Chapter Five
AYLEN MADE IT CLEAR Ratthi and Gurathin were not invited, which was fine, since Gurathin didn’t want to go and Ratthi was glad because he thought this meant that Station Security knew I didn’t have anything to do with Lutran’s death. Aylen did not make it clear that she didn’t like the fact that I was invited. It would have been easier if she had, because then I would have known where I stood, and if I should be an asshole or not.
Followed by two Station Security officers (feed IDs Farid and Tifany), the Port Authority supervisor (feed ID Gamila), and the Port Authority bot, we walked over to the end of the public docks, through the gates into the cargo section. I did a quick search on Preservation’s local (public) newsstream archive, and found out that Aylen’s title meant she was called on by Preservation authorities to investigate stuff they couldn’t figure out, both on the station and down on the planet. She also did family and workplace arbitration, which meant a lot of talking to upset humans. So, not as cool a job as the title implied.
PA Supervisor Gamila had been pulling info into her feed, and now said, “This cargo transfer has been on hold for two cycles. We were waiting for an authorization but it hadn’t shown up yet when the order to close the port came through.”
Aylen asked her, “Do you know why?”
“No idea. The ship, the Lalow, isn’t responding to messages.” Gamila sounded annoyed. “It doesn’t use modules, and there’s no record of the cargo being offloaded, so we assume it’s still aboard.”
Aylen didn’t react but my drones saw Farid and Tifany exchange significant looks. They weren’t wrong; we already had one dead human associated with this ship, there was a 42 percent chance the Lalow’s failure to respond meant something more suspicious than ignoring their Port Authority feed messages.
The cargo section of the Merchant Docks wasn’t that different from the Public Docks. There was the big space of the embarkation hall with a line of sealed docking hatches against the far bulkhead. Big cargo bots (the configuration that usually only lived on the outside hulls of stations and hauled transport-sized modules) were sitting around or hanging, dormant, from the curve of the high ceiling. The low-level specialized lifters were parked and only a scatter of humans and augmented humans wandered the stacks of pressurized containers. Large modules were pushed back against the bulkhead, waiting to be loaded and shoved out the module drop so they could be attached to transports. Most of the ships currently in dock didn’t use modules, they had cargo compartments that had to be unloaded through inconvenient specialized hatches. That wasn’t unusual for an outsystem/non-corporate political entity ship.
Preservation has high safety standards so we passed through two air walls before we got to the cargo ship’s hatch. (High safety standards are great when they’re designed to protect humans against dangerous stuff like hatch failures and hull breaches; when they’re designed to protect humans against rogue SecUnits, not so much.)
I tried a ping but only got a response from the ship’s transit ring–assigned marker, which had its docking number and the Lalow registry name. This meant no bot pilot that I could get information from. That was depressing. I had no idea what else I was supposed to do as a member of this group and just following humans around listening to them talk felt a lot like just being a SecUnit again. I mean, I am a SecUnit, but… You know what I mean.
Aylen tapped the ship’s comm for attention and sent her feed ID, and added, “I’m a Special Investigator for Station Security. I’m here with a Port Authority supervisor. We need to speak to you about the transport contracted to your trading concern, the one currently in dock in the public transport ring. It’s urgent.”
I’d stopped out of view of the hatch cam, standing to one side, because that’s what SecUnits do. The PA bot came over and stood next to me. Great, that’s great. I wondered if it did anything that wasn’t related to standing around.
The comm acknowledgment pinged and a voice, echoing with the feed-assisted translation, replied, “Just you and the PA. Leave the port heels outside.”
I wonder what the original word choice was that the feed’s translation algorithm had decided “heels” was a good equivalent in Preservation Standard.
(I wasn’t the only one wondering. Tifany’s eyes narrowed and Farid mouthed the word “heels” slowly.)
Aylen glanced at Gamila, and told the officers, and me and the bot I guess, “Wait here.”
The hatch slid open and as they stepped toward it, my threat assessment module spiked.
I checked my drone inputs from Mensah’s task group first, even though they had reported in on schedule, eleven seconds ago, but they were all nominal. Mensah was still in the council offices, the big meeting having broken up into little meetings. She was sitting with four other councilors going over feed documents while they had cups of one of the hot liquids humans like.
Aylen and Gamila had just walked through the hatch, which was now sliding shut. I had the impulse to lunge forward and stop it, but I didn’t, because I didn’t want to look more like a rogue SecUnit than I already did.
And the hatch sealed. Oh, Murderbot, I think you just made a mistake.
Farid cleared his throat. “So… you’re really a SecUnit?”
Yeah, I get that a lot here. I said, “Are you on the feed with Aylen?” She might have a private connection with the two officers that I wasn’t included on.
“Not right now.” Farid’s brow creased and his gaze went to the hatch. “Balin, are you on with Supervisor Gamila?”
Who the fuck is—Oh, it’s the bot. Balin tilted its head and said, “No, Officer.”
Tifany gripped her baton and shifted uneasily.
This is the other thing. Station Security isn’t armed except with those extendable batons (they don’t even deliver shocks, they’re just for hitting/holding off aggressive intoxicated humans) and the officers are only issued energy weapons when there’s actually an energy-weapon-involved emergency. Which is good, because the fewer humans running around with weapons the better. (I say that as a SecUnit who has been shot a lot, often by my own clients, accidentally and on purpose.) But it also meant Aylen was in there unarmed.
I tried to secure a connection with Aylen or Gamila. No response. I tried a test message, a ping that would bounce off the ship’s comm or feed, and got nothing. Which meant something was jamming me, something that had been activated since the hatch had closed.
Fuck not hacking systems. I hit the port admin feed and connected to SafetyMonitor, the PA system that kept up a constant connection with all ships and transports in dock. I used it to find and break the ship’s secure connection to the feed, and tried to pull camera views from inside, but I couldn’t find any video connections except the stupid hatch camera. I caught an audio source but all I could hear was humans yelling some distance away; they must be in another part of the ship, away from the audio pick-up. I found Aylen’s connection to the port feed and upped it, trying to get through to her.
I upped it enough that I caught a burst of static from her and relayed it to the Station Security feed. Both Tifany and Farid looked startled and Balin the bot expanded a sensor net from the back of its neck. I stripped out the static; it was Aylen’s ID, and she was sending a Station Security urgent assistance code.
For fuck’s sake, I knew this was a bad idea and I stood here like an idiot and let it happen. I turned to Tifany and Farid. “I need to get in there.”
Farid had a hand on his interface, sending another urgent-assistance-needed code to the Station Security comm. Tifany was more direct. She drew her baton and said, “Balin, get us inside.”