“And originator?” Mattoso chimed in.
“Yes, originator too. At least for outside orders. Manual on-site orders, like this filter, wouldn’t record an originator.”
“Thank you, Engineer.” Konami had apparently heard enough. “We’ll need to see all logs for these filter fabs, going back six months.”
“Six months?”
Konami did the math in his head. Not everyone’s from Earth. “One hundred eighty days. To start with. And I want your watch logs too, cross referenced with the filter fab times.”
“That might take a while. We’re just about to start a refurb of—”
“I’d be very grateful if you could have them to me by tomorrow morning.”
“Tomor…” Zubiri met Konami’s eyes and his expression hardened. “Yes, tomorrow. Understood, Chief Inspector.”
CHAPTER 12
Konami yawned as he scrolled through the logs from fabrication. He was tired, but it was almost a welcome tiredness. Tired from honest police work for change, rather than from extreme boredom.
For the first time in at least a year, he considered that perhaps it wasn’t a mistake to join the crew. Maybe they did really need him.
The breather filters were ubiquitous onboard Aotea, stored in bulk anywhere breathers were found — and considering that, in emergencies, specifications called for the ability for every single soul onboard to be able to don a breather at once, that meant that they were stored all over the ship. But why do we use so damn many filters, when there hasn’t even been smoke, much less a fire, in months? A quick query revealed all the various events that could result in someone putting on a breather — training, various practical factors for qualifications, hazmat and hazspace evolutions, and more. And every time someone used one, they ordered a replacement, to keep the stocks full. All breathers shall have no less than three clean and unopened filters stored with them at all times, according to the specs. Practically speaking, this meant that most breathers had five or six filters stored alongside them to account for any delay in ordering new filters when one was used.
So that added up to a few dozen filters ordered each month. So far almost all of them were ordered through the Supply system, which meant that the individual making the order was recorded. And the department that the filter was ordered for — which often didn’t match the rate of the ordering individual — was recorded as well. But there were a handful that were ordered in person, at the fab controls, with no delivery recorded — they must have been delivered and replaced by the ordering crewmember.
Fingers dancing in the air, Konami started two lists — one of all the filters that were delivered to the Sewage department, and one of all the fabrication techs on duty when the anonymous orders were made. Thinking about it further, and considering how easily filters could be swapped out, he made a third list of all the filters that were ordered by habitability techs, since the defective filter was in a Hab space. He sighed when he realized how many records he’d have to pore through to account for each and every one of these filters. Maybe someone could make a NetBug that could do it for him. He promised himself that at the next personnel review, he’d request that a Data Tech be permanently assigned to the Constabulary.
He was well into the records when the door to his office chimed. “Sorry, Cy, but he insisted,” announced the Constabulary’s duty secretary, Administrative Technician Second Class Yok-Sing, sticking his head in the door.
MRT2 Gustafson was pouring sweat, wiping it from his head with a rag. The young second’s lip quivered before he spoke.
“Maybe… maybe it was my fault,” said Gustafson, looking at the deck. “I just don’t remember.” The young tech physically deflated, but somehow looked relieved, despite the tears in his eyes.
Konami’s guts twisted. He’s being honest, he decided. But something still didn’t feel right. He put his hand on Gustafson’s shoulder, directing him down the passageway. “Let’s take a short walk, Second,” he directed, and the young man meekly followed.
The disciplinary process could be very fast, it turned out, contrary to the glacial place Konami recalled from past crewmember misbehavior. He made two calls — a brief one to Lieutenant Mattoso, and then to Gustafson’s department master tech. Within a quarter-hour the master tech met them at the Constabulary. Mattoso and the XO arrived shortly afterwards.
Gustafson listened silently as he was taken off duty, after the XO and master tech made sure that Maintenance and Repair Department had enough manning to make up for his absence. The master tech walked the young man out, quietly consoling him; Gustafson would be confined to his quarters until a requalification plan was developed.
Commander Criswell turned to Konami, with an expression as close to a smile as he had ever seen on the executive officer. “Our mystery is solved, Chief Inspector,” said the lean commander. “Not two random malfunctions, but one — the solder shard in the hatch circuitry. The breather filter mishap was caused by personnel error — a failure to follow procedure.”
“We don’t know that for certain,” answered Konami, well aware of how weak his protests would sound. “Second Gustafson said he doesn’t remember—”
The XO cut him off with a swipe of his hand. “I think that’s enough grasping at straws, CI. I’ll have a writeup tomorrow for you to sign. You can feel free to add any objections you may have. But officially, this case will be considered solved once the captain signs it.” Criswell nodded to Lieutenant Mattoso, who had been sharing a sympathetic glance with Konami. “Your dedication is commendable,” he said with what Konami took as a sneer, and walked out, with Mattoso close behind.
Konami sat and put his head on his desk. He wasn’t even sure if it was worth going to Mayor Akunle to protest. He should be happy, he thought, with the case solved. So why does it turn my stomach?
CHAPTER 13
“Can you feel it?” Madani asked Konami. “The rotation?” She took his hand in hers.
They walked along one of the garden paths on the surface, winding from park to park, allowing idle Aoteans to walk in pleasant greenery for hours without backtracking. Konami ignored the occasional odd looks from passers-by — he knew that his sunshade-like low-light goggles were out of place during the artificial moonlit “nights” of the ship — but when he was with Madani, he didn’t seem to care.
He had to shake off the feeling of disappointment from the ignominious ending to his investigation. It had been going so well – he felt it in that old investigative muscle that they were on the right track. But he couldn’t think of a logical reason to continue, beyond this gut feeling.
He reached down to pet Kostya, leaning against his shins, as she tended to do. Genetically engineered to form strong attachments and with little desire to explore, jenji dogs didn’t need leashes when taken on walks.
“When I stand still,” continued Madani. “Especially on the edge of one of the Cans, I imagine I can feel the spin.”
Konami stood still and tried to feel, through his feet. He vaguely recalled an exercise like this when he first joined the crew, and feeling the barest tremor.
“Close your eyes,” said Madani. He obeyed. “Anything?”
He tried his hardest, but couldn’t feel a thing, aside from the pitter-patter of activity at the little ‘park’ on the edge of the Can, and the vibration of Kostya’s heart next to his ankle. It was hard to avoid the obvious conclusion, that the mind created this kind of feeling out of hope and excitement. He tried to recapture some of that excitement, of being in a select group accomplishing something incredible.
“Fact or treat, fact or treat!” He opened his eyes, thankful for the interruption, and was presented with a tiny elephant. And not just an elephant — there was a little bear, a shark, and some sort of spotted feline. A few meters back, their MOMbot chaperone lurked, ignoring all the park’s activity except for the children under its care. The permanent smile on its cartoonish, teddy-bear face never failed to unsettle the chief inspector. Kostya inched for
ward and sniffed cautiously.
Konami crouched down and mustered up a smile. “You first,” he said, pointing to the shark. He thought he recalled some shark facts from old Earth documentaries.
“What’s a shark’s skeleton made from?” The voice was almost unbearably cute, high pitched and complete with a minor speech impediment.
Konami took a pose and scratched his chin. “Hmm, that’s a tough one. It’s not bone...” He raised his finger exaggeratedly. “I’ve got it! Cartilage, right?”
The shark seemed disappointed. “That’s correct.”
Konami crouched down again. “You know what else is made of cartilage?”
The shark was silent.
He reached carefully under the costume and tweaked the child’s nose. “Your nose! And now I’ve got it!” He put his thumb between his fingers and showed the child.
“No you don’t, it’s right here!” the youngster laughed.
Konami reached into his pocket and offered a candy to the child. “Who wants to be next?”
Each child took a turn, asking Konami and Madani a question about the animal they chose. Nominally, they didn’t have to provide a treat if they answered the question correctly, but most Aoteans ignored that rule and gave out something regardless. The delighted children moved on, and the MOMbot gave Konami a curious nod before following.
Madani clapped her hands together. “Beast’s Eve always makes me smile.”
“Me too,” he responded, trying to match her enthusiasm. “I look forward to it every year.”
“Not year, silly. Cycle.”
Konami cringed. “Yeah, cycle, of course.” It was one of many little mistakes that marked him as an Earther. Aotea’s destination, Samwise, which orbited a planet that was much closer to its small sun than Earth, only had a “year” of about thirty Earth days. For holidays, birthdays, and similar events, Aoteans followed “cycles” consisting of ten Samwise years, adding up to three hundred days. Konami still couldn’t help thinking in Earth months and years instead of Samwise-years and cycles.
“Did you have Halloween, on the Jovian moons?” asked Konami.
“Halloween?”
“Old Earth holiday. Not everywhere, but it’s real big in North America. Beast’s Eve rips it off.” He started to explain the differences in the two holidays before being interrupted by a chirp.
Konami excused himself and stepped aside, answering the call. It was Emer – missing person: female, seventeen cycles, Fiona Vasquez. Her parents reported that she’d been missing and out of contact for several hours. The duty constable also sent him the interview transcripts.
Seventeen cycles — that’s about fourteen or fifteen Earth years.
“What’s going on?” asked Madani.
“Missing person. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut short our walk.” He tamped down the embarrassment he felt just for being excited by the chance to be useful.
“Can I help? Maybe they’ll need a doctor.”
Konami almost smiled at this. Maybe she really likes me. “As long as you can keep up.”
He crouched down for a moment, petting Kostya, and gave her the order “Go home.” She took one last look and dutifully set out for his quarters, obedient as always. After that he set out immediately, barking orders into his wearable, to inform watchstanders and assign searchers.
Beta reserves might be a bit much, he thought, but it couldn’t hurt the department to get a little extra action, considering how habitually underworked they were. Once again, he felt that rush of pleasure — his mind and body were telling him that this was great. He decided not to feel bad about it — after all, there was a missing child. Maybe enthusiasm could help find her.
Madani asked where they were going.
“Not sure yet.” After scanning the interview, Konami called Emer once again. “Lee, it’s Cy. Vasquez’s parents mention a boyfriend, someone they don’t seem to approve of. Javier Khama.”
“Already on it. Calling him every few minutes, but no answer. Gregorian’s talking to Khama’s father.”
Konami ended the call and buzzed Gregorian – his Deputy had talked to Will Khama, a GravTran Engineer, but he had no idea where his son was.
He considered the information so far. Where would a young couple go…?
Madani asked how she could help. He considered asking her to call up her reserve MedTechs and nurses, just for extra bodies for the search, but decided it wasn’t necessary yet.
They were heading for the arena — he guessed that, when no events were being held, it would have a plethora of cozy hiding spots for a young couple. Bystanders and other Aoteans gave way, sensing the official purpose in Konami and Madani’s stride. His wearable beeped — Emer had ordered all stations to report any recent anomalies, and he scrolled through the list, hazy in the air in front of him, uncertain of how it might help. Most were extremely minor malfunctions and log corrections, but one triggered something in Konami’s mind, recalling the duties of the boyfriend’s father, as they cut across a basketball court, and he thumbed a call to Gravity and Transportation Central.
A GT2 Udval answered. “Second, this is CI Konami. You got the message about the search?”
“Affirmative, CI. My rover is searching the machinery spaces as we speak.”
“What was this Ring malfunction you reported?”
“It was in the aft Ring — car four is having hatch problems. I’ve taken it offline. No big deal — the other cars will pick up any passengers until we get it fixed.”
Konami ended the call, turned around abruptly and, despite her long legs, Madani had to jog to follow his strides. They descended the nearest ladderwell and a moveway quickly zipped them to the central Ring. The Ring was still, sparing him the need of calling it, and they crossed through to the aft Can. Another moveway took them to the aft Ring, and Konami entered his override code to call car four.
He was about to force the door open when Madani grabbed his arm.
“Wait, Cy. They’re kids. They’ll be in enough trouble… do we really need to embarrass them too?”
He put his ear to the door and stifled a laugh — nothing but heavy breathing and moaning.
Madani listened as well and frowned at him. “Come on, Cy — we were all young once. Give them a break.”
He put in a call to Emer, directing them to cancel the search and send deputies.
The chief inspector unhooked his belt buckle, the only metal he had on him, and used it to bang on the door.
After a moment of scuffling sounds and muffled voices, the young lovers emerged sheepishly, but at least they were fully clothed. Konami hid his amusement and looked sternly at the skinny, lanky youth. He asked what he’d done to the door.
The boy looked at the deck and mumbled something. Konami took a step forward. “Speak up! This ship is our home, Mr. Khama. Damaging a system could hurt someone, and it’s a serious crime.”
“There’s no damage!” cried the boy, rushing inside of the car and lifting a plate off the bulkhead, gesturing that Konami should come and see. “Look here — I just put it in local maintenance mode and locked the door shut. It’s Dad’s system — doesn’t do anything bad.” He flipped a switch. “It’s back now, it’s fine. No damage at all!”
“Okay. That’s a warning, Mr. Khama. I’m making a note with your name. No more tricks. If you want some alone time, then you’ll just have to find another way.”
“Yes, Chief Inspector.”
“That goes for you too, Ms. Vasquez. No more going missing. You ruined a dozen family dinners tonight.”
The young girl was crying, and Konami had to resist the urge to comfort her. “I’m sorry, Chief Inspector. We just…”
His deputies arrived, and Konami told them to escort the teens back to their parents.
Madani gave a throaty laugh after the deputies left with their charges. “So how often does that happen?”
“Missing person? Well, not too—”
“Kind of gives me an id
ea…” She took his hand and led him into the Ring car.
“Wait… what are you – oh. Yeah.”
CHAPTER 14
Mattoso waited in Data Central, a crowded space near the forward Ring, buzzing with computer terminals. A jenji cat roamed the terminals, meowing in front of each tech until she got the scratch or pat she desired. The XO had said that the murder investigation was complete. But XO isn’t here. Days before, Lieutenant Mattoso had made an appointment with the Data Systems department chief, Master Tech Lopez, to go over DT1 Muahe’s routine and duties. She had no other duties at the moment, so she decided not to cancel the appointment. She knew the XO might tell her that the investigation was over. But something still went wrong. Even if it was just a gear malfunction, the engineer in her wanted to know. Even more than that, whe wanted to make sure it didn’t happen again and hurt one of her shipmates.
Lopez was scowling. “I’m rather busy at the moment, Lieutenant, but DT3 Wren here would be happy to take you through Theo’s basic routine.” He immediately left for some other task.
Wren was short, slight, and round-hipped, and so bursting with youth that Mattoso wondered if he had finished growing. “Well, Lieutenant, I’m here to help in any way I can.” The smarmy tone of the technician’s high-pitched voice did not lend confidence to his words.
Mattoso asked to go through Muahe’s routine. The young tech scowled for an instant before demonstrating his department’s most common duties, one of which appeared to be affectionately nuzzling the department cat.
The tasks of data technicians were somehow both endlessly convoluted and endlessly tedious, but then perhaps her Operations tasks, balancing in real time the oft-conflicting power and system needs of the myriad of departments on board Aotea, would be equally unpleasant to data technicians.
Mattoso’s mind drifted during Wren’s droning. In her off time she had been compiling sources on an interest of hers, the history of the formation of the Society for a New Humanity, and the organization’s ultimate goal, the construction and launch of the colony ship that she and twenty thousand others called home. There were gigs and gigs of data on most cycles in the decades prior to launch, but there were frustrating gaps, coinciding with apparent dips in SNH influence and wealth. Maybe I’ll ask Elena Conneer. The journalist seemed to have access to information ranging from the obscure to the forgotten. She surprised herself by realizing that just a few cycles ago, the idea of bypassing the ship’s records onboard for an unofficial source of information would have struck her as dubious, if not sacrilegious.
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