Unraveling Conspiracy (Forgotten Fodder Book 3)

by MJ Blehart

  “The price wasn’t fully worth it,” Jace remarked.

  “I’ve got one!” Teru called out. They swiped a hand, and a name popped up on the monitor before Onima and Kara.

  As Onima leaned in to look and read the name, Dr. Patel gasped.

  Onima turned to her. “What is it?”

  Dr. Patel pointed at the holographic screen. “That name. That doctor. I know who he is.”

  14

  Jace could see he was not the only one surprised at Dr. Patel’s statement.

  “What’s that, Maira?” asked Onima.

  “This is Doctor Yagnesh Deng,” Dr. Patel said. “Dr. Deng is one of the most renowned virologists in the galaxy. He has been practicing medicine for eight decades and has done some groundbreaking research. When it comes to viruses, Dr. Deng is the expert among experts. Fifty years ago, he led researchers in engineering viruses to target specific DNA codes to work as living nanotechnology.”

  “Huh,” said Teru. “The name is rather familiar.”

  Dr. Patel continued, “When first contact was made with the canutus, they shared mathematical equations for the earliest communication. For the first twenty-five years, the information exchange was just mathematical equations. In their equations, however, the canutus shared information about their DNA that Dr. Deng and his team deciphered, which allowed them to engineer the virus that not only united all human language, but gave us the ability to understand the canutus’ language too.”

  “That’s where I’ve heard the name,” Teru said. “Dr. Deng has long advocated viruses over nanotechnology, as I recall.”

  “He has,” Dr. Patel agreed.

  “I’ve heard that name before too,” added Jace.

  “Where?” asked Onima.

  “The clone that died in my arms alongside Palmer Cadoret,” Jace said. “One of the words he said to me was ‘Deng.’ It made no sense at the time—but now it certainly does.”

  Onima nodded. “Good catch, Jace.”

  “Wait a moment,” Kara said. “Is this the same Dr. Deng that caused a whole lot of controversy regarding the ethics of engineering viruses?”

  “Oh yes,” said Dr. Patel. “Particularly at the start of the cloning program, he had very unpopular views. Dr. Deng advocated for using the clones to perform research—specifically, creating whole-human clones without the brain scans for virology research. He argued that it would allow them to get a better idea of how certain viruses would affect people, but without humans suffering for it. Clones, of course, are still human—and that was why people felt the idea violated their principles.”

  Jace shuddered at the thought of being unable to think. It was bad enough knowing he’d been preprogrammed with certain inhibitions. But the idea of lacking awareness and consciousness too was deeply distressing.

  Onima broke the silence first. “I’m surprised that’s not more widely known.”

  “It was largely kept within the medical community,” Dr. Patel explained. “During the war, all four governments rejected this notion, calling it akin to the unethical treatment of animals on Earth in the past, long before colonization began. There were, of course, some medical professionals, scientists, and researchers that agreed with Dr. Deng. They saw clones as lesser creatures, and thus lacking the same rights. And, they argued, keeping them mindless meant they wouldn’t really suffer.”

  “That’s hideous,” Jace said.

  “Agreed,” said Teru.

  “The majority of the medical and scientific community feels the same,” Dr. Patel informed them. “Which is part of why, after the war, whole-human cloning was brought to an end, and the brain scanning was made illegal.”

  “But cloning has been happening for centuries,” Kara said.

  “Yes, it has. But when it first began, it was restricted to non-human animals. Over time—I think in the mid to late twenty-first century—they started working on cloning internal organs. This made transplants far safer and less likely to be rejected by the body. Though research was ongoing into cloning whole human beings, it was never carried out until the war.”

  Jace shook his head. “My kind are a science experiment.”

  “Sorry, Jace, but you’re not wrong,” said Dr. Patel.

  “Was Dr. Deng part of the soldier cloning program?” Onima asked.

  “Not to my knowledge,” said Dr. Patel.

  “Teru?” Onima asked.

  Teru, their eyes still hidden behind the holographic screen projected in front of them, started a search. “Let’s see. Doctor Yagnesh Deng. Nothing here ties him directly to cloning at any point during the program. But several fairly liberal groups have accused him of multiple ethics violations regarding clones during and immediately after the war.”

  “Like what?” asked Jace, dreading the answer.

  “Getting ahold of clones severely injured during the war—and by severely injured, I mean to the point of being unable to serve on active duty—and performing experiments on them. Nobody could prove a damned thing, but many of the clones in that position simply disappeared. Some claimed they were being treated, others that they were being euthanized, and still others were pretty certain they were being experimented on.”

  Jace let out an exasperated sigh. “This is why clones are considered second-class citizens, if not less, by pretty much everyone. ‘Science experiments’ indeed.”

  Nobody said anything for a moment.

  Then Teru continued, “There were multiple petitions demanding ethics investigations into Dr. Deng, as well as requests for the AECC to file criminal charges against him. But that never happened because nobody had anything but supposition and circumstantial evidence.”

  Onima shook her head. “That’s all too familiar.”

  “Out of curiosity, what groups made these accusations?” asked Dr. Patel.

  “Oh, let’s see,” Teru said. “Multiple academic groups, Amnesty Interplanetary, several NGOs....The majority just made noise but had nothing for it.”

  “Is Clones Remembered among them?” asked Jace.

  “Yes,” Teru replied.

  “We might want to reach out to Director Abebe,” Jace said.

  “I think I shall,” agreed Dr. Patel.

  “What became of Dr. Deng?” asked Onima.

  Teru performed another search. “About eight years ago, Dr. Deng just dropped out of the public spotlight. No more public research publishing, no further grant requests—nothing. He’s been maintaining a low profile ever since.”

  “What did Dr. Steingarten’s notes say about Dr. Deng?” asked Onima.

  “Nothing. Dr. Yagnesh Deng’s name appears among contacts for Dr. Steingarten, with no further information.”

  “What about Gray and Chuang? Are there any ties between Dr. Deng and the company? Was he, or is he, on their payroll?”

  Teru did yet another search. “Not as such, no. Dr. Deng has never had his research associated with the company. But...he is listed as the personal physician for one of the company directors.”

  “One of the three tied to Vladimir Bettani and Diane Nazari?” asked Onima.

  “Of course,” replied Teru.

  Teru swiped a hand, and a name and person’s image appeared on the holographic screen facing Jace, Onima, and Kara. It was Kaji Ivanov.

  “Look at that,” said Kara. “Another coincidence.”

  Jace looked at the name of the company director. Though it was all circumstantial, they had a potential new link between the clone virus and Gray and Chuang.

  His heart sank as a terrible thought occurred to him.

  “Oh, chudah-ee!” exclaimed Dr. Patel. “If Dr. Deng had anything to do with this clone virus....”

  Jace more or less growled. “That might be how Ms. Nazari intends to still use the clones for, as she put it, ‘misdirection.’ Remember, ‘A few clones dying, here and there, gets no attention. But when a whole slum of clones dies -well, that would be another matter.’”

  “What are you thinking?” asked Onima.
>
  Jace looked to Dr. Patel. “My knowledge is pretty limited here, but if the virus was engineered in the first place, and created to only impact clones, how hard would it be to make it airborne?”

  Dr. Patel shook her head. “For someone like Dr. Deng? Not hard at all. It’s just a matter of mutating its transmissibility.”

  “And if you make it airborne,” Jace continued, “that makes it much easier to infect wider numbers. Imagine somewhere like the clone towers in Emerson City and how many would be killed by an airborne virus. It’s unthinkable.”

  “Worse,” Dr. Patel added, “mutating it to be airborne might also alter its targeting. It might mutate further and cross over to non-clones.”

  “But without the control input sector that clones have, could it kill a non-clone?” asked Onima.

  Dr. Patel shrugged. “I’m not a virologist. I suspect that, no, it probably wouldn’t—but since it attacks the motor control section of clones’ brains, it might do the same to non-clones. If not a killer, it could at least be some dreadful neuromuscular disease.”

  Jace did not like where this line of thought took him. “That would ultimately have a negative impact on AECC leadership. Imagine a virus that starts with the clones and then makes its way to non-clones. People would be both horrified and terrified. And, as the AECC would be forced to quarantine the clone slums, people and the media would put two and two together. That could create a massive breakdown of order.”

  “People might start demanding that clones be summarily eliminated,” breathed Onima. “Especially those seen as being nothing but drains on society, such as—no offense, Jace—infantry and the like.”

  “That would then cause massive controversy and protests. And open the door to judging the Confederation as unable to manage the worlds they govern. It would be one hell of a way to topple the AECC,” said Jace.

  “It might also offer them another tool,” Dr. Patel said in horror. “For every virus Dr. Deng and his team engineered, they also engineered cures. So now the people intent on overthrowing the AECC offer up a cure—and the people demand the Confederation get it, whatever the cost. If that includes yielding authority, that begins to chip away at AECC leadership.”

  “Now something else Nazari said makes sense,” Jace said. “‘That which turns a profit draws interest from a lot of parties.’ The production and distribution of the cure could make several parties obscene amounts of ESCA, right?”

  “Right,” Onima said. “What’s more, the fear of such a virus—and a ‘vaccine’ to protect from it, could also be huge moneymakers. Which seems to be the main point of interest for the conspirators. They want to be able to earn the same vast amount of ESCA they had with the NEEA and NECC, but they can’t do that with the AECC and its regulations in place.”

  It was all too horrific to consider, but it was also far too plausible to deny.

  After a prolonged silence, Teru said, “Dr. Deng’s last known location was on Terre Ursa in the Lalande 21185 solar system. Kaji Ivanov also happens to reside on Terre Ursa.”

  15

  Onima had gone for a walk around the Daedalus.

  This case had been like nothing she’d ever worked before. No other investigation had captured her attention quite so completely, nor been as full of twists, turns, and mysteries.

  Although she’d worked with a large portion of this team for many years, she’d never had such a team within her team. Dr. Patel and Yael had been friends as well as colleagues, and through it all, Jace and Kara had also become people she cared about beyond work concerns.

  But Feroz had been a friend too. His betrayal still stung, and there had been no time to process that. For the second time, he’d been a passive figure in a near-death situation for her. Between his sabotage of the Aquila and the attack on Onima, Kara, and Jace at the wellness center, it still mystified her that she’d missed that about him.

  Still, Onima knew that for all her upset, Dr. Patel was feeling it much deeper. His betrayal had impacted Maira far more than she was letting on. Onima had only had a brief conversation with her about that. But there were too many balls in the air with this case to give the situation the time and attention it deserved. Dr. Patel was also focusing on her work in an apparent effort not to dwell on the loss.

  Fortunately, Onima’s overall team was largely self-sufficient. The other cryptanalysts had projects they were working on, as did the rest of the agents and special agents under her. But it had been a long time since she’d overseen training with the warrant teams. Not that they really needed her to, but it was still part of her regular duties.

  Finally, Onima headed back to her office. She’d sent a message to Captain Barr to get her a secure link to Deputy Director Samarin. It was important that Onima keep her governor in the loop—particularly with such a delicate and convoluted case as this one.

  Jace, Kara, Teru, and Dr. Patel were still sitting together at Teru’s station. Onima admitted she liked Teru quite a bit, and they had proven an amazing new team member and ally thus far. But she was still cautious about letting them in too close.

  Of course, that had always been Onima’s way.

  She went into her office and tapped the screens to wake her terminal. She had told Captain Barr that after she spoke to Samarin she’d let him know where they were going next.

  Onima looked out the viewport at the stars, floating ships, and the planet Calvert. The Daedalus was no longer in orbit, but still in the Barnard’s Star solar system. Her office on the Aquila had not had an outside view, and she found she appreciated it quite a lot.

  Her comm beeped at her, and Onima focused on the holographic screen projecting above her desk.

  Deputy Director Maxwell Samarin was looking at her. She could not recall seeing him looking so worn before.

  “Deputy Director,” she addressed him.

  “Marshal Gwok,” Samarin replied. “This is a secure channel. Please report.”

  Onima proceeded to fill in her governor on what they’d learned during the trip to Calvert and Emerson City. She relayed that Bettani and Feroz were there, and that they both appeared to be reporting to Diane Nazari.

  She then relayed what they had done with the information, and their plan to pay a visit to Terre Ursa next to examine the connection between the virologist and the Gray and Chuang company director.

  “Still,” Onima concluded, “we lack admissible evidence. Taking this to the courts remains impossible. But I think this has proven to be far, far larger than a matter for the courts and prosecution.”

  “Agreed.” Samarin started to shake his head, but then stopped and said, “We have a new problem.”

  “What’s that?” asked Onima.

  “Director Rand has begun an active campaign against Executive Director Tang,” Samarin informed her. “He’s no longer just dropping vague hints and making snide remarks: he is actively questioning everything the ED has done and is doing. No matter what Tang says in conversation, memos, or any other form of communication, Rand has commentary, ridiculous questions, or expresses some concern or other. All of it is focused on making Tang look weak, and to make a formal request for a discussion to hold a vote of no confidence in the executive director.”

  Onima sucked in a noisy breath as she considered that. “How long has Tang been ED?”

  “They’ve been in the role twelve years.”

  Onima considered that. The collective directorship of the CBI voted on the executive director, the head of the Bureau, every two years. Overall, the Bureau executive directors served a minimum of twelve years. The maximum possible service for an executive director was twenty years total. The last vote on the ED remaining in charge of the directorate had been six months ago.

  Rather than tie the Bureau down with an executive director that was either failing at their job, causing harm to the Bureau and its reputation, or otherwise doing a disservice to all, a process existed to remove them. A call for a vote of no confidence in the executive director could be mad
e. Following a closed-door, sequestered discussion in which the whole directorate—including deputy directors—could weigh in, a vote would be cast.

  Unlike the vote to renew an executive director, removing one required a quorum of deputy directors in addition to the directors. Onima didn’t know the specific number of people involved, but the vote had to be at least two-thirds majority to remove an executive director.

  “That’s quite a process to set into motion,” Onima said. “Doesn’t it take something damning and scandalous to make it happen?”