Murder in the Fabric

by Andrew Jennings

generator. Mia and Michael could not anticipate.

  Stepping into the lane, ten metres in front of him was the patrol. In a moment they looked at each other. In that instant they were in full view of each other. Michael hesitated. But the guard was wearing the glasses. He blinked.

  “Guard. He got me.” Michael said.

  “Shit.” Mia said.

  // George

  It had blue wires. Looking like the mutated cousin of an ethernet terminal station. George, Alice and Steve gazed at it. Looking to Alan for an explanation.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it.” he said.

  “Sure. But what is it?” Alice asked

  “Passive ethernet tap. It looks at the data going past, and checks it against stuff we are looking for. If it fits the templates, then it stores it.”

  Alice turned to him.

  “Great, so it scrapes stuff. But how do we get access to the data?” she said.

  “Of course. That’s the real masterpiece. We can’t transmit anything, even at low levels. They are scanning all the time. You said you had an insider, in support?”

  “Yes. We haven’t signed her up yet. But we’re confident.”

  Alan continued.

  “OK. Here’s my plan. She orders a new printer. We put this thing, and a stack of memory cards with wifi support inside the printer. Of course they scan everything, but this stuff is what you expect to see inside a printer. Network, memory. All supposed to be there. Won’t raise any flags.”

  Steve leaned back in his chair.

  “She plugs in your blue thing. It scrapes the internal network for the whole day. So at the end of the day we end up with a memory stick full of data. We can’t ask her to smuggle them out. It’s too risky.”

  Alan paused. “I thought as much. These sticks are wifi enabled. This is the good bit. She throws them out with the rubbish. The sticks have a timer - only start transmitting after a time delay - say 8 hours. We send a drone over the rubbish tip, it talks to the memory sticks, and we’ve got it.”

  “Really?” George said.

  “Yes. Really and truly.” Alan said. “We can trial the rubbish thing before we send it in if you like.”

  // Michael

  It was such a small thing, a stray employee blinking. But that blink instructed the glasses, which took a photo of him. Even in the low light. That image put him in danger. More importantly, it opened up tracking.

  He knew the protocol. Making himself anonymous, and threading his way through the city. He sheltered in the vicinity of the Yarra, down below the M1 with the homeless people. They stirred from their night’s sleep. Throwing bedclothes, a bit bemused to see a stranger in their midst.

  A battered old guy, with a wistful smile turned to him.

  “Missed the last train home. Had a fight with the drones?” he said.

  “Sort of. Yes.”

  “Daylight now. They will be all over you.”

  “I’ve got to get to Southern Cross station.” Michael said.

  “You got money?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wait until about 8am. It will be ok.”

  The protocol. He had to follow it. No communication with anyone. A train journey.

  Overhead the thumping of the cars on the freeway above told him that the traffic was building. On the Yarra the rowing sculls were heading back from early morning training.

  As far as the homeless were concerned, it was money for jam. Most of them would head towards Docklands anyway. No real problem to go as a group. To the overhead drones, it was just a group of stragglers following their morning path. Michael had the hood, the dark glasses. He blended. The old guy had negotiated with the group. At $50 each it was an easy sell.

  Opposite Southern Cross, Three of the group held back.

  “Ok. Go. Good luck.” the old guy said. Michael found himself in the middle of the huddle, as the lights turned green. He was almost carried along by them. A tight group, with no real chance for the tracking software in the drones.

  They had made a couple of steps across when behind them, the three began to fight. A bottle flew into the air. Above them, drones tracked across, centering themselves to get the best view of the fight.

  “Thanks.” Michael said, as he headed for the ticket window.

  // George

  Amy was nursing her coffee in the mall. Quietly, thinking about SciTec and what it might do if it encountered an image of her talking with George. He had assured her that she was safe, but she wasn’t so sure.

  “He was so brave.” Amy said.

  She looked tired. Her hair had been trimmed, but it almost looked like she had done it herself. Tight and dark, it framed her face. Which was drawn, and showing lines. The shopping mall lighting didn’t help. It was bright, and sharp.

  George couldn’t remember when he had last been in a shopping center. It was a mecca for all of the things that he was not a part of. Domestic things, kids. But it was the perfect meeting place. Large, anonymous, and unlikely.

  “In what way?” George said. “What was he working on?”

  That, of course was the question. So far SciTec had been less than forthcoming. But it was quite another thing to bug them. Now that they were in such an innocuous setting, it was harder to ask what they were going to ask. ‘Please betray your employer, and put your life in danger’.

  “I’m not exactly sure. But he was doing research on Defigo.”

  Alice began searching on her tablet. It told her that Defigo was a large American security company. But more importantly, it told her that they had a very strong presence in domestic security right across Melbourne. Their market share was growing, and growing fast.

  She interjected.

  “Defigo seems to be a very large player in this city.”

  “The largest.” she said quietly.

  George quietly explained what they proposed to do. To strip SciTec’s network, and to dump it in the rubbish. Through the explanation she just sat quietly.

  “So will you help us?” George asked.

  “Yes. It’s what he would have wanted.” she said. All she had to do was order a printer from a local supplier. It would arrive with the box installed inside. In opening up the printer once it arrived she would be simply doing what she did every day.

  They discussed the signals. She would send a message, any message to her friend Roberta when she had put the chip in the rubbish each day.

  Alice and George sat in the back as the car wound its way back toward the fun palace. George still couldn’t get used to the absence of a driver in the front seat.

  “Gutsy.” he said

  “Or Quixotic.” Alice said.

  // Oscar

  After the lake, at the Borough huts, he turned and walked down Redman Road. The gradient increased and looking back he could see the whole valley. When you got away from the highway you could look from horizon to horizon and see no signs of human habitation.

  It was relaxing to be on a familiar trail, without the obvious pressure of all those chasing him. Up, and up. He stopped at the top and had something to eat. Scanned the sky for drones. Of course he would be the only reason to see one. He got up and walked on slowly. Turning right at Mitchell Road. More of a track than a road. But he was grateful for the tree cover.

  He consulted the map, and realised that he was drawing close to the coordinates that Mia had provided. Putting up the tent was also reassuringly familiar. Almost like a muscle memory. He could imagine that it was just another camping trip. He got everything into the tent, with a sort of system to it. Clothes on the left, food on the right. He wasn’t going to take a chance on leaving food outside the tent.

  Almost before he lay down completely, he was asleep. It was as if he was transported directly to the next morning, when the light played on the tent.

  He wriggled out of the tent and looked around. A figure emerged from the undergrowth. He looked like a weathered version of himself. About the same age. He was holding out his hand i
n greeting.

  “Oscar.”

  “Michael.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “You are camped... “ He wasn’t carrying anything, so Michael figured he had to be camped somewhere near. He laughed.

  “A bit silly really. The rangers come around to collect the fee.”

  He wasn’t at all embarrassed about dodging the fee.

  “Been here long?”

  “About a week. Best to move around. They know that I’m here. But it’s much easier for them to chase the car campers for the fee.”

  “My first night.”

  “Just come in from the city?”

  Michael wondered if it was that obvious.

  “Yes.”

  There was a pause. As if each was about to ask the other, but they instead sat at the edge. Wondering.

  He cast a glance over his companion. He had obviously lived in the city at some stage. But now the impact of camping for a long time was beginning to show. Not so much an untidiness, but more specific. Days in the sun, in the wind. The farmer look. In a crowd in a city, a farmer stood out. You were not sure why, but they did.

  “How long?” Michael asked.

  “A week now. Plenty of places to camp here if you know where to look.”

  Which brought them back to the question.

  Which left the unsaid. The shared background.

  “Why did you join Ctrl-X?”

  “Bright lights. Big city.”

  “Really. You just joined?”

  “Yes. You?”

  “Made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Laid out all the evidence of my great achievements. Either side with them or it went onwards to those who would be interested.”

  Michael paused. Maybe he really was naive.

  “You said you move around.” Michael said.

  “The rangers won’t walk the tracks to find you. But if there are