Blue Shift Protocol, page 11
A guard answered. He looked her over. “You’re the new delivery gal?”
She feigned boredom. “Delivery for Suite A.”
He leaned closer and studied her lanyard. Don’t let the bar code and magnetic strip fool you; anyone with a printer can make the former, and no one checks the latter. Finally, he stepped aside, but didn’t move completely out of the way.
Penny had to brush past him. Creep! She walked straight to the stairs, feeling his eyes boring into her.
“Elevator’s faster.”
She ignored the comment as she entered the stairwell. No cameras. On the first flight, she caught her breath. Her heart was going a million klicks an hour. Dump the food and get out of there. She’d ditch the Gardeners and go back to Professor Eames’ place. But would the kids want to come? Weren’t they doing well?
Bitterness coated her tongue. Selfish. A bad word at their old supper table.
They were safe, fed, and maybe even loved.
If Penny left, she’d return to the professor’s house alone. But after the meeting with Ballard, Penny didn’t trust Nikki to follow through on anything she had promised. Penny needed to remain with the Gardeners, if only to watch over the kids.
She emerged on the fifth floor and headed to the end of the hallway. Suite A, according to the bronze room number. The carpeted hallway smelled of paint. The door to the neighboring unit was propped open, with a view inside. Sheets of plastic hung across an archway. The walls looked damp. Buckets, a compressor, rollers, and brushes lay on a drop cloth.
A big guy wearing glasses, a black jacket, and heavy boots had come up behind her without her noticing. “Food delivery? Leave it by the door.”
Penny clutched the order tight. “You’re not Ambassador Goodhope.”
“Ambassador? You mean Executive. And I’m security.”
Unlike the guard downstairs, he wasn’t in a uniform. Something about the guard looked familiar. He had a sap and a stun gun on his belt. Then she recognized him. He was station security. Another off-duty Chuck, like Ballard.
No wonder Ballard didn’t do this herself. What was going on within her own department that she couldn’t trust her own people?
Penny held her ground. “This gets delivered to the guest who’s staying in Suite A. I’m not losing my tip because I handed off dinner to a rent-a-cop.”
“Whoa. What’s with the hostility? You can give it to him yourself. It’s just that he’s making calls in there and requested privacy. Which means you’ll have to wait.”
“The food will get cold.”
“I guess he should have thought about that before ordering. Now, there’s a lobby down near the elevator where there’s a wall screen, if you decide to stick around. Your choice. But don’t start knocking or ringing the bell. Clear?”
He left her standing with her bag of food and vanished down the hall. Her instructions from Ballard were to drop the fingernail-sized chip into a plant, a vase, or anything that wouldn’t be dusted or vacuumed by housekeeping.
She tried the door. Locked. Considered the door chime. But the floor was quiet. Goodhope might be the only guest. And the Chuck, unless completely incompetent, would keep an ear out until she departed.
Bag still in hand, she found the cop flopped on one of three couches in the fifth-floor lobby where a pristine wall screen showed a team martial arts showdown. He gestured vaguely for her to sit. She sat.
He readjusted himself, fixed his glasses on his face, and planted his feet on the glass coffee table. “You look familiar. You live over in Maple Block?”
“Near there. Fowler Avenue,” she lied.
After a few minutes of watching people in white bathrobes kick the crap out of each other, she squirmed. “Is there a bathroom?”
“No. I told you to leave the food. No one will take it. I ate already, if that’s your concern.”
“How about the room that’s being painted?”
“Stay out of there. You’re going to have to hold it.”
“Come on! Don’t be like all those other Chucks.”
His jaw tightened. “All right, go. But I didn’t give you permission. Remember to flush. And don’t touch anything.”
She hurried to the open suite. Pushed through the plastic, going from room to room in search of a sound system, video screen, or theater to turn on. She needed noise, and a lot of it. It might distract the guard. If he ignored it or came to investigate, she’d ring the doorbell to Suite A.
The worst thing that could happen? She’d be kicked out. Ballard and Nikki could get another spy.
But besides exposed wiring, the suite under renovation had few fixtures and no media players. Nothing even worth stealing. In the bathroom, she pondered the enormous shower. Why would anyone need two sinks?
Then, a faint voice. It came through the vent.
“...hard to be one-hundred percent about anything. But yes, we’re on track. They see the wisdom in hearing me out. At the end of the day, they want food and fresh entertainment not generated by AI and credits in their accounts to buy pretty things.”
Goodhope was on the coms with someone. Shove the bug into the vent and leave. That was the mission.
Then she heard a second voice. Rich, deep, oddly placid, as if the man with Goodhope had just woken from sleep.
“You were always the best student with words. It’s why I chose you.”
“And I’m grateful to have had a top-tier teacher in the fine art of negotiation.”
The guard called from outside the bathroom, surprising her. “Are you finished in there?”
Get out. She’d give the bug back to Nikki and keep the food as payment for the hassle. Penny hurried past the guard.
“Wait. Aren’t you going to wash up?”
“There’s no soap.”
He got ahead of her. “Just a sec. I thought I recognized you. You’ve got a flag on your ID regarding some food thefts.”
“I don’t think so. Get out of my way.”
The glasses on his face flashed screens of data. AR device. She cursed herself for not noticing. When she tried to duck around him, he stopped her.
“Penny Sinaga. We’ll need to clear this before you can go.”
“I have deliveries.”
“Cut the crap. Who’d you bribe to get this bag in here?”
“No one.”
“We’ll see. Let’s call the restaurant and then we’ll check in with security. If you’re who you say you are, this will take a few minutes. You were planning on waiting anyway, right?”
Groin, gut, or a bag of bao in the face? But even as she considered her choices, the door to Suite A opened.
Executive Goodhope appeared, throwing on a suit jacket. Her first good look at him. The balding man had nice clothes and a shine in his eyes.
“Oh, I’d almost forgotten the order I placed.
“It’s probably a bit cold. And my apologies, but the bag got sticky. I’d hate to get it on you. Can I set it down inside on a counter?”
“That’s fine. Actually, be a dear and put it in the refrigerator. I’m just on my way out.”
He held the door open for Penny and rushed off.
She couldn’t help but grin as the Chuck fumed.
But her momentary flush of victory evaporated. While Goodhope was gone, the guard remained, following her inside.
“Put the bag down and let’s go to the lobby.”
She stuffed the food bag inside the refrigerator next to a bowl of tomatoes, cucumbers, and peppers. A gift from the Gardeners welcoming Goodhope to Nexus, according to the card on the counter.
“Enough snooping. Let’s go.”
She ducked down the hall. The suite wasn’t as large as the one being remodeled.
“Hey!”
“Be right out.”
Past an office, she found the main bedroom and bathroom. The vents, in her estimation, were quite close to the neighboring suite, and the bathrooms shared a wall. No com devices anywhere. Goodhope had obviously pocketed it. Likely, he had an ear mod to match his fancy eye implants and didn’t chat on speaker.
Plus, the person he had spoken with had sounded like he had been with him in the bathroom.
“Don’t make me come get you.”
“Be right there.”
She made a show of drying her hands. “There was soap in there. So this is how visiting guests get treated. Not bad.”
In the office, an attaché case sat on a desk next to a neat stack of printed forms. Something on the paper caught her eye. Doodles. More like frantic swirls of color around a black circle, filled in with a heavy hand. Pens lay on the floor, some with their tips bent.
Besides the visitor with the deep voice, was there a child who had arrived with Executive Goodhope?
“Penny!”
She made a quick check of the living room before returning to the kitchen. A single wine glass and one dish waited in the sink to be washed.
Executive Goodhope had been alone.
Chapter Twenty
“Virgin bloody Mary. No tomato juice.”
A running joke between Trenton and Nikki. It started when she presented the first of her garden-grown celery on a platter, as if it were an entrée.
Silly excuse to laugh, oft repeated. At least until they split up.
Yet he repeated the drink order over and over like a mantra. He was almost finished running his latest multimeter checks of the primary battery charge/discharge system. Satisfied with the results, he put the tools away.
The Nightingale accelerated at .8g. Comfortable. He moved through the ship and went on to his next task. Paused only a moment near the starboard viewport. The second rock flew outside next to them, masking half the stars.
He braced himself as a rumble ran through the ship.
The shuttle returned. A third mission in the past two weeks requiring direct supervision of the pods at work. According to the chatter, the anchors kept coming loose as the remote work failed to account for the variances in the mineral surface of the asset.
“Like punching a finger into sand,” Phinn quipped.
But Trenton didn’t have the bandwidth to inquire further about the ship’s mission. He had his own problems and remained hyperalert to where he was and what he was doing. Where his mind lay. His footing, his punch list, where each rivet and screwdriver bit went.
His last recollection from the previous evening was preparing for sleep. Then he found himself in the shower the next morning, soaked, out of minutes, with soap stinging his eyes.
Even now, his scalp itched.
An examination of his device showed he had logged in upon waking up and confirmed receipt of the handful of second-watch service requests and the work order from Isles for the battery system.
No messages in the mirror. No voices from the vacant toilet stalls.
He ran into Saanvi in the main corridor. The shuttle mission had lasted thirty-two hours. An odd grin on her face as she moved past him.
“Any issues I need to know about?” he asked.
“Everything was wonderful.”
She had a spring in her step as she vanished into Ops. He put away his tools and joined her. Third shift and they were alone. Lucjan’s tracker showed him still in the shuttle. Saanvi hummed as she typed comments on the auto-generated mission report and was uploading her device’s data logs.
He read over her shoulder. Pod signal failures. Radio interference from the rock itself. The surface composition remained unsuitable for anchor deployment. Artificial cavities galore.
“Crew EVA recommended for manual installation,” she typed. Then tagged the comments as urgent.
“We have enough data to trust that rock isn’t going to explode like the last one?”
“That’s up to the captain to decide.”
“Having to land on that thing? I don’t know. Doesn’t sound ‘wonderful’ to me.”
She blinked rapidly. The humming stopped. “Why would anyone think that’s wonderful?”
“Your choice of words just now in the corridor.”
“It’s late and I’m overdue for rack time. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No, I’m good. I just wanted to check on you.”
“You’re sweet. But you’d better get rest yourself. If Toussaint approves the next phase of operations, you’ll be suiting up and coming with.”
He found Lucjan wrapping things up in the shuttle bay, making a visual check of the thrusters.
“Want a hand?”
“If I need to file a work order, I’ll do it through the proper channels.”
Trenton examined the docking clamps.
Lucjan moved on to some pitting in the aft winglets. “I checked those.”
“Always good to be thorough. You had a long shift. By the way, I just saw Saanvi. She okay?”
“That’s between her and Doctor Tan.”
“Did she report to him?”
The copilot swiped a screen closed on his device. “Her business, isn’t it?”
“Give me a break. She’s acting funny. You were with her for over thirty hours. She’s recommending another mission dropping crew off on the rock’s surface. I want to know if she’s thinking clearly.”
“Or you’re poking a nose into her affairs because she’s hooking up with the XO. One more word out of you on this, and I’m logging a complaint. It’s you who needs his head checked.”
Trenton was taken aback by the outburst. He left the bay before he said something he’d regret. Had Lucjan noticed something about him? Or was the copilot likewise suffering from frayed nerves?
“Virgin bloody Mary,” he murmured to himself. “No tomato juice.”
He went through the motions of finishing up the last of the systems checks, winding up in the cockpit. The radio traffic light on the command console remained dark. Lowen was in the XO’s chair and scrolling through the system screens.
Trenton made a show of tightening down a panel on the fire suppression system. “All quiet means good, right?”
“Silent running. We’re support, so Dragonfly will call if there’s a change.”
“By now we’ve got to know how the other ships in the flotilla are faring. Especially considering we’re going to coordinate with them for an EVA.”
“Are we?”
So Lowen wasn’t in the loop with command. Saanvi’s report wouldn’t disseminate until Toussaint woke up.
Trenton wiped the film of grime from under a console. “I’d hate to breach protocol, but yes, we’re going to be setting foot on our asteroid. At least according to the shuttle crew. A reminder that I like to be kept abreast if we’re doing any hard maneuvers. Hate to schedule something that needs to be interrupted because I need to strap in.”
“Fair enough. I’ll remind Isles.”
“If there is an EVA mission,” Trenton pressed, “we’d be looped in with Cyprus, Dragonfly, and Glowbug. They’ve got tracking data on any debris they’re kicking up from their ops. That beast our pods are shoving along has problematic geology.”
“Thanks for explaining the obvious. You’re neither a scientist nor flight crew. Stay in your lane.”
“I’m also someone who’s likely going to set foot on that thing. I get to be nervous.”
“Dragonfly will tell us if there’s anything to be concerned about. Trust your training.”
No one on the Nightingale had any experience in surface operations on a purposefully formed dirt ball filled with unknown tech.
He kept his rejoinders private.
“TRENTON, PLEASE REPORT to medical.”
The text had been sent ten minutes ago. Dr. Tan wanted him. Early second shift, Isles had topped off the maintenance punch list with fresh problems.
“Get undressed,” the doctor said as he slid the door to the med bay shut. He was a compact man with graying temples and darting eyes. Tattoo script covered his hands and fingers.
“What’s up?”
“We’re doing a physical.”
“I didn’t request one.”
“But you’re getting one just the same. Any changes in how you’re feeling since we last spoke?”
There had been the customary exam after the long burn to the second rock.
“I’m fine.”
As he endured the pokes and prods, he wondered if Lucjan had reported him. The housing of the autodoc leaned against the wall.
“Is there a maintenance issue I need to know about?”
“No. Just some updates. Put this under your tongue.”
Trenton clamped the thermometer between his teeth. It made speaking difficult. “We received a software patch out here?”
“Long overdue, considering how old the unit is. I guess Meridian programmers finally delivered, considering we haven’t gotten a patch in ten years.”
“But mid-mission? And why get into the guts of the machine?”
“Because I heard a rattle. I have system authority over what’s in my med bay. Try to relax. This will be a cursory examination. Stop talking or the reading won’t be accurate.”
So, necessary communications continued between Nightingale and Nexus and anyone else looped into the mission. But Meridian? Was the company so quickly slipping back into its old role?
Something felt wrong. The captain, the doctor and the crew would remember old Meridian Corporation as guide, guardian, and holder of the reins. With the reins came spurs.
Doc Tan removed the thermometer. “98.3 is good. We can do eyes next.”
“Nothing’s changed.”
“I’ll be the judge.” An eye chart was projected onto the wall. “Any unusual anxiety?”
“Is this part of the eye exam?”
“Answer the question.”
“There’s plenty I don’t like about this mission. But I’ve directed my inquiries up the chain of command.”
“By the book. Good. Sleep and appetite? Bouts of dizziness?”
“I’d report it if I were experiencing any of those. Who reported me for a physical?”
Tan gave him a look. “You know that’s confidential. But in this case, I’m surprised you asked. You requested a checkup at the end of your last shift.”
Chapter Twenty-One
