Op File Sanction

by J. Clifton Slater

  “That’s impossible, Warlock. You’re an inspector for Realm Disease Control,” Walden corrected. “There are reports of food poisoning on Orbital and Command Stations. The center feels the need to send in an inspector to review the local procedures.”

  “I didn’t read about any cases of food poisoning.”

  “Just a second,” Walden instructed as he typed into his PID. “There are now.”

  ***

  Diosa shifted the shoulder strap for the testing kit riding on her hip. Then she adjusted the cap with the RDC logo and her sunglasses. Once prepared, she barged into the next restaurant on her list.

  There was a certain sadistic joy in watching the staff scurry around and the manager angling to intercept her. Shifting to her right, she scraped the manager off using a table to impede his progress and reached the kitchen first. The door swung open after a hard shove and the busboy assigned to holding it fell back and sprawled on the tile floor.

  “Food safety inspection,” Diosa announced as she marched across the kitchen to a line of transportation containers. She found the same violation on other decks in other food service businesses. Restaurants keeping the containers and using them as storage. It seemed this restaurant was no different. They had several food shipping bins shoved against a back wall. “These had better be pressurized, cooled, or empty.”

  At the first bin, she extended the cable from her testing kit and plugged it into the container. No pressure registered and the temperature hovered far above four point four Celsius. Now that she knew the seal had been broken, she grabbed the sides and pulled the front section outward. Inside were wilted vegetables and moldy grain.

  Looking closely, she noted where the mold had recently been shoved aside by a scoop. It was evident a cook dug in to get at the better-looking grain. Diosa threw up a little in her throat.

  “Mold has roots like threads that extend below the surface,” she explained to the kitchen staff and the frightened looking manager. “What you see on top are only the spores. The grain has mold growing all throughout it. This container is contaminated. You will call material handling to have it removed while I check the rest.”

  “But we need the supplies,” pleaded the manager.

  “Do you need to poison your customers?” inquired Diosa as she pointed to the logo on her cap. “And be shut down by the RDC?”

  “I’ll call handling,” promised the manager.

  “You do that,” Diosa told him as she moved to the next shipping bin.

  ***

  An hour later all the containers had been rolled out of the restaurant and taken to a service dock. Just as Diosa walked out of the restaurant, her PID buzzed.

  ‘Eiko wants an update,’ Walden sent.

  ‘Tell him do not eat at the Realm’s Sandwich Shop on deck seventy-nine. It’s disgusting.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s the kind of update he is looking for.’

  ‘It’s the only one I have,’ Diosa typed back. ‘Also, put the local health inspector on report. Either he is incompetent or taking pesetas under the table.’

  ‘Need I remind you, you are not really a food inspector?’

  ‘I know, but Walden, if you’ve seen what I have today, energy bars are all you’d eat.’

  ‘Those are revolting.’

  ‘So are the kitchens.’

  ‘Remember there is a food sloop arriving later today,’ Walden reminded her.

  ‘I know. But I want to check a few more restaurants before it docks.’

  ‘Still not a real inspector.’

  ‘Warlock, out.’

  ***

  The exterior supply dock was visible through the triple panes. Two airlock technicians stood on the edge of the platform each holding the end of a cable and a hook. Once the space tug drifted slowly by, a cargo crate came into view. Then the technicians stepped off and floated to the rear of the crate. After attaching the hooks, an unseen operator reeled in the cables. The crate spun lining up its rear end with the dock.

  Diosa had finished checking the two hundred empty shipping containers. None had a message or device from the spy on the outside or inside of the food bins. After looking at food stains, she enjoyed watching the simple act of the space crate butting against the platform.

  An industrial-sized airlock extended from the Station unrolling as it crossed the dock. Before it reached the crate, one space-walker landed on the platform while the other one remained floating in space. When the airlock touched the crate, the technician began moving mechanical levers to create an airtight seal. A half hour later, the glass panes fogged as air was pumped into the airlock tunnel.

  ‘I have zip, zilch, zero to report,’ Diosa sent.

  ‘The food shipping was the least likely to produce results,’ Walden replied. ‘but you are known at the restaurants and food service establishments. No one will think it odd when you go back for the next phase.’

  ‘I may have been over-enthusiastic,’ Diosa suggested. ‘Everyone in those restaurants will panic when I walk in.’

  ‘That’s good,’ he sent. ‘You have established a presence. To the casual observer, it’ll seem like business as usual.’

  ‘It better not be,’ Diosa typed.

  ‘Not be what?”

  ‘Business as usual. Their usual is unsanitary.’

  ‘Still not a real inspector.’

  The glass panes lifted and a motorized cart crossed the dock. It hooked up to a string of food bins and pulled them from the cargo crate.

  “Inspector. Do you want to test them before they’re delivered?” the cart operator asked.

  “Yes, please,” Diosa responded.

  She played the part and ran the cable to each bin and checked the pressure and temperature. As she inspected the newly arrived ones, the used food containers were pushed across the dock. Diosa reached the last new one and stood on the service dock gazing at the black void and the train of empty food bins being shoved into the cargo crate.

  The triple panes lowered. Once sealed, the air was extracted from the airlock tunnel creating nothingness. It was how she viewed her and Walden’s progress in their hunt for the spy. Nothingness.

  ***

  Diosa rested the cup of coffee on her knee and watched as Walden wolfed down breakfast.

  “Not hungry?” he inquired between bites.

  “Not confident,” she replied. “The food containers are numbered but in no order. I didn’t see any markings or signs to identify one for a confederate on the planet.”

  “It was our first-place loser,” Walden told her.

  “How does the actual first place, if we’re lucky, differ?”

  “Electronics,” he exclaimed. “The food containers have limited electronics to sustain the food during the trip up to Command Station. Garbage and trash bins don’t. They use a vacuum to contain the debris.”

  “And the absence of electricity helps us how?”

  “There are no onboard motors to mask a signal marking the bin as the one with the spy’s message,” Walden explained. “When we activate the data device, we’ll have trash from the spy’s deck. That will narrow our search.”

  “Where does electricity come in?”

  “I’m assuming the device will be powered down,” he informed her. “We are going to momentarily activate it to identify the bin.”

  “I can’t wait to hear this. How?”

  “The next time the spy downloads a message from Admiral Nesta 4th Deallus, I’ll get a ping,” Walden stated. “Then you’re going to electrify the trash bins.”

  “I hate to point this out but that’s not very stealthy,” Diosa informed him.

  “Eiko is under pressure and wants this wrapped up,” he said. “Besides, you’ll be working on a service dock. The spy may not even be aware.”

  “And if he learns about me brutalizing the trash bins?”

  “Where is he going? We’re on a space station.”

  ***

  Three days later, Diosa pulled on a pai
r of insulated gloves and picked up two probes. Running along the deck behind her, wires from the probes attached to a transformer. A heavy cable connected the box for stepping up the voltage to the station’s power grid.

  ‘Shift the sensor stand to the left,’ Walden typed.

  Using her hip, Diosa nudged the tripod. The sensor’s nose elevated and depressed as Walden checked the range of the meter.

  ‘That’s good,’ he sent.

  Although she was operating openly on the supply deck, their target roamed the command levels. They stayed with text because voice would be picked up by the station’s communications department making it available to the unknown suspect.

  Two days ago, Walden had received a ping. They gave the spy twenty-four hours before unleashing the insufferable RDC inspector. Relief ran through restaurant management when she focused on recyclables, garbage, and getting the trash bins filled, capped, and sent down to the supply deck.

  Now she had seventy-five refuse vessels separated from those sent down before the ping.

  ‘Let’s fry some alloy,’ Walden messaged.

  The heavy gloves prevented the unrestricted agent from responding and her researcher knew it.

  ‘Start over there,’ came the next text and the sensor rotated in the direction of a trash bin.

  “You are enjoying this aren’t you, Poet?” Warlock whispered as she approached the metal vessel. He couldn’t hear her or the challenge when she savagely poked the metal with the probes. “Take this.”

  Both sparked as the alloy of the bin completed the circuit. Counting down to ten seconds, she lifted the ends.

  ‘No joy,’ Walden sent.

  Diosa moved to the next one. Eleven bins later she lifted the probes and began to step away.

  ‘Do that one again,” he requested.

  The probes touched, the sparks shot out and, ten seconds later, Diosa glanced down at her PID.

  ‘Dumpster diving,’ Walden messaged.

  Diosa carried the probes to the transformer, switched it off, and shook off the gloves.

  ‘You could come and help,’ she sent.

  ‘Someone has to mind the sensor.’

  She dragged the trash vessel to a corner of the deck, leaned back to avoid the smell, and released the pressure. A sharp hiss let her know the seal was broken. Hesitantly because she didn’t know the substance inside, Diosa rolled back the upper portion of the bin. To her delight, most of the debris was bagged and not wet stew from a restaurant.

  ‘Office trash,’ she informed Walden.

  ‘Sort by location and check for weight.’

  But she was ahead of him. Lifting bag after bag, Diosa judged the weight before placing them on the deck in the order of extraction. Then a bag came out with an object inside. She untied the knot and splayed the content on the deck.

  ‘I am holding a small pad in my hand,’ Diosa typed. ‘New and barely used.’

  ‘A new pad.’

  ‘A new pad, yes.’

  ‘I’m sending Eiko to collect it. The pad is our third way to track the spy.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Unless the Constabulary agent has a cargo crate full of data pads, people have to buy them for him. The special agent is in route after a slight detour. He’s going to buy a replacement pad.’

  ‘Why don’t I bring you this one?’

  ‘Your mission isn’t completed, Marine. You need to analyze the bags adjacent to the pad’s,’ he typed. ‘Think of it as a grid search. Find what deck the spy used to dump his trash.’

  ‘That’s typical.’

  ‘What’s typical?’

  ‘Marines always get the dirty jobs.’

  Walden didn’t reply. He was too busy hacking the station’s inventory management system.

  Chapter 20 - Where Could He Go?

  “You cannot be serious,” shouted Eiko. He vaulted from the chair and began pacing the suite. “You’ll need a lot more evidence before accusing Admiral Manola of disloyalty.”

  Walden lounged on the sofa. He stretched and smiled.

  “Special Agent. We just tag and bag them as they come,” he said with confidence. “It’s your job to drop the hammer of judgment.”

  “This is going to take a bigger mallet than the one you’ve handed me,” Eiko shot back. “Much bigger, if I’m going to charge the head of naval logistics with treason.”

  “The trash around the pad came from his offices,” Diosa tossed in. “That narrows it down.”

  “Didn’t you get anything off the message?” Eiko asked. “A hint? Anything?”

  “Special Agent, usually spies do not sign their messages,” Walden replied. “And the information, after I decoded it, points to a high-level individual. It contained too much detail to come from overhearing a dinner conversation.”

  “And Admiral Manola is the largest buyer of data pads on Command Station,” Diosa pointed out. “In fact, the second and fourth-ranked consumers purchased them for the Admiral and had the pads shipped off as gifts.”

  Eiko plopped down and cradled his head in his hands. He moaned while holding the pose. Walden and Diosa waited for him to reach a decision.

  “How does this work?” the Special Agent inquired as much to the deck as to his agents. “I’ve never actually committed professional suicide before.”

  “It’s not like we’re assaulting his offices with a squad of combat Marines going in with rifles blazing,” Diosa responded. “We’ll just have a conversation.”

  “And grill an Admiral on his allegiance,” Eiko ventured. “You are not known for your subtlety, Warlock.”

  “You’re worried about tact? Marines and sailors are dying because of a spy on Command Station and you’re nervous about rattling an Admiral’s feathers,” demanded Diosa. “Put on your big boy pants Eiko and get with the program.”

  Eiko glanced over at Walden who turned to look at the special agent.

  “Nuanced.”

  “And restrained.”

  “And diplomatic.”

  “You two jokers can sit here making fun,” warned Warlock. “I’m going to the command deck and beat the truth out of Admiral Manola.”

  Diosa had taken two steps when Eiko announced, “You’re correct. We’ll go question the Admiral. However, there will be no beating. Let’s go.”

  They were at the door to the suite when Eiko noticed someone was missing. Turning he fixed Walden with a stern look.

  “Mister Geboren. You will join us,” Eiko requested.

  “I already have a long list of potential political and physical suicide methods,” Walden informed him. “Putting my neck in a brass guillotine is not on the list.”

  “Poet stays here. I want an early warning if the Marines or station security moves in,” Diosa directed. “If it gets ugly, we’ll change tactics. Apologize and try to calm the Admiral down before we get arrested. That, Special Agent Eiko, is field diplomacy.”

  ***

  “I am sorry but you are not on the calendar,” Commander Eine Mikka informed them. “Please understand, the Admiral is a very busy person. Let me see, yes, I can fit you into his schedule tomorrow afternoon. Will that suit your needs?”

  “I’m afraid not Commander,” Eiko stated. “This is a matter of great significance.”

  “Well maybe I can help you?” Mikka suggested.

  Like all good aides, he was running interference for his superior officer. Warlock could appreciate the gesture.

  “No, you can’t,” pressed the special agent. “We need to see Admiral Manola right now.”

  “There is no need to get hostile,” Mikka said holding out both hands and patting the air. “I’m sure if it’s that urgent the Admiral would like to be aware of the situation. Tell me and I’ll go see if he can clear a few minutes.”

  “There is no time,” insisted Eiko. “Go tell the Admiral that I need to see him, right away.”

  “I will check. Please wait,” Commander Mikka agreed. He walked backward to the Admiral’s office as if Eiko
would attempt to charge by him. Just as he reached the door, he asked. “Will Warlock, excuse me, Master Sergeant Alberich be joining you?”

  “Yes. She is an integral part of it,” Eiko declared. After Mikka vanished through the doorway, the special agent turned to Diosa. “I didn’t know you were acquainted with Commander Mikka.”

  “I’m not. I was part of some action on the station as you know. But I never met the Commander,” Diosa replied. “With the eye patch, I’m not hard to pick out in a crowd. But it’s odd…”

  “Special Agent and Master Sergeant, if you’ll step this way,” Mikka called from the doorway. “The Admiral will grant you a couple of minutes. Please don’t linger, he has backed up appointments for you.”

  “And we appreciate it,” Eiko assured him. As they entered the huge office, an older man stood behind a desk ringed with screens. “Admiral, thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”

  “Eiko, I don’t have much time,” Manola informed them. Then he faced Warlock and inquired. “And who is this?”

  “Master Sergeant Alberich, sir. I am a field investigator for Agent Eiko and I have a few questions for you.”

  “She is very direct, isn’t she,” the Admiral observed with a smile. “I like direct. It doesn’t waste time. Eine. Leave the door open and bring me that report when you’ve finished compiling it. Now, where were we?”

  “Admiral. You are the single biggest purchaser of data pads on the station,” Diosa asked quickly before Eiko could say a word. “Can you explain that?”

  “There’s not much to explain. I buy pads for young officers in logistics,” Manola answered. “Nothing says their Admiral is paying attention as getting a data pad from the boss.”

  “Thank you, Admiral,” Eiko added quickly. “If…”

  “But I don’t have specifics,” the Admiral continued as if the special agent hadn’t said anything. “Truth be told, I haven’t personally bought a data pad in years. Commander Mikka handles that for me. Maybe he has more information. Eine. Eine, can you come in here please?”

  Eiko and Diosa twisted around to face the door waiting for Commander Mikka to enter. When he didn’t, the Admiral picked up his phone and called his aide’s desk.