Last Man On Earth (5)
Boy Mozart
Even though she had only unwittingly assisted officers of the Department
of Public Safety, it was enough to label Andrea Goodalgorithm as a
whistle-blower--for life. It was bad enough she had to deal with the
surname.
Schencker arranged for her to contact him after she got off work. He
left his card with her, "just in case you think of anything", he said.
He'd written a note on the back asking her to call him. Goodalgorithm
read it, looked at him, and nodded.
Schencker took Carlos back to DPS headquarters and downloaded everything
he'd seen with the Eye. Captain Havaland watched the images stoically,
unable to follow most of the science, but it was enough for him to ask
Forensics to do a detailed study of the atmosphere within the Satellite
to find out if there were any stray bacteria floating around carrying
human mRNA--it was the method Goodalgorithm figured that Bascome was
using to leak Bruecker's pheromone killers into the atmosphere.
Despite all of this, it wasn't really enough evidence to convict Bascome
of any wrong-doing. The Reality Satellites were fanatically obsessed
with protection of their internal environments, but Carlos's Eye hadn't
seen anyone pouring bacteria into the blue algae production plants, or
recorded two executives discussing kickbacks. All they had was
circumstantial evidence. They needed proof that Bascome employees were
responsible for the mass neutering of Klondike 5.
Schencker sent Carlos back to his locker to change into his street
clothes. Then the two of them went to a bar in the Southern Financial
District, one where mostly tech-firm wage-slaves hung out after work.
Goodalgorithm was there waiting for them, sitting alone at the bar.
Schencker ordered something with alcohol in it; Carlos ordered a soda,
and sat back and watched.
"I've got most of the stuff we'll need," she said. "I was able to snag
a shitload of antibiotics." She held up a bag and shook it; something
rattled inside. "Mostly hypercillin--I didn't want to take the chance
that they were using some highly-resistant strain of bacteria."
"Fabulous," commented Schencker. "I bought an emergency search warrant
at one of the justice dispensers a few minutes ago. It gives me
authority to search any of the O2 production facilities for bacteria
infection. We have forensics techs that can detect the highest
concentration of bacteria on the Satellite. From there we can guess
which facility might be dispersing bacteria into the atmosphere. If we
do, can you figure out where they'd put it?"
"I suppose," Goodalgorithm said reassuringly. "I mean, the blue algae
tanks are regularly inoculated; those places are sterilized and the
engineers all wear environment suits. I think the best place to put it
would be in the output vents."
"That's impossible!" said Carlos. "Those vents are only about a foot
wide and oxygen spews out at speeds of seventy to eighty miles an hour!
How would Bascome send somebody in there to set up the bacteria?"
"Would you keep your voice down, please?" Goodalgorithm hissed. "I'd
like to keep my job long enough to quit and avoid a lawsuit!"
"Sorry, Doctor, but maybe you could think of a better place than an
output vent, hm?"
"The output vents are perfect," Goodalgorithm snapped back. "You could
send in a robot with treads that's small enough to fit in the vent and
drag a canister behind it. We have bots that small already, moving
vials around inside containment chambers."
"Okay, fine, the output vents," said Schencker. "No problem. I can
order them shut down for 15 minutes at a time. It's long enough to drag
whatever's in there out and soak it in hypercillin. Now can we just get
the hell out of here while my DNA still WANTS to have sex?"
Suddenly there was silence in their general vicinity. People were
turned around in their seats, looking at Schencker. Goodalgorithm was
grinning. Carlos reached for their credometer and pressed his thumb
onto it, paying their check. "Let's go before your DNA makes even more
of an ass of itself, sir."
There was a message waiting for Schencker in the car--the forensics
technicians of the Department of Public Safety had located a high amount
of airborne bacteria coming from the Sector G30 O2 Facility, out on the
edge of the Satellite. "It figures," Schencker observed. "Way out in
the middle of nowhere, almost four hours' commute by shuttle from
Bascome. Not so far from here. Carlos, you drive--run the siren."
They lifted off and floated into the traffic pattern. Carlos switched
on the siren, and the traffic control system brought all traffic to a
halt and pulled vehicles aside in order to make a space for their car to
travel through. The strobe lights on the roof flared on and off every
half a second, disorienting anyone foolish enough to look at them.
Carlos caught brief flashes of glaring faces in the other vehicles,
resentful of the fact that they had to stop their commute for ten
seconds in order for him to protect them.
The car burrowed through traffic, then turned off the main path into the
pattern that ran down the "G" arc. Carlos had noticed someone following
them in the distance and had assumed they were merely taking advantage
of the break in traffic, somehow managing to fool the control system.
He figured the system would trace the license code at the rear of the
vehicle and fine the driver later, but as they sped down the "G" he saw
the same vehicle following them. "We have a tail," he told the others.
"Want me to lose them?"
"Stop the car," Schencker ordered.
Carlos complied. They hovered in midair while the other car came
closer. It began to slow down as it approached them, then simply sped
up and passed, obeying the speed limit strictly. It reached an
intersecting flight path and turned left, dropping altitude. Carlos
tapped on the onboard computer and it displayed the license code and
information about the driver, including her picture. "It's that cow
reporter who was threatening to sue me at the crime scene," he said, a
surprised tone in his voice. "How the hell did she track me down?"
"Never mind," said Schencker. "She's gone. Keep going." The car
picked up speed and continued on its way. A few moments later they were
in Sector G30 and landing next to the O2 facility. The logo of the
Satellite, three "5's" orbiting a green ball, was stamped all over the
walls.
A technician in a biohazard suit came running up to meet them,
the hood pulled away from his head. "Let's see it," he demanded.
Schencker pulled out his search warrant. "This is a warrant instructing
the operators of this facility to shut down all production equipment and
stand by for foreign-body inspection. Furthermore, this warrant orders
all personnel currently on the grounds to remain here for questioning.
Any attempt to hinder these duly-appointed officers of the Department of
Public Safety is punishable by fines of up to 750 thousand credits, one
year's detention, or both, or instant expulsion from the Satellite."
"Fine, fine," said the technician. "It's nine o'clock at night, I'm the
only guy here other than security. Everyone's inside."
The four of them began walking into the building. Carlos kept looking
up over his shoulder. He was the last one in, and just before he shut
the door he saw a dark splotch moving low over the trees that surrounded
the parking lot. He frowned, peered at it with his Eye as best he
could, and then shut the door.
________________________________________________________________________
Boy Mozart
Klondike 5 Reality Satellite http://www.klondike5.net