Vertigo: Aurora Rising Book Two (23 page)

When he walked in Devon held a finger to his lips and pulled a small surveillance shielding device out of the desk drawer. He pressed a thumb to it, after which it glowed a pale green. “We’re shielded now.”

Richard produced a similar object from his pocket. “I did bring my own….”

“I should’ve figured you’d have it covered.”

“You found something?”

“Yep.” Devon killed the large screen and replaced it with an aural from his eVi. “Lots of somethings, in fact. Someone went to a great deal of trouble to make it look like your girlfriend’s daughter’s boyfriend committed the HQ bombing.”

“My…
what
?”

“You know, this Marano fellow.”

“I’m not…” Richard squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose in a grimace “…Miriam Solovy is not my girlfriend. I’m married.”

Devon shrugged. “Oh. Okay, sure. No offense.”

Richard regarded him in bewilderment.
Kids….
“None taken.” He leaned forward and studied the aural. “So?”

“Well first, both the corridor and ORSC records were altered to show the
Siyane
arriving at ORSC a full four hours earlier than it did, and altered again three days later to show it leaving a day and a half later than it seems to have departed.

“Then if you go to the detention facility records, they were altered to show Marano being released on an administrative technicality two nights before the bombing—”

Richard cringed. “That’s…not what we’re hunting for.”

Devon arched an eyebrow, then chuckled heartily. “Nice! Your work?”

Richard shot him a warning look and he raised his hands in surrender. “Gotcha. Not my business. We’ll just pretend we didn’t find that.” A block of data disappeared from the aural.

“Finally, Headquarters security logs were altered to show Alexis Solovy entering the building three hours before the bombing in the company of a Cameron Roark and leaving forty-two minutes later. Military Police files have the identity flagged as an alias belonging to Marano. Near as I can tell, neither of those events actually happened—especially since her ship had departed Earth two days earlier and did not return, at least not via any corridor.”

Richard exhaled and pushed off the desk, working to conceal the extent of his relief.
Thank God. Thank God she was innocent. Thank God he would be able to prove it.
“Excellent job, Devon. I mean it.”

“Thanks, but in truth it wasn’t terribly difficult. The alterations were made skillfully but using standard Alliance protocols. They were easy to spot.”

“I’ll take your word for it. It sounds like you recovered the original data as well?”

“Yep. It was a little harder, but whoever altered the records didn’t do a thorough scrub of the underlying data first. Portions of it were corrupted but I pieced it together. Is this crap going on all the time inside the military? I mean, are you going to show up tomorrow asking me to find shenanigans on the Orbital explosion? Because I never wanted to believe the claims of those wacko anarchists, but there is some nasty corruption involved here.”

Richard pondered how truthfully to answer the question.
If they try to pin the Orbital on Marano and Alex, yes.
“If this type of malevolence were standard operating procedure, I’d join the anarchists with you. I have no reason to believe anything nefarious occurred with respect to the Orbital explosion. Beyond the act itself, obviously.”

Devon accepted the sideways answer. “So what do you want me to do with this?”

“For one, burn me a hard disk copy. You weren’t able to pinpoint the source?”

“That’s the downside to the use of standard Alliance protocols. I can tell you it was done remotely—not from the Island—but at a node in the Alliance military infrastructure. And that’s it, I’m afraid.”

“Understood.”
Too late to go back now.
“You have friends who are hackers, right?”

“I’m shocked you would suggest such a thing….” Devon straightened up in his chair and had the decency to feign chagrin. “Uh, yes, sir. I might know a few.”

“Can you trust them?”

“To do what?”

“To not rat us out to the authorities.”

“Oh. Yeah. Totally.”

Richard felt a tiny twinge of guilt and not for the first time. But in the intelligence business one’s allies were not always the cleanest members of society. It was a necessity of the trade.

He leaned in closer though the room was shielded. “Here’s what I need you to do.”

S
EATTLE

Devon hit the entrance to their apartment at a jog. “Hey, babe, you here?”

Not getting a response, he tossed his bag on the counter on the way to her studio room. Nine times out of eight it was where he found her.

The translucent door slid open to reveal Emily standing in the dark. Gleaming colored swaths of light encircled her. Earpieces suggested she had the music on and explained why she hadn’t heard him. Virtual gloves adorned both hands.

Her right hand extended and a stream of fuchsia light flowed out of a fingertip of the glove. Her hand gracefully swirled and dipped, leaving an intricate design in its wake.

He snuck up behind her, carefully removing the earpiece from one ear and purring into it. “Hey, babe.”

She jumped in surprise, sending fuchsia light careening through the room, but he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and squeezed her in his arms.

“Devon, don’t scare me like that!”

“Sure, sure.” He loosened his grip and spun her to face him. “Come on, we gotta go see the gang.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m working.”

He rested the tip of his nose on hers. “Please? I don’t want to go alone….”

She stared at him for several seconds before rolling her eyes and sinking into his arms. “Can I at least change first?”

“You’re gorgeous in a painter’s smock.”

Her grousing against him was simply adorable, but he shouldn’t push it. “Yes, you can change first.”

The gang was, in reality, merely a group of friends he’d known since university. They had engaged in some truly extreme stunts during school and still liked to think they were the best and most outrageous hackers north of Angeles. While a few had joined him in acquiring respectable and even impressive jobs, most couldn’t accept the rigidity and rules which accompanied such employment and still lived on the edges of mainstream society.

They met, as they had regularly for the last several years, in a large oval booth in the back of Kellan’s Pier Pub. Sayid had a pitcher of beer waiting by the time he and Emily arrived, and they eased into the booth as though it was a second home. Which it kind of was.

“Hey, Devon, why’d you change out of your officer’s uniform? I bet you look so sweet and cuddly in brass buttons and shiny shoes.”

“Yeah, screw you, man.” But he was laughing as he poured a drink.

They spouted the usual small talk until the others arrived. The reality was his current job drastically limited the potential topics of conversation, but the pub buzzed with banter and music and sports on the screens to fill the void.

After everyone settled in, another pitcher was delivered and the waiter had departed, he activated a privacy shield. Not only did it prevent anyone from overhearing them, it also muffled the crowd noise to a low background level.

“So, you guys want to have a little fun?”

“What? This isn’t fun?”

He shot a smirk at Ramon. Sarcasm rolled off Ramon’s tongue like it had somewhere it needed to be.

Petra emptied a shot of tequila into her mug. “Money?”

“Does it involve nudity?”

Devon snorted as Emily launched a volley of peanuts across the table at Mycroft. “No it does not involve nudity, though if you prefer to lounge at your deck with your package swinging free, I won’t judge. No money, either. Now can we be serious for two seconds? I realize it’s a challenge on the order of scaling Kilimanjaro without gear, but can we try?”

He ignored two separate obscene gestures directed at him and reached in the pouch at his waist to remove six small optical disks. He spread the disks discreetly in front of him, then passed them out until everyone had one. “Everything is ready on the disks, so you don’t need to manipulate the data.”

“What fun is that?”

“I’m getting to the fun. We’re going to leak the information on those disks to every major news organization in the galaxy, regardless of affiliation. In fact, the more affiliations the better.”

Indications of varying interest followed. Ramon refilled his mug. “No problem, but still waiting on the fun part.”

“I told you, I’m getting there. We need to spoof the source so it appears to originate from eight separate locations, none of which are in the Cascades and most of which aren’t on Earth. We need to include a few independent colonies, too.”

Petra whistled. “Now you’re talking. One question though—what’s on the disks?”

He took a sip of beer and gazed around the table. “Ready for this? Evidence someone inside the Alliance government or military falsified multiple official records in order to frame that Senecan spy for the EASC Headquarters bombing.”

“Dude. Who found the evidence?”

“Excuse me, is there any doubt?”

Mycroft made a show of being unimpressed. “Somebody’s all high on his horse. Listen, I’m not exactly a fan of Seneca….”

Sayid, who had been quiet up until now per his usual, jumped in. “Me either, but I’m about a gazillion times less of a fan of our military. I’m in.”

“Damn straight. I’m in, too.” Petra’s copper and citron glyphs lit up in a visual demonstration of her enthusiasm.

“Wait—does this mean our government blew up its own Prime Minister? I totally bet they did.”

“Hell if I know, Sayid. The Orbital explosion happened all of thirty seconds ago. Is everyone in? Speak now or get your ass kicked later.” Devon observed each of them in turn, making certain he received agreement from those in attendance.

Ramon tossed his disk in the air, palmed it and dropped it in a pocket. “When does it need to go out?”

“First thing tomorrow morning, as close to simultaneously as you miscreants can manage.”

Ramon slammed his mug down on the table for theatrical effect. “What are we sitting around here drinking beer for? Let’s go fuck up this war.”

23

ROMANE

I
NDEPENDENT
C
OLONY

M
IA STRODE ACROSS THE LENGTH
of her living room. Reversed course. Her sharp pivots at the windows and the archway hinted at violence, as if the force of the movement might trigger a new option on the next traversal.

She wanted to run. The desperate, scrappy child within screamed in her head to run just as she had twice before. Running to Romane so many years ago had worked out, hadn’t it? She could run again. Start over again. Find a new home.

But
this
was her home. She had built a life here, to a far greater extent than she had ever imagined possible. She was not an abused slum kid beholden to her criminal father and thug brother on New Orient. Nor was she a starving thief on Pandora. Not anymore.

She was Mia Requelme—a successful, wealthy businesswoman. She had crafted and nurtured a sterling reputation, not to mention assets, employees, professional colleagues and friends. She had risen above a troubled past and rotten start at life to build a new one. One she proudly called her own.

This was her home and she would not run again.

There was still the unfortunate reality her home was likely to come under attack by an alien armada within weeks, if not days. It was a problem.

But if she wasn’t going to run, she also wasn’t going to stand frozen in panic and end up a helpless victim. If she wasn’t going to run, she needed to help.

The pacing slowed to a stop with a ponderous sigh; in a metaphysical sense it carried on it her acceptance of the consequences of her actions moving forward.

She pulsed Jonathan. As a loyal employee who was barely more than a kid, she felt like he was her responsibility.