Backup Procedures Chapter 9

           Victoria Fallbrook stepped onto the raised platform. She wore one of her customary suits, though in a bit of compromise with the near-noonday heat wore lighter skirt and blouse. Steps descended before her leading to a wider deck with scattered tables, chairs, grills, and ramps that lead down to the fine sand of the beach. She looked out over assembled humans and Descended and then at the ocean water that was rolling in. "First, I'd like to thank everyone in the Wilson Integrated Capabilities family for their performance and dedication. Such dedication should be rewarded." She gave a smile that almost reached her eyes.

           "I would also like to remind you all that due to the longer day in New Carlisle, working forty hour's a week is not sufficient to meet global corporate standards. Please contact your supervisors to square up your obligation. However, for now, the company will overlook these failings. Please enjoy." Giving another sharp grin she walked down the stairs, seeking out Furnas and Vojtech

           "Again with the hours?" Morgan frowned pulling a soft drink out of a cooler

           "Like it matters with us, we work twelve on twelve off," Higgs muttered as he poured charcoal into a grill.

           "Twelve and a half," Morgan smirked.

           "Yeah, yeah," Higgs grumbled, scanning the crowd.

           "You loose something?"

           "Where'd the lighter fluid go?"

           "My guess, Company cheapped out on it again."

           Higgs groaned.

           "Well, it's not like we need it."

           "You ask."

           "Wuss," Morgan walked down the deck and onto the sand. She found Shelia with a group of Descended putting up some large beach towels.

           Wearing a dark purple floral one-piece, Shelia stood. Unusual for her, she had her wings out. "Captain?"

           Morgan coughed. "We'll need a light."

           "Fire?" Orine's eyes lit up. She was in a frilly little swimsuit and had a small parasol.

           "Honey..." Shelia sighed.

           "Oh let her watch," Merva shrugged.

           "Yeah, but I don't like us being used as some sort of parlor trick," Shelia said.

           "I'll do it," Kelly unfolded her towel.

           "You and fire," Noravi shook her head. Spreading her wings, she stretched her back. "Well have fun burning stuff." Winking, she ran down the beach, catching up with Catilina and Sandra.

           Biting her lip, Erica looked at her aunts. "Mom?"

           "Yes, yes you can go swimming."

           "Yay," Erica caught up with the other Descended. Just before hitting the water, the four Descended spread their wings, and lifted off the ground. Gaining altitude, the quartet rose several meters above the waves, using their tails to help change direction. Then, grinning mischievously, Erica flipped back and leapt onto Sandra's back. The Sein shrieked as her wings were pulled in and the two Descended plummeted into the water.

           There were a confused struggling splash then the two righted themselves and shot through the water, using a stroke that combined wings, arms and legs, while their tails swished behind.

           "Ah, lively creatures." Victoria held a tumbler of scotch under her nose. She stood off to the side a but further off from the rest of the employees. She turned from the aerial and aquatic antics to see Anderson shoot a stream of orange flames into the grill.

           "I stand by their actions last night, Ma'am" Lieutenant Vojtech said.

           "Of course you do," Victoria assured. "And that they're not being handed over to the Navy, Imperial or otherwise should tell you where I stand."

           "Ma'am."

           "Our forensic team went over the body and the Sherriff allowed us to look over Mr. Shackleford's residence. The man lived alone. Was union back in on Earth, seems to resent that the Company put him on suspension for trying to come to work drunk. Word was he said that he'd never be put out of work back on Earth."
           "Only suspension?" Victoria's eyes smoldered. "I want his old supervisor dealt with, harshly."

           "Ma'am that's not quite my department," Furnas reminded. He had changed into a grey shirt, red tie and a pair of black pants that were technically civilian clothes.

           "That's why I told you harshly," Victoria hissed. "My god, if this man got back to work there'd be so many levers to use against him."

           "Instead he was burned on this task." Furnas stated.

           "Which shows a thorough paranoia about our interrogation capabilities," Vojtech chuckled.

           Victoria sipped her drink with little smile.

           "Yes, yes. Still, it looks like he was setup to go after Specialist Weiss," Furnas said.

           "A sort of litmus test?"

           "It did prove out that the man was a combat tech and not someone that liked lousy grey tattoos and gluing bits of tin foil to his fingers." Victoria shook her head. "And then he was killed. Are we sure it wasn't..." She let the question hang.

           "Yes, Ma'am." Furnas cleared his throat. "We checked the logs on his mods, and confirmed with the power levels in his capacitors. Specialist Weiss only did one slice and dice that night."

           "What killed him? More tech?"

           "Something like that, Pathology found a strange residue in his throat and the internal wounds. His stomach was also pretty badly torn up."

           "Instead of a blood bond it was a chemical?" Vojtech asked.

           "That's easier to control, since you can make the chemical simple and unique gives a far stronger EQE link."

           Furnas nodded. "It looks like he was slipped something, and it was triggered when his usefulness ran out."

           "Well, isn't that a delight. And you screened the bar?"

           Furnas nodded. "Though that just confirms no one in there was anyone we knew, and they didn't add any obvious surveillance bugs."

           "That part of the bar is visible from the market," Vojtech added. "And it's not like this guy's hander really needed to be up close to know when to scrub the operation."

           "That's a lot of work just to get our tech angry," Furnas reminded.

           "It does prove one thing, Sir," Vojtech offered. "Whoever did this doesn't have access to our records or has had the men under surveillance."

           "Possible," Furnas allowed.

           "This whole thing was pretty high risk. What if Shackleford didn't go through with it?"

           Victoria snorted. "He'd have been killed Lieutenant. The man was under a deadman switch."

           "Could we have done anything to help him?"

           Victoria inhaled from her glass again. "I suppose Lieutenant Ford's got enough knowledge. Our other medical techs are pretty good. Why?"

           "Well, we've got someone that can dose someone with a remote trigger. This is a huge security risk."

           "Not as much as an active tech of Weiss's grade. That would be a real risk."

           "What kind of a tech could do this?' Furnas asked.

           "It's a combat specialty, but as the director said a tailored inorganic compound would be much easier to control. Any basic grade combat tech could do it."

           "And you did cross the list of known techs with those at the bar?"

           "And with people that have passed through the port authority," Furnas added.

           Vojtech quietly wondered what the Company had done to work that deal out with the Navy.

           "What about the Descended? It could have been one of them. Did you get through with Navarch Kenva? I'd like to know what IONS thinks."

           Furnas shook his head. "That doesn't match the style of the person she's looking for. Not bloody enough."

           Vojtech blinked. The Company, no Director Fallbrook had a line to both the US Navy and the Office of Imperial Navy Security.

           "Lovely," Victoria spat.

           "This doesn't smell right," Furnas added.

           "Someone's trying to screw with us, and I won't stand for that, especially not here. You do what it takes to get to the bottom of this."

           "Of course Ma'am."

           The director nodded and looked across the beach. A collection of scientists, machinists, programmers, guards, secretaries, pilots, paper pushers, cleaners, and their families had started to coalesce into little groups. A bit over half of her little fiefdom were represented here. More were apparently coming but the bulk of those not here were working.

           She smiled. Even at a company picnic, posts had to be guarded, experiments had to be maintained, planes had to be controlled, surveillance had to be done. The Company had a reputation to keep, responsibilities to meet, and Corporate had entrusted her with that responsibility.

           Her gaze went back to the parking lot that held a two busses, some armored security vehicles and few private cars, mostly owned by Pilots, though a couple of recon personnel had mini vans.

            The guard force for the event had set their base there and were screening those that showed up. A balding, stooped man in line gave a wave with his free hand. He looked flustered and even at this distance was sweating under his cheap suit. Victoria sighed. The briefcase seemed a bit much, but a bureaucrat        was expected to fall into familiar patterns, especially under stress.

            "Ma'am?" Vojtech asked.

           "Go enjoy yourself." Trying to appear gracious, Victoria waved her hand. "And make sure your... men don't get rowdy."

           The big man raised an eyebrow but snapped off a salute and turned on his heel.

           "Pascal?" Furnas quietly asked.

           "It figures, he'd be involved in this."

           Tilting his head, Furnas nodded.

           "Let him in, might as well hear what the Navy thinks."

           Furnas spoke into his radio, the two walked up the stairs and into the parking lot. Pascal breezed through the checkpoint and approached them in a downcast shuffle. "Director Fallbrooks-"

           "Can it Gerard. We're in on the score."

           Adjusting his glasses, Pascal straightened himself. "Of course." He inclined his head to Furnas. "Commander."

           "You have any info on the Cow and Crock? One of yours get away from you."

           For a second, Pascal was taken back. "Ah yes," he coughed. "I'm afraid not. This is about Professor Teage."

           "The crank that Norton's been on about? He actually approached one of my staff, urged her to get my attention."

           "Where is he? I expected him to come to an event like this," Pascal looked around.

           "He wasn't invited. This is a function for those that work for the Company," Victoria stated, lightly stressing the last word of each sentence.

           "My, was he being a bother?"

           Victoria smirked. "Oh no, his interviewing style is apparently quite approachable, and the reports he's filed with us were safe and made the Company look good. I'm still a bit wary of having him talk with the Recon team, but he's been okay with the SUSAN team and the Pilots. If only he wasn't interviewing my staff on their off hours and spinning wild theories."

           "Are they so wild?"

           "You've been taken in too?" Victoria gave a little sigh. "No, you wouldn't. So, you've got to know something else."
           "A flight of Maker Fantails attack for no readily apparent reason, a professor in charge of a Maker archeological dig starts to get squirrely, a combat tech is attacked by a booby-trapped proxy, the Imperial Navy just happen to stop by, oh and your recon team just liquidated a bunch of Pitratucu pirates."

           "Yes, and someone had been heavily supplying armed men on the planet just behind our Earth-ward Lock. Interesting thing about IONS, they seemed delighted by our report, and they turned around and started going after whatever importer they could find." Victoria pushed a nonexistent strand of hair aside. "Mr. Pascal, what's going on in my city?"

           "I believe the enterprising professor Teage is a useful starting point."

           "He took ONR funding, Navy jurisdiction," Furnas said.

           "Yes, happy hunting," Victoria glanced back at the water.

           "Indeed."

           The director turned to study the Naval agent's bland face. "Are you giving a courtesy call or proposing something more involved?"

           "I met the professor, recently. It was a standard inspection. He set of warning bells but nothing more than more automated surveillance. The I listened to Norton's interview. The man's gotten worse, something has him spooked."

           "Something?"

           "Yes, he seemed to be... reaching out." Pascal frowned.

           "With who, Norton?" Victoria asked.

           "That would be the case."
           "And this is cause for alert?"

           "The man appears disturbed; he's acting cornered." Pascal looked out over the water. "You know what that implies."

           The woman narrowed her eyes. "Two things: a party to apply pressure and something to apply pressure over."

           Pascal nodded.

           Victoria swore. She looked down at the balding man. "If I were you I'd round the lot up and tear those ruins apart stone by stone."

           Pascal gave a weak chuckle. "Rear Admiral Terson made his point clear: insufficient evidence."

           "Oh." Victoria glanced at Furnas.

           The commander flicked his fingers, the slim silver rings recording his commands. He then reached into a pocket and turned off the backup recorder. Finally, the man nodded.

           "And you're asking for a fuel tank drop? Apologies all around. The Company pays a weregild for everyone killed, out and somewhere down the line the Company gets a choice contract?"

           Pascal exhaled. Even in jest she would not make such an offer idly, not when it would cost her career. Yes the company could ultimately benefit, but it would do so without her. "Nothing so dramatic, not yet, and if it comes to that you'll be operating under contract, even if I have to set it up."

           Victoria gave a slow nod. Where she had proposed career suicide, Pascal had taken a more literal route. Beyond the inner colonies, mutiny was still a hanging offense. "What services do you require?"

           He pulled a plastic dongle out of his coat pocket. "Plans of Teage's little did. Lists of contacts. Locations and codes for the bugs we've set up. Get your men familiar with the layout. If thinks go bad..."

           Furnas took the storage drive and secured it in a small lockbox. These days just about everything had a far greater storage capacity than was needed, dubbing rigs and SUSAN control cores being notable exceptions. That excess of capacity gave plenty of space to hide extra goodies. Which was why the Company had several quarantined, one-time workstations with the sole purpose of extracting outside information.

           "You'll want backup?" Victoria asked.

           "Also another set of eyes. Preferably in the air and on the ground."

           "That is another thing that little Fantail stunt proved. The Makers are tuning their electronic warfare."

           "And one of their sympathizers is starting to crack." Victoria shook her head.

           "As I said, I don't like the timing."

           Victoria nodded. "You'll have your support, but I want this dealt with quietly. We've already lost one plane; I don't want this to get worse."

           "Director," Pascal gave a little smile. "That's exactly what I'm trying to prevent."

          

***************

           Somerset lay on the sand, her wings spread out under her. A shadow crossed over her face. "Yes Dear?"

           Kelly crouched down next to her. Water dripped off of her hair and fine sand clung to her legs and the fins on her tail.

           "I know nothing's really the matter" Somerset said. "So, what's eating you?"

           "Nothing," Kelly smiled. "It's just so weird seeing you out of uniform. I mean you don't even have a rifle."

           Somerset rolled to the side and lifted the doubled over towel revealing her rifle.

           "That's great mom." Kelly laughed.

           Somerset raised an eyebrow.

           Kelly looked down. "Are you going to chew me out?"

           "Our orders are to protect Specialist Weiss in battle. You thought you were home having a nice meal."

           The young Descended, forced herself to meet her mother's gaze.

           "You're starting to realize, Dear. Safety's just an illusion."

           "I'd like to think Mooring's safer than a battle-zone."

           "Our wishes rarely intersect with reality." The older woman said, her age briefly entering her voice and her haunted eyes. "You need to be ready."
           "I came back, I helped the situation."

           Somerset reached out and ran a hand along her daughter's thigh. "Yes, and you can't beat yourself up. You're not perfect. None of us are. Mistakes will be made. How bad they get depends on what you do."

           Kelly nodded. "You're not just.... sugarcoating it?"

           "You poor girl. Ask Cat or Merva if I'm really too soft. If you really disappoint me, you will know it." Somerset chuckled. "You'll be on the ground begging forgiveness, begging mercy, and I'll give it to you, because I love you."

           Horns tingling, Kelly's stomach knotted and her tail flopped limply on the sand. A whimper crossed her lips.

           "But, because I care about you I'll make sure you wont repeat the mistake." Somerset's expression shifted to a mischievous smile. "So?"

           "So?" Kelly asked, her throat dry.
           "You came over here for something?"

           "That pilot's got the grill up and running. You want a burger or two?" the young Descended choked out.

           "Please. Two, well-done. No cheese, onions if they have them"

           Keeping her eyes steady, Kelly nodded.

           "It's perfectly proper, Dear. Burgers should not be bloody. It's just not right."

           "Yes, Mother." Rocking to her heels, Kelly stood back up. She then walked over the hot sun-baked sand. She climbed up the ramp and stepped onto the decking. Several of her sisters and both of her nieces had gravitated around the grill.

           Serene, Captain Higgs worked the slabs of meat flipping them, adding cheese, bbq sauce, and salt on request. Upon completion, he piled the burgers and hotdogs on a platter set on an adjacent table. Buns and various fixings were piled next to the platter.

           Kelly slid through the merrily feeding Descended. "Two burgers well done, and another rare."

           "Sure thing," Higgs said.

           "Who'd you piss off to get this duty?" Kelly looked at the smoldering coals with pride. It was as simple trick but she took pride in a job well done.

           "No one, I wanted to do it." Higgs adjusted the grill's inflow valve.

           "Oh?" Kelly smirked. "You like cooking them?"

           "Eh, reminds me of home. We always used to do grill back in Armstrong. Course meat's cheaper back there."

           Kelly inhaled happily. "Yes, awfully nice of the Company to pay for this haul."

           "Sure, frozen bulk ground beef and pork hotdogs. Nothing too big, but a nice change from all the fish," Higgs said.

           "There's always the Crock and Cow."

           "Yeah, I suppose."

           "What you gonna claim poverty on it? You're a Pilot," Kelly teased.

           "I do have less to spend than you'd think."

           The Descended raised an eyebrow. She looked down, there was no wedding ring but that was not definitive. She wished she had listened more at Shelia's griping about the pilots she babysat.

           Higgs sighed. "I send money back home. I've got a lot of brothers and sisters. It helps."

           "Ah that's alright then."

           "Yes, sending soldiering money back to the brood, very proper." Higgs went back to the grill.

           "I wasn't always a Descended." Kelly rolled her eyes. "Sir."

           "Oh good save, Agent. This is a social function, I think the military regs can be loosened a bit."

           "We're private contractors, Sir. I think the regs are already pretty loose."

           Nodding, Higgs flipped some burgers.

           Kelly frowned. "Not going to ask about when I was turned?"

           Higgs gestured to his grey subdermals. "Sorry, that's not exactly exotic to me, and I know that it had to have been a traumatic experience."

           "Ah."

           "I mean it's not like you're running up to Captain Franklin and asking him how he died."

           "The big grey guy?"

           Higgs raised an eyebrow.

           "Sorry. Dumb question."

           "Nah, it's just fun to see it from the other side," Higgs grinned and pulled a few burgers off the grill, replenishing the steadily depleting pile. "Huh, looks like we'll need some more relish and onions."

           Kelly looked over the pile and nosed the coolers. "So, is there any dessert? I could kill for some cheesecake."

           "Oh sure there's portable freezer down on the other end of the deck." Higgs pointed with his spatula. "I'm sure they've got something."

***************

           Favoring his leg, Fritz climbed up the ramp and onto the deck. "Hey Kelly."

           "Fritz." Kelly's smile grew when she turned to the woman next to Fritz. Greta O'Donnell was a plump matronly woman with wavy blonde hair that fell down to her shoulders. She wore a plain dress slipped over a grey swimsuit. Two young children, fraternal twins, ran behind the couple. "Ah, Kelly how's it been?" she asked eying the Descended clustered around the grill.

           "Good enough, how's it with you?"

           "Getting the kids ready to go to school," Greta eyed her children as they ran over to Orine. Her daughter, Hanna was especially chatty with the Descended child.

           "Ah, school," Kelly coughed and caught Shelia's eye.

           Carrying a burger, the purple-haired Descended walked over. "You must be Greta, I've heard so much about you! Your rye bread recipe really worked out well."

           "Oh you bake?" Greta asked, eyeing the woman's horns.

           Shelia coughed delicately. "Not myself no, but my wife does."

           Greta then noticed the plain gold wedding band, and the crucifix laid over the woman's neck.

           "Really?" Fritz sighed. "How come it's all 'Stupid Fritz' with me, but 'what a great cook you are' for my wife?"

           "Because, Greta is gracious and lovely, while you're a rough customer," Kelly teased.    

           "They're the reason I'm called Fritz!"

           "No, that's Richard," Greta patted him on the shoulder. "Blame your friend Weiss for that nickname."

           "You don't give me a break will you?" Hans "Fritz" O'Donnell gave a weak laugh.          "I like my rough customer."

           Hanna ran back her brother and Orine in tow. "Mom! Orine wanted to take us swimming. Can we?"

           A frown flickered across, Greta's face.

           Shelia motioned to Erica.

           The pre-teen Descended nodded. "I can watch them," Erica offered.

           "Well, I suppose that'd be fine," Greta said with relief.

           "Yes don't worry," Shelia assured.

           The three children raced to the water while Erica stalked behind. She kept her head low but raised her gaze, looking over her nose. She stepped out to the edge of the water letting the slow waves roll over her feet as they sunk into the sand.

           Back up on the deck, the two O'Donnell's had been fed by Higgs. "She seems like a sensible girl," Greta said after taking a bite out of her burger. It was fair enough, though she preferred good sausages, though they were dear to import from Germany.

           Shelia beamed. "Thanks, we've put a lot of work into her."

***************

            Norton leaned back onto the chair of his hotel room.  He looked at his watch and exhaled.  His phone began to ring.  Norton smirked. Simone was prompt if nothing else.  He picked up the headset and slipped it over his ear.. "Yes, Mrs. Rogers?"

            "Gabriel you free to talk?" Simone Rogers asked.

            "Yup,"  Norton adjusted the slim rings around his fingers and unrolled a keyboard and put it onto the room's desk.

            "Good.  Your last posting was good.  I'm a bit surprised WIC let their pilots talk so candidly."  Simone hesitated. "You did clear it with them, right?"

            Norton chuckled. "Yes,  I got their approval."

            "Really?"
            "There's nothing new in that.  Their latest press release on dubbing tech is more informative. There's no worry about technological leaks."

            "It does seem a bit irreverent. Though the Descended technician is interesting.  Especially how she got to you."

            Norton coughed. "I think the Company is interested in humanizing their image.  Especially when it comes to dubbing and the like."

            "Clever of them to make you look like the technophile while they were more working-Joes,"  Simone laughed. "But no,  when combined with a few photos of the city it really brings things to life."

            "Oh?"

            "You have been tracking the comments?  The readers back on Earth are loving it."

            Norton shrugged. "I guess that's good."

            "You still aren't used to being a journalist, to having readers are you?"

            "I like readers good enough; it's when people write back to me that it gets strange."

            "Media's a two way street, has been for a long time.  If you don't do a good enough job some other guy will go out with a camera and start asking his own questions."

            "Good," Norton stretched his neck. "Sometimes I think Earth couldn't care less what's happening out in the colonies,  just as long as the tankers, ore freighters, and Descended scientists keep coming in and all those messy political troublemakers keep going out."

            "Ah cynicism," Simone laughed.

            "It's true,  the Consolidation is, if anything, more honest about it."

            "Most people won't ever set foot off world, and if they can learn a bit more about it by reading your reports and watching your videos then that helps things."

            "It's not like a ticket is that expensive," Norton grumbled.

            "To the Inner Colonies sure, but those worlds are pretty tame.  Well, maybe not New Holland or Midway, but you get my point."

            "Yeah," Norton sighed.

            "You are doing good work." Simone reassured.

            Norton blinked the praise seemed a bit out of place.

            "And you backed up the  raw version?" 

            Looking out the window, Norton tapped onto the keyboard adjusting his Heads Up Display. "Yes,  but I'm not sure if we should use it," he said, after confirming the files' presence.

            "Right getting blacklisted would make future reporting on the Company difficult, but it is grating to follow their rules."

            "If I want access to their private property I have to follow their rules.  And it's me following their rules. I'm a freelancer."

            Simone snorted. "Please, the Company knows Meta Portal  is your primary syndicator."

            "Right,  they might be that petty to blacklist you and everyone else I'm doing business with."  Norton sighed. "So, what's the concern?"

            "You didn't post that interview with Professor Teage.  Not even an internal draft."

            "Yeah, there's been some complications." Norton rubbed his forehead.

            "Really? Last I heard you said you had arranged a meeting with him, and it's not like he's Company.  There's no restrictions dealing with him.  Right?"

            Norton looked out the window. It gave a view of the outskirts of the city and the farms that lead up to Cooke Island's central ridge. "You think he's Company?" he asked, his mind filing away possibilities.  Teage had been part of a contact list provided by Simone. His name was one of over a dozen but it was on her list, not Norton's initial list.

            "Well,  why else are you being so coy?  I mean his research is interesting but not that interesting. He's got ONR babysitting him not ONI after-all."

            Norton's hands stilled. "Mrs. Rogers....  Simone, what was the reason you put Teage on your list?  Was it just his research?  Did it have anything to do with his, say, politics?"   Norton would have preferred to be direct with the question he really wanted to ask, but that did not seem prudent.

            "Politics?" There was a bit of clicking as Simone used the keys and mouse of her own workstation. "If memory serves...  oh...  yes I see." The older woman read a few search results on the man. "He's anti-Descended then?"

            "You didn't know?"

            "No more than the standard anti-Imperialist claptrap."

            "You came to the conclusion that he's actually against the Descended pretty quick just now," Norton stated.

              Simone sighed. "You know better than that."

            "Context then?"

            "Yes, I just did a quick search. Which I'm sure was just like the search you did before your interview.  A bit of a crackpot, but doesn't seem overtly bigoted, but..."

            "But here I  am asking if you knew about his politics implying you didn't tell me something."

            Simone chuckled. "He wouldn't be the first to use policy disagreement as cover for bigotry. Though it is odd that he even bothered to hide it especially not from his environment."

            Norton gave a curt laugh.  "He thought Cornell was too pro-Descended."

            "I see." Simone sounded pensive. "So, an unpleasant man?"

            "Quite," Norton leaned back again.

            "But why conceal the interview?  It's not like he's Company affiliated. You can say whatever you want about him."

            Closing his eyes, Norton felt his apprehension grow again.  He did not like the direction his train of thought was going; he did not like where Rogers' questions were leading him.

            He waited for a couple seconds. He checked his inboxes; hoping that there could be something from Pascal or someone at the Company.

            "Gabe?" Simone asked, slightly irritated. "What's wrong?"

            "I may have to sit on the interview."

            "Really?  And why is that?"

            Norton held the bridge of his nose. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that just yet, but it could..."

            "It could what?" Simone tapped an old brass pen onto her desk.

           "It could be nothing." Gabriel exhaled.  "However..."

           "However it could be something else."  Simone sighed.

           She was met by more silence on Gabriel's part.

           "Not going to elaborate on the nature?"

           "I think you can get the context," Gabriel said.

           "A professor analyzing Maker artifacts has you spooked, and in a way you can't openly tell me."

           "Approximately."

           "That's not reassuring."

           Gabriel smiled at the humor in her voice. "No, it's not."

           "You are logging all of this, right?"

           The journalist laughed. "Sure, sure.  I'll be interesting for posterity."

           Simone hummed. "It occurs to me that there is another reason for your hesitation."

           "Such as?"

           "Allow me to assume that you have yet to acquire any hard proof. In such a case your ideas could be... hasty."

           "You think I'm paranoid."

           "The option is a possibility. Your own caution shows that you're not sure yourself."

           Gabriel chuckled. "What does that mean then?"

           "That means your withholding out of self interest. You don't want to look foolish; you don't want to make.. baseless claims."

           Jaw clenched, Gabriel took a couple breaths. "I, well, I would be lying if I said I was not concerned about my professional reputation."

           "All the reason to wait on something... juicy." Simone coughed gently.

           "Boss?"

           "I suppose journalistic isn't the only reputation you're concerned about."

           Norton's attention went back to the window. He swallowed. "There are other issues on the table."

           "Past friends?"

           Norton winced. He took a moment to ensure his voice was even.  At least she did not name the old friends in question. "I do have various... duties."

           Simone gave a little sigh. "Gabriel, I can't force you to do anything, but if you really do feel you've found something that needs a... delicate hand, then I think you should."

           "Thank you," Norton lowered his head.

           "I also think you should secure all those backups you're making,  just incase you are right."

           Norton cracked a smile. "Yes, for the inevitable book deal."

Backup Procedures chapter 8

Mooring was laid out on a grid. However, nothing required the grids be filled in with similar rationality. The block on the North-east corner of Maple and Wraith was given over to a haphazard pile of cargo containers. They were laid out in a semi-circle that formed the city's main market The containers themselves served as a group of high traffic, but lower rent buildings. It was also set between the Brazilian and the Descended neighborhoods.

            Near the apex of the semi-circle, across the market from the intersection of Maple and Wraith, was the Crock and Cow. Originally built from a single cargo-crate, the bar expanded in a fittingly organic manner. It first expanded into a kitty-cornered cargo container for more seating, prefabricated walls and other Navy castoffs were soon added. This included much of the kitchen equipment and the sumps for the basement storage.

            Inside the Crock and Cow haw low ceilings and dim redish lights. The bar itself was built out of a surplus flagstone from the Port Authority building. It was held up on three points shorter chunks of stone. It was a material that even the bar's patrons had difficulty damaging. Though there were a few deep scratches along the surface, in addition to the occasional scorch mark and bullet-crack.

            Sitting on one side of the bar, facing the door, and with their backs to the wall, were two recon agents. One had pale green hair cut into a short bob and wore a black leather jacket over a matching dress and pointed boots. Next to her sat a spare man with short hair in a plain set of jeans and red checkered jacket.

             Blood splattering up as the bartender dropped a metal plate onto the bar. "Blue, just as ordered," Murphy, a bandy-armed man, grumbled.

Backup Procedures Chapter 7

           Walking down the crowded streets of Mooring, Norton easily kept his bearings. Even if the buildings were ramshackle to homemade, the streets were wide and straight. Crossing a neighborhood notable for its immigrants from Rio he smiled at the Samba music came out of open bars and restaurants. Brazil had leveraged their "sharing" of the Conneaut Lock well and had become even more of a dominant force on South American politics.

           Having a larger and more impoverished population than either Japan or Canada (the US's two other "Lock partners"), Brazil was able to get more colonists out to settle on more and more planets. Often outnumbering North Americans in this part of the Spinward Steppes.

           The slightly orange tinted sun loomed above, a bit larger than Earth-normal. A standard naval base boomtown, Mooring had the standard rough shanties and eager, sometimes even legitimate, entrepreneurs.

           Most of the business supported the military, the seaport, or the colony, which rapidly spread over the rest of Cooke Island. As the population had grown large enough to support secondary businesses and stores.

           Near New Carlisle's Earth-bound Lock, Mooring served as a gateway for planet's other continents and the four other worlds that it connected too: Rossford, Hamilton, and two worlds that had only been partially surveyed. Nameless, they were still referred to by their serial numbers: N4c-3a-2a-1e and N4d-3a-2a-1e.

           The humidity had broken today and the air was less oppressive if still full of the smells of fuel, and fish. At least the city had a modern sewage system. Norton had been in some areas of the Consolidation where water treatment was a tertiary concern, if that.