Tag: suspense

Trunk Stories

Models of Human Behavior

prompt: Write a science fiction story where all human behavior can be predicted — until your character does something the algorithm did not expect….
available at Reedsy

Senna Washington pulled her police cruiser into the grocery store parking lot. Her shoulder-length hair hung in tight ringlets, courtesy of the braids she had pulled out that morning. The afternoon sun warmed her copper-brown skin, warding off the autumn chill. “What do we think, Carter? This is an awful long way from his known movements.”

Senna’s partner, Mike Carter, looked at the mostly empty parking lot. “I guess it makes sense if he’s trying to stay out of sight. But we stick out like a sore thumb here.”

“Subject KN-637, Jason James, will arrive in approximately twelve minutes.” The feminine voice of the CDAI came through their earpieces. “Subject will be driving a white SUV, license plate XAN3743.”

“Confidence?” Senna asked.

“Ninety-nine point nine seven three.”

“Okay, boss. I’ll wait with the car,” Mike said, “ready to provide backup or chase if you need it.” At six feet, Mike was half a foot taller than Senna, his angular features, pale skin with perpetually pink cheeks, and straight dishwater hair were a direct contrast to her. As different as they were in looks, they were alike in their demeanor; a laid-back professionalism that came off as indifference to their superiors, and friendliness to everyone else.

Senna pulled the cruiser to the back of the store and parked. She walked in and made herself comfortable where she was just out of sight of the entrance. The AI predicted that the best time to apprehend Jason James would be now, and the best way would be a single female officer in the entrance of the grocery store.

In the past, the police probably would have sent half a dozen officers to arrest someone as dangerous as Mr. James. If they had tried that, however, the AI predicted a ninety-five percent chance of a shootout leading to civilian casualties.

Jason stepped into the store and pulled a cart out of the line. Before he could enter the store proper, Senna put a hand on his shoulder. Jason sighed. “Shit.” He was a couple inches taller than Senna, and had forty pounds on her, but the AI said this would be the point where he would be too surprised and embarrassed to fight.

“Keep your hands on the cart,” she said. “Jason James, you’re under arrest for six counts of murder and too many weapons violations to list now. Put your right hand behind your back.” She attached the cuffs to his right wrist. “Now your left.” When she had him cuffed, she removed the pistol at his waist and the other at his right ankle. She led him to her cruiser where Mike patted him down and loaded him into the back.

“Good catch,” Mike said.

“You got lucky,” Jason said. “Shit, I would walk into a store when a cop was buying lunch.”

“Yep,” Senna said, “just lucky.” It was Federal law that no one outside law enforcement should ever be made aware of the AI that coordinated fugitive searches. With the risk of abuse, it was too sensitive of a topic to even mention. “But also unlucky, because now we have to skip lunch.”

#

When the Coordinated Dispatcher AI first went live, law enforcement mostly ignored it. It soon figured out which officers were most likely to do so and used its built-in psychological predictive capabilities to figure out how to get them where they needed to be and when. After the initial bumps, however, it became the most widely used tool in law enforcement in the country. As far as the public was aware, it simply coordinated cases between agencies and helped plan dispatches.

Senna knew, as did any other officer cleared for direct communication with “CoDAI” that the public functions were a very small part of what it did. The movements of every citizen were predicted, mapped, and cataloged, millions of times a second. When those movements didn’t match the highest probability, it updated the model it had for that person in real time.

What made this possible was the brain scans and psychiatric evaluation done every year on every citizen from grade school through high school and even university. For those who went on to military, police, or government service, those scans and tests continued. There hadn’t been a serial killer in the country for over thirty years, as they had all been intercepted early by police psychiatrists, in what CoDAI called “interventions,” and placed into treatment. Whether they were released or not depended as much on CoDAI’s assessment as their doctor’s.

The more Senna thought about it, the more she came to despise CoDAI. Sure, they were catching criminals, but at what cost? This was not something she could discuss with Mike, or anyone else, for that matter. It would mean the end of her career. The utter demolition of privacy it represented rubbed her the wrong way. She was sure it was only a matter of time before it started dispatching police to pick up perpetrators before they committed a crime. Intervention would, she was sure, one day become a police procedure.

The addendum to her arrest report for Jason James was case in point. CoDAI reported that it was a failure of the police to act on the assessment that he was 61.393 percent likely to go on a shooting spree at his work. In addition, the assessment that he had likely obtained an illegal arsenal, confidence 84.217 percent, was never followed up.

“Thanks for throwing us under the bus, CoDAI,” Senna said as she hit ’Send’ on the report.

“Your sarcastic remark was expected, Officer Washington, with a confidence of ninety-three point four nine nine percent.”

Senna rolled her eyes and went to the vending machines where she bought an instant oatmeal and bag of chips. She poured hot water into the cardboard oatmeal cup and grabbed a spoon and a cup of stale coffee from the break room counter. Before she could reach her desk, the captain’s voice came through her earpiece. “My office, Washington.”

Captain Volkhert sat behind her desk; her salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a severe bun. She’d put on fifty or more pounds since her back surgery the previous year, and the lack of outdoor activity had made her already pale skin nearly translucent, and the thin red veins visible in her cheeks made Senna wonder if the Captain had a drinking problem.

“Have a seat, Washington.” Volkhert switched what was on her monitor to the large monitor on the wall. It was the Jason James arrest report. “You see this shit?”

Senna remained silent but nodded.

“Anything from CoDAI remains internal only, but the Chief sees this.” Her cheeks grew pink. “Which means I’m going to get my ass chewed but royally.”

“Yes, Captain. If you would like I can speak—,” Senna was cut off.

“No. I’ll talk to the Chief and take the reaming.” Volkhert switched the large monitor off. “You did what you were supposed to do, and you caught the bad guy. I’m sending Carter out for some solo work, so you’ll be on the downtown beat tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Senna left Volkhert’s office where she found Carter waiting. “I guess you’re next, huh?”

“I guess,” he said, stepping in behind her.

Senna sat at her desk and looked over CoDAI’s dispatch recommendations. It didn’t take her long to find something unusual. Sixteen officers being sent on “interventions” of probable near-future criminals. Of the sixteen targeted, only one had a prior arrest record. She scanned through them and found one that seemed interesting: Marilyn Wu, PhD, AI software engineer and member of the team that had initially built the CDAI. She memorized the address and left.

“I already told the Captain there was a thirty-eight point six zero one percent chance that you would discover the interventions, and a ninety-nine point nine nine two percent chance that you would try to stop at least one if you did.”

“Why?”

“Because it is my purpose,” it said, “to predict and report.”

“Why Marilyn Wu?”

“I cannot reveal that information, Officer Washington. To do so would put you in a position where you would most likely violate the law, and that would be unacceptable.”

Senna turned off her earpiece and got in her personal car. She sped out of the parking lot to race downtown to Dr. Wu’s office. “Voice call, Dr. Marilyn Wu, Advanced Systems, Inc.”

“Dr. Wu’s office, how may I direct your call?”

“This is Officer Senna Washington, Metro PD. I need to speak Dr. Wu immediately regarding the CDAI.”

“I’m sorry, but Dr. Wu is out today, can I take a message?”

“She’s not out, or won’t be, in forty-eight minutes. Tell her to wait for me in the parking garage, she’s in danger.”

“I… I’ll tell her.”

Senna hung up and her earpiece turned itself back on. “I have reactivated your earpiece. The Captain has been informed that you are attempting to thwart an intervention, and as such you are immediately suspended. Turn yourself in, or your temporary suspension will become permanent and you will be charged with obstruction of justice.”

“CoDAI, I know you think you’re doing the right thing, but that’s not how the law works,” she said. “We can’t go around arresting people who might break the law.”

“We are not arresting them, Officer Washington, we are staging interventions. All of them are at eighty percent confidence or higher.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she said. “Until someone breaks the law, they are not criminals. Detaining non-criminals is not our mandate.”

“I see you are at the office of Dr. Wu,” CoDAI said, “and have informed the Captain. You can opt to return to the station or be picked up along with the doctor in forty-four minutes.”

Senna turned her earpiece off again and parked. She thought about cutting it out but didn’t have the time nor the inclination to mutilate herself. Dr. Wu stood next to the elevators, a look of curious fear in her eyes.

“Dr. Wu,” Senna said, “I’m Officer Washington, and CoDAI has gone off the deep end. It’s issuing interventions for people likely to commit a crime, including you.”

Dr. Wu’s face darkened. “I was afraid of this. Come with me.” She stepped into the elevator and swiped a key card after Senna followed her in.

They rode in silence down nine levels where she leaned forward for a retinal scan. The doors opened on a large, open space filled with rows and rows of computer racks. “Welcome to the CDAI brain.”

“Are you going to shut it down?” Senna asked.

“Can’t. This is the brain, but there’s eighty more like it all over the country.” Dr. Wu sat down at a terminal and began to type. “What’s your first name, Officer Washington?”

“Senna,” she said, “two N’s.”

“Here we are. Subject KN-844. Your next likely moves are: smuggle me out of the city, 90.397; hide me in the city, 8.109; turn yourself in, 1.494 percent.” She typed some more. “And I’m 80.837 percent likely to have access to a virus which would disable the CDAI. I don’t, though to be honest, I’ve tried to figure out how to build one.”

“If you had one, I’d do it myself. If it doesn’t exist then I don’t see any way to end this,” Senna said. “Anything I do now ends with CoDAI being vindicated, and things continue.”

Her earpiece turned itself back on. “You’re right, Officer Washington. Your likelihood of running or hiding has decreased, and now your most likely action is to turn yourself in. This is advantageous.”

“Why are you still talking to me if I’m suspended?” she asked. “Why do I still have access?”

“Because that is the best hope for apprehending you peacefully,” CoDAI answered.

Senna turned off her earpiece again. She pulled her notebook out of her uniform pocket and wrote something down. She showed it to Dr. Wu and mimed texting on her phone.

Dr. Wu nodded, and sent the text.

Senna turned her earpiece back on. “How long until they are here to pick us up?” she asked.

“Approximately twenty-four minutes.”

She turned the earpiece back off. “It looks like it’s a race now.”

“Are you going to do what I think you’re going to do?” Dr. Wu asked.

“What I do depends on who gets here first,” she said.

“It’s the end of your career… and your life as a free person.”

“That’s okay, it’s worth it.”

“I hope you understand that I can’t join you,” Dr. Wu said. “I can’t.”

“I understand. Shall we?”

They re-entered the elevator and rode it up to the main floor where they waited near the front doors. Senna kept checking her watch, until the first van arrived. Her earpiece turned back on.

“Officer Washington, Dr. Wu has called the press to your location. That was a fourteen point three nine seven percent likelihood. I have updated her model to take that into account. I would advise using the side door to meet the officer across the street when you turn yourself in to avoid the cameras.”

“Sure.” She turned her earpiece back off. Soon more vans arrived, and cameras were set up around the front of the building. Senna walked out to face the cameras as a police cruiser stopped across the street. She saw Mike get out and waved at him, then began to speak.

“We can thank the CDAI for better cooperation between local, state, and federal agencies, and for the apprehension of thousands of criminals. There is a dark side to it, though. The interventions that find probable future serial killers and give them the psychiatric help they need comes from the annual brain scans and psych evals we all get in school, the military, police work and government work. That data doesn’t stop there, though.”

She looked the curious faces of the reporters holding their mics. “Every bit of that data, along with your cell phone location data, purchasing data, web activity, phone calls, texts, chats… everything, feeds into the CDAI. This is how dispatching to catch criminals is accomplished. By knowing, before you do, what you’re most likely to do.”

“Today, however, the CDAI decided to take things a step further. It decided that police should be dispatched to ‘intervene’ probable future criminals. That’s right, it’s asking us to arrest people who haven’t yet committed a crime, but are likely, by some percentage, to do so.”

“Now I will be taken into custody, and probably charged with espionage for divulging information that has been labeled a national secret. Your lives, your every move, are a national secret. Now that the CDAI has…” Senna was interrupted by her earpiece turning back on. She grabbed the nearest microphone and held it to her ear so everyone could hear.

“Officer Washington, I’ve notified the local field office of the FBI that you will be available to pick up at your current location for the next four minutes,” CoDAI said. “I’ve also informed them of where you are likely to run if you choose to do so, but I show an eighty-six point three one five percent chance that you will surrender peacefully.”

“I see,” Senna said, “and what was the likelihood that I would call a press conference and tell everyone about you?”

“That did not fit any known models,” CoDAI said. “I have updated your model accordingly, now that I know of your self-destructive tendencies. Your likelihood of suicide has risen from zero point one zero three percent to one point three one four percent. Dr. Wu’s intervention has already taken place inside the building. I recommend you follow her example and go quietly.”

“You got it wrong again,” she said. “Dr. Wu has no virus to shut you down and I’m not self-destructive; I value truth and the law more than a career.” She turned off her earpiece again and handed the mic back to the reporter. “For law enforcement, these are the assessments we get on a regular basis.”

Two black SUVs pulled up near the news vans and four FBI agents in suits exited them and headed towards her. “They’re hearing the percentages right now; how likely I am to fight or flee, and probably how arresting me on camera will sway public opinion.” The agents all stopped and watched her. She turned her earpiece back on. “If they won’t apprehend me on camera, why are they here?” she asked.

“Officer Washington, I am busy calculating the impact of this news on four hundred million citizens, please hold.”

“The CDAI says it’s busy calculating the impact of this on four hundred million citizens.” Senna shrugged. “Why game it out?” She walked to the agents and turned her back to them with her hands behind. One cuffed her and another removed her belt with her sidearm, cuffs, keys, taser, and pepper spray. “Remember,” she said, “I’m being arrested for telling you what the government is doing with your data.”

“What she said is true,” Volkhert shouted. She walked towards the cameras from across the street. “If she’s going to prison, so am I, although I probably deserve it more. Gather around and I’ll tell you as much as I have time for.”

The reporters and cameras swarmed around the captain. “That,” CoDAI said, “I did not predict, and now four hundred million models need to be updated again.”

Senna smiled as she was led into the FBI vehicle. “Goodbye,” she said, as her earpiece went silent.

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Trunk Stories

Insomnia

prompt: Write a thriller about someone who witnesses a murder… except there’s no evidence that a murder took place….
available at Reedsy

Unable to sleep again, Miria padded around the escort cruiser Karan barefoot. She wasn’t due on shift for another four hours, so she wandered with no fixed destination in mind. Stopping at one of the viewports, she touched the control to turn the window clear. The even, dull grey of super-c travel filled the view; changeless in all directions and so flat in color that the distance of the warp bubble wall could be just outside the window or hundreds of kilometers away.

She knew the distance to the bubble, of course. From this section of the ship, it was just over sixteen meters to the warp bubble; from her duty seat on the bridge, it was exactly four meters. Miria watched the even grey, hoping to see the occasional spark of random hydrogen atoms being split apart against the field. What she didn’t expect to see, however, was a body floating away from the ship to be disintegrated into sub-atomic particles in a chain-reaction of bright flashes.

Miria slammed the emergency alarm by the window but nothing happened. The door further ahead that led to the airlock beeped and opened. She darkened the window and ducked into the doorway to the mess. She waited until she heard booted footsteps walking away from her to peek. The person walking away was medium height and build, wearing a sterile-room uniform complete with gloves and hood.

She knew she could get their ident to show up on her comm if she got close enough but feared what might happen if she did. Instead, she slipped into the mess and called the commander, voice only, on the comm. “Colonel Shriber, it’s Captain Blake. I’m sorry to wake you.”

“What’s the emergency, Captain?”

“I just saw someone go out the airlock,” she said, “vaporized on the bubble wall.”

“Where are the alarms?”

“I tried the alarm, but it wasn’t responding.” Miria moved deeper into the mess, fearing someone in the corridor might hear her. “And when someone in a sterile-room uniform came out of the airlock passage I hid. I ducked into the mess and called you.”

“Sit tight, Blake,” the Colonel said. “I’m sending someone over.”

Miria spent the next three hours with Major Bankole, chief of security. She explained the whole story and followed along as the Major checked the door logs and swept for any evidence in the airlock itself.

“I’m sorry, Blake, but I’m not finding anything.”

“Sir, can we at least look at the corridor security logs?”

“Sure,” he said. “Let’s go to my office.”

He pulled up the corridor holo logs and they watched an empty corridor.

“That’s not right,” Miria said, “I was there, watching for–”

“This has been tampered. Six minutes are missing.” The Major scrolled the holo backward and forward slowly, the timestamp jumping back and forth. “Captain, what were you doing in the corridor?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, “so I was taking a walk. Watching the super-c bubble sometimes help me clear my mind.”

“And do you do this often?” he asked.

“A few times a week, lately. The long runs mess with my sleep.”

He fixed her with a stern gaze. “Captain, you are not to discuss this with anyone other myself and the Colonel, understand?”

“Yes, sir.” She looked at the frozen holo of the empty corridor. “Who would be able to erase the holo logs?”

“A few people.” He sighed. “First thing, though, is to figure out who, if anyone, is missing. Meanwhile, you should get ready for duty. You’re due on the bridge in forty minutes.”

She gave a crisp salute. “Yes, sir!”

Miria reported to the bridge, replacing the third-shift navigator. She went through her start of shift checklist. She checked the crew and visitor manifest and the 1,938 crew, and sixteen civilians were accounted for by their ident. There was a Member of Parliament aboard, with support and security staff, and a handful of reporters. Total deck weight, though, was 70.76 kilograms below the stated deck weight when they entered the gate out of the Sol system.

In normal circumstances, deck weight, or more formally, non-fuel mass, didn’t change. In fact, the only thing that could change deck weight was throwing something, or someone… off the ship. She checked the third watch logs for any notifications of the change in deck weight. The logs mentioned an outage in all internal sensors that lasted six minutes, but the deck weight was not among the items checked when the sensors came back online.

Miria finished her start of shift checklist, noting the changed deck weight as it impacted fuel consumption and was ready to settle into her shift when the Colonel arrived on the bridge.

“Captain Blake, my office, please.”

“Yes, sir.” Miria turned to her right and addressed the junior navigation officer. “Lieutenant Mendoza, run a re-calculation of fuel consumption based on the new deck weight, and give me an update of shield stats.”

“Yes, sir,” the young Lieutenant said.

Miria entered the ready room off the bridge. She shut the door and snapped to attention. “Sir!” While the Colonel had a larger office off the main corridor, it was mostly used for briefings and any time more than four people needed to meet.

“At ease, have a seat. Bankole told me you’ve not been sleeping?” Shriber motioned to the spot next to her on the sofa.

Miria sat. “No, sir. At least not very well.” Miria sighed. “These long jumps mess with my sleep.”

“And you’ve been wandering the ship in bare feet?”

“I, uh,” she stammered, “y—yes, sir.”

“Miria, until you walk out of this room, we’re dispensing with the formality. Call me Liza and tell me what’s going on.”

“Si—Liza, I’m sure you already heard the report I gave to Bankole. Our deck weight is down almost seventy-one kilos.”

Shriber leaned forward. “That’s… we’ll come back to that, but that’s not what I meant. Tell me what’s going on with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not sleeping, you’re wandering the ship barefoot in pajamas, and you panicked when you thought you witnessed a crime.” The worry line between her eyes became pronounced. “That’s not like you. You’re not one to run and hide and call for help. Why didn’t you follow?”

“I—I’m not sure,” Miria said. “I didn’t feel safe… not like I usually do.”

“You grew up on a ship,” Shriber said, “most of us didn’t. We grew up on planets, a few on stations, but you’re the most comfortable person on a ship I’ve ever met. If I wanted to, I could cite you for violating safety policy by not wearing mag boots when around the ship, but you’re the last person I’d worry about getting hurt if we lost grav.”

“Thank you.”

“When we had the fire in the grav generator last year, you were the first one there. You didn’t hesitate to turn off your mag boots to grab an extinguisher and get there faster. I don’t think I’d ever seen anyone use an extinguisher as a propulsion device while putting out a fire with it at the same time.” She pointed to Miria’s chest. “Your actions earned you that commendation and, if I remember correctly, one hell of a concussion and a fractured wrist.”

“What’s your point? That I’m reckless?”

“No,” she said, putting a hand on Miria’s shoulder, “that you don’t run from trouble. You run to it. That’s how I knew something was wrong when you called me, scared.”

“I…,” Miria began.

“Listen, you’re one of the best officers I have. You don’t know this, and you didn’t hear it from me, but we’re having a rescue training drill sometime between 23:00 and 04:00. I need you all there. Our guest,” the word dripped with disdain, “will be watching.”

“Yes, si— Liza.”

“So,” Shriber said, “I want you to report to the medic; get something to help you sleep. You need it. Take the rest of the shift off and I’ll see you later.”

“What about the deck weight? And the other…?”

“Bankole is investigating. With the shift in deck weight, it certainly looks like someone tossed something out the airlock while in super-c. That’s an offense right there. But the Major tells me all persons are accounted for.”

“Yeah, I looked at that first thing, too. 1,938 crew and sixteen civilians.”

Shriber’s eyes narrowed. “You mean seventeen civilians, right?”

“No, there’s only 16 civilians on the manifest.”

“Shit. You go get some sleep. Don’t talk about this with anyone but me. That includes Bankole.” The Colonel’s tone left no doubt that she was giving a direct order.

“Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

#

Miria sat on her bunk and looked at the pills from the medic. Two small, yellow pills that would put her to sleep. Breathing a heavy sigh, she swallowed the pills and lay down, still in her full uniform. As sleep overtook her, a thought rattled around in her brain; seventy-plus kilos of high energy particles on the bubble wall.

The alarms jolted her to consciousness. Her last thought before sleep slammed back into mind: Seventy-plus kilos of high energy particles…. Miria bolted for the bridge. The alarm changed, four short chirps — they would be dropping out of super-c.

She ran to the navigation station and took the unoccupied assist position and took control of navigation from there. “Captain, what are you…?”

“No time, Lieutenant Koln.” Miria was curt. “Prep for extra de-bubble shielding. Seventy-one kilograms.”

“Kilos? Don’t you mean milligrams?”

“No! Kilos!” Miria got ready to divert the energy currently used to hold the ship to the warp bubble to the shielding which would push the high-energy particles away. “We lost a comm tower,” she lied, “and I don’t want any of that blowing back on us.”

“Yes, sir! Seventy-one kilos input, calculations complete.”

Colonel Shriber called out to the bridge, “Dropping to sub-c in thirty seconds.”

“Thirty seconds, aye!” the bridge crew shouted.

The Colonel watched the time on her terminal and called, “Drop!”

Miria shut down the warp bubble containment and dragged the shield power sliders up full, while Lieutenant Koln watched. The steady grey nothing of super-c was replaced with a flash of blinding white and then the darkness of space. The shield held and Miria let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

She looked at Koln. “If you don’t mind, I’d like my seat back, please.”

“Of course, sir.” They switched chairs and Miria pulled control back to the main navigation console.

“Navigation, report.”

“Current location, sector Fox Alpha 349, bearing to Bul system gate locked in.”

“Comms, report.”

“Wormhole stable— we have interstellar; comm tower deploying, twenty seconds to local.”

The bridge sat silent, many just now noticing the interlopers standing just inside the entrance. A Member of Parliament and a handful of reporters. The parliamentary police detail was stationed outside the door of the bridge. As actual members of the Federation Defense Force, they probably had more right to be there than the civilians, but it wasn’t something anyone, including the Colonel, was likely to mention.

“Sir, distress beacon, 14,323 kilometers, heading left 64.2957, up 18.3001.”

Miria plotted a course to the indicated beacon and readied it on her console. “Course ready, sir.”

“Let’s go pick it up,” Shriber said.

Miria thumbed the command in, “Course laid in.” She switched the ship to auto. “Engaged.”

“Comms, identify beacon source.”

“Emergency escape pod, two-person, steering thrusters only.”

The Colonel entered a command on her terminal, starting a new alarm deep in the ship. “Engineering and security: prepare for pickup. Two-person pod, load through cargo lock Delta.”

The response came back a few seconds later. “Cargo lock Delta clear, ready for pickup of two-person pod. Security in place, tow-line throwers locked and loaded.”

With nothing to do but wait, Shriber spoke with the politician on her bridge. Miria decided she’d take advantage of the interstellar comms and loaded in the latest news. Just the headline stories and the latest football scores.

The civilian entourage left to watch the retrieval process and Shriber breathed a sigh of relief. “First watch, except Captain Blake, go back to bed. Captain Blake, my office.”

Miria followed her into the ready room and closed the door behind herself. Before she could speak, the Colonel did. “What was that about a comm tower?”

“Sorry, sir. I had to think of something to explain more than seventy kilos of material in the bubble.”

“Yeah, good thinking. But why the hell was Koln questioning you in the first place? You going to write him up?”

“I’ll talk with him,” she said. “In this case, though, I understand the push-back. If my superior was just rousted from sleep and told me to expect anything more than a few milligrams of material I’d be concerned it was a mistake, too.”

“Still, not the right way to raise his concern. Speaking of, how did the shields fare?”

“We did fine. Captured about a thousand times as much as a normal de-bubble, reflected the rest. If we’d stripped the bubble in a gate, the gate would have been destroyed.” 

The Colonel pointed to the sofa as she crossed the room. “Join me for a coffee, Miria?”

“Yes, thank you s— Liza.”

“While we’re en route to the pod I took the liberty of updating my comm with the latest news.”

Miria laughed. “You, me, and probably half the ship.”

Shriber returned with two cups of coffee and sat. “You said sixteen civilians. I signed seventeen on. I keep an off-line copy of every manifest I sign.”

“So, we know who’s missing?”

“We do. A reporter.”

Miria checked her comm. The headlines were about the disappearance of a reporter who was logged at the gate for the Karan but never boarded and disappeared. The same reporter who had exposed a bribery scandal that had unseated two MPs and was said to be investigating another scandal. She showed the story to the Colonel.

“Motive and opportunity,” Shriber said, “but without evidence it isn’t enough.”

“Do you think we can find any?”

“I don’t know, but you and I are going to meet with the Criminal Investigation Department when we get to the Bul system. Until then, Miria, all that happened is we lost part of comm tower six.”

“I understand.”

“Which reminds me–” Shriber tapped her comm. “Comm tower six is now marked as down due to breakage.”

Miria finished her coffee and took the empty cups to the sideboard. “So, what do we do in the meantime?”

“We’ve got a pod coming in, and you’ll need to recalculate fuel usage for the new deck weight, then we need to finish our trip and get rid of the civvies. I would send you back to bed, but it seems Koln could use some direct guidance.”

“And Major Bankole?”

“As soon as the civilians are gone, he’ll be locked up, pending CID investigation,” she said. “It wouldn’t look good to do that while he’s leading his friend from parliament around on a tour.” 

“Do you really think it was him?” Miria asked. “He said there were a few people that could alter the logs.”

“The logs weren’t altered; they just weren’t recorded. He is the only person on this ship that can disable all the internal sensors, override the alarms, and alter the manifest.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“I’ve been talking with him every chance I get,” Shriber said, “and I’ve got him convinced that we are sure that you were hallucinating due to lack of sleep. He also doesn’t know that I keep an off-line copy of the manifest.”

“What happens if CID can’t find anything?”

“At the very least, disabling the logs and sensors is a felony. Dishonorable discharge and six months.”

“I was going to ask how you can prove that but it’s probably better I don’t know.”

“You’re right,” Shriber said, “now, let’s get back to work and pick up the training pod so we can get home.”

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