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Chapter Twenty-Three

“What do we have?” Isaac asked.

“A name.” Cephalie walked across the v-wing console in front of their tandem seats. “Thomas Stade’s business contact on his most recent trip to the Atomic Resort was an Oortan programmer named Adrian Kvint. Age twenty-seven, born on the dwarf planet of Haumea, and technically no criminal record.”

“Another Oortan,” Isaac breathed. “Great.”

“And a programmer,” Susan said.

“Yeah,” Isaac said. “Sounds like we have the source of our virus.”

“You could be right.” Cephalie provided both of them with Adrian Kvint’s SysPol file. “We don’t have much on Kvint, I’m afraid. His name is referenced in a handful of other cases as a provider of illicit software, but all of the transfers took place in Oortan territories, like the Atomic Resort.”

“Which means he hasn’t committed any crimes we can prosecute him for,” Isaac sighed. “Even if he’s violated the spirit of the law.”

“We’re going to run into jurisdiction problems again, aren’t we?” Susan asked.

“Yup. Software is almost completely unregulated in the OCC, and he’s free to sell it to SysGov citizens. He just can’t do it in SysGov, and they can’t bring it back legally either.” Isaac pushed the file aside. “Do we know where he is now?”

“He’s on a flight from the Atlas Shoal to Ballast Heights,” Cephalie said. “That’s the Ministry of Transportation response I was waiting for. He’s due to arrive within the hour.”

“Then we can pick him up at the airport,” Isaac said. “Send word to SSP. Have him brought in for illegal software trafficking.”

“Is that charge going to stick?” Susan asked.

“No, but we can inconvenience him, and right now that’s the only leverage we have. Best use it before he goes somewhere we can’t touch. From the looks of it, Kvint conducts his business in a smart way. He’ll know the laws and he’ll know we can’t prosecute him, but he’ll also know he’s within a hair’s breadth of breaking the law. I’m hoping that means he’ll want to convince us he’s clean, and there’s the opening we need to pump him for information.”

“Sounds like a long shot,” Susan said. “He could just keep quiet until we’re forced to release him.”

“Maybe,” Isaac said. “We won’t know until we try. Cephalie, take us back to Janus.”

* * *

Isaac watched Adrian Kvint through the interrogation room’s virtual window on the thirty-third floor of the BHPD 51st Precinct. The young man was barely an adult by SysGov reckoning, but that meant little in the OCC, and his body showed signs of extensive modification. He wore his brown hair in a long braid, which did nothing to hide the metallic back half of his skull, and Isaac wondered how much of Kvint’s original brain remained or how heavily his mind was integrated with illegal programming.

The customizations didn’t end there. His legs looked normal enough, but the joints in his hips afforded a greater range of motion, and his feet ended in elongated, prehensile toes, granting Kvint the equivalent of four hands and arms if he kicked off his sandals. He sat in his chair with arms crossed and a defiant glower affixed to his face.

“Is there such a thing as a normal Oortan?” Susan asked. Both had changed back into their uniforms at the airport, and her sidearm hung heavy from her waist.

“They’re out there,” Isaac said, and palmed the door open.

“I want you to know I’m very unhappy about this situation,” Kvint started as soon as they entered. “Whoever you’re looking for, I’m not him.”

“Then perhaps you can help us clear things up.” Isaac sat down and waited for Susan to seat herself. “We have a few questions for you. If you’re innocent, as you say, and your story checks out, I’m sure we can have you on your way shortly.”

“No, no, no.” Kvint wagged a finger. “Forget it. I fly into Janus for a well-earned vacation, and this is the welcome I get? Grabbed by state troopers the moment I step off the saucer? And for what? Software trafficking? Give me a break! I conduct all my business in the OCC. It’s all perfectly legit. This game didn’t work out for the last SysPol stooge who tried to charge me, and it’s not going to work out for you either.”

“Be that as it may, we still have questions we need to ask you.”

“Forget it. I’m not answering any questions.”

“Then I’m afraid we’ll have to hold you until—”

“—the charges are dropped,” Kvint cut in. “Yes, I know. I’ve been down this road before, and this dance will play out the same way as the last time, mark my words.”

“If you simply cooperate with us, I’m sure we can have this misunderstanding resolved in short order.”

“Then consider this a ‘screw you’ from me for ruining my vacation. Software trafficking! I mean really! How dumb do you people think I am? I was going to tour the Founding Sector and everything today, and now I’m stuck here!”

Isaac leaned back with a grimace, unsure how to proceed.

Kvint looked over at Susan and regarded her uniform curiously.

“Which SysPol division are you from?” he asked, then gestured to Isaac. “He’s from Themis, obviously, but I have no idea which you’re from.”

“I’m not from a division.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kvint opened an interface and ran a search.

“Warning!” Cephalie yelled. “Firewall breached!”

“Oh, don’t get so worked up,” Kvint said. “It’s not my fault this precinct’s so-called data isolation is full of holes. Just running a search, is all. Perfectly legal.”

“I think SSP might have a different take on the matter,” Isaac warned.

“You can monitor my traffic if it’ll make you feel better.” He tapped in his parameters. “Strange uniform. Peaked cap. Blue with white stripes. Shield insignia. And…”

Kvint put his head on a fist and read the data scrolling down his interface with a somewhat bored expression. But then his face slackened. His jaw dropped, his eyes grew wide, and he pushed away from the table.

“You’re with the Admin?!” he cried, chair back pressed against the wall.

“Is there a problem?” Isaac asked.

“You keep her away from me!” Kvint pointed a shaking finger at Susan.

Isaac and Susan looked at each other, and both kept their faces carefully neutral. He saw an opening; the question was, did Susan? He was about to spell it out for her when he noticed a brief glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

“Permission to act like a scary Admin thug?” Susan asked, her speech encrypted in security chat.

“Permission granted,” Isaac replied with a guarded expression, also in security chat.

“That’s correct, Mister Kvint,” Susan said, returning to normal speech. “My name is Susan Cantrell. Agent Cantrell of the Admin’s Department of Temporal Investigation, and you are a person I’ve been greatly looking forward to meeting.”

“What does the Admin want with me?” Kvint asked, hands trembling on the table.

“That depends.” She tilted her head. “Tell me, Mister Kvint. Do you know what we do with criminal scum in the Admin?”

“It says here you forcibly extract their connectomes, dump them in abstract prison domains, and recycle their bodies.”

“That’s correct.” She smiled malevolently at him. “I’m glad to see our reputation precedes us.”

“But I don’t live in the Admin!”

“You’re also not a citizen of SysGov.” Susan knitted her fingers on the table. “Mister Kvint, let me be plain with you. I’m here concerning a matter of great importance to the Admin. A matter that involves the construction of time drives and injury to agents of the Gordian Division.” She gestured to Isaac. “And since you’ve declined to cooperate with our colleagues in SysPol, it is up to me to explore…other avenues of acquiring the information we need.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

What does he think she’d do to him? Isaac wondered. Oh well. Doesn’t matter, I suppose.

“Mister Kvint.” Susan flashed a sharklike grin. “The Admin has no formal relationship with the OCC. You have no legal recourse with us.”

“But! But!” Kvint faced Isaac. “You wouldn’t let her take me away, would you?”

“Well, I don’t want her to do anything to you,” Isaac said, putting on his best good-cop face, “but I’m afraid this is out of my hands.” He rose from his chair. “Good day, Mister Kvint. I wish you well.”

“WAIT!” Kvint screeched.

“Yes?” Isaac said.

“We can all be reasonable here, right?”

“That depends,” Susan said. “Are you willing to cooperate with the detective?”

Kvint nodded emphatically.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Isaac sat back down and placed the LifeBeam code fragments over the table. “First, you can start by taking a look at these.”

“Hmm.” Kvint arrayed the code fragments in front of him, eyes zipping through the porous code. “Where did you get these?”

“From a LifeBeam transceiver in Ballast Heights.”

“Seems an odd place for these to end up.” He toyed with his braid, then nodded. “I can’t be certain what they were originally, but this is at least based on my code.”

“How can you tell?”

“You know what every programmer says about every other programmer’s work?”

“No.”

“We say ‘Sure, that’ll work, but I wouldn’t do it that way.’ A programmer’s habits come out in the way they write their code, and I can see some of my own markers in these fragments. See this looping structure here? There are eight spaces between each of the different syntax segments.”

“Meaning?”

“I wrote the loop. I like the number eight and try to include it in my code wherever I can. It’s my good luck charm.” He glanced at Susan, who watched him with unblinking intensity. “Can I go now?”

“Not yet,” Isaac said. “Tell me about Thomas Stade.”

“Which one?”

“I’m sorry.” Isaac blinked.

“‘Thomas Stade’ is a fake ID,” Kvint said. “I’ve sold software to at least four of them over the past few years, all different people. Which one are we talking about?”

“This would likely be the most recent one. You met him three weeks ago on the Atomic Resort.”

“Oh, that guy!” Kvint’s eyes lit up. “I’ve sold software to that one twice. Strange customer. Annoying, too.”

“How so?”

“Normally, I conduct all my business in person. That way, there’s zero chance of my work ending up somewhere it shouldn’t. But the first time I dealt with this latest Stade, about two months ago I think, the guy insisted I provide the goods remotely. We were to meet on the Atomic Resort, but he still wouldn’t come to me in person! What a bother! I had to craft these trojan layers to wrap his package and route it discreetly over. Made him pay extra for it, too.”

“What did he purchase?”

“A copy protection codeburner.”

“Copy protection?” Isaac asked, brow creased. Codeburners were a class of software that combined decryption algorithms with delete functions. Why would Stade need to remove something’s copy protection, and what might that “something” be?

“Don’t look at me,” Kvint said. “I didn’t ask. Seemed like a waste of my time for something so simple, but whatever.”

“Was that all he purchased the first time?”

“Yeah.”

“And the second meeting?”

“We met three weeks ago, again on the Atomic Resort. Don’t ask me why, but he met me in person that time. I wasn’t about to complain, since it made my job easier.”

“Is this him?” Isaac produced an image.

“Yeah, that’s him. Or at least a synthoid that looks the same.”

“What did Stade purchase during your second meeting?”

“An attack virus. Nastiest one I ever wrote, too. It’s not sentient, but I did imbue it with a certain…animal cunning. You see, I used pieces of my own connectome as the foundation. The synthetic half of my connectome, of course.” He plinked the metal back of his skull. “Haven’t got a clue why the Trinh Syndicate would touch software this hot, though.”

Trinh?” Isaac raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Didn’t I say so earlier?”

“Say what?”

“You know all those Stades I’ve dealt with the last, I don’t know, five or six years? The Trinh Syndicate established the fake ID they use.”

“Is that so? You wouldn’t by any chance know which manager set up their fake account?”

“Sure, I do. After the third Stade, I hacked into their infostructure.” He indicated their surrounds. “It’s even more porous than this, if you can believe it. Anyway, I did it as a lark. More out of curiosity than anything else.”

“And the manager in question?” Isaac pressed.

“Turned out to be a big letdown. Some junior nobody named Melody Quang created it.”

* * *

“Nicely played,” Isaac told Susan once they were alone and Adrian Kvint had been sent on his way.

“Thanks. I gave him my best Dahvid Kloss impression.”

“Who’s that?”

“Scariest guy in the whole DTI. Pray you never have to meet him.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” He crossed his arms. “So. Melody Quang created Stade’s fake ID.” He made a tut-tut-tut sound. “Very naughty of her.”

“Enough to charge her?”

“You better believe it. Identity fraud for one. From there, we’re one step away from tying her to Stade, which means conspiracy to commit murder could be on the table. Cephalie?”

“You rang?” She appeared atop the LENS.

“Contact Citizen Services. Have them audit all of Thomas Stade’s records and especially his ID application and immigration forms. Ask them to check for any irregularities in the process and any inconsistencies that lead them to believe multiple people are using it.”

“On it!” She vanished.

“And if we find some dirt?” Susan asked.

“Then we grab Quang and turn up the heat.”

* * *

Melody Quang hated everything about Titan.

She hated the light, bouncy gravity and the way it made walking a chore. She hated the cramped, claustrophobic corridors of its domed cities. She hated the brown haze of its atmosphere. She hated the dumb enthusiasm of her Titanite coworkers and how they always argued for more investment in this frigid, Esteem sinkhole.

But most of all, she hated the people, and how cheerful they were, how oblivious they could be about living on this frozen fart of a moon.

But the promise of a better tomorrow is within our grasp! Just look at the park we built!” they would argue, and to that Quang wished she could cackle in reply. In her imagination, she did. In her imagination, she told them what she really thought instead of affixing her best politically correct smile and humoring their stupidity.

What a waste of resources. Sure, Titan already had an atmosphere, and that counted for something in the grand scheme of SysGov’s terraforming projects, but why would anyone want to live here when they could run all their industries remotely? Just build another Saturnite megastructure, for goodness sake! It’ll be easier!

She rubbed her face as the car pulled up to her spaceport bay. Her jaw muscle hurt from all that smiling, but at least it was over, and she could go home now. She wished she could participate in these stupid meetings remotely, but the four light-seconds between Saturn and Titan made that approach untenable. She needed to be in the room, reacting to her colleagues’ brain-dead ideas in real time if she were to protect them from themselves.

She rose out of the car with a weary sigh and walked toward the waiting v-wing bin at the Promise City spaceport. A rectangle opened in the hexagonal bin side, and she passed through it. Her red-and-gold company v-wing sat on the landing cradle, wings and stabilizer retracted for storage. She palmed the side hatch open, climbed in, and dropped heavily into the seat.

The hatch sealed shut, and she sent Promise City Spaceport Control a request for departure. The spaceport’s SRS robotics latched onto her bin, pulled it out of the loading bay, and maneuvered it toward an empty departure pad.

She wasn’t looking forward to the seven-hour flight back to Janus, but at least it provided her with time to catch up. She was four seasons behind on her Solar Descent viewing; her idiot boss had already spoiled most of it, but she loaded the show with a resigned sigh.

She wasn’t a fan, but he was, and he enjoyed talking about all the dumb character intrigue and obvious plot twists, so it might benefit her career to be up to speed. Men were gullible that way, especially those still in their original meat suits, and he wouldn’t say no to a little natural-on-natural action, if she presented the opportunity.

Quang settled into her seat and was about to queue up the next episode when the bin jostled. She decided to wait until after takeoff, and she activated a virtual window to better watch this sad moon recede behind her.

Only, she wasn’t at any of the departure pads. For some reason, her bin had been returned to the storage stacker.

“Of all the—” she began, but then she shook her head and opened a comm window. “Spaceport Control.”

She waited for a response, but none came, and several seconds later a red message flashed over the comm window.

CONNECTION UNAVAILABLE, it said.

“Oh, come on!” she griped.

She tried again, but the same message appeared.

“Don’t tell me I’m stuck here!”

She opened the v-wing hatch, stepped out, and looked around. Virtual windows turned the bin walls transparent, revealing the tight press of hexagonal bins above, below, and to either side of her. The front led to an open chasm the robotics used to maneuver bins between the stacker and the various bays and pads, and the back was a solid prog-steel wall sealing off Titan’s deadly atmosphere.

There was no way for her to get out of the bin on foot because bins with occupants were never supposed to be brought to the stacker.

“Well, this sucks!” She planted her hands on her hips. She tried reaching Spaceport Control again, but her connection failed once more. “They’re going to hear about this when I get out! It’s going to take more than a refund to make this problem go away!”

A massive robotic arm sped past her, halted, and drew a nearby bin out of the stacker. It began ascending toward the departure pads atop the spaceport, but then it stuttered, brakes whining against powerful servos.

“What the hell?” Quang muttered. “Guess I’m not the only problem they’re having.”

The stuttering stopped, and the bin dropped at a diagonal until it came to rest, perfectly aligned outside her own bin. New brakes locked into place, others disengaged, and the robotic arm began loading the second bin into her occupied slot. The front of her bin crumpled inward, and she flinched from the advancing wall of metal.

“Oh, no!” she cried.

The rolling front of twisted prog-steel touched the nose of her v-wing and shoved it back off the cradle. The main body screeched across the floor until its thruster pressed against the rear wall, and the delicate propulsive system crumpled under the implacable force pressing in. The wall advanced toward her, slowly but relentlessly, driven by a robotic arm that could lift up to twelve max-capacity bins at once and designed by engineers who believed in built-in spare capacity for future expansions.

Even with Titan’s anemic gravity, the arm pushed forward as if her already-loaded bin wasn’t even there.

Quang cowered against the back wall, heart racing as death came at her in a slow advance of metal. Immense pressure crushed her v-wing, causing its mangled body to balloon outward to either side, and she looked around, frantically searching for something—anything—that could save her.

“Stade, you bastard!” she screamed.

Who else could be behind this?

The plan had seemed so simple at first, so deliciously deniable, and with such a rich payoff on the horizon. The plot would have seen her star rise within the Trinh Syndicate. No longer would she be a disposable junior manager with the guillotine ready to fall on her neck at a moment’s notice if her superiors were ever threatened. Oh, no! She’d become one of those superiors after this job!

It would have worked, too, if Stade hadn’t fucked everything up by overreacting!

“Stop this, Stade!” she shouted. “Stop this right now!”

Contorted panels and crumpled machinery advanced on her, forcing her back against the bin’s rear.

“Let me go!” she pleaded, tears weeping from her eyes. “I won’t talk, I swear!”

She braced her arms, elbows against the wall, hands against the advancing scrap, but the forces opposing her were too many magnitudes beyond what a mere human could defy. The cold, unthinking machinery didn’t care about the life in the way, and her forearms snapped like twigs. Pressure mounted against her chest and skull, and air wheezed out of her lungs.

“STAAAAAADE!” she cried as the wall of metal squeezed the life out of her.


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