by Chris Hechtl
“So, we really do have people leaving?” Elliot made a face. “That sucks.” He had a loyalty to the company, and it wasn't bred or programmed in. At least he didn't think so. It was a hard realization that the company was the best out there. They were big on protecting the Neo's interests and rights. He couldn't say the same for the other corporations or even some governments.
“People are disappearing. Your kind of people, Elliot, Neos specifically.” Roman saw the chimp's brown eyes turn thoughtful. “You've looked online; once they go off the grid, there is no sign of them electronically ever again. Ever,” Roman stated. Elliot nodded. The chimp started to protest but Roman waved a hand. “Okay, technically two were no longer with Lagroose, but you know the drill. We keep an eye out on them anyways.”
“Gee, I'm really feeling the love here, boss, honest,” the Neochimp joked. Roman glared at him. The Neo shrugged the ill look off. Elliot knew the real reasons. Not only was the company afraid of the Neos turning against them but they were also concerned that if the Neos got into trouble the company would be splattered in any sort of fall out.
“Let's see here … I did this before, but let's see if your fresh eyes pick out any common denominators that I missed,” Elliot murmured. He pulled up a map of their last known locations based on their electronic traffic. Cell tower pings, credit card use, and other means were overlaid. He tried to see some sort of pattern but only one sprang to mind. But two pieces of evidence contradicted the immediate conclusion. Then there was the other thing. Every Neo had some sort of cyber implant, usually just a company IFF. But many had a built-in Wi-Fi or cell to communicate with as well. For those to go down as well meant they were truly off the grid. And these days that was nearly impossible to achieve.
“So, they could be dead.” Roman winced. “One? Two? Why would someone take them out? I mean, if they wanted to copy a Neo, no offense kid, but they'd just need a couple DNA samples. Killing someone seems excessive.”
“Unless it is voluntary. Normally we'd get a shout out from the implants if it was foul play,” Elliot mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
Elliot could read his boss's mind. It was easy to do, Security had two major headaches where Neos were concerned. The usual crap about someone turning rogue and giving away the company's secrets. That was always a concern. But there was another one; one they didn't talk about. The concern tied into the Neos going off grid. “Going primal is a real concern,” Roman told him, as if reading his mind. “You and I both know we don't need that. A Neo going nuts is a serious threat,” he stated as he shook his head.
Elliot winced. He'd had to handle a couple of those cases. He'd had to talk down two chimps who had lost their cool and gone apeshit. “It could be something else. I mean, we're talking Gorillas and Orangutans too,” he said.
“True.”
“They could have done something else. Gone camping or something,” Elliot said desperate. “Bitten off more than they could chew?” he winced internally. Even he didn't sound like he believed that one.
Roman shook his head. “Not possible.”
“Going native may not be all bad,” Elliot mused. Such an idea had been toyed with by many Neos for years.
Roman shook his head in disgust. “Don't kid yourself. It's not like you think groundside. You've seen it virtually and on the news but that doesn't cover half of it. It stinks. It is dirty, and crowded. There aren't wild places to go native. Or at least not many. Besides, someone somewhere would have mentioned seeing them, even if it was in social media. They haven't. You know that; the spiders and facial recognition have turned up a blank.” Elliot nodded glumly. “So if you're expecting them to have gone into hiding as a legendary Bigfoot, think again. It isn't that easy. Not in this day and age.”
“True. But if they don't want to be found …,” he could see his boss looking mulishly and sighed internally. “You don't know until you look, boss,” Elliot replied with a shrug.
“And that's where you come in,” Roman said.
Elliot eyed him. “Come again?”
“You. We need an off-the-books look into this.”
“And you want me? Boss, I'm cyber now not …,” Elliot indicated the dirty mud ball. “I don't know the people or the players. I don't know the environment. Hire a PI!”
“We've done that. They sniff around and come up empty,” Roman said.
“So you've known about this for a while?”
Roman smiled politely, his way of letting the chimp know he was making himself look stupid. Elliot grunted. His mind raced as he tried to see it from all the angles. Roman had drawn him in, let him form his own conclusions so he'd become invested into the investigation. Both emotionally and intellectually. He wanted someone who wanted to see it through or who wasn't afraid of taking risks. His eyes shifted back and forth. He was being played, knew it, but didn't care. At the bottom of it was the simple truth, his people, their people were disappearing. Once, twice … but this was more than that. It stank of foul play. “Of course. So that means ….”
“You get to go look around. Use your … unique perspective. See what you can come up with.”
“You want me to bird dog. You want bait,” Elliot accused, immediately seeing the obvious. Roman cocked his head and then nodded. “Yeah, that's right. I'm trained, so I can get myself out of easy shit. But I'm bait.”
“Yes.”
“You better damn well have the Calvary lined up to back my hairy ass up. And I mean on a moment's notice.” Elliot said.
“So you'll do it?”
“If you've got a tactical shuttle prepped, yes. I don't want some other poor schmuck dragged in. But I'm serious, Roman, I want coverage.” Elliot said, eyes locking onto his boss's. He threw as much seriousness into the statement as he could, knowing deep down it was probably futile. The company could say all it wanted but in the end it was Earth; it was the grounder's jurisdiction. Then there was denial, able to deny him and cover things up if things go south, which they could. He tried to put that thought out of his mind. “You'd better come in shooting and to hell with protocol if I start shrieking for help.”
“Understood,” Roman stated, standing and sticking his hand out. Elliot shook it, giving it a warning squeeze. “Check in every six hours.” Elliot nodded. “Good hunting.”
Elliot found his new orders and pass in his inbox the moment he left Roman's office. Since Athena wasn't involved, he was fairly certain Roman had put it all together in advance. That meant he really had been played. Not that he really had much to complain about, or at least he'd thought so initially.
Roman had sent him to Earth on a regular liner run. Coach was okay. He'd endured the usual looks, but that was fine. He was being sent down to investigate not live in the lap of luxury. Security had a budget after all; he knew that.
But what did irk him a bit was that he had been ticketed to ride the beanstalk down instead of a shuttle, which told him a lot about the priorities of the investigation. He seethed a bit but took the time to do background on the players and possible victims.
During his travels he had nothing to do but read, watch videos, the news, or sleep. And since he was anxious and didn't care for the news, he read. Or more accurately, he tied himself into the company mainframe and had his little corner of heaven run a cross reference to see what popped. He deliberately set the filters low and the time line wide. If it was foul play, they could have been targeted weeks or even months before their disappearance. If they were pros, that was most likely what they'd do.
Then again, it could be local lynch mobs. He frowned thoughtfully. If they had local PD help to cover their tracks … he tapped the stylus against his lips as he thought dark thoughts. “Yes, indeedy,” he murmured, putting the stylus down.
He found a thread in common; they had each gone to a party of certain conservative rich people. Four of the dates of their disappearances were within an hour of the party, two others less than twelve hours afterward. The other
three had dropped off the map within twenty-four hours of a party. Two of the parties had taken place on North American soil, one in Europe, but the other six had taken place in Africa near Mozambique. "It can't be that simple," he thought.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully then tugged on his big ears. It also explained why he'd been chosen he realized. He had been chosen not just because of his training and good looks, only because of his looks. Neos were a novelty, something new on Earth. Something for the humans to point at and snicker I bet, he grumbled internally, brown eyes flickering with concept.
The cynical thought made him snort softly. That and the cynicism towards Roman. Of course he was bait! And they were doing a double blind too. He had no idea where his backup was … or if he even had any! He shook his head. That was probably a good thing; if he relied on backup, he was liable to get himself in deeper than he should. By moving without the thought of a net, he would be more cautious or so he reasoned Roman's thinking was.
But he could do the double and triple think. Did Roman realize that? Of course. He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. The problem with his boss was that he was too damned cute for Elliot's own good. This shit could easily get him killed if he wasn't careful. So it was definitely best to proceed with caution.
He had to start somewhere though he thought. The party circuit. It could be a dead end, but it could be something else. Besides, it was the only lead he had. He started out by creating a social media history for his cover identity, a back story complete with images and material he mined from his personal files.
Elliot wangled an invite to the party circuit by flashing his Lagroose credentials as a computer tech consultant. Lagroose had been slowly pulling in its horns but a few people, especially lobbyists and businessmen, who were interested in making contacts by any means possible were around.
He put up on his false social media and posted his interest in checking out the party scene. When a few people at the beanstalk eyed him, he just nodded to them.
“What are you here for?” the customs agent asked.
“Vacation. I also want to see the sights and maybe look for alternative work,” the chimp said.
“Ah, well, I'll put you down as tourist,” the agent said with a half-smile.
“Suits me,” the chimp said with a shrug as he took his passport out and passed it over. It was archaic. He didn't need a physical thing; he had his implants. But he had to play along. Some grounders had implants but some of the poorer set did not. Besides, it was best to keep some things in reserve.
“Do you have a place to stay?” the customs agent said. “The Pavilion hotel is … um ….” He looked down to the chimp's passport. “Um … sorry,” he said, pushing the passport back.
“Just because I'm with Lagroose doesn't mean I don't mind dipping in different pools from time to time,” Elliot replied. “Besides, Lagroose isn't into the entertainment industry groundside, so I've got to stay somewhere, right?” He smiled ruefully as the agent nodded.
“Well, tell Selma that Asuma told you to be there. She'll take care of you,” the agent said.
“Will do,” the Neochimp replied with a nod and two-finger salute.
“Next?” the agent said, looking over the chimp's shoulder.
The monorail to the hotel was just as smelly as he'd expected, also covered in graffiti. He'd had a couple of dark and questioning looks shot his way, but he'd ignored them. Seeing a chimp dressed and carrying luggage was still new, but apparently the crowd wasn't the curious sort.
When he checked into the hotel electronically, he paused at the entrance as the doorman stared at him. “You gonna open that?” the chimp asked. The kid blinked, and then opened the door. “Thanks,” Elliot said. He paused as a couple of older people came out, then went inside.
The lobby was nice, a mix of ornate and modern. He liked the wood. He didn't care for the animal heads mounted around the room though.
“Hi, I'm checking in. I did so electronically,” he said as he walked up to the reception desk. “The customs agent Asuma said to say hi to Selma?”
“She's on break,” the girl said, simpering a bit. “But I'll let her know.” He passed over his passport to her. She keyed in his information and then passed back his passport and key card.
“Say, you wouldn't happen to know of any good parties in the area.”
“Parties?”
“Yeah. I'm on vacation and well …,” Elliot shrugged as he made some small talk with the receptionist, building his cover story.
“I'll see what I can do. I know a few raves in the area, but I don't know if you'd um ….”
Elliot frowned. “I'm into socializing. I don't swing your way, no offense,” he said, waving a hand. She smiled politely. “I'm upper management in the computer department so going to a rave is a young man's game anyway. I was thinking something more slower.”
“I see,” she murmured. She nodded. “If I hear of anything, I'll let you know, sir. But most of those occasions require an invitation, usually in advance.”
Elliot frowned then shrugged. “Well, thanks anyway,” he said. He chuffed and then picked up his bag when the bellhop made no move to come to his side.
He was amused when he stood at the elevator and saw the girl on the phone over his shoulders. She was putting in a call to someone he thought. If he could just read her lips …. When she glanced his way, he realized it was indeed about him. He was curious enough to want to check who she was calling but cautious enough to refrain. There was no telling what sort of cybersecurity the hotel employed.
The soft ding of the elevator car's arrival saved him. He went inside, turned and pressed the fourth floor button. As the door closed, he could see her still talking with someone and keying information on her computer.
When he got to his room, he dropped his luggage and then looked around. Small, quaint but adequate. He frowned thoughtfully. Should he hit the gym and let it be known he was looking to party? No, the bar would be the better idea.
He frowned when the wall screen lit. “What the …” he went over and touched the button activating it. He frowned as a series of messages appeared from the management. He ignored most of them; Roman had damn well be covering the tab. That got him to grin slightly as he turned to the wet bar. Definitely, he thought. He hit the bar, pulled out a tiny bottle of sour mash, and then poured it in a shot glass. He sipped at it as he read the other messages.
Some were from various businesses and theme parks in the area wanting his business. He scrolled down, registering them mentally but really ignoring them. When he got to the party invites, he nodded. “Well, that was easy,” he said, tapping one. It opened immediately. “A party of the Conservative African Association. Interesting,” he murmured. He expanded it, scanned the dress code, the location, then the known guest list. Apparently local celebrities were on the hook to be there as well as some politicians and even some major heavy weights on the world stage. “Better and better,” he murmured. If it didn't pan out, he'd have the contacts to look deeper he judged. He clicked accept.
He snorted when it came in. He'd thought it would have been harder, that he would have had to have gotten a job with the caterer or something. But apparently Neos were some sort of minor celebrities to the grounders still. It was fashionable to have one at a party.
“I should practice my bowing and scraping. “Yes master,” he said, mockingly. He shook his head and chuffed to himself. It might be better to be seen and not heard though, he thought. Not make waves. He frowned, toying with the idea.
There were different ways of doing an investigation. Going in subtle, checking things out, and then doing a report. The secret agent shtick. Then there was the here-I-am approach, going in, making waves and then seeing how people reacted.
“Oh, who am I kidding? I'm making it up as I go along. Admit it,” he said, shaking his head ruefully.
He filed a report with security and then prepped for the party. He
pulled out his best suit and hung it up on a hook on the bathroom door. It was already pressed and cleaned. He was pretty sure the tuxedo would be hell outside, but it would make him look dashing and definitely presentable. But first a shower and a snack, he thought.
He took a taxi an hour early to the party at a local rich businessman's estate. It was pretty swanky, a large estate with a concrete wall around it. Ornate metal fencing and Negro guards carrying what he assumed were automatic weapons. He nodded in approval. It wouldn't be good if the rich and pampered were despoiled by the dregs of society… or worse, kidnapped or killed.
Somehow seeing the guys with guns didn't comfort him much. Maybe because he was pretty sure they weren't on his side. When he saw the look of one guy, the way his jaw set, he felt definitely lonely and bare-ass naked.
“What am I getting myself into,” he murmured as he paid the cab.
He was shown in by an usher and then introduced to a cluster of other early guests. Most were local politicians and businessmen. He smiled politely to them. They spoke Portuguese. His implants could translate it, but he pretended ignorance when one guy tried to sell him some knickknack or something or other.
He scanned the group as people came in. Most came in as couples, though there were a few exceptions. One guy came in with a woman on either arm. Elliot at first thought that the younger of the two women was their daughter, but when she felt the old leech up, he changed his tune.
There were a few sheiks there as well as the usual security guards. He could tell he was being checked out too. When his facial recognition caught sight of Timothy Blant, a local Lagroose contact, he nodded to him and moved on. Blant frowned thoughtfully his way and made a move to intercept the chimp but was cut off by a simpering female.
Elliot smiled slightly in relief. He didn't want Blant to get too close. It was nice to know he had someone else in the company around, but he didn't know if he could trust the tall guy. And since he didn't know, he wasn't about to do so.