by J. F. Holmes
She held out her hands in a placating gesture and stood up straight. Her foot bumped the button resting on the floor behind Dagen. The decision came with no effort. She shifted her toes and slid them over Dagen’s button, then pressed until she heard a tiny click as it locked closed. He’d called it his last resort. Patty trusted her husband with her life, even after his death. She didn’t need to know what the button did. She only needed to know it was a gift from the husband she had doubted unjustly for so many years.
A thump reverberated through the station. He wouldn’t have rigged explosives to destroy the station, so what had he done? There were no depressurization alarms. The citizen’s eyes darted back and forth as if he was reading something in the air before him once again. He called out his side of a private conversation. “Yes. Can you override it?” He paused. “Then destroy it!”
His voice raised an octave. “What do you mean there are no weapon systems available for that flight path? Who approved the maintenance? Cancel that. Where is it headed?” He paused. “Warn the assembly! Evacuate them now!”
He raced to the observation window. Patty turned to watch without moving. A megaton block of ice fell away from the station with booster rockets ablaze at full power, accelerating at an angle toward Earth’s surface. Dagen’s booster rockets. Dagen’s last resort, and his version of justice. She used her toe to nudge the remote trigger underneath her husband’s body while the citizen stared out the window, horror-struck.
In a submissive monotone, she said, “citizen, I have nobody left. What can I do to help?”
“You’ve done a wonderful job right where you are. Let me know when your inspections find anything special coming through the station.” He left her with a contact number as he rushed away, yelling at someone on the other end of his communications link.
Dagen had had his revenge. Discovering her own final form of justice for her family might be long in coming, but that wasn’t a problem.
***
In less than three months, the UN banned orbital strikes. Whether out of humanitarian concerns, or because they feared they’d be outnumbered and out-bombed by lawless rebels, the result was the same. The news reports quoted unnamed sources from rebel groups who all condemned the attack upon the UN and supported the ban. None claimed responsibility for Dagen’s projectile, despite rumors and finger pointing.
Patty mourned her family as lost, not daring to dig too openly to find out if Daniel or Bonita still lived. All she could do was subscribe to their local news feeds and keep an eye out for their names. It was child’s play to hide the occasional name search in the endless streams of data going through the refueling station. She found nothing to confirm whether they were alive or dead. No news at all.
She cut herself off from Dagen’s friends, but she monitored everything possible from a distance. The contact would look bad on her record, and she needed to shine as a spotless beacon of dedication.
She still reported the clumsiest of contraband shipments, letting through the best disguised. Finally, she found a shipment worthy of the citizen’s time. The rebels would lose out on some stolen military gear, but she was after something big. She pulled up her tablet and sent a note to Citizen Sharp.
Patty smiled as a reply came back that he would be on the next shuttle from a nearby station, also in geostationary orbit.
He joined Patty before her shift ended. “This is quite a find.”
“I was lucky to find it. An exhaustive crosscheck with the UN private network could have made it easier, but I have my tricks.” The balance she sought was to express a need without asking for help. She played upon his ego and his desire to lay claim to all the credit for the discovery.
“Interesting,” he said. “I’ll make sure a commendation appears in your records.”
Patty swallowed her disappointment as he failed to take the bait, but she didn’t need to win the contest in the first round.
The shipment patterns changed over time as she captured the tier just below the best. The top-tier smugglers learned from their mistakes, and it became a game to teach them what she’d flag and what she wouldn’t. When someone got sloppy, they lost everything. The trickiest part was to coax them to send her an occasional sacrificial shipment for her to report to Citizen Sharp.
A load of military-grade laser crystals laced with rare-earth compounds sat right on the border of what she would turn in. She made the call, and Citizen Sharp arrived.
She gestured toward the crate. “I don’t know why they keep trying. We must intercept most of what they send.” It was an absolute truth, and she wondered at the desperation that drove smugglers to lose ninety percent of their shipments. It was an odd business if it could survive on that thin a margin of success.
“Not all inspectors do as well as you, Ms. DeMarco. I don’t feel I need to supervise any more of your military discoveries at this point. Let me know when you find anything unusual. You mentioned network access some time ago. Would that help in your search?”
Patty recognized his personality now from those she’d exposed and turned in. She saw the hunger for an advantage, and for prestige. “Yes, I’m sure I could identify new categories of smuggling for you with the right access to crosscheck inventories and shippers. I will do my best.” Citizen Sharp left as he’d arrived, all starch and posture in an immaculate suit with shoes polished to a mirror finish.
She’d misjudged him. His disregard for military and technical gear gave her a new avenue to explore. He wasn’t the paragon of virtue, the defender of justice and humanity. He was a collector of class and power. He wanted to be a bigger fish in the pond.
It was time to retool, to search shipments in new ways. Patty backed off and let more of the best-hidden materials through as she learned to target not the rebels, but the citizens themselves.
Her eye went to all those cargo containers supposedly verified on the surface by regulators before shipment. They were outside her jurisdiction, untouchable so long as the seals were valid.
Her only resource was the secure network. Soon, her automated scripts searched through senders and shippers, flagging those associated with citizens. A pattern emerged from the data. Goods moved in particular ways through multiple channels.
She didn’t know what they shipped, but it added up to billions per year based on insurance policies alone.
With her new security credentials and a few custom searches in hand, Patti made a voice call to the surface. The expense of the call tugged at her sensibilities, but her plan came first.
“Hello, Judge Jibonya. This is Patty DeMarco. I’m an associate of Citizen Sharp, who presided at your recent promotion.” She took a huge risk. If news of her namedropping reached the citizen, her plans might all crumble, depending on something as trivial as his mood. This was a tipping point. She would either propel herself forward or break against a wall.
“Ah, yes. What can I do for you?”
Patty glanced at her notes. “I know this is unusual, but I have a broad-spectrum warrant request. I’m a cargo inspector at the orbital refueling station, and I have reason to suspect some pre-approved ground shipments may contain smuggled cargo. The rebels are a clever lot, but I think we can shut them down.”
After a pause longer than the normal orbital communication delay, the judge said, “That’s a broad designation. Can’t you use a narrowly-scoped warrant?”
“I’m afraid I can’t narrow the scope without an extensive search in this case. I’ve promised Citizen Sharp I would do my best. All I can do at this point is provide you with a crosschecked list of shipments and shippers, with my notes on where I’ll begin my search. I’m sending it now for your reference.” Her prepared list contained obscure terminology with enough data to cost her two paychecks in transmission fees. It would take an expert like herself weeks to parse the information, with the final result flagging particular shippers and insurance companies. The data showed valid research, in case anyone ever went to the trouble of reviewing it in deta
il. She carefully omitted information tying everything to citizens, including Citizen Sharp. The links were merely implied by the data.
The judge said, “I’ll have my staff review your request.”
He didn’t sound convinced. She pulled out her last lever, weak as it was. “Thank you for your help. I’ll put in a good word for you with Citizen Sharp the next time he visits.”
Patty’s work suffered because of her nervousness. Had she pushed too hard? Not hard enough? Would the citizen find out and reprimand her? A reprimand wasn’t anywhere near the worst that could happen. She remembered her family and worked to maintain a steely calm from day to day.
Then the approval came. Relying on the laziness of mid-level bureaucrats had paid off. Her anticipation changed to the hunger of a predator.
With her new authority, Patty spotted and let several illegal luxury shipments go through as she worked out her new methods. Dealing with the arms smugglers was child’s play at this point. They knew how to keep her away from their business and gave her enough token shipments to keep her reputation high as she delved into the new area.
She kept a list. Every item, every source, every destination. She unlocked seals she would have ignored in the past and resealed them with authentic security verifications.
With Judge Jibonya’s warrant, she had a new avenue to make contacts up and down the judicial system. Patty gained new clearances, and contacts free of a connection to any particular citizen. Even the news networks opened to her. She conducted anonymous interviews, describing her work to protect the people of both Earth and the colony worlds by disarming dangerous factions and stamping out smuggling.
To one contact she said, “I’m on the trail of something large.”
To another, the message was related but differently. “I’m worried about the risk. If I should disappear, here’s a digital key where my work will appear.”
In the midst of her efforts, she found word that Daniel and Bonita had been released from a work camp. They were alive. They’d gone along with everything instead of fighting. She sent a message through multiple dead drops to tell them to keep a low profile, to be as invisible as possible, and to stay safe. She didn’t want them endangered by her work or through their own actions.
When the time was right, she whetted Citizen Sharp’s appetite. She placed a call from the cargo transfer station. “Citizen, I’ve discovered a shipment of Chinese artifacts from the fourteenth century. They’re labeled as throw rugs.” She’d only dared to find things for him tied to outworlders this time, and not to citizens.
He arrived within an hour to inspect the cargo. “I’ll take over this investigation personally. Thank you for your hard work.” He viewed the seals on the container, all opened with full authorization. “You’ve been busy. I admire your initiative.”
“The better to serve, Citizen.” She’d passed the tipping point without triggering his wrath.
Workers removed the container within the hour, and all digital tracking of the shipment vanished by the next day as if it had never been sent.
***
Patty maintained her tiny apartment, too small to hide stolen goods. It wouldn’t do to endanger herself, no matter the value of the prizes. That wasn’t part of the plan. She felt a smug satisfaction returning home on more than one occasion to discover minute signs of searches. A hairbrush upside down in a drawer, or a display at not quite the right angle. They wouldn’t find so much as a paperclip from her work office, but the data tablet she kept with her now connected her to everything, from security codes to false identities.
It was time to bring her project to a close.
The day started as they all had recently. She checked in at her office, then moved on to a pressurized cargo bay. Several promising shipments sat at the top of her checklist.
First, she examined her list of citizen contraband. The first crate exposed more artifacts, but those would be too easy to track. Gemstones were the same, with the way they often had laser-etched microprinting, or certificates of authenticity detailing their inclusions. Then she found the bank notes. Sure, they were archaic, but they were untraceable, unlike digital currencies. Step one, check.
The rebels were at the top of their game, but she was better. An innocuous shipment of screen semiconductors hid a crate of military explosives. Step two, check.
A standard shipment to miners in the asteroid belt took care of the last item. She couldn’t take her own pressure suit, or the wrong questions would be asked. Step three, check. She glanced at her timer. Dagen would be proud.
***
The news blared from a nearby screen. “Information has come to light at the death of a highly-placed source in Earth orbit. Citizens from various factions have called for each other’s resignations in the face of widespread theft and misappropriation. The case is tied to an explosion in a refueling station. Reports say it’s a miracle only one life was lost in the conflagration. Much of the debris from the explosion burned up in orbit, or hit in a string of impacts running through Malaysia and the South Pacific, leaving the door open forever on this mystery. Some claim it was an assassination to silence the source, said to be an inspector with a stellar record of service.”
Patty sipped a drink as she leaned back in her recliner. Her open deck faced the alien ocean as a breeze tossed the fronds of lace trees, triggering a scent somewhere between cloves and cedar. She had no idea how long the citizens would tear at each other like caged animals, but until their ideological purge was complete, she had plenty to occupy her time.
“Daniel, could you see if Bonita wants to go out on the boat today?”
________________________
John M. Olsen reads and writes fantasy, science-fiction, steampunk, and horror as the mood strikes, and his short fiction is part of several anthologies. He devoured his father's library in his teen years and has since inherited that formidable collection and merged it with his own growing library in order to pass a love of learning on to the next generation. He lives near the Oquirrh Mountains in Utah with his lovely wife and a variable number of mostly grown children and a constantly changing subset of extended family.
After Party
by Sean McCune
______________________
Present Day
Merlin’s Ghost, Gaulle, Suspected Ally of the Indie System, Accord Station, 2342 hrs Station Standard Time, 0142 hrs Ship Time
Merlin’s Ghost exited fold and started broadcasting an emergency beacon. This was Saully Jenkin’s idea, so they wouldn’t be blown away immediately by whatever Indie contingent occupied this system. They were, after all, in an old model UN military freighter.
“Well, this is inspiring,” Tito Sabastian-Rivera commented as he continued to repair the air handler. The repair was slow going. His side was still healing up from the scrap they’d had three weeks earlier. But he was still listening in on Jack and Rosia attempting to make contact with the Indies. “Nice to make friends so easily.” He grunted a bit pushing the panels back in place. “I’m finished down here, but the backup to the backup valve is using a makeshift seal from the aft toilet. Reliable patch, eh?”
“Maybe we’ll live long enough to regret this whole thing,” Jack chuckled. Why aren’t they answering our hails? Jack worried. It wasn’t like the Indies to ignore distress beacons. “Rosia, what we got on the HUD?”
“Nada.” Rosia refined the scans further and upped the radar and lidar power. “Less than nada. I’m not even getting routing data from the marker buoys.” She tapped a few controls and swept again with thermal sensors. “No energy readings. No signs of life. No ship traffic. It’s like they abandoned it all.”
Why? she wondered. Rosia Cortney Young, former fighter pilot for the UN Navy, continued the thought with obvious possibilities that made her shudder. The UN could have ploughed through, using any number of tactics including radiological, thermal, biological, or even chemical means.
***
“Guess we’ll have to find o
ut,” Jack Quincy replied. Saully’s information was recent and accurate. He doubted it would be this far off the mark, and his gut didn’t like the feel of this. They were mere light seconds out from the station, and no one had even given so much as a challenge to their intrusion into Indie space.
The ship moved closer to the station, avoiding the various asteroids and other clouds of processed leftovers usually cleaned up by automated machines, but without directions, the mechanoid craft sat motionless, awaiting orders that wouldn’t come.
Rosia gently banked the ship and pulled into an abandoned docking station. The lights were off, but the automated docking clamps and other devices engaged her ship and drew it into the station berth like a woman nestling her newborn. That’s when the data net connected and a flash of information flooded the ship’s computers. A hard warning of data breeches, and the systems shut down. On the virtual ship system, that is.
“I’m glad we kept that engaged!” Saully grinned as he searched the data stream that had shut down the virtual systems they’d previously put in place for other reasons. “Damn, this is some serious coding going down here. Links splitting off in a million redundant pairs, targeting everything. Literally made to bypass every control and command structure.” He shook his head in slow disbelief.
“So, what you’re trying to say is, it’s a virus?” Tito stared with interest over Saully’s shoulder.
“More like a leviathan than a virus.” Saully examined a few more batches of code. “This leviathan is more like a dreadnought. Hard smashing of everything it touches. I recommend we don’t connect to any systems at all!”
“Duh!” Rosia blurted out unceremoniously before grabbing some gear and putting on her suit’s helmet and gloves. “Time to check this place out. I recommend weapons, no?” There were no objections.