by Matt Thomas
Lind bothered the supervisor again, pestering the man as he went from tank to tank, checking levels and making sure the carcasses were being carved according to Qinlin guidelines. The place was only a meatpacking plant underwater, Lind decided. Each one animal, properly cut and distributed, could provide a hundred bland, tough meals to desperate spacers throughout the system. After twenty minutes of begging and demanding, Lind finally got the man to listen to the recording and provide a translation.
"It's numbers." The man said with finality, like no other answer was necessary. He showed no hint of emotion after watching someone die. He'd probably viewed it while eating lunch with his friends as soon as he heard it happened.
"What numbers?" Lind pressed.
The man rattled off a series of eight numbers, complete with a decimal point, before turning away, leaving Lind to figure out why the numbers we worth a man's life.
Alone, and with no other leads, Lind wandered the station. He had nowhere to go, no office, no hotel room, and his ship was buried in the ice on the other side of the moon. Lind scratched the numbers down on a scrap of paper he had torn from a book in the room in Suksi's apartment. He harbored some guilt damaging such a rare luxury as a book made of paper, but his electronic notepad lay buried with his Mako and he didn't want to risk having a digital trail that could track him. So he stared at the numbers while he waited in an elevator, while he ate noodles, while he stood in the middle of a busy thoroughfare, trying to figure out what they were.
The problem was that he had never been good at math. It took him the better part of a day before he figured the pattern. He'd missed it because there ought to have been two more numbers, but common references to frequencies dropped the last two decimals if they were both zeros. The numbers fit into the lowest end of the spectrum, in frequencies used so rarely that they were perfect for sensitive data. Lind had used such frequencies to transmit investigation reports across the system. Maybe if he'd had more sleep, or if Kay hadn't died, or if the Hitchhiker hadn't thrown himself out of the airlock, he would have figured it out sooner.
Now that he had a frequency, it ought to have been easy enough to find out what the frequency meant. For that, all he needed was a terminal. He used a public one in a tea shop. The security didn't matter as long as it was hard-wired into the central network. It was, and Lind typed in a series of seeming random letters and numbers into the search bar. A very bland page appeared, just a request for a user name and password. Taking a huge risk, Lind entered Kay's omnibus access credentials. After years of using each other's equipment, the ridiculously long combination came as muscle memory to Lind. Not surprisingly, it worked. After everything, Kay hadn't been dead long enough for a standard update pushed through all computer networks in the system to delete him from the database. Those only happened about every three months.
Finding the transmissions directory didn't take long with a few well-crafted searches. Like an old-fashioned police scanner with memory, the station central computer tracked every transmission sent via its antenna cluster. Lind scanned entries until he found the frequency blurted out by the dying man in the tank. Two hours after Du drowned, a brief transmission made its way through the network, into the queue to wait its turn. Finding the transmission proved the easy part. Lind struggled, however, to trace it through the mess of connections to find the sender's location. Kay always took those high-tech assignments, and Lind had only gained the most basic understanding through osmosis. Still, he found the closest thing available to an answer. He couldn't find the terminal, but he knew the computer system.
Whoever killed Du used his transmitter in an office near the surface. An office run by L2H.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A twenty-four-hour work cycle never meant that everything operated at full capacity for twenty-four hours. The station never slept, but people did. While the killing tanks and the meat packers worked around the clock trying to feed every human not living on Earth, much of the support staff lived on a day-night cycle rendered arbitrary both by the lack of sunlight in the station and the moon's natural rotation. At "night," offices, restaurants, and stores often closed and skeleton crews kept the operation functional until the next day. The decrease in overhead more than made up for lost productivity.
The graveyard shift provided Lind's only opportunity to talk his way into the L2H offices. Nothing happened at night, so they stuck the less capable employees watching monitors and trying to stay awake. They certainly couldn't handle anything more involved than calling their manager or putting off what could be done tonight for the next morning's shift.
Sometimes, the best way to enter a house is through the front door. So Lind did precisely that. He ignored the cameras watching him, hoping beyond hope he would be off planet before anyone reviewed the tapes or sent a request in to confirm his story. He pressed the buzzer on the front door.
A grizzled, sleepy man who had long ago cared whether his clothes remained unstained and free of wrinkles answered the door after a noticeable delay. "Yeah?"
"I'm Special Agent Lind Michaels and I'm conducting an investigation pursuant to Article Thirty-Two of The Contract. I need to take a look inside your office."
A blank, blinking stare met him. "What?"
"I'm conducting a murder investigation and I need to take a look inside. One of your terminals was used, probably as an intermediary, but I need to check it out. It won't take long."
The man looked over his shoulder, at what, Lind couldn't guess. "Maybe I can get my manager, but he's probably asleep."
"I don't need to talk to a manager, I just need to check a serial number on a computer and the port it's plugged into."
"We have a lot of computers..."
"Then it will take a few minutes, and the longer you have me standing out here, the longer it will be before I'm gone."
The L2H employee started to see what was going on. His eyes narrowed.
"You don't want me to report you wouldn't let a Thirty-Two conduct a murder investigation." Lind said. "You should let me in."
After a heartbeat, the man stood aside, letting Lind brush past him.
Computers and tablets littered the office. This didn't surprise Lind as he'd been in many such offices on stations throughout the system. What did surprise him was the complete lack of thought as to what he should do next. He hadn't planned on the target of his investigation being a network hub.
"So, which computer do you need to inspect?" The question itself was innocent. The tone however, had shifted. Edge had crept into it in the few seconds it took Lind to penetrate whatever barrier the man believed the door to be. Lind noticed that what he had originally taken to be a fat man in sloppy clothing was a huge man in a loose-fitting shirt and baggy pants. He wondered if the guy knew anything about computers, but, for the moment, the man seemed aware that someone was in the shop who shouldn't be.
Lind played it as cool as he could, still trying to bluff his way through. "That's a good question. Which of these can send things to the antenna array?"
"All of them." The man took a step closer. "Why don't you tell me what you're looking for and I'll be in touch once I've found it."
"No thanks, I think I can find it myself." Lind made the choice to turn his back on the L2H employee to maintain his nonchalant cover. He reached over to bundles of cables, trying to trace wires see if there were any strange devices attached to the electronics.
"Let me see your badge." The other demanded, taking a step directly behind Lind, blocking the door.
Lind stopped his pretense and spun. With a clumsy kick, he struck the other's knee until it buckled. The man didn't go down, he only stumbled and lurched forward towards Lind, arms extended. Lind stepped to the side, guiding his attacker's arms forward with one hand while giving a shove in the back with the other. The shove and momentum sent the man crashing forward into a small pile of computers. Glass displays shattered, sending shards into the man's hands, forearms, and face. Lind instinctively reached to
the small of his back before he remembered that Osc had taken it. It was just as well. He'd stepped far over the line already, and he didn't need to risk killing someone over his own panic. Instead he put his weight on the man's back, pressing him deeper into the razor-sharp slivers. His attacker didn't scream in pain, but he could hear his agony through air sucked through his teeth.
"Where is it?" Lind demanded, keeping his own uncertainty out of his voice.
"They'll be here in a few minutes." The other grunted, too off-balance and slick with blood to stand.
"Then I better get it before they get here. Where is it?" He asked again.
"Fuck you."
Lind reached forward and grabbed a thumb, twisting in an unapproved interrogation technique. That released a long moan from his victim, but no words. Lind shifted his weight again, rocking the man back and forth and driving the glass deeper into skin, muscle, and blood vessels. Unsure of what he was doing, and afraid of the rage that had overtaken him, Lind looked away from his victim, still hurting him, trying to steel himself for what he might have to do next. His eye caught something, a heavy metal box bolted the wall in the corner, hidden behind computer hardware. He made out the distinctive reflective square of a thumb-print sensor. And Lind did something terrible.
He grabbed a long splinter of glass, heavy enough and sharp enough it cut his own hand. Lind pressed it against the man's thumb until it opened another wound.
"You're getting me into the safe. If you want to accompany your thumb, you'd better stop fighting."
They held eye contact as the other tried to judge if Lind was serious. Lind tried to judge the same, but figured that the philosophical debate could wait until another time when he'd be drunk and tossing and turning in bed. Eventually the man gave in. With Lind maintaining control, the L2H worker scooted along the edge of the work table, still on his knees. He knocked pieces of electronic out of the way and opened the safe. Realizing that he couldn't examine the safe and watch his back, Lind struck the man several times in the head until he rolled on the ground grasping what Lind hoped wasn't a cracked skull.
Lind rifled through the safe, spilling data cards and a few pieces of hardware. Buried in the back corner, he found the fob he was looking for. He grabbed it, shoved it in his pocket, and rushed out the door. The cameras had seen him but he didn't care. All he had to do is turn in the fob and he would be off the station and on his way back to Earth.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Lind tried to find Suksi in her shop, a logical place to start since neither she nor her minion had given him any instructions on what to do once he acquired the transmitter. Those security recordings with his face, and a computer log with Kay's access codes, convinced him he couldn't wait around for someone to get in touch with him. He'd done the dirty deed, and now he needed his payment and a trip off the station, fast. He'd already been there three days longer than he'd anticipated.
When he entered her hole-in-the-wall electronics shop, a few customers browsed the disorganized stacks of circuit boards and repaired equipment. She wasn't behind the counter. Some kid Lind didn't recognize slouched in his chair reading something on his screen Lind doubted pertained to work. Lind meandered the aisles, waiting for the patrons to leave. When they did, he rushed up to the boy who started at the sudden interruption of his boredom. "I need to talk to her." Lind demanded.
"Who?"
"The owner. I need to see her, right now. I got what she wanted.
The kid held his hands up, palms out as he backed as far from the counter as the wall allowed. "Look, sir, I don't know what you're talking about..."
"I believe that, but I need to see Suksi. Tell her I'm here."
The kid looked over his shoulder at the small door leading to the back office. It was open and the light off. "She's not here."
"Where is she?"
"I... home, maybe? She came in, some woman asked to talk to her, and they left."
"When was that?"
"About two hours ago..."
"Her real home or that hole she stuck me in?"
"Sir, I don't..."
Lind tensed his jaw, knowing full well he had misplaced his anger at the boy. "Don't worry about it." Lind said. "I'll find her."
He turned and started to walk out of the shop when he stopped stopped and turned. "Who was the woman?"
"What?"
"The woman who wanted to talk with her. Who was she?"
The kid shrugged. "She had a badge. I'd never seen her before."
"She about six inches shorter than me, blond, athletic, carrying a pistol?"
"I didn't see a pistol, but yeah."
"Shit."
Agent Donovan. Of course she'd tracked him down. Maybe she hadn't seen him, yet, but it didn't take a ridiculous leap of logic to figure where Lind had gone. His investigative mind had found the station as a place of opportunity, and any similarly trained mind could have predicted his route. Absently, he wondered if his Mako remained buried in the ice. If she'd found it, maybe she had seen the security video. Maybe he could talk his way out of the mess he was in. It all depended upon what Suksi had told her.
Lind figured that Suksi hadn't brought an investigator home, so he headed up to less affluent residential deck. He remembered which apartment on the two level circling an artificial courtyard he had searched with Kay years back. He found a spot, near the coffee stand, where he could hide behind the line of people waiting to get their morning caffeine and watch her door.
For an hour, he sat, staring at the unordinary apartment, hoping he was right. He discounted the possibility that they had already left. If Donovan was going to take Suksi into custody, for say, aiding and abetting a murderous rogue Thirty-Two she'd still be there with a team of security guards searching the place. If the meeting had ended early, Lind would have seen her on her way back to the shop. The third possibility, the one that gave him the most heartburn, was that Suksi had taken Donovan to the safe house, her thug had murdered the Thirty-Two, disposed of the body, and disappeared all without Lind having any idea.
An opening door gave him confirmation that his initial theory had been correct. Donovan left with a fake-friendly smile and nod to the Suksi, who appeared irritated but not in custody. Watching Donovan head towards the far end of the courtyard, Lind made his way up a secluded set of stairs and approached the forger's room from behind.
She had just turned to go in when he made it to her. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" She whisper-yelled at him, grabbing him by the arm and turning him back the way he came. She shut the door and followed him, quickly, trying to remain as incognito as possible. "If she sees you here, we're both fucked."
"What did you tell her?" He asked as they meandered back down through the busy courtyard, amongst the tables packed with workers having breakfast.
"I told her jack shit. I told her you were an asshole a few years ago, and I imagined you were an asshole now."
"That doesn't take three hours."
"No, it doesn't. But I gave her some leads on the other side of the planet she could talk to who might be stupid enough to help you out. It's not easy to convince you pricks that I'm innocent for some reason."
"Because you're not." Lind couldn't help himself. Old habits died hard.
"So I guess you don't want any help after all." She shot back.
"I do. In fact, I was coming to tell you that I got the thing." He reached into his pocket and surreptitiously displayed the encryption fob.
"What the fuck is that?"
"Exactly what you told me to get. I got it. Here." He stuck his fist out towards her. "Take it and get me off this frozen ball of water."
"I didn't tell you to get shit." She answered.
"Fine, your lackey. Whatever. I'm not interested in playing stupid games about who calls the shots. I got the fucking thing, my face is probably all over some security screens right now, I probably gave some L2H guy brain damage, so give me my papers and my flight."
Suksi took a step back,
her eyes narrowing. "Look Michaels, I'm not playing any games with you. I have no idea what you're talking about. I haven't asked you to do shit. I was spending this morning making calls to see what possible good you'd be when that bitch Thirty-Two came into my store."
"This bitch Thirty-Two?" They both looked over their shoulders. Donovan approached with Suksi's bodyguard, Osc, by her side.
"See, ma'am." The man was saying. "I told you she was lying. Michaels has been here the whole time." They faced each other, but the ersatz guard took an awkward position, much closer to Lind's side of the confrontation than Lind was comfortable with.
"Agent Michaels." Donovan said in cold greeting.
He nodded to her. "I don't have anything to say to you."
"You might want to reconsider that." She said. "Look, your Mako wasn't completely buried. We recovered it, and I tried to get the security camera logs. We're still working on it, but, I've got to tell you what I'm sure you already know. The more you talk now, the easier it's going to be for that part. The L2H office on the other hand... well, at least it's not murder."
"That was her." Lind let out a little more loudly than he intended, pointing to Suksi without a second thought at betraying her. His arm brushed Osc's, and he realized just how close the large man was standing, almost blocking the view of the rest of the concourse.
"I told you I had nothing to do with that." She yelled. People were starting to look.
"Bullshit." Lind snapped back.
It had been so long since he had heard gunshots that he didn't recognize them at first. Lind felt the heat on his forearm and a shell casing bounce off of his chest. He could smell the burning gunpowder. He watched as Donovan's stomach and chest burst with blood, and she crumpled backwards. Lind looked down, and he saw, inches from his own hand, Osc's gloved fist pressing the trigger of Lind's service pistol, the one he had taken the day before.