Following the Threads
09 Sep 2021Jericho Rolkein
Jericho Rolkein stood silent, his pale eyes meandering across the data streaming before him. Threads to weave a tapestry. Patterns emerging, imperfections in the work becoming apparent."Eden, show feeds 12714oI through 87914oI again, please."
The recorded security feeds of Veblen Station snapped into view. Jericho watched his best operative, Nathan Crest, make a hasty escape through the winding alleys of the seediest part of that fractious mining station after being roughly treated by two individuals; the first a compromised asset, the second an unhappy bystander.
The compromised asset was named Edward Boggs, 34 years old, with a number of various "rough-neck" covers (deck hand, criminal enforcer, prize fighter, stevedore, short-order cook). In this instance, strikebreaker for the Orionis Jet Camorra was his cover, and he'd played his part with unmitigated glee against the agents of the HIP 23421 Worker's Party in the lower refinery blocks of Veblen. Until something went wrong.
The feeds continued. The hulking brawler and ex-marine was only able to jog just under a kilometer (.943 Km, more precisely) looking for the agent before he gave out. He just collapsed face down into the access ramp of a maintenance corridor. Odd. Did Crest mortally wound him, somehow?
Jericho took control of the key pad, quickly punching in an intricate series of code.
He watched time accelerate on-screen, and paused when station security first discovered Eddie's lifeless body. 13.784 minutes after he clambered out the window, Eddie Boggs was clocked as deceased by the reporting corsec officer.
"Eden, run feed search for agent Eddie Biggs prior to these, limiting parameter 120 minutes prior to where I stopped this one, please."
A whirl of images, threads unraveling, a tapestry unweaving .
"There, stop."
A feed from Almagros' Hole. Not a Jet Camorra place. Lower quality than station security feeds.
"Eden, sharpen 120, please."
The image cleared. A booth with Eddie and another man, medium build, wisps of auburn hair, sharp nosed. Familiar, somehow.
"Eden, run image search on the individual with Eddie, please."
In 14.98 seconds, the picture and dossier of one Franklin Grant rose onto the screen.
"Our initial contact with Orionis Vision Systems."
Jericho took control of the feed again, watching everything unfold. It was clearer to him, now.
They wouldn't do an autopsy on Eddie; he was biowaste being unloaded from a cargo hold at an farming settlement two systems away by now. Yet Jericho knew that the bead that Franklin Grant dropped into Eddie's Glass was a biotoxin that increased aggression and adrenals to superhuman levels. Jericho also knew that it was a short-lived effect, and if not countered by an antidote, the subject's heart would explode. Eddie never saw it coming. The credit chip that Grant slipped to Eddie told the rest of it. They offered more, it was that simple.
We do the dirty work for Orionis Visions. They can blame outsiders, then swoop in and save the day. Tightening control of the system. They succeeded at that.
"Eden, collate movements of Franklin Grant, please."
Grant must have caught wind that there was trouble in his plan, too. After a frantic call from his contact that shadowed Eddy, Grant made two calls himself. One, to send his security detail out in search of Agent Nathan Crest. Not long after that search proved fruitless he made another quick call. The call lasted only 7.51 seconds. Subsequent to that call, Franklin Grant, ostensibly a broker at Orionis Visions Systems, made his way to docking bay 3 of Veblen Station and boarded an Adder. This bode well for Agent Crest. Not so well for Franklin Grant. He'd failed to tie up his loose ends, and would therefore prove to be liability to Orionis Vision Systems.
The wheel spins; the threads unfurled before Officer Jericho Rolkein of Albion Interstellar.
Ideals...dreams...progress...possibilities.
Miscalculations...conflicts...dire responsibilities.
Within 17.247 minutes Jericho knew exactly where Franklin Grant was headed, and exactly when Mr. Grant would arrive at his destination.