Colony One

by Tarah Benner

  “I’m sorry,” I add. “I haven’t been ignoring you on purpose.”

  Tripp’s grin falters, but his eyes continue to twinkle. “I hope not.”

  “I’ve just been busy . . . with work.”

  “You know what they say about all work and no play,” says Tripp. “I take it your story is panning out?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “No?” Tripp looks vaguely surprised. “I would have thought it would be an easy slam dunk. I pretty much gave you an all-access pass.”

  I stare at him for several seconds, and suddenly it hits me. He knows.

  Tripp knows that I’ve been digging into the Space Force, because he sent me the documents and the uniform. It makes sense. Tripp of all people has the access. It would have been easy for him to get me into the Space Force under an assumed name.

  “Thank you for that, by the way.”

  Tripp quirks an eyebrow, as though he’s not quite sure what I’m alluding to. “Uh . . . You’re welcome?” He shakes his head. “You’ve got some cojones, Ms. Barnes — I’ll give you that.”

  I frown. I think his words are supposed to be a compliment, but his tone is less than flattering.

  “Sorry I didn’t say anything before,” I mumble. “I honestly had no idea it was you.”

  Now Tripp looks really confused. “Wow.”

  “What?”

  He lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Hey, this is nothing new. I’ve had plenty of company information stolen before. But I don’t think anyone’s ever thanked me for it.”

  “Thanked you for what?”

  Tripp frowns. “Porter told me you were taking stills of the documents I had out on my desk. I assumed that you were writing some kind of story about me or my company.”

  I shake my head. Is that what he meant when he said I had an all-access pass? Is that what he thought I was thanking him for?

  “What? No. I wasn’t . . . I mean, yes, that was me. I did take pictures of the Elderon budget, but . . . There’s nothing else that you’ve done for me lately?”

  He waggles his eyebrows. “Is there something you’d like me to do for you?”

  “Ew, no. That’s not what I meant. I mean, there’s nothing else you’ve done that might have helped me with my story?”

  “I don’t think so . . .” says Tripp, clearly confused. “I mean, I was the one who insisted that we hire you, but other than that . . .”

  My stomach turns, and I get an unexpected kick of guilt. I’d almost forgotten that Tripp was the one who brought me to Natalie’s attention. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t even be here. So far I’ve done a pretty poor job of repaying him.

  “Unless you want to thank me for my persistence.” He chuckles. “I have to say . . . I don’t think I’ve ever actively pursued a girl who was using me to ruin my company.”

  “I’m not!” I say quickly. “I mean, I am working on a story, but I wasn’t using you. And I don’t have a vendetta against your company.”

  My brain is too busy putting the pieces together to feel the appropriate amount of shame. The truth is I did use Tripp to gain information, but there will be plenty of time to stew in my guilt when I’m on a shuttle back to Earth.

  “Wait,” I say. “So you haven’t sent any mysterious packages to my suite lately?”

  “No . . .”

  I shake my head. It doesn’t make sense. Who else could have had that kind of access?

  “And Porter knew that I was taking shots of all those documents?”

  “Trust me,” says Tripp. “There’s nothing that happens in our office that Porter doesn’t know about.”

  I don’t know what bothers me more: the fact that I didn’t notice I’d been caught or the fact that Porter tattled on me to his boss.

  “He didn’t confront me about it,” I say.

  Tripp shrugs. “That’s not really his style.”

  “But you knew I’d done it.”

  “Yeah. Porter’s bad at keeping secrets when something’s bothering him. He knew that I liked you, and he was trying to protect me.”

  There it is — that kick of guilt I’ve been avoiding. I really have been shitty to Tripp. He has all the trappings of a conceited pretty boy, but he’s been nothing but nice to me.

  He knew I’d stolen information from his office, but he didn’t turn me in. He let me do it — even when he knew it could blow back on his company — and he continued to send me messages.

  He doesn’t deserve the way I’ve treated him, and I don’t deserve Tripp. I need to cut him loose before this goes any further.

  “Tripp, I —”

  “Maggie, before you try to break up with me, remember that we’ve never gone on an actual date.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out.

  “In fact,” says Tripp, cracking that familiar roguish grin. “You did promise me a date, and you’ve never made good on that deal.”

  In that instant, it all clicks into place. I’m too shocked to respond, though I know I owe Tripp an apology.

  Tripp has no idea what favor I was referring to. And if he’s trying to get me on a date, why wouldn’t he take credit for it? The only logical explanation is that Tripp doesn’t know anything about the fake Space Force credentials. He doesn’t know anything because he didn’t send them.

  But there was someone else who knew I was snooping — someone else with high-level access who might have the connections to get me a fake ID. I don’t know how — I don’t know why — but somehow I know that Porter is involved.

  30

  Maggie

  My dramatic exit from the microgravity chamber is somewhat hampered by the fact that I have to half swim, half drift out of the area.

  I leave Tripp even more confused than he was before and make a mental note to repay him for being such a good sport. I can’t take back my shitty behavior, but I can do better in the future. Maybe I’ll let him take me on that date.

  I scan my face to unlock my locker and pull out my overstuffed messenger bag. I dump the contents onto the table and rifle through the pile.

  The messages and the package all came to me less than twenty-four hours after my initial conversation with Alex. She was the only other person who knew I was digging into Maverick to find out more about the Space Force, but she had no reason to conceal her identity if she had been my mysterious source.

  Somebody must have been eavesdropping.

  Tripp had no idea what I was talking about, which only leaves Porter. Porter knew that I was digging into the budget. He knew I was a journalist. He must have thought that I was going to use the information against his company, so he decided to do some digging of his own.

  He had to have found a way to listen in on my conversation with Alex, and I’d bet money it has to do with my bag. He took it from me when I went into Tripp’s office, and he only brought it back after catching me taking pictures. He must have bugged me.

  I pull out my coffee-stained notebook and inspect each one of my pens. There’s nothing in my makeup bag or in the pockets of my sweater. I turn my bag inside out, combing the interior. I run my hand along the strap, and then . . . jackpot.

  It’s almost impossible to tell, but one of the rivets isn’t like the others. Three out of the four holding the strap in place are scratched brass rivets designed to look vintage. The fourth is silver and looks almost brand new.

  If I could bust this thing open with a hammer, I’d bet money it would reveal a tiny listening device registered to Maverick Enterprises.

  Furious, I stuff all my notes and pens back into my bag and head straight for Maverick headquarters. Porter must have heard me tell Alex my hunch. Either he’s working for the hackers and wanted to see how much I knew, or he’s just a nosy little shit.

  I burst through the spotless glass doors leading to Maverick HQ, resisting the urge to kick one of the decorative orange poufs clean across the lounge. It’s barely oh six hundred, and there are only a few people milling around.
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  “Can I help you?”

  I turn. The voice is high pitched, timid, and squeaky. Porter is nowhere in sight. I’m being flagged down by a disturbingly hip Korean girl with long silky black hair. She’s wearing neon-yellow cropped pants, dizzying heels, and oversized orange specs that make her look like a cartoon.

  “Porter around?” I huff, feeling extremely out of place.

  “Do you have an appointment?” The girl is bending over backwards to keep her voice polite, but it still prompts an involuntary eye roll from me.

  “I need an appointment for Tripp’s assistant? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Orange Specs Girl blinks several times very fast. “I-if you’d like, I can leave him a message or —”

  “Sure,” I say, the electricity in my voice crackling in the air. I wouldn’t be surprised if my mad-scientist curls were standing on end. “Why don’t you tell him that I found his little listening device. Did you know that it’s illegal to bug someone without their consent?”

  Orange Specs Girl just stares.

  “Did you know that I’m a reporter? How do you think it would make Maverick Enterprises look if I published a story about its long history of illegally wiretapping journalists and then using that information to blackmail them? Is that how you manage to kill the stories your bosses find unflattering?”

  The whole thing is a bit of a stretch, but judging by the look on Orange Specs Girl’s face, she isn’t about to call my bluff.

  “J-just a second,” she says, practically falling out of her enormous heels as she staggers down the hall.

  I sigh. It feels good to yell at somebody — even if that somebody isn’t the appropriate target for my fury.

  Two minutes later, Orange Specs Girl reappears with a very agitated Porter in tow. He’s wearing nautical blue high-water pants, a white sweater, boat shoes, and the sort of preppy man scarf that makes me want to strangle him.

  “You summoned?” he says, his voice barely a hiss.

  “Yes,” I say, bending down to wrestle the little rivet out of my bag. “I think this belongs to you.”

  His face turns, if possible, even paler. “I-I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Oh, you don’t?”

  Now he looks nervous. “Shall we adjourn to my, er . . . desk?”

  “No!” I cry. I’m not stupid. On the off chance that he is working for the Russians or the Bureau for Chaos, I’m not giving him the chance to get me alone. I want to know what the fuck is going on.

  Porter glances around the room. Orange Specs Girl is still staring at us as though she might lose her job, but apart from her, we’re alone.

  He waves his hand in a kingly “leave us” gesture, and Orange Specs Girl scoots away. Porter must be head bitch around here.

  I hold up the listening device. “Care to explain?”

  The shrug that Porter fakes is so clearly a lie that I’m actually insulted. Does this kid think I was born yesterday? I know the little shit bugged me, and I know he’s lying to my face.

  “So you’re saying that if I took this to an independent lab and had them dissect it, it wouldn’t be registered to Maverick Enterprises?”

  Porter opens his mouth and then closes it again.

  “Yeah, I thought so,” I spit. “Explain yourself.”

  “All right! All right! But . . . can we not do this here?”

  I look around. I understand his desire not to be overheard, but I’m not about to let him lure me down some dark murder-y hallway.

  “Fine,” I growl. “Tripp’s office. Now.”

  Porter marches back to the executive suites, and I make him leave the walls of Tripp’s office unfrosted.

  “Spill,” I say as soon as we’re behind closed doors.

  Porter looks cagey. Beads of sweat are springing up all over his forehead, and he keeps wiping his palms on his designer capris.

  He’s not exactly spy material.

  “Why — have you — been eavesdropping on me?”

  Porter doesn’t say a word.

  “Are you working for the hackers?” I ask. “Was I getting too close?”

  “No! No! Of course not.” Porter takes a deep breath. “I saw you taking photographs of Mr. Van de Graaf’s private documents, and I got suspicious. All right? It’s not the first time we’ve had problems with leaks . . . I thought you might be spying for the competition or writing some trashy exposé.”

  Porter takes a deep breath. “Mr. Van de Graaf obviously liked you. I couldn’t have him falling in love and then getting his heart broken when you turned out to be some evil skanky spy.”

  Evil? Skanky? I’m not sure which descriptor I find more offensive. “Why does everyone think I’m a spy?”

  Porter takes a deep breath. “Anyway . . . I bugged you. I figured that whatever you were up to, I had to find out for sure. And Mr. Van de Graaf was too blinded by his infatuation to be objective. He’s always had that problem. You think you’re the first girl to try to get close to him for money or information?”

  I recoil from the kick of guilt that rolls through me. At the time, I hadn’t thought that I was using Tripp, but it certainly seems that way now.

  “Any-hoo . . . I heard you talking to your editor.” He glances away, and I know there are some things that he hasn’t shared with Tripp. “For the record, I also thought it was odd that Maverick Enterprises brought up so many military personnel.”

  Aha! I feel strangely vindicated.

  “So why didn’t you just ask Tripp about it?”

  “Because Mr. Van de Graaf doesn’t know everything,” says Porter, lowering his voice as though the mere statement is treason. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the growing chasm between Strom loyalists and those who have embraced the younger Mr. Van de Graaf.”

  I give him a blank look.

  Porter rolls his eyes, as though he’s annoyed by my naiveté. “Obviously, most people expect that the elder Mr. Van de Graaf will hand over the reins to his son when the time comes. But the construction of the colony has created some friction between them. The elder Mr. Van de Graaf has made a lot of decisions that the younger Mr. Van de Graaf doesn’t agree with. But it’s still his company, so . . .”

  “Are you saying that sending a thousand Space Force personnel up to Elderon was Strom’s idea?”

  “It must have been.” Porter shakes his head. “Apparently, Maverick received a few threats after it announced the colony. We were never able to prove where they’d come from, but they had the Bureau for Chaos written all over them. I don’t think the younger Mr. Van de Graaf even knew about the threats. He doesn’t concern himself with things like that. He was focused on designing a world-class space station. He has always been a visionary, which is why he has people to help him hammer out the details.”

  “And you are one of those people.”

  Porter dips his head in a display of fake modesty. “Mr. Van de Graaf pays me to know things so that he doesn’t have to.”

  “So when you heard about my theory, you went and found Amelia McDermit.”

  He gives a reluctant nod.

  “You sent me her personnel file and the fake ID.”

  Porter doesn’t answer. He just swallows a few times, sweat beading up on his brow.

  “How did you do it?” I ask. “Whoever sent me that ID must have hacked into the Space Force personnel database. That had to take some serious skills.”

  A muscle near Porter’s left eye twitches, and I know it’s killing him not to take credit.

  “I work for the largest tech company in the world,” he mutters. “I know a guy.”

  “Does Tripp know that you use his employees to hack into military databases and make tweaks when it suits you?”

  “I am Mr. Van de Graaf’s right-hand man,” says Porter. “I am also the unofficial head of our internal security. It’s my job.”

  “It’s your job to spy on Maverick employees and journalists?”

  “Spying is such a loaded term.”


  “I wonder what Tripp would call it if he found out you checked into all of his potential girlfriends and weeded out the ones you didn’t like.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Really? ’Cause that’s sure what it sounds like.”

  Porter is clearly enamored with Tripp. There seems to be no end to the things he would do for his boss.

  “Anyone Mr. Van de Graaf is connected to represents a potential threat to this company!” Porter snaps. “It’s my job to make sure those liabilities are identified before they become a problem.”

  I hold back a satisfied grin. I knew Porter was on the verge of unraveling. The kid is putty in my hands.

  “Too bad you didn’t see the bot hack coming.”

  That, it seems, was the worst sort of insult I could have hurled at Porter. His face turns beet red, and he looks as though he wants to deck me.

  “No one — and I mean no one — could have seen that coming,” he says in a low angry voice.

  I raise an eyebrow. Porter might be a sneaky little bastard, but it’s looking less and less likely that he had anything to do with the bot hacks. His whole world is protecting Tripp. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize Tripp’s company.

  “I can think of one person who saw it coming,” I say. “Whoever stole the data from Jonah Wyatt’s SPIDER and used it to reprogram the bots in New York. You know anything about that?”

  Porter shakes his head, but I can tell he’s holding back.

  “Porter . . .”

  “I don’t!”

  “Yes, you do!” I cry. “And if you don’t come clean, eventually this is gonna blow back on the Space Force and Maverick Enterprises.”

  “No, really,” says Porter. “If I knew who was responsible, I’d be promoted so fast my head would spin.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Porter glances toward the door behind me, as though he’s planning his escape. “If I tell you, will you let the whole bugging thing go?” he asks. “Mr. Van de Graaf can’t ever know . . .”

  “I can’t make any guarantees.”

  “Well, then I can’t help you.”