Planetside

by Michael Mammay

  “You like it?”

  “Yes, sir, it’s okay. I liked it down at the ground level better,” he said.

  “We all do, I think. Why don’t you show me what you’ve got here?” I gestured to his screen.

  “Yes, sir. You can sit here, if you want.” Sandoval pulled one of the other chairs over and slid slightly to the side so I could see. “This is a live feed.”

  “That’s a ship?” I asked, pointing to a blue track moving slowly across the screen. I knew it was. I could read most of a radar feed, but I wanted to let him tell me. For a tech, they lived with their machine, knew its quirks as well as I knew my wife’s. They loved it. You could hear the pride they took in their work. And if you showed respect, they’d work magic for you.

  “Yes, sir. You can tell it’s a small transport by the symbol, and if I hover over it, like this . . .” He toggled an arrow onto the slow-moving symbol. “It gives me all of the data. Speed, attitude, call sign, destination. And if I click on it, I can open up even more. Alternate frequencies, manifest . . .”

  “That’s excellent. This is exactly what I need.” I didn’t know he’d be able to pull a manifest. That could prove useful. “You can replay data from an earlier time?”

  “Yes, sir. Everything for the last two years, give or take. Every month or so they pull the oldest month and ship it to the archives, so the machines don’t bog down. What date do you need to look at?”

  “Thirteen eleven, starting around twelve hundred hours.”

  “Too easy, sir. Give me a second.” He clicked a few times and typed in some data. He could have called it up by voice, but most of the techs preferred to type. I never asked why.

  Sandoval stared at the screen. He tapped some more keys, paused, then tapped some more, a little more strenuously. Universal tech language that something wasn’t working.

  “What’s wrong?” I kept my tone even, not accusing, trying to act like a co-conspirator, not a boss.

  “Sir . . . I don’t know. The data’s not there.” He typed in something else and a series of tracks appeared on the screen, then he tried it again and got a different set of similar graphics.

  “Is that it?” I asked.

  “No, sir. This is three days after the date you wanted. Sixteen eleven. And before, I pulled up ten eleven. Three days prior to the date you wanted.”

  “So the data is missing?” My gut tightened and a chill rippled through my body that had nothing to do with refrigerated air.

  Sandoval banged on some more keys and stared. “It appears so, sir. The five days surrounding the day you want . . . they aren’t here. Everything from those days is gone.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, sir.” He banged some more keys. “Shit . . . Sorry, sir.”

  “No, it’s okay. ‘Shit’ is appropriate. How often does this happen?”

  Sandoval looked at me. “In my life? Never, sir.”

  “Huh. Interesting coincidence.” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, but I doubt I succeeded. “Could we access it from another station? Somewhere else on base?”

  “No, sir. It’s not here. If it was anywhere in the system, I’d be able to get to it. Someone had to have deliberately removed those days.”

  “Any chance it was part of the routine removal?” I asked. “Like what you mentioned about the oldest month?”

  He hesitated. “Maybe . . .”

  “Okay. Well it was worth a shot.” I was fuming on the inside, but didn’t want Sandoval to know it. Word of this would get out. He’d tell someone. He’d have to. Inevitably someone senior to him would ask how I reacted. I didn’t want to give them anything, especially not until I could figure out what else someone might have tampered with.

  “Sorry, sir.” He looked down at the floor, his shoulders sagging. I judged that he had no part in the sabotage.

  Sabotage.

  I’d already categorized it that way in my mind.

  “No problem, Sandoval.” I turned and headed toward the door, stopped, and turned back. “Hey, would they have a backup at SPACECOM?”

  He thought about it. “I’m not sure, sir. I don’t think so. I think they only have the archives.”

  “Okay. Tell you what, though: Drop a request when you get a chance, just to see.”

  “Yes, sir. Too easy. Anything else I can do?”

  “No, I think I’m good . . . wait. You think someone deleted this, right?”

  He nodded. “Yes, sir. I mean, not for sure, but that’s all I can think of.”

  “Who could do that?”

  He thought about it. “I don’t know, sir. Nobody here on the floor. I can’t do it. I can’t change anything beyond adding manual information. Add, but not delete unless I was the one who added it. And even that’s always flagged.”

  “Okay. Just wondering. Thanks a lot, Sandoval. You were a big help.”

  “Thanks, sir.”

  I left without waiting for Lex and headed back to my room. I needed to pound my head against a wall where nobody could see me. The stench around Mallot’s disappearance was getting stronger. A high councilor’s kid had disappeared into nowhere, and somebody wanted it covered up.

  I sat at the table in my rooms, picking at the second half of the turkey sandwich. I hadn’t been there nearly long enough to calm down when the door buzzed and Hardy came in, paper in hand.

  “Give me some good news, Hardy.” I stood up, unable to keep from moving around.

  He looked at the paper and hesitated.

  “Shit,” I said. “Just tell me.”

  “It’s not bad, sir. The general answered quickly, so he may need more time.”

  “Read it.”

  “Yes, sir. ‘Butler: Acknowledged. Will work through MEDCOM soonest. Best case, expect delays. Start looking for another way. Serata.’

  “That’s word for word, sir.”

  I slapped a plastic tumbler off the desk and it clattered across the floor until it careened into the far wall and spun for a moment. Start looking for another way. Serata may as well have said, Don’t fucking count on it.

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Hardy, if you ever come to me and tell me that you’ve got some bad news, I may curl up into a little ball and start whimpering. Because if this isn’t bad, I don’t want to know what bad is.”

  Hardy stood there silently. He probably didn’t know what to say. It’s not every day you watch a colonel lose his shit. Hell, I didn’t know what to say . . .

  “Fuck!”

  I shook my head. Start looking for another way. No help from MEDCOM and someone sabotaging the data I needed. What other way was I supposed to find? I could try to talk to the Special Ops guys, but that held less promise than the dead ends I already had. Those guys didn’t talk even on a good day.

  “You can go, Hardy.”

  “Are you sure, sir?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure. Go file your report back to the general and tell him I’m pissed.”

  “Sir . . .”

  I took three deep breaths and lowered my voice to a normal register. “What?”

  “Sir, I know what you think, but I don’t report back to General Serata. I work for you.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Okay.” I believed him. He didn’t have the guile to lie.

  “Do you need anything else, sir?”

  “What I need is a nap.”

  “Yes, sir.” He left.

  The pressure built behind my eyes again, and this time I couldn’t blame it on a hangover. Part of me felt bad for taking out my frustration on Hardy. I’d apologize to him later.

  Chapter Nine

  I got up off the sofa after ten minutes. No way could I sleep, and it seemed ridiculous to lie there awake. It was too early to start drinking. Somewhere in that short horizontal time, I’d made up my mind. I needed to know where I stood. Like in a poker game where you didn’t know what anyone else had for a hand. Sometimes you had to make a bet, splash the pot, make everyone else react. Read their faces. There
was only one place to start, one other player in the game worth a bet. I grabbed Mac and headed to see him.

  I entered the hatch to Stirling’s command suite and, seeing the door to his inner office open, I kept walking past his assistant and went in. The soldier barely looked up, and made no effort to stop me. They probably expected me after what I’d learned in Ops.

  Stirling looked up from his monitor when I walked in. “Carl. How goes the investigation?”

  I stopped about a pace in front of his desk and leaned over so our eyes rested at the same level. “What happened to the radar tracks from the day Mallot disappeared?”

  I read his face, but got nothing from it. My question didn’t surprise him at all.

  He drew his lips into a thin line. “I have no idea.”

  “But you know what I’m talking about.”

  “I know what you’re talking about because my Ops officer called me fifteen minutes ago and told me what you found. Or, rather, what you didn’t find.” He raised his voice a little, but not nearly as much as he could have, given my aggressive tone.

  “So you have no idea who erased the data.”

  “I have no idea who erased the data.”

  “Have you seen it?” I asked.

  “Probably.”

  “What the fuck is probably? You’ve seen it or you haven’t.”

  “Probably, Carl, is an expression that means it’s likely that I saw it.” His tone hardened, grabbed a little bite. “I don’t recall seeing it, but when a councilor’s kid gets hit, they call the boss. That’s me. They called me, and I went to the Ops floor. While I was there, they probably had the track of the MEDEVAC. So when I say probably, what I mean is probably.”

  “But you haven’t seen it since then.” I didn’t back off from my tone. I wanted him riled up. Push the chips in the pot, see how he reacted.

  “I haven’t.” He leaned back in his desk chair, increasing the space between us without really backing down, staring lasers at me.

  I lowered my voice to a normal tone. “Why wasn’t there mention of it in the initial report? You mind if I sit?” I helped myself to a chair without waiting for an answer.

  “I assume that the investigating officer didn’t think to look at the radar tracks. It’s not routine. I’ve never seen a report that included that kind of data, except for a crash.”

  I don’t know which bothered me more, the fact that he was right or the fact that I couldn’t get a read on him. He could have been lying, but he just as easily could have been telling the truth. If he was lying, he’d prepared well. Shit.

  “Who has access?” I asked.

  He crinkled his face. “Excuse me?”

  “To the data. Who has access?” More confusion. “I’m not asking who erased it. I want to know who could have erased it.”

  “Ah.” His shoulders relaxed, and he thought about it. “That’s a good question. I don’t know.”

  “Can you find out?”

  He paused longer than he needed to, making me wait. “Sure. I’ll get the computer techs on it. I’ll find out who had access, and go one step farther. Maybe they can trace where the access came from. Where the person might have been.”

  “Thanks. Sorry.” I tried to sound contrite. I wasn’t remotely sorry, but I needed Stirling’s assets and his cooperation. I’d made my bluff and he called it. No use throwing good money after bad.

  “No problem, Carl. I want answers as much as you do. No luck over at the hospital today?”

  “That, uh . . . yeah. That didn’t go as well as it could have.”

  “Fucking MEDCOM.” He said it like a man who doesn’t swear much. Like he knew that he was supposed to swear about Medical Command, so he did. It rolled out of his mouth awkwardly, and I felt a little bad about the amateurish display.

  I’m somewhat of an expert on profanity.

  “Yeah. She might help, but I doubt it. I sent a message back to SPACECOM asking for them to intervene, but I’m not optimistic there, either.”

  “So what’s next?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Let’s see what your computer techs can dredge up. It’s been almost five months since the kid disappeared. One more day isn’t going to matter.”

  He nodded. “I’ll tell them to hurry.”

  I stood up. “Thanks. I appreciate it. I’m going to need a good break somewhere.”

  “You’ll find it.”

  I walked out, wondering if he believed that.

  I didn’t.

  Chapter Ten

  Major Alenda sat on my sofa the next morning. I leaned forward in the desk chair, eyes closed, head in my hands as my skull tried to give birth to the remnants of last night’s drinking. Lex had called much too early to tell me that the computer techs had my answers. Apparently they worked all night on it. The tech answered one of my questions over the comm. Who had access to erase the tracks? Nobody.

  Nobody on base could order that, not even Stirling. That cut through my hangover.

  The command had to have originated back at SPACECOM headquarters. When I heard that, I decided I’d better get up and talk to the techs face-to-face. I took a pull from my coffee without opening my eyes and waited for the door to buzz.

  The computer techs made a mismatched pair, one a skinny, pale, pasty young woman with traces of acne, the other a large black man with rippling arms and the shoulders of a weight lifter. The big guy spoke. “You wanted to see us, sir? About what we found?”

  “Yeah. Take a seat.” I gestured to the sofa, and Alenda slid to make room. The woman sat on the opposite end, leaving the big soldier to sit awkwardly in the middle.

  “What did you find?” I purposely gave them an open-ended question so they’d have the freedom to tell me stuff I didn’t think of. Always good business with techie types, since I didn’t even know what to ask. I risked learning more about coding than I ever wanted to know—and with a hangover to boot—but one has to sacrifice for the mission sometimes.

  “Nobody on base has the required access to delete the data you wanted, sir,” said the big man.

  “Right. You said that on the comm. So the order has to come from SPACECOM? They can do that through all the jump portals?”

  “Well, they could do it that way, sir,” said the big man, his hands fidgeting.

  “But you don’t think they did.”

  He shook his head, and his partner mirrored the motion. “No, sir. They’d never do it like that. Too easy to trace coming through all of those jumps.”

  I tried to puzzle it out through the fog of my headache. “Sandoval told me they make monthly backups and they fly someone out here.”

  The woman spoke when her partner hesitated. She had a deeper voice than I’d have expected from a woman her size. “Yes, sir. Every month. There’s a tech on every transport that arrives, pre-scheduled.”

  “Why?” I asked. “I thought they could initiate it long distance.”

  “Security, sir,” said the woman. “Manually transporting the data is way safer than sending it through all those links.”

  “I see.” I hadn’t known that, but I took her at her word. “So there have been at least four backups since the time in question, and any one of them could have erased the pertinent information along with the standard removal of a month.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the big man. The female tech fidgeted like she was about to wet herself.

  “You have something to add?”

  “Sir . . .”

  “Go ahead,” I said. “You can say anything you have to say.” She still looked nervous, but nothing she said could surprise me at that point.

  “We ran a trace. We figured you’d want to know which of the four data dumps took away the file.” Her face nearly burst with pride.

  “Good work. And you found . . . ?”

  “Sir . . . it was none of them.” She almost bounced out of her seat. “Someone erased the data a week ago. The last person who did a backup, she left more than two weeks ago.”
>
  A week ago. Right about the time I dropped through the last portal and made comms with the base. At the same time I got delayed in space. Could be a coincidence. I got a little chill. Coincidences rarely turned out coincidental. “So then how did it happen?”

  The two techs looked at each other. “We don’t know, sir,” said the big guy.

  “But you’re sure of the timing.”

  “Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

  “Okay. Let me think.” I put my palms against my temples and massaged the pain. “What are the possibilities?”

  The male answered. “We were debating that, sir. Me and Ganos.” Ganos was the female soldier, according to her name tag.

  “What are the possibilities?” I asked.

  “Well, sir, SPACECOM could do it, but that doesn’t make sense,” said the male soldier. Parker. “The other option . . . well, it would be hard.”

  I looked up at that. “Because the system wouldn’t allow access?”

  Ganos bobbed her head up and down. “Exactly right, sir. Not unless they physically plugged in. Or did one hell of a hack.”

  “But it’s possible?” I asked.

  Ganos frowned. “Possible, but unlikely, sir. It’s just . . . the idea that it was an outside hack is too far-fetched. Who would even do that?”

  I had some theories on that, but I kept them to myself. I looked at the big man. Parker. “You don’t think the Cappans could have done it, do you?”

  “No way, sir. They’ve got computers down on the surface, but nothing that can reach up here.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” The dominant life form on Cappa was an intelligent species, more so than any other race humans had ever encountered, but they hadn’t even reached off-planet travel technology. Network attacks were well beyond them. I didn’t like the options that were left. “Okay, let me be clear. You said it wouldn’t make sense . . . but is there any chance it was SPACECOM?”

  Parker pursed his lips. “No, sir. I don’t think so.”

  “Okay. Expand on that for me.” I fought the urge to stand. These two might have the break I needed. Computer types wouldn’t feel political pressure. They were naturally immune. Or oblivious. I gave what they said a lot of credence.