“You want some good news to spread around? I’ll oblige. I’ve got a whipcrack smart lady coordinating the mission to eradicate this bacteria, and she’s confident her team is on the verge of a treatment breakthrough. As far as the Xre are concerned, the fleet has already bumped up to full alert status. It’s not a threat to Ageless, it’s a danger to every transtellar in human-controlled space. Fleet is treating it accordingly. And you didn’t hear this from me…” Tyson held the man’s gaze until he got a nod to continue. “… but the ship stationed over Grendel is the Ansari, an endurance cruiser straight out of drydock with a fresh coat of paint and bristling with upgrades. Her captain has already sent the Xre running once and destroyed several of their drones and decoys. The situation is in good hands.”
“That’s good to hear,” James said. “I’m sure more than a few people will be glad to hear it.”
“Now, now, James.” Tyson touched his nose. “Our secret.”
“Of course. Another, Mr. Abington?”
“One more, then perhaps an appetizer menu?”
“Coming right up, sir.”
Tyson laced his fingers behind his head and savored the small victory for exactly three seconds before the next fresh hell greeted him like a jilted lover.
“Sir, I have news,” Paris said into his auditory implants.
“I’m trying to enjoy a quiet drink and a bite to eat, Paris.”
“Apologies, but I wouldn’t interrupt if it could wait.”
Tyson’s right fist balled up. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. What do you have for me?”
“Two items, actually. First, I’ve discovered the source of the leak from the freighter, sir. It wasn’t a person, it was a limited AI program. Buried deep in a communications subroutine. The worm tapped into the ship’s comm records, then broadcast the information through tiny manipulations of the output of the freighter’s fusion drive plume once it started decelerating toward Lazarus. Anyone listening on standard radio channels wouldn’t hear a thing, but anyone who knew what to look for with a sufficiently powerful telescope and a modified fiber-optic cable repeater could read it clear as day.”
“So there’s no fingerprints on the local net, either?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Tyson swore under his breath. It was a very clever plan, he had to acknowledge that much.
“I still get my carapace, yes?” Paris asked coyly.
“If you can trace the worm backward to where and when it was uploaded to the ship.”
“I’m already working on it. And I’ve already ordered the carapace. I didn’t think you’d mind that much.”
Tyson let his assistant’s indiscretion slide. “And the second item?”
“I have your spy.”
That grabbed Tyson’s attention. The annoyance he felt at the interruption melted away in an instant as his back went rigid. “When?”
“A few minutes ago. Methuselah PD wheeled her into Xanadu Hospital.”
“I want to speak with her at once.”
“That … will be a one-sided conversation.”
“She’s dead?”
“About as dead as one of you can be, if the initial report is to be believed. You’ve been formally requested to identify the body, in fact. Or what remains of it.”
Tyson’s stomach lurched at the implication. “Understood. Have a pod waiting for me downstairs.”
“It’s already parked. And sir, I would really feel better if you’d let me assign a security detachment to your person.”
“I haven’t had bodyguards since I took the job, Paris. Being seen with even one now sends entirely the wrong message. The CEO of Ageless needs to project calm and normalcy to his planet. Especially now.”
“I understand, sir. I just disagree.”
“You’re free to.”
“At least a hornet drone, sir. I’ll keep it at a respectful altitude. It’ll blend in with the media drones that follow you around below the airspace ceiling anyway.”
“You want to stick an armed drone in the middle of a swarm of UHD cameras? Did you skip an update?” Tyson asked with annoyance mixed with genuine concern.
“I’ve taken the liberty to have one camouflaged to look like a common delivery drone in the unlikely event you were swayed by reason.”
“What, you spray painted ‘UPS’ on its micro-rocket box launchers?”
“Something like that, except competently executed. Really, Tyson…”
“I’m sorry.” Tyson held up his hands in mock surrender, knowing she would be watching the CCD camera feed. “Fine, launch your cross-dressing hornet. But I don’t want it buzzing my head like a lost puppy, understood?”
“Completely,” his AI assistant said with more than a little sass leaking into her tone. “Pod’s waiting. I’ll tell the MPD you’re en route.”
“Something wrong, sir?” James asked, stress lines reaching across his forehead.
“Nothing, James. It’s fine. Please run my tab against my expense account. And give yourself a generous tip.”
“An appetizer to go?”
Tyson thought again about the scene that awaited him at the morgue in Xanadu Hospital as he pushed away from the floating bar top.
“No, thank you. Afraid I’ve rather lost my appetite.”
Tyson kept himself from scanning the skies above for the hornet Paris had inserted among the bumblebees always buzzing overhead. The pod had dumped him out right at the Emergency Room doors to the Xanadu Hospital. There were four hospitals in Methuselah, just for the sake of redundancy in case of a natural disaster. The city had at least two of every major component of its infrastructure for exactly that reason, often more. That was the beauty of living in a city with a three-century-long central development plan. But everyone knew Xanadu was where you wanted the med-flight to land if it was your ass in the stretcher.
Tyson adjusted his jacket, cut without lapel and with a high collar as was the current fashion. Several reporters had been tipped off by their camera drones and managed to beat him to the scene even before his pod had slid to a stop. Tyson consoled himself in the knowledge the service fees for their air taxis on such short notice had been ridiculous.
Ji-eun Park stood out among them.
Tyson grimaced, but quickly put on his best poker face as the camera drones overhead descended to capture the scene in glorious UHD
