“Yes. Sherlock recognizes each adult citizen of Anterra by his or her facial features and vocal characteristics.”
“So Sherlock basically knows where everyone is all the time.”
“It’s not that simple. First of all Sherlock only tracks people in public areas. And it takes quite a good camera angle, or quite a clean vocal sample, to make a match. Then there are the people who change their hair color or style, get a tan, get cosmetic facial surgery, and so on. That throws Sherlock for a loop. But again, we don’t expect him to keep track of everything. He sends plenty of red-flags to keep us busy.”
“What about false alarms?”
“They happen frequently, as you would expect. Our human analysts sort through a lot of red-flagged data. Most of the activities they look into turn out to be harmless. Many, however, do not.”
“It sounds farfetched—like something out of science fiction.”
“Believe me, the success of our department is no fiction.”
Jill still seemed unconvinced. “I don’t suppose you could give me an example?”
Holiday shrugged. “Just last night Sherlock noticed a man carrying a gun in a public park. Sherlock recognized the make and model of the gun, and recognized the man carrying it. The man had no such gun registered to his name. Sherlock notified us immediately, and we arrested the man within the hour. He has already confessed to stealing the gun, and planning to use it to rob a convenience store.”
Jill looked only slightly less skeptical.
“Perhaps,” said Holiday, “another example would be more convincing: We recently asked Sherlock to help us find a certain individual. We didn’t know what alias she would be using, or exactly what she looked like. However, we did have a vague idea of her recent behavior, as well as a general physical description. With Sherlock’s help we were able to track her down—though not without a great deal of difficulty.” He leveled his steel-gray eyes at her. “I believe you’re familiar with her story.”
Jill swallowed. “I’ve heard of her.”
“In any case, don’t take my word for it. Allow Sherlock to demonstrate.” Holiday pressed a button on the kiosk located next to the glass doors. “Sherlock—find any pertinent information regarding Jillian Branch. Send the information to this kiosk.”
“Of course, Director Holiday,” an electronic voice replied from somewhere overhead. It sounded formal and British, like Sherlock could be Holiday’s little brother.
Holiday took a page of paper out of the kiosk printer. “Write your name here,” he said, handing Jill a fountain pen from his pocket.
Even as she was scrawling her name, the kiosk was alerting Holiday: “I have your search results, sir.”
“Give me the most relevant items, Sherlock,” said Holiday.
“Of course, sir. There are thirty-seven known Anterran citizens with the name Jillian Branch. I assumed your request regarded the Jillian Branch whom your department arrested recently.”
“Correct.”
“Facial and vocal match have been made in the following coordinates over the last several minutes.”
The coordinates were then shown on a detailed overhead map of Anterra, zoomed to the GoCom island. Next to the map, the kiosk displayed two live camera views—each from a different angle—of Jill standing before the kiosk.
“The name ‘Jillian Branch’ was also written on a sheet of paper in those same coordinates seven seconds ago.”
An image of Jill’s scrawled signature now appeared on the screen along with the camera views and the map.
“I assume that this search was for demonstrative purposes, sir. If my data is correct, Jillian Branch is standing less than two meters away from you at the moment.”
“That will be all, Sherlock,” said Holiday. He lifted an eyebrow. “Convinced yet, Jillian?”
“Pretty,” Jill admitted. “But I’m still not sure what this all has to do with me.”
Holiday gestured back up the hallway. “Follow me.”
THEY circled the balcony overlooking HQ, passed through a small anteroom, and stepped into a dark, cramped chamber piled with very outdated technological devices.
“Welcome to our technology lab,” said Holiday. “And this is our technician, Dino.”
“Dino?”
“Not my real name,” said the funny little man. “Dino as in dinosaur—because I work with all this old technology. Real cute nickname. Mr. H came up with it himself.”
“Show her the videocassette,” Holiday told Dino.
“Right.” He handed her the narrow black box.
“See the dark magnetic tape rolled inside?” said Holiday. “For a time during the late twentieth century, this was essentially the only way to personally store video.”
Jill squinted at the video tape. “How did they store video on this thing?”
“The tape is full of images. A certain device would scroll through the tape and send the images onto a screen, along with audio signals to match.”
“This is the device here,” said Dino, patting the VCR Corey and Bradley had brought in. “You hooked this thing up to a television and put the videocassette in this slot. Of course, digital video discs pretty much totally replaced videocassettes by the end of the twentieth century.”
“Why would anyone want to use this old stuff?” asked Jill.
She realized she knew the answer before Holiday said it.
“It’s analogue data, Jillian; not digital.”
“So Sherlock doesn’t know about it,” said Jill.
“Bingo,” said Dino.
“Any form of data storage which is inaccessible to Sherlock,” said Holiday, “could not have been obtained legally, according to the Digital Information Exclusivisation Act.”
“So this thing was smuggled here from the Home planet.”
Holiday nodded. “In this case, the videocassette and others like it were being used to store illegal material.”
“Films banned by the Anterran government,” said Dino. “The guy was renting them out. Mr. Love, he calls himself.”
“That’s the least of our worries,” said Holiday. “Those videocassettes can record new data. Criminals who are interested in much more than bootlegged films could make good use of them—contacting each other, exchanging plans, sending illegal information, et cetera. We have it on good authority that this Mr. Love has been in contact with just such a criminal.”
Jill looked puzzled. “So you caught this guy even though Sherlock didn’t know about him?”
“Corey Stone knew about him,” said Holiday, “or at least, how to find him. Corey used to be an errander like you, Jillian.”
The realization hit her. “That’s why you need me. You want me to go undercover.”
“At times, yes. You have connections in the Anterran criminal underground—connections that will help us. But you have more than that.”
“Like?”
Holiday looked like he was trying not to smile. “Like an uncanny ability to get in and out of places without being caught.”
She shrugged. “You guys caught me.”
“We’re good at what we do. And you slipped through even our fingers, Jillian. Don’t be so modest.”
She thought of saying it was Corey’s incompetence that allowed her to slip through their fingers. Then she decided not to. Instead, she said: “As of this morning I was still a criminal myself. Now you want me to be one of the good guys. Isn’t that a little risky?”
“No,” said Holiday. “It’s extremely risky. A risk well worth taking, I might add. If we didn’t think so, we wouldn’t have pursued you to the extent that we did.”
“In other words I’d be back in jail.”
“A distinct possibility. Perhaps when you’ve been on a mission or two for us, jail will seem rather more appealing.”
Jill thought he may be right. “What sort of missions?”
Dino pointed to the videocassette. “Finding and getting rid of stuff like that.”
�
��You see, Jillian,” said Holiday, “it is a primary job of this department to keep Sherlock’s information up- to-date. That means tracking down any information inaccessible to him, and combating the ever-growing problem of illegal data storage.”
“So it’s a pretty big problem?”
“More and more so. Sherlock has been a well-kept secret for some time. But suspicion is growing. Criminals are starting to catch on to the fact that their phone conversations are being listened to, their hard drives being accessed, and so on. Some are trying to use advanced technological defenses—the latest firewalls, phone scramblers, and so on. But others have found a simpler and much more effective way of hiding from Sherlock.”
“Reverting to old technology—non-digital technology,” guessed Jill.
“Bingo again,” said Dino. He took the videocassette back from Jill. “Sherlock doesn’t know what’s on this thing. We had to go out and get a hold of it ourselves.”
“We have reason to believe,” said Holiday, “that a large sector of our city’s criminal underground is trying to create a vast communications network using outdated technology. Our department will be handicapped if they succeed. Corey’s task force is being assembled to see to it that they don’t.”
Great. She would be working with Corey. They’d have to find a way to make up—or at least be civil with each other. “Sounds kind of scary,” she said, meaning more than just having to get along with Corey.
“It most certainly is.”
“Downright dangerous, even.”
“At times, absolutely.”
“But then, I’m used to that, right?”
Holiday chuckled. “Welcome to our team, Jillian.” He led the way back out of the lab. “Let me show you to your room.”
“My...room?”
“Certainly. Along with your salary, the unwitting tax-payers of Anterra are also providing you with room and board. This way.”
13
HE led her back to the elevator lobby and down a gently curving hallway opposite his office. The hallway had the same midnight blue carpet and black walls with cityscapes.
They walked in silence. For the first time, everything was starting to sink in. This was really happening. She’d really broken into GoCom. She was really here. She was really joining a secret government department. It wasn’t at all like she thought it would be. It was...better, in a way. This was pretty cool work they would be having her do. It wasn’t the sort of work you would expect to be doing in place of jail time. And her room and board was being provided too? It seemed too good to be true.
She wasn’t quite sure how to take it.
The hall emptied down a wide staircase into a large room. “The lounge,” Holiday gestured.
It was nice. There were several clusters of couches and chairs, potted plants here and there, three big TVs, game tables, and a couple bookshelves. Above this was a spacious loft with a kitchen and dining area. On either side of the lounge, sliding doors and balconies overlooked the room. A few people were hanging out in the room now, playing video games, reading, chatting, snacking, shooting pool. None of them appeared to be much older than Jill. Several were obviously a little younger.
Holiday cleared his throat from the top of the stairs. “Allow me to introduce Jillian Branch,” he announced.
They waved and smiled. A few called her by name when they said hi.
It wasn’t a big deal, right? Just a greeting, like the director had asked for. So where did that lump in Jill’s throat come from? Maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t used to people caring when she came or went. Maybe it was the fact that pretty much no one ever called her by her real name.
She could get used to that.
One of the girls actually jumped up from a couch and ran up the stairs to greet Jill more personally. She had short wild hair and more piercings than almost everyone else in the room combined. “So, you’re finally here!” she burst. Now she was throwing her arms around Jill. It was unexpected, that was for sure. But it was welcoming.
“This is Desiree Mason,” said Holiday, “one of our technical specialists.” He rolled his eyes. “She’s a bit shy, but once you get to know her she opens up a bit.”
The girl giggled embarrassedly. “Sorry. I get a little...um, overexcited sometimes.” She lowered her voice to a whisper as if the director wouldn’t hear her: “Please don’t ever ever ever ever call me Desiree. It’s Dizzie. Really great to have you here, Jill!”
Jill tried to breathe while she looked around at Holiday, Dizzie, the lounge...“Thanks,” she said with a swallow.
“I’ll let Desiree show you to your room, if she doesn’t mind.”
“Sure,” Dizzie said enthusiastically. Enthusiasm seemed to be her most prominent characteristic.
“Take the rest of the day to settle in, Jillian,” said the director. “Be at conference room D tomorrow morning at eight o’clock—that’s on the west side of HQ. You and another new recruit will begin your official orientation at that time.”
DIZZIE led Jill up some stairs to one side of the lounge, and along another hallway to the girls’ dormitory. On one side of the hallway was a long, tiled bathroom and shower room. The other side was lined with doors. They passed one door with a guitar-shaped sign that said “Dizzie” in flowery pink writing.
“Hey, we’re gonna be neighbors!” said Dizzie. She opened the next door, and Jill followed her inside.
The room was small but cozy. It had a few simple furnishings—a dresser, a desk, a loft bed, and a small closet bathroom.
“Oh, by the way, your things are on their way,” Dizzie told her.
“My things?”
“Yeah, you know, your clothes and stuff.”
“On their way?”
“Yeah. It took a little while to find your new apartment, but we finally did. I helped!” She smiled proudly, then gasped. “Sorry. That probably sounds a little creepy, like I was stalking you or something.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just doing your job, I guess. So...how do you like it?”
“Like, being here and everything? Oh, it’s the best!”
“Technical specialist, huh?”
“Uh-huh. Basically I do computers—tap records, keep you guys in communication with HQ while you’re on missions, stuff like that.”
“Us guys?”
“Yeah, field agents. That’s what you are. You’re the ones that go out and do the dirty work—the real action. Sometimes I envy you people. But hey, I love what I do, and I’m good at it.”
“Is that why they, you know, brought you in?”
Dizzie nodded. “I did some serious hacking in my day. I was in pretty deep trouble. I got here like a year ago. Best year of my life!”
“Corey Stone—he’s a field agent too? We’ll be working together?”
Dizzie cleared her throat. “Um, yeah. Hey, I know things have gotten off to a...a rocky start with you two, I guess you could say.”
“You could say,” Jill muttered.
“He’s a good guy. Don’t be too hard on him.”
“Tell him the same for me. He doesn’t want me here.”
“Well, can you blame him? Look, don’t worry about Cor, he’s all right. You two will patch things up eventually.”
“I hope so.” She found herself meaning it as she said it.
“Listen, I gotta get ready to head over to HQ. My shift starts in a few. I’ll let you settle in a little. But if you need anything before I’m gone, just come on over next door, cool?”
Jill nodded. “Thanks a lot, Dizzie.”
“No problem. And just let me know if you want me to turn my music down a little. I won’t mind. Really. I tend to crank it a bit too much. Mandy, my neighbor on the other side—she tells me to quiet down all the time!” Dizzie smiled and waved before disappearing out the door.
She popped in half a second later. “Oh, and Mandy and I are making macaroni and cheese in the dorm kitchen tonight. We like to do that sometimes to avoid the cafeteri
a food. About seven o’clock or so, that’s when we’ll be on break. You should join us!”
“That sounds great.”
Dizzie smiled and disappeared again.
As predicted, the muffled din of loud, thumping music was soon emanating from the other side of the wall.
Jill sat on her bed and looked around the room.
Her room.
So, so surreal.
She had to be dreaming. Any second now she’d wake up and realize that she was still just an errander with no friends, no home but a lonely apartment she was rarely at, no parents, no family.
No purpose.
She stepped out of the sliding glass door at the back of her room. There was a small balcony overlooking the lounge. The guys shooting pool down below were talking some good-natured trash. The video-gamers were shouting about an impressive kill someone had made. The girls chatting in the dining area were making tea and laughing ridiculously hard about something.
There was another row of balconies above her, apparently for the second floor rooms. More balconies with sliding doors lined the wall across the lounge from her. The guys’ dorms, Jill assumed. Behind one of those curtained glass doors was Corey Stone’s room.
Maybe Dizzie was right. Maybe they would smooth things out.
Jill glanced over at Dizzie’s balcony next to hers. It had a hammock, several flower pots, and a stand with a bright pink electric guitar. She could hear Dizzie singing along with the music in her room as she got ready for work.
Macaroni and cheese sounded delicious. When was the last time Jill had had dinner with someone?
It seemed silly when she thought about it, but Jill couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just come home.
SOMEONE was waiting for Holiday when he got back to his office: Riley, the big, bald Home Planet Liaison. He wasn’t happy. Then again, when was he ever?
“I warned you about this girl, Holiday.”
“Yes, I remember that. I admire you for coming down to admit how wrong you were.”
“Excuse me? Do you realize what’s going on up there?”
“Chaos? Pandemonium? Mayhem? I can think of another synonym or two.”
“We’ll be spending weeks reprogramming each and every employee’s ID. You don’t seem to think it’s a problem.”
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