towering security robots flickered with a wild static pattern before settling down.
Reprogramming successful, Ramsey’s message read. Bots dumbed. Next phase.
“Since when does Ramsey care about orders?” Rojas snapped. “Don’t try evasive maneuvers with me, 307—Cho. You’re in shit up to your neck with your so-called superior.”
“Sir, we really don’t have time for this,” Jackson interjected. “It’s an emergency code in the hangar itself. I’ll stay right here with him until you get back. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll even task one of the hulks there to sit on his head if he gets out of line.”
Rojas sighed. “Fine. If you weren’t in Ms. Bui’s good graces… come on, Petrosky. Nobody’s dying up there on my watch.”
They hurried off, footfalls disappearing around the corridor.
“And that starts your clock,” Brant said. “PRD 311 is ready to disable its partner there once you give the high sign. Looks like cameras and scanners beyond the hatch are already glitching, courtesy of your lady friend Ciara.”
She had come through in that aspect. Of course, the most vital part of her job had yet to be done.
“Stalwarts are out of commission.” Cho hunkered over the hatch’s access panel. He punched in a code. “This is where we cross our fingers.”
“Already did.” Jackson waved a hand in front of a Stalwart’s optical scanner. No reaction. “And these things are really getting their brains wiped every few seconds?”
“Yeah. It’s working. Don’t worry.”
“I feel like I should be telling you that.”
Cho smirked. “It’s the moments before we do something like this that are the worst. When I’m on the task, that’s all there is, and I trust my tech more than any person alive.”
“Fair point.” Jackson often felt the same.
A green light blinked on the panel. Cho pumped his fist. “That’s it. Come on.”
The hatch split top to bottom, sliding apart into the walls. Jackson walked swiftly through, right behind Cho.
“Your scanner’s picking everything up five by five,” Brant noted. “All scanners and optical recordings in the lab are going dark. Oh, and Echo Two is already on her way down. Got a few complaints about the route.”
Jackson suppressed a smile as he and Cho pressed toward the lab itself, the hatch sealing and locking behind them as their patrol drone escorts hovered at their shoulders. It wouldn’t be Gina if she didn’t gripe about something, but that’s how I know she’s focused.
They came to a set of glass doors, which opened automatically for them. Pale-blue lights illuminated a vast workspace divvied up into three dozen stations. Jackson figured that section was at least half a klick on either side, the shimmer from transparent barriers separating those sections.
Cho consulted his tablet. “Ahead three hundred meters and up a level, at the core.”
“Got it.”
Four steps up an open-sided spiral staircase, they came face-to-face with a lab technician in a white coat and navy-blue coveralls. The tall, lithe man could have been a professional athlete, not what Jackson would have expected of a lab junky.
He also wouldn’t have expected the dark-skinned man at all because the lab was supposed to be shut down for the night. Ramsey and Ciara had made sure of it. Supposedly.
The tech glanced up. “Oh. Evening, Officers. What can I help you with?”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Cho blurted.
“Well, I’m behind in my project, so I bypassed the lockout.” The man scowled. “I’ve got high enough clearance that some dumb maintenance order isn’t going to stop me. Is that a problem?”
Jackson patted Cho on the shoulder and stepped past him so he could smile at the tech. “Nope, not at all, sir. But I do have a couple of questions for you.”
Gina squeezed through the last bend before landing in a crouch inside the final junction above the lab. She rocked back onto her heels, gasping.
“Access tunnel my ass,” she muttered. “For a plate-sized maintenance bot maybe, not a woman who isn’t shaped like a stick.”
“Can we not do this right now, Two?” Brant’s fingers tapping on his console echoed through the communications link. “You’re in position.”
“Confirmed, Home.” Gina’s heads-up display showed her location on the lab schematics. Jackson’s indicator was down two levels and behind her, stopped midway. She lifted a tiny plasma torch from her suit and li
t the flare, cutting into the vent outlined on the same schematics. “What’s the holdup with One?”
“Lab tech, working late. He’s handling it.”
“With a silver tongue, no doubt.” The vent panel wobbled as she came down the third side of it. Gina snagged a finger through the grate before completing the final cut, allowing the panel to drop free by a few centimeters but not clatter all the way to the floor. Still, she waited for Brant’s all clear.
“Alarms are silent. Move.”
No need to tell a girl twice. Gina set the panel aside and propped herself over the narrow opening. Fingers gripping the inside edges, she slipped headfirst through the new gap in the ceiling, braced for her descent. A quick spin in midair as she held on let her land feetfirst.
The storage room was completely dark, but to her, everything was a hazy amber, thanks to the night vision setting of her suit’s visor. Gina toggled an extra setting that overlaid heat signatures—both from lifeforms and the power sources of whatever bots and drones happened to be in the area. Nothing nearby except boxes.
She exited the storage room—a simple task, given it could be unlocked from the inside, presumably a safety precaution in case a tech was accidentally sealed in. The lab workspace outside was equally quiet but suffused with a pale-blue glow, like the moons back home reflecting on the sea. Gina again waited, watching, as still as one of the boxes she’d been among in the storage room.
For all her grumbling, Gina had to admit the drone PRD 311 had done an admirable job bypassing the security interlocks that let her get into the access tunnel in the first place. It had scooted off to make its rendezvous with Jackson and Cho but not before transmitting the commands Brant implanted alongside all the other modifications people had made to the poor bot. She found it really miraculous it hadn’t crashed—literally and electronically—from the conflicting demands.
A tech working late. It figured, and frankly she was surprised no one had foreseen the possibility. That was on Ramsey’s end of the planning. Gina smirked at the idea that Unit 171 was using the corrupt Tactisar detective’s heist scheme as part of their own. It was much easier to plan that kind of infiltration when someone else had already done a bunch of the harder work.