Inconvenient Data
12 Nov 2023Lukus Criitu
Devin Eldridge, Security Director for Binbara Netcoms Industries, frowned at the image on the secure terminal screen. "Over a thousand years of technological advancement, and they still can't make security footage that isn't grainy." He leaned in and squinted at the face in the photograph. If this wasn't the long missing Lieutenant Lukus Criitu, the resemblance was at least uncanny. Sure, Kincaid had made it clear that this freelance pilot was an imposter, but Kincaid had said a lot of things, some of which had landed him in prison."When was this taken, again?" he asked Marjore Rice, assistant head of security from Sharp Dock. She'd traveled a long way from Andel with this data.
"Two weeks ago. He spent a few months in and out of the station outfitting a Python." She reached around Eldridge and flicked back a couple of photos. "We took it for granted he was working with Federal Liberal Command. Seemed to be on very good terms with them, and he was spotted in some of their war zones."
The background chatter of traffic control behind Devin broke into his awareness. "Delacey Lima Uniform Kilo, you are cleared for docking. Please proceed to pad one-zero."
Rice jerked around. "Speak of the devil. He's docking here? In Kacha Wit?"
Eldridge flicked to a live feed. Sure enough, a brilliant blue Python was on final approach. He touched the button on his earpiece. "Security, lock down landing pad one-zero. Do not let that commander leave."
"Ten-four," crackled the response.
Rice patted her sidearm. "Let me deal with him. He's made a lot of trouble for us in Andel." She departed.
Eldridge grimaced. His old friend hardly had to tell him. Their little group, a tight-knit band since pilot school, had a good thing going. They'd been smuggling tens of billions of credits of valuable cargo every month through Federal starports. Eldridge had always justified it to himself on the basis that the Federation paid them far too little given the rigors and risks of working security. Second-rate equipment, long hours, and hardly any gratitude.
And this upstart pilot had screwed everything up. According to the footage, Lukus Criitu had started a fight in the pilot's lounge involving Packer, a cargo manager at Sharp Dock and key member of the group. Packer had been helping redirect hot cargo for over three years. At first, the fight in the lounge had been dismissed as a drunken brawl -- Packer had a big mouth as a rule -- but that theory fell flat when someone pointed out that Criitu only ever drank coffee.
And then Packer had found his identity chip had been ripped right out of his lapel. Security footage showed someone in a Maverick suit had used it to access a secure terminal and downloaded some very inconvenient data, which then made its way to a commander in the Federal Navy.
An explosion rocked Fozard Installation. Alarms blared. Eldridge ran to the port window overlooking the docking bays. He ran his fingers through his hair as the blue Python lifted off of the landing pad. "Rice, Criitu's leaving!" he yelled into the earpiece.
A deep voice crackled over the line. "She already knows, trust me." The speaker chuckled. "You can pick her up from Rhea later. She'll be in one of the escape pods. I trust you know your way around cargo, Eldridge."
"Sir?" asked the traffic controller. "Shall we open fire?"
"No! Hold fire. Rice is on that Python." Eldridge mashed the earpiece button. "What do you want, Criitu?"
"I've already got it, thanks." The Python's rear thrusters flared to life, leaving char marks on the opposing tower overlooking pad one-zero. "Data points are a wonderful thing, especially when you have the right clearance."
Eldridge's stomach did a somersault. He scrambled back to the secure terminal. The security footage had been cleared, and in its place, a low resolution animation of a dancing mouse. Devin flipped through the records, his mind racing. Criitu had taken everything. Manifests. Flight logs. Transcripts. If the authorities in Rhea got a hold of this, they were done for.
Rice ceased to be a priority. "Open fire! Now!" Eldridge shouted.
"Sir?" the traffic controller looked worried. "But you said..."
"Now!"
The starport's security cannons blazed to life outside the window, even as the Python slipped outside of the no-fire zone.
"Tisk, tisk," came the mocking voice over the security comms. "I just got her repainted, too. Ah well, c'est la vie. I suppose it's fair, given your communications system."
Eldridge's sense of dread got the better of his good judgement. "What did you do, Criitu?"
"Oh, it's what I'm about to do: jam it all to kingdom come. I hope you enjoy rock music, lads."
The radio chirped the end of the transmission, giving way to a heavy metal track. Eldridge ripped the earpiece off and threw it to the ground.
-----
General Gibson shook his head and snapped the file closed. "Nasty affair, that. How long were they at it?"
"At least five years, sir," replied the aide.
The General sighed. "Just when you think you know a person. We've been trying to get to the root of that smuggling ring for a while, but we never suspected it was being run from inside Federal Liberal Command's own security forces." He reviewed the summary on his terminal. "Who do you say turned this information in? Criitu, was it?"
"That's what I heard. No one actually spoke to him."
"Well, I want to meet this fellow! He deserves a handshake from me, in the very least."
The aide grimaced. "We can't find him, sir. Colonel Burdin has been trying for the last three days to track him down, but it seems he's defected away from the Federation. Or...apparently? We can't actually find his pledge in the first place."
General Gibson stood and crossed to the window. "Wonderful," he growled. "We've lost a promising recruit due to this scandal." He paused. "Wait, did you say you couldn't find his pledge?"
"It happens, sir. Paperwork gets lost." The aide collected the folders from the desk. "Will that be all?"
"Quite. Except..." General Gibson took the folder back from the aide. "This paperwork is not getting lost. I will personally see to that."