“Hey, you’re up,” Irena said, bouncing over to him from the kitchen zone with a smile. She placed a hand on his upper arm. “How’s the shoulder?”
“It’s a lot better, thanks. You did a great job to get us on the ship and fixing me up.”
Irena blushed and held his gaze for a second. “You’re welcome. I’ll get a coffee for you, and… I don’t mean to rush you, but we’ve come up with a plan of action.”
“Oh?” It was times like these that Harlan wished he had more furniture and was better with guests. “I’m sorry,” he said, indicating the lack of furniture in his apartment, “I don’t have visitors very often; otherwise, I’d offer you all a seat.”
Bella slipped off the desk and shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. We’re not here to get comfortable, anyway. We’ve found a connection between my brother’s disappearance and the rogue abbots.”
“I got your message,” he said. “Something to do with Irena’s mother and the Jovian Group?”
“Yeah, the group is involved with the abbots somehow,” Bella said.
“Okay, do you have any evidence for that?”
Greta nodded to the newcomer.
“Harlan, this is Bashir, a new addition to Mazzari Enterprises,” Bella said.
The tall, bulky man, with a bruised and swollen nose, stepped forward and held out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said, with an accent Harlan knew very well: he was from the lower levels of Zeno Station. Harlan had grown up there himself, and although he had lost the accent, there were a few inflections on the vowels that he was particularly sensitive to.
The accent also meant something else: Bashir had grown up an orphan, like Harlan. No one, other than the guardians and teachers, grew up on the lower level of Zeno without picking up those quirks. Vat-grown orphans had an invisible bond that didn’t even require acknowledgment.
“Nice to meet you, too,” Harlan said, returning the firm grip of the man’s handshake.
“Thanks.”
“So, Bashir, tell me about the abbots, and how they’re connected to the Jovian Group.”
Bashir spoke for ten minutes straight, explaining how Lizbeth had taken over Salazar’s business and built a trading relationship with members of the Jovian Group. At first, it had started out as small shipments of mining resources from Jupiter’s moons, but as Lizbeth wormed her way close to those in the higher echelons of the group, other, more advanced tech became available.
“What were they getting in return?” Harlan asked.
“Intel mostly,” Bashir said. “I was one of the bodyguards for a couple of Lizbeth’s spies on Galilei. They wanted to know anything and everything. A lot of it seemed like nonsense or just daily crap to me.”
Wilbur inched his glasses up on his nose. Harlan had come to learn that this meant he was nervous, but then, the small mole-like man had always been that way around Harlan. Greta, on the other hand, displayed her usual military-learned confidence and poise.
Thinking about everything Bashir had said, it did seem as though his case with Fizon and the event surrounding Gianni’s disappearance were connected. The data all pointed that way. One rogue abbot was an exceptional event; four of them hinted at something much larger and coordinated. This had never happened in the history of abbot existence post-war.
Then there was the issue of the hack and Luca.
It didn’t take a genius to work out that the latter was likely responsible for the former. Fizon would make the perfect conduit with which to manipulate the QCA, so that made sense, too. If he could find Luca, he’d likely find Fizon. But then the Jovian Group was another factor. Again, Harlan sensed they were linked in some manner.
After all, Gylfie had told him that they were merging with the Ceres Mining Company. They wouldn’t be doing that unless it gave them an advantage somewhere, presumably to alter public opinion and confidence in the president. That, along with control of the ten million abbots within the Sol-Fed, would make the merged group the single most powerful and influential faction. Who knew what their ultimate plan was, but looking at the disparate parts, it didn’t suggest rainbows and unicorns for the citizens of the Sol-Fed.
Harlan turned to Bella. “Okay, so it sounds like Lizbeth was one of Jovian’s puppets, but what exactly is it you need me to do?”
Bella ran a hand through her gray hair, and then nodded to Irena.
“I want you to hack into my mother’s personal files,” Irena said.
— I wasn’t expecting that, Milo said.
“Why?”
“Growing up, my mother was always away on Jovian Group business. Even recently, she attacked me about my time at the ERP and threatened to crush the investigation. She was insistent on knowing everything.”
Greta picked at her nails with a small switchblade. She shrugged and said, “Sounds like motherly interest to me. Of course she would want to know what happened to you.”
Wilbur shot her a glance and narrowed his already beady eyes.
“But the question is why,” Greta said, adding, “Her mother is one of the Messengers representing Atlas Station; she’d have access to all the files from the military force and the Earth Restoration Project. There’d be no need to be aggressive unless there was something about what happened that she didn’t want out in the open.”
— I like this woman, Milo said.
Harlan considered her words. “It’s a good point.”
Irena shot Greta a look as if to tell her she wasn’t being helpful.
Bella took control of the conversation once more. “Irena has agreed to help you gain access to her mother’s files. We want to know what she has on the Jovian Group and anything else we can find that might be useful. Can you do it?”
— It’s as if Bella doesn’t even know you. You sure you want to have a drink with her?
“Sure I can,” Harlan said, ignoring Milo. “It’s what I do.” He turned to Irena. “Are you positive you want me to do this? It could compromise more than your relationship with her. I’ll need you to give me access to your mother’s network. Can you do that?”
Irena handed him a data stick. “The login credentials are on there. That’ll get you on to the network. Mother’s files are protected, and we can’t access them.”
“I’ll have to look at the security first. I can’t promise anything.”
“Won’t this affect your status with the silicon runners?” Wilbur asked, doing that thing with his glasses again. And it was then that Harlan realized he had been wrong about him; it wasn’t necessarily a sign of nervousness but a sign of concern.
Harlan shrugged. “My status is going to be ruined at the end of all this anyway, so why not dig all the way to the truth on the way down?”
If he was right about Hugo, then the silicon runners were already compromised, and with one attempt on his life already, Harlan didn’t see any reason to play by the rules now. It wasn’t just a search for truth and justice, it was a search for survival.
“So you’ll do it?” Irena asked.
“Yeah. But you lot will need to go find something else to do while I get to work. It might take some time.” Harlan gestured for the group to clear out of his way, and he took a seat at his screen.
Bella and her crew left him to it. Irena remained, but she sat down on the stool in the kitchen area and busied herself with some work on a slate. He thought about asking her to leave too, but then realized he’d grown accustomed to her company.
“While you’re here,” Harlan said, “would you mind making some more coffee? There’s too much blood in my caffeine levels.”
“Sure thing,” Irena said, sharing a comfortable smile with him.
— Looks like she’s growing fond of you.
— Cut the sass and prepare to get to work. We need to crack Victoria Selles’ personal files, and I’d rather we didn’t get caught doing it.
Irena brought over his coffee and placed it on his desk. He thanked her and watched her for a moment as she returned to work
on her slate. He admired her spirit; she’d gone through a lot in the last few days, yet she was still focused on the task at hand.
— Milo, Harlan thought, play some music. Eagles Greatest Hits.
The opening notes to ‘Hotel California’ came through the apartment’s speakers.
“What’s this?” Irena asked, looking up from her slate.
“A classic group from before the Great Migration,” Harlan said. “Classic music helps me focus.”
“I think I like it,” she said.
“Apparently a lot of people did.”
With the music playing in the background, and with his caffeine levels approaching normal, Harlan switched on his screen and dived into that hyper-focused state he had developed as a junior silicon runner, where the work was ninety percent hacking and system analysis. He missed this part of his job and felt at home as he accessed Victoria Selles’ network and began to work on finding its vulnerabilities.
It’d take him a while, but he’d done this a thousand times before. Hacking high-level government officials was his idea of a good time. Where most people were happy adventuring in VR worlds, he found peace and tranquility in cracking code. And this one called to him like the sirens called to Ulysses.
Three hours later, Harlan had finally decrypted Victoria Selles’ personal files. He had used Milo’s abilities to run filters to narrow down his search for anything interesting. Although Harlan hadn’t found anything directly incriminating, he did find something that gave them the next lead in the expanding case.
Bella returned a few minutes after Harlan had sent her a message.
“You found something on Gianni?” she said.
Harlan spun around on his chair to face her. Irena was leaning against the breakfast bar. The two women touched fists in a familiar greeting.
“Something along those lines,” hesaid, adding, “Where’s the rest of the crew?”
“I’ve got them scrubbing Sanjeet’s shuttle clear of IDs. The military service is swarming the area; I didn’t want our only route off the station to be impounded.”
“Good thinking.”
He’d seen the military service expand their numbers via his news feeds. There was nothing on the silicon runners’ server, so he assumed this step-up in security came from higher up, presumably on advisement from Hugo.
“Harlan?” Bella prompted. “The files?”
“Sorry, I was just thinking things over. Here, look at this memo I found.” He swiped the file across to her, and she brought it up on her terminal, scanning the few lines.
“A name,” she said, “Charles Gandit, and… what’s Vanguard?”
“I dug around on the black-net a little,” Harlan said. “Vanguard is an elite hierarchy within the Jovian Group. There’s little information on them, but there were a number of messages to and from Gandit and Irena’s mother. At this stage, I’d say Victoria Selles is part of this Vanguard cabal.”
“And this Gandit chap, he’s our main lead?”
Gandit appeared to be one of the directors of the Jovian Group and a member of the Vanguard inner circle. Harlan had checked his record on the runners’ database, but nothing came up. As far as the official law-keeping situation was concerned, he was squeaky clean.
“Sure is,” he said. “There were others mentioned, but they’re dead now. I suggest we split up, as I have a chip that needs decoding. Why don’t you pay Mr. Gandit a visit and see what he knows about your brother’s disappearance?”
“He’s here on Atlas?” Bella asked.
“Yeah. On level eight.”
“Okay, my crew and I will go and see what he knows.”
“When you’re finished, meet me at a contact’s place. The RDC down on level two: ask for Gylfie. I’ll be there with him, cracking into this chip we got from the abbot on Turing station.”
“You did good, Harlan.” Bella kissed him on the cheek before sweeping away and exiting his apartment.
“Do you mind if I go back to my parents’ place?” Irena asked. “I have a few things I need to get off my chest.”
“You’re free to do whatever you need to.” Harlan stood up from his desk and carefully stretched his aching shoulders and neck. “But I’m here if you want some support. You said your mother was acting strange with you before…”
“It’s fine. I need to do this. Besides, the quicker you access that chip, the sooner we can get a lead on Fizon. I’ll meet you at Gylfie’s place when I’m done. I doubt it’ll take long.”
“Just call me if you get into trouble, or head straight for the RDC. I’ll send you the location. It’s a safe place despite the low level.” Harlan tapped out a map location on his terminal and swiped it over to Irena.
“Got it.” She smiled a nervous smile.
Harlan grabbed his jacket and the abbot’s chip and led her out of his apartment.
He felt like things were coming together now, but in the back of his mind he was still worried about Leanne and those in the shadows who clearly wanted him dead. He made sure the gun he’d procured was well-holstered and ready to use at a moment’s notice as he strode toward the elevator that would take him down into the bowels of the station.
Irena took the other elevator heading upward—as did Bella’s crew.
Harlan tried to ignore the fleeting thought that this might be the last time he would see any of them. “Good luck,” he said, before stepping inside the empty elevator car and requesting level two.
21
Bella and her crew spilled out of the elevator on level eight of Atlas Station. Up here, the place was all high-end glass surfaces and genetically superior plants hanging from the ceiling. Video screens showed adverts for holidays to the Jovian moons and the exclusive Mars colony resort.
“Would you get a load of this place,” Bashir said.
“First time this high up?” Greta asked, with an edge to her voice as though it were somehow a slight on Bashir. Bella was getting tired of the attitude. They rarely took on new crew, and she wasn’t the type of captain to condone hazing, but she knew better than to make a big deal of it. Greta would only rebel and make it harder for the newcomer.
“Yes,” Bashir said. “I’ve only ever been to Atlas twice. I’ve been on Zeno and Galilei, mostly. Some of us aren’t lucky enough to have a high enough status level to get into the SMF—they don’t admit us vat-grown orphans.”
“You think it’s a good thing serving in the military?” Greta stopped and faced Bashir, forcing everyone on the walkway to swerve around them.
A pair of suited older ladies, clearly government-administration types, tutted and shook their heads as they were forced to walk around the group. Bella gave them an apologetic look and instantly felt disgusted with herself that she was deferring to some privileged government stooges.
“You two, shut the hell up and concentrate,” Bella snapped. “Otherwise you’ll both need new jobs.”
Wilbur placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. Bella took a deep breath and allowed herself to calm down. “I’m sorry. But seriously, focus. You’re all on the same team. Act like it.”
Greta glared at Bashir, her gaze burning a figurative hole in the newcomer. But to Bashir’s credit, he inclined his head and apologized. It caught Greta off guard and she stammered a halfhearted, “No problem.”
Bella pushed Greta and Bashir aside. She moved forward and led her crew down the glass walkway to the row of apartments on the space side of the level eight torus.
The doors they passed were made to look like real wood, but Bella knew better. When she rapped her knuckles against number fifty-four, the home of Charles Gandit, the door clanged like a metal bulkhead. According to Harlan’s research, Gandit was a director of the Jovian Group and a member of the Vanguard, whatever that might be.
An eyeball appeared at the viewing hole. It was old, watery, and gray. It blinked a few times, and then the locks to the door unlatched their magnetic hold.
Without waiting, Bella pushe
d the door open, knocking the older man back into his apartment. Wilbur and Bashir followed inside, while Greta stood guard outside as per the plan.
“Wha-what the hell is this?” Gandit asked, stuttering over his words.
He reached out to balance himself against an occasional table worth more than all of Bella’s apartment’s furniture. It was an antique piece from Earth. The rest of the apartment shared its opulence.
“Sit down,” Bella said. “You’re going to help us with our inquiries. Don’t worry about offering us coffee. We won’t be staying long. Assuming you cooperate.”
Gandit ran a hand through his thinning brown hair. He had it combed over a pale white head covered with darker patches of liver spots. He had to be easily a century old and wealthy or privileged enough that he didn’t worry about having hair transplants.
His status meant that his physical appearance was of no consequence.
“Who are you?” he demanded, puffing his chest out now that he’d had time to compose himself. “I’ll call the SMF. This is breaking and entering.”
“You let us in,” Wilbur said, his voice calm and even. “The maglock’s security file will prove that. And the cameras you have running will show us acting calmly. Now, please, Mr. Gandit, take a seat and let us deal with this like professionals.”
Bashir remained at the rear, his large frame standing in the way of the door, preventing any escape. Gandit looked to Bella, then to Wilbur, his forehead creasing with confusion. His right hand shifted toward his left wrist—to his terminal.
“No, no, Mr. Gandit,” Bella said. “There’s no need for that.” She stepped closer and gripped his wrist in what looked like a handshake. He tried to pull away, but Bella was too strong for him. Using his arm as leverage, she forced him backward until the backs of his legs hit the front of an overstuffed leather armchair.
He collapsed back into it, with a waft of air rushing out from the cushions. He tried to stand, but from his position it was easy enough to hold him in place with a hand on his shoulder. Wilbur approached and took up a position on his left.
Both he and Bella pulled a couple more armchairs across the carpeted lounge so that they were sitting just a meter away, imprisoning Gandit in his own wealth and privilege.
Vanguard Rising: A Space Opera Adventure Page 15