The Dyson File, page 12
Susan snorted and leaned forward with a hand over her mouth.
Isaac raised an eyebrow at her.
“Sorry, sorry.” She straightened and waved him on. “Please continue.”
“It turned out one of Atlas’ own engineers—a woman named Lisa Schmidt—had altered the constructor’s core programming. Arete Division First Responders promptly arrived on the scene, both from the nearby Arestor Station and transmitting in via connectome laser. They quickly diagnosed the source of the problem and arrested Schmidt.
“Shortly after that, Schmidt loudly and proudly declared herself as a new member of the Society, after which she started spouting their usual propaganda. The Society never took credit for the incident, but neither did they disavow it.”
“Interesting,” Susan said, “but doesn’t strike me as relevant to our case.”
“I’m leaning toward the same conclusion.” Isaac opened a separate case file. “The SourceCode trial, however, is a little more relevant. The trial began much the same way Atlas’ did, starting with the SourceCode self-replicating swarm being seeded on a test asteroid, and ending with the swarm replicating out of control.
“According to the report, this was a case of poor engineering and insufficient protections against replicator mutation. No charges have been filed, though it seems fines against SourceCode are still on the table. SourceCode management pinned the blame on an engineer named Antoni Ruckman, who they then fired.”
“Okay, but why did you consider SourceCode’s blunder relevant to the case?”
“Because”—Isaac’s eyes glinted—“Cephalie found correspondence between Ruckman and Velasco on the home infosystem.”
“Ah! Velasco and this SourceCode engineer were in touch with each other? Even though the two companies were in fierce competition for the same contract? Now, that’s intriguing!”
“Quite. Cephalie, can you summarize for us?”
“Sure thing, kiddos.” The AC appeared on the table and clicked her cane against the surface. “From what I can gather, Ruckman and Velasco go way back. I can’t be sure from the correspondence alone, but it looks like they met at Amalthea University while Ruckman was a microtech professor there and Velasco an engineering student. Seems like they’ve kept in touch ever since.”
“The SourceCode engineer Velasco kept in contact with is the same guy blamed for the mishaps at their trial?” Susan narrowed her eyes. “Suspicious.”
“Agreed.” Isaac shifted the two files aside. “It seems to me we have three potential leads: a deeper forensic look at Atlas, a talk with the local Society chapter, and the same with the SourceCode executives.”
“Nina’s going to be thrilled.”
“We’ll let her know once she wakes up. As for us . . . Cephalie, where’s the SourceCode headquarters right now?”
“Checking.” A blackboard appeared next to her, and white chalky text scrolled across it at unnatural speed. The text stopped and she looked up. “Near the Atlas Shoal.”
“The Atlas Shoal?” Susan asked.
“It’s part debris field, part macrotech construction zone,” Isaac explained. “It’s where the moons Janus and Epimetheus were broken down to construct the Shark Fin. Atlas played a huge role in that project, hence the name.” He leaned back and grimaced down at Cephalie. “How long would a trip out there take?”
“Depends on when we leave. The Shoal has a pretty fast orbit. Call it a rough two and a half hours if we leave soon.”
“I suppose we could ask a representative to transmit to us, but they are local, so the proper way to handle this is face-to-face.” Isaac shrugged. “At least we already have the V-wing.”
Susan sat up. “Cephalie, what if it were just me flying to the Shoal?”
“At max acceleration? Less than an hour.”
“An hour there. An hour back.” She nodded with a faint smile and looked over to Isaac. “What do you think? I can take care of SourceCode while you follow up with the Society. We’ll cover more ground this way, and it’ll cut down on travel time.”
“I . . . ”
His first inclination was to object. Susan only had one SysPol case under her belt, and her lack of experience presented any number of pitfalls, especially when it came to SysGov laws. That, plus negative reactions she sometimes garnered made Isaac hesitant to cut her loose. He preferred to be nearby in case someone gave her a hard time.
But, on the other hand, she’d served as an Admin Peacekeeper for twelve years, and as a STAND for nine, serving under their Special Training And Nonorganic Deployment command. She knew how to handle herself, and she’d demonstrated excellent professional restraint during their last case whenever people slung insults at her.
And look at her, Isaac thought. She’s actively seeking out ways to contribute. She wants a larger role in our investigations. Besides acting as the occasional death machine, no matter how helpful—or indeed, critical—those moments have proven.
“I like your initiative,” he answered at last, and her smile grew. “Good thinking, partner. We’ll do it your way.”
CHAPTER NINE
Isaac dropped Susan off at the airport then set the local Society chapterhouse as his destination.
The drab building possessed a faint church-like quality with an exterior styled into gray stone blocks broken up by tall stained-glass windows depicting the natural bodies of the solar system. The rental had to stop some distance from the chapterhouse due to the congestion of other vehicles parked in front.
Isaac climbed out of the vehicle and walked over, the LENS floating a few paces behind him. He stopped in front of the tall wooden double doors, palmed the buzzer, and waited.
The doors split open to reveal a young, rail-thin woman with a long face that narrowed to a prominent chin. Tears streaked down from blue, reddened eyes, and her wiry hair was pulled back into a heavy clip, almost as if it were held under tremendous tension and would snap out into an afro if released.
“Oh, thank you for coming!” she sobbed with outstretched arms and advanced on Isaac. He fought a compulsion to dodge out of the way before she embraced him and buried her face in his shoulder.
“Uh, ma’am?” he asked, his arms out to the side, stuck between the instinct to return the hug and the urge to push her off.
“Thank you! Thank you!” She rubbed her dripping face across his shoulder, then blew her nose onto his collar.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” Isaac placed his hands on her shoulders and eased her back. “There appears to be some mistake.”
“There’s no need to hide it,” she blubbered, then rubbed a puffy sleeve under her runny nose. “You’re among friends now.”
“Ma’am, if you would just listen—”
“Please, come in.” She sniffled, but then seemed to compose herself. “We have cupcakes.”
She turned and disappeared inside without another word, leaving a mildly frustrated Isaac behind her. He glanced over at the LENS, where Cephalie appeared and shrugged at him.
“You do like cupcakes,” she tittered, then vanished again.
“Not the point,” he breathed, then walked in.
He followed the woman through a small foyer to a round, central chamber with a heavy, faux-wood table which was, as promised, laden with cupcakes from edge to edge. The cupcakes formed a sea of gray frosting and black candles with the occasional glimpses of reddish cake underneath. Most of the two dozen or so Society members in attendance held cupcakes in varying states of consumption. The physical ones, at least; there were a few AC avatars floating about. Drink bottles stacked the side tables, chairs were scattered around in haphazard clusters, and an off-scale and time-accelerated representation of the solar system rotated overhead.
“Here you go, dear.” The woman handed him a cupcake. “Help yourself. There’s plenty more where that came from.”
“Thank you,” Isaac replied blandly before handing the cupcake off to the LENS. The drone extended a prog-steel pseudopod, doused the candle, and drew it into an internal storage compartment.
The woman looked him up and down. “I’m sorry. Have we met before?”
“Doubtful.”
“Well, we can fix that.” She put a hand to her chest. “My name’s Bonnie Rosenstein, though Bonnie is fine. I’m the assistant chair of this chapter, so if you need anything, you only need to ask. Now dear, what should we call you?”
“Detective Isaac Cho.”
“Oh my! A detective!” She flashed a smile at him. “We don’t get many people from the police over here.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“I know! Right?” She sniffled again, pulled out a soggy handkerchief, and blew her nose into it.
“I’m sorry,” Isaac began, politely but firmly. “I hope you’ll excuse my ignorance, but what exactly is going on here?”
“It’s my husband, you see.” Rosenstein dabbed under her leaking eyes. “He’s going to die.”
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t know. Please accept my condolences.”
“It’s all right. We only found out yesterday.”
“I hope you don’t think I’m intruding, but what’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head defiantly. “Which is the worst part of it. He has such a long life ahead of him, but the imbeciles in charge of our government are going to execute him!”
“He’s to be executed? What was his crime?”
“Being in the wrong place at the w-w-wrong time.” Rosenstein began to cry again. “You see, SysGov is going to take him apart, piece by piece!”
“Take him . . . ” Isaac creased his brow. His eyes swept over the cupcakes once more. Gray frosting with red cake. “Mrs. Rosenstein? What’s your husband’s name?”
“He goes by many names, some more famous than others. I’m sure you’ve heard of at least one or two of them. Many have gone out of fashion. Utaridi. Suisei. Soosung. Otaared. Hermes. He even went by Udu-Idim-Gu once, if you can believe it.” She shook her head. “There’s no accounting for my husband’s tastes, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, I believe I see where this is going.”
“But nowadays, he goes by the name he’s most famous for.” She stretched an open hand toward the ceiling, and one of the planets above glowed brighter.
“Mercury,” Isaac filled in with a pronounced frown. “You think you’re married to the planet Mercury.”
“And not just me!” she declared, her eyes brightening. “Many of us aspire to become Spouses of Mercury. I finally became one last year. Oh, it was a lovely ceremony! We held it right here in the chapterhouse. You should have seen it!”
“I’m sure it was quite the spectacle,” Isaac replied, believing every word.
“What a magical year it’s been!” She placed a hand over her chest and gazed off in a dreamy manner. “I wouldn’t give it up for anything.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask, but doesn’t the long-distance nature of your . . . marriage . . . ”
“Make intimate matters difficult?” She batted her eyes at him.
“That wasn’t what I was going to ask, but okay. We’ll go with that.”
“It’s easy.” She opened the collar of her blouse and pulled out a long chain necklace with a glass bulb on the end about the size of her fist. There was a rock inside the bulb.
A gray, uninteresting rock.
“A piece of your ‘husband’?” Isaac surmised.
“So that he’s close to my heart at all times.” She flattened the necklace against her chest. “At all times,” she emphasized.
“I believe you.”
“Even after he passes, I’ll still have this to remember him by.” She gestured around the room. “We’ve all received one. Even those of us not ready for marriage yet. Have you received yours?”
“No, and no thank you. I don’t need any rocks.”
“But it’s no trouble.” She turned away. “Here. Let me get one for you.”
“Mrs. Rosenstein—”
“Please, there’s no need to be shy about it.” She stepped over to one of the drink tables, shifted bottles aside, and opened a black bag made of heavy fabric. “We have plenty to go around.” She reached into the bag and drew out a hefty stone.
“Mrs. Rosenstein, this really isn’t necess—”
“Here you go.” She took his hand into hers and planted a rock in it.
Isaac stared down at the stone. It covered the palm of his hand.
“Treat him with respect, and he’ll do the same to you.”
“Thank you.” Isaac wasn’t sure what else to say. He handed the rock over to his LENS, which stored it with the cupcake from earlier. “Mrs. Rosenstein, you said you were the assistant chair of this chapter?”
“That’s right.”
“Is there someplace we can speak in private?”
“What for?”
“I have a few questions to ask you.”
“Questions?” She seemed to regard him and the LENS more fully. “Oh. Oh my. Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
“I tried.”
“Right. Sorry, I’ve just been so flustered since the news hit us.” She composed herself, straightening her posture and smoothing out her clothes. “Yes, of course I can answer your questions. Here, we can use this.”
She led him back into the foyer and closed the door to the main chamber.
“All right. How can I help you?”
“Do you know Esteban Velasco?”
“The Atlas engineer?” Her lower lip quivered. “Yes.”
“Have you been in contact with him?”
“Me personally?”
“Or the chapter as a whole?”
“Well, yes, but it’s nothing unusual. We’ve been sending him a steady stream of educational material in the hopes he might mend his ways.”
A cartoonish example of the “educational material” flashed through Isaac’s mind, but he said nothing.
“We also tried a few times to appeal to him directly, but then Atlas hit us with a restraining order”—she held up a finger—“which we have abided by, I assure you!”
Except for the members SSP arrested, Isaac added silently.
“Detective, may I ask what this is about?”
“Velasco committed suicide yesterday.”
“Oh.” She placed shaky fingers across her lips. “Oh my. Dead?”
“Very.”
“Permanently?”
“He was organic, so yes. There’s no backup connectome.”
“Oh dear.” Her shoulders slumped. “Detective, please understand, we only wanted him to see reason. Not kill himself! We never wanted that! Why, what even would be the point? Atlas is still moving forward with their plans, right?”
“They are.”
“Then what would we have gained by driving a man to suicide, even if we could?”
“A fair enough question,” Isaac admitted. “What about the chair of the chapter? What’s his name?”
“That would be Desmond. Desmond Fike.”
“And is Mister Fike here today?”
“No. He’s working remotely again.”
“Again?”
“He hasn’t been to the chapterhouse in weeks. Been working on a big publicity project this whole time. Not sure what it is, but it’s shaping up to be quite spectacular, from what he’s told us. We’ve emptied almost all of the chapter’s Esteem funds into it.”
“You don’t know the nature of this project?”
“Not really, no.”
“But you’re the assistant chair.”
“I leave the money and big-picture stuff to Desmond. It works out better that way.” Her eyes gleamed. “He has a knack for fundraising.”
“Can you provide me with his connection string?”
“Sure.” She summoned the code over her palm. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” He copied it to the case log.
“Anything else, Detective?”
“At the moment, no.” He dipped his head to her. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mrs. Rosenstein. And . . . ” He put on his best “serious face.”
“Yes?”
“Sorry about your loss.”
* * *
“At least you got a cupcake out of the trip,” Cephalie said from atop the LENS.
“I suppose so. What kind is it?”
“Carrot cake.”
“Yeck!” Isaac shook his head and climbed into the car. He opened a comm window and called Desmond Fike. It took almost a minute for the man to respond.
“Hello?”
The man in the comm window possessed a round, generous face and small but bright eyes. The sides of his head were buzzed short, and he’d parted the longer hair up top so that it hung partially in front of an eye. Everything behind him was blurred by a privacy filter.
“Desmond Fike?”
“Speaking.”
“I’m Detective Isaac Cho, SysPol Themis. I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time to discuss the Society’s recent activities. Are you in charge of the chapter located in the Third Engine Block?”
“More or less. ‘In charge’ might be pushing it, though. I’m just a simple administrator. Someone has to keep the chapter’s finances in order. What activities are you talking about?”
“I simply have some points that need to be clarified. I understand you’ve been working from home recently.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Would it be all right if I stopped by later today?”
“Eh, I don’t know.” Fike shifted uncomfortably. “I’m awfully busy right now.”
“I promise I won’t take up much of your time.”
“I’m sure you think that, but I’ve got a ton on my plate right now. I can’t break away from it.”
“Then perhaps later today? After regular work hours?”
“No, I’m sorry. I already have plans tonight.”
“For the whole night?”
“Yes.” He squirmed again. “The whole night.”
“Mister Fike, perhaps I haven’t made myself sufficiently clear, so let me correct that now. I’m working on a case that could involve the Society chapter you chair, and I can’t help but get the impression you’re reluctant to meet me in person.”
