by J. L. Curtis
McDougal replied, “No, I’m only certified for maintenance. But I am duty maintenance for the entire Det, not just you guys. And I’m the only maintainer out here.”
Rai grumbled but subsided, when McDougal pointed that out, “Okay, okay. We’re going to be rotated in a week anyway, so maybe we’ll rotate home before we have to come back up here.”
McDougal gave him a hands up gesture, “Sorry. It’s not like I did it on purpose.”
The autochef dinged, then spit out McDougal’s dinner. He grabbed it, flopped down at the other table, and ate as quickly as he could. He dumped the plate into the autochef’s return slot, and made for his coffin. Sliding in, he racked the desk comp, checked the system alerts were all clear, and racked out.
***
McDougal made it to the maintenance module without getting shot at, which was, in his mind, a good thing. Two more units sat on the out tray of the fabber, and he sat them on the bench beside the original one. Running a check on the fabber, he grimaced, Dammit, out of metal. And I’m down to three barrels of plasteel. Maybe I can get some on the shuttle today, if I talk nice to supply… Flipping through the forms on his desk comp, he found the supply request and plugged in enough metal bars and plasteel barrels to do at least six more units.
Once that was done, he rooted around in the parts bin, finally found the right cable and connected the mini-repulsor to the maintenance system. He gingerly applied power, and sighed with relief when the unit powered up without arcing or sparking.
Flipping back to the systems diagrams, he cobbled together a BIT test for the module, made sure it was facing away from him, and hit start. Thirty seconds later, it completed, and from all appearances met spec as he had modified it.
He duplicated the testing on the other two units, and only had to replace one molycirc that had a temp fluctuation issue that worried him. That one passed on retest, and he dug around for more cable. Finding one two hundred foot length, he called Chief Rai on his wrist comp.
“Rai, Senior here. I need to run a quick test on a piece of hardware outside the module. Is the area clear where I can set up two units two hundred feet apart?”
“Standby.”
Mac drummed his fingers nervously, until finally Rai came back, “Yeah, quiet as a mouse out there today. Not even the usual protesters by the gate.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll be out for about fifteen.” He picked up one unit, connected it to the cable, and carried it out toward the end of the compound until he ran out of cable. Hustling back, he connected the second unit to the other end, made sure the cable was taut, and plugged a second cable into that unit. Running it back in the module, he plugged it into the maintenance station. He started to power up the minis, but stopped, went to the door and looked out, confirming the white side faced him. Satisfied, he powered the units up, ran the BIT again, then hit activate for thirty seconds. There was a little instability for about ten seconds, but everything looked like it smoothed out.
He stuck his head back out the door, and was surprised to find the unit closest to the door buried about three inches in the ground. Huh, wonder what… Oh wait, if it braces, it might try to balance the forces across all the modules. Trotting out to the other module, it was sitting on rock, but there was a little indentation, so maybe his idea was right.
He powered the modules back up, stepped out of the door, and picked up a handful of the gravel that was everywhere. Flipping it at the imaginary line between the two units, he was gratified to see it cross that line and fall to the ground. Stepping back inside, he fiddled with the programming, truncating the outside halves of the modules, and only running full power between the two. He walked back out, picked up some more gravel and flipped it, with the same result. Walking well around where he thought the edge of the field was, he got on the gray side, picked up more gravel and flipped it at the line. It seemed to stop in mid-air and bounce to the ground. Picking up a bigger rock, he threw it at the line, it did the same thing, only bouncing back a bit further.
His wrist comp beeped, and he glanced down at it, SHUTTLE INBOUND. ETA 6 MIN. “Shit, gotta shut this down,” McDougal grumbled to himself. He ran quickly back to the module, checked that the power feeds were still good, and powered the system down to standby.
***
Fargo looked over the Feeder Three site, mentally cataloging the issues, as he walked toward the perimeter. He saw a cable running to a strange gray and white object partially buried with another cable running from it to what looked like another one some distance away. Turning, he followed the cable with his eyes, surprised to see it terminating at the maintenance module. What the hell? What is this…? He walked over to the module, opened the door and found McDougal deep in a maintenance screen, “Mac?”
McDougal looked up, then popped to attention, “Sorry, sir. Didn’t hear you come in.”
“What’s the gray and white ball that’s half buried out there?”
“Um, err… Something I’m trying out, sir.”
Fargo made a come on motion with his hand, “And?”
“Well, we had an attack out here, and… Well, I, uh… I kinda built a little repulsor module test bed.”
“A what?”
McDougal got, “Lemme show you, sir.” He stuck his head out the door, confirmed there wasn’t anyone near the two units, and powered them back up to full power. He walked out, Fargo following, picked up some gravel, and said, “See, from this side, it’s non-functional, err… It doesn’t stop anything.” He flipped the gravel over the line, and it fell to the ground on the other side. Walking around the module, he picked up more gravel and threw it at the line, where it bounced and hit the ground, “This side, it stops things from coming in.”
Looking around, he found a bigger rock, maybe ten to fifteen pounds, and heaved it at the line. It bounced too, landing about three feet from the line. Fargo cocked his head. “You did this, Mac?”
“Yes, sir. I, um… I downsized a repulsor module from the armor, and…”
McDougal went down the nearrat hole into schematics, leaving Fargo shaking his head, until he interrupted, “Mac, I think this has some potential…”
“You do, sir?”
“At least for here, Mac. How many of these things would you need to cover the perimeter for each site?”
“Uh, standby one…” Turning to his datacomp, he quickly ran a set of calculations, “Um… Twenty-one. I can piggy back sonics modules…”
Fargo held up his hand, “No, we’ve already got those in place. I’ll hit GalPat for, what nineteen more modules? Can you send the data to their fabber?”
McDougal nodded quickly, “Yes, sir. Got it right here.” He typed something into the datacomp and continued, “It’s on queue for their fabber now. Just waiting for command approval.”
Hunting
Fargo had gotten a rush order for the fabber at the Palace after Planet Security caught a protester with needle gun at Feeder One, who admitted under questioning, he was supposed to shoot the sonics and see if they failed. Four days later, Boykin picked up McDougal along with his gear, and the newly manufactured repulsor modules. They went to each site with Mac modifying the sonics to allow them to enter and exit between two units, and emplacing the repulsors. They checked them with rocks, and he tuned each one to ensure they were high enough to prevent anyone shooting down into the sites from the nearest rooftops. All of the troops wanted to know what was happening with the search for the killer, but Fargo couldn’t give them any more details than what he’d passed earlier. Every Ghorka was less than happy, and there was a lot of under the breath grumbling, but nothing he could hear well enough to call anyone out on. He reiterated that both the GalPat Det and Planet Security were poring through databases to try to get a match, but without success.
Jiri called him to the side at Feeder Four, “Ekavir, I’m not sure how much longer I can keep the guys from going hunting on their own. They’re pretty sure they can shake some answers out of the people out here.”
He sighed, “Do the best you can. If somebody goes out, at least give me a heads up, that way if the shit hits the impeller, I can try to save their dumb asses.”
“Will do. But you know as well as I do the geeks have already hacked the local systems and are digging through them on their own.”
“I’m hoping to hear back from Captain Jace. I sent it up to him too. Maybe Liz can pull something out. She’s an intel type.
“Let’s hope so. Where are you headed next?”
“Back to the Palace. I’ve got a meeting with the senior TBT rep. He’s offered to give us back door access to their systems. Problem is, I don’t have anyone that can actually execute on that.”
“What about GalPat?”
Fargo looked at him, “Would you give them access?”
Jiri wouldn’t meet his eyes for a second, “No, I guess not. I…”
“I’m going to see if I can get Liz hooked in. Maybe…” He glanced over to see Boykin signaling him, “Looks like we’re ready. Check in at seventeen like normal. As soon as I have something, I’ll get it out.”
Jiri nodded as he turned away and headed for the shuttle’s ramp.
***
Fargo stared at the emails on his datacomp and snarled, “This isn’t going to end well.” Jace had sent them encrypted to his personal account rather that his official account and Fargo knew if these had gotten in the system, there would have been hell to pay.
The first said that when he searched the world’s database, it finally popped out a 96% correlation with one Smallwell, Eric a div ago. All of the other correlations were less than 40%, and most were even lower. Jace had started a worm running in Endine’s TBT system, looking for any mail, vid, audio, or stills from any system on the planet. He also ran a check on all of the Ferret uploads from Nicole, and found three audio correlations over 65 days of data, and also found vid correlations from the Canyon feeder site’s data. That was enough for Jace to decide to act.
His email said he had carefully crafted an innocuous seeming message that apparently issued from the GalPat detachment’s own system, advising the Endine director and chief of security that a ‘watch’ should be placed for Smallwell, Eric, with a detain if found. He said he had inserted the proper documentation and enhanced photo into the GalPat Det’s system, and tagged it to send right at the end of the shift in three divs with a detain and question warrant.
Basically, the second said there were at least two plots ongoing, based on the recordings from the Ferrets Nicole had emplaced. In one that Jace had attached, the person identified as Eric Smallwell had bragged to the other five young people at the table how he’d killed Shanni and Lev from behind, and maybe this would motivate the rebels to get more aggressive. He had also laughed that they would never catch him, and if they did, he’d get off.
The other plot Jace had identified was much more nebulous, and involved a much older group of men, most of whom were first families, according to Jace. Perez, Archer, Smallwell, Hartsorn, and Eggleston were apparently all large landholders and raised the majority of food stuffs and protein animals for the world. Their conversation was elliptic, even in the supposedly private room, and hinted at what could be a takeover of the world, if Jace’s analysis was right. Apparently only the Smallwell and Archer families were involved in both plots, which was rather interesting. He’d also said not to pass anything to the GalPat Det, it was being addressed via a different avenue, so he must be sending it as a RIG dataset to HQ GalPat. That was scary, if the local GalPat Det wasn’t to be trusted.
Fargo shook his head, I already don’t trust them, why am I even thinking that. Are these two plots connected? If so how… if not… Are they at cross purposes? Third generation wanting what? To go back to the pre power days? Do all these landholders have their own power generation? They must, considering the size of their holdings. Nuclear? Probably, since they only date back ninety something years…
Grayson walked in yawning, “You ready for chow, boss?”
“Is it that time already?”
“Eighteen, straight up. It’s some kind of noodle dish. Spicy noodles and mystery meat. The warrant took one sniff and went to the salad.” Grayson belched, “Ohhh, gonna pay for that later tonight.”
Fargo shook his head. “Okay, here’s the latest. All sites quiet at sixteen, three had a few rock throwers earlier, but they bounced. Four had a delegation from Archer come up and want to apologize for Shanni and Lev’s deaths. According to Jiri, they were the business leaders and owners of the restaurant. He was polite, and turned them away without allowing them inside the perimeter. Nothing from one and two.”
“So you’re saying tonight is either going to be boring as shit or it’s going to blow up in my face, right?”
“Not going to jinx you. What will be, will be. Remember, put the forward to my comp on at all balls, when you secure the watch.”
“Yowza, boss. Have a good night.”
***
Nicole clocked out, chatting with Raymondo and the other staff as they walked to the corner. When they turned away from the others, he finally said, “You were prowling like a damn cat tonight. What’s going on?”
Nicole shrugged. “Not sure. I just feel antsy. I’ve been here almost three months, I think it’s about time for me to move on. I do have a real job to go back to and this sabbatical has been almost six months long. The only decent wine on the planet is from Abruzzi, and I’m not sure they could produce enough to make it worth Star Lines time to order it.”
Raymondo nodded in the pale light coming off the street lamps, “You’ve been pushing it pretty hard, and I’m hearing their sales have gone up about twenty percent. Perez isn’t happy with that or with you. He talked again tonight to Mr. DuMaurier about firing you. Otto overheard it. But Otto is liking the chance to play with more Italian cooking too. I swear his heritage must be more Italian than German. I think… Lombardian?”
Nicole laughed. “One more reason for me to look at leaving, sooner rather than later. With Otto just like anyone from Old Earth, each is a polyglot by now, simply due to travel over the last what, five hundred years? Much less when you throw in the genie mods.”
“Point. But still, the name and physical characteristics…”
“But who knows what genied DNA went into his family when? Granted his coloring and build are Central Euro, not Mediterranean Euro if Italian was the primary. Maybe there’s an Italian grandmother somewhere in the family tree. That would explain the Tuscan dishes.”
At the next corner, they parted ways and Nicole hitched her backpack up to a more comfortable position as she walked slowly toward the Women’s Hotel. A half block later, as she crossed the mouth of the last alley, she heard movement and started to run, until she was struck by a charge from a stun pistol. She slumped to the ground, unconscious, scraping the side of her face and one arm on the rough surface of the sidewalk.
A grav car slid to a halt as two men lifted her limp body into the back of the car, with one retrieving the backpack and throwing it in on top of her, and slamming the hatch just before the car sped away.
Two hundred miles above them, the satellite Captain Jace had placed in Geosync’ed orbit picked up the voltage change across Nicole’s wrist comp and pinged an alert to the Hyderabad. Jace took one look at the feed, did a pingback for vitals, and waited impatiently for almost a seg before it came back, indicating probable unconsciousness and movement.
Fargo was regretting the noodle choice as he rolled over in the bunk, trying to decide if a trip to the fresher was worth it. Suddenly his wrist comp and data comp both blared an emergency alert tone, yanking him out of his misery. He jerked upright, slapping at the wrist comp even as he reached for the data comp. He read the alert and pinged both Grayson and Boykin with emergency pings, CH SGT LEVESQUE TAKEN RESP TO SHUTTLE FOR IMMED TRACK/RECOVER.
Pulling on his shipsuit, he debated notifying the GalPat Det, but the earlier warning stopped him, We take care of our own. We’ll get her b
ack, one way or another. Five segs later, he waited impatiently as Boykin ran a fast external preflight and Grayson trotted through the aft hatch, “What the fuck, Captain?”
“Somebody grabbed the chief sergeant. Apparently stunned into unconsciousness. In some type of vehicle, almost to the port.”
“Where’s the GalPat response team?”
“Haven’t notified them, not going to.”
Grayson started to say something, then looked at Fargo. He shook his head, then said, “We take care of our own, right?”
He nodded as Boykin pounded up the ramp, “Close the ramp and strap in, auto start sequence is almost complete. As soon as I strap in, we’re lifting. Captain, feed me tracking data as soon as you get it.”
Grayson scrambled for the ramp controls as Fargo squirted the track data to her comps. They both flopped into seats and had just finished strapping in, when the G load hit as she took them vertical. She unloaded the G at 30,000 feet, causing their stomachs to try to come out of their throats, and Fargo glanced down at his comp, “Shit. Apparently dumped both her comps. Getting an intermittent track on her chip now.” He yelled up to the cockpit, “WO, can you follow that track?”
She clicked the PA, “Not directly, but I’m trying to match it to radtrack, IFF, or IR on any skimmers, liteflyers, or shuttles heading in that direction. Three possibles. Stable for now. How do you want to proceed?”
Fargo realized he hadn’t thought that far ahead, and slumped, Shit. We never actually discussed this. What the… He glanced at Grayson and saw that he had the issue sidearm, and he was startled to realize that somewhere along the way, he’d also put his on. Pistols against what? What other… looking at the forward end of the bay, he saw three sets of armor racked. “One of those yours, Grayson?” He pointed at them.
“Yes, sir. The one on the right. Warrant Jiri’s is on the left, yours is in the middle.”