The Machine Awakes (18 page)

Kodiak rubbed his face. Despite the environmental control it felt hot and stuffy. It was his imagination, of course, just the blank gray walls making him feel a little claustrophobic, the pressure of the investigation—of his idea of how to read the manifest data—playing at the back of his mind. Kodiak rolled his neck and began to roll his sleeves up, and then Braben did the same, taking his jacket off and making a big show of folding it nicely over the back of the empty chair next to him. Then he carefully detached his cufflinks and folded the sleeves of his shirt up until both arms were perfectly even. Kodiak couldn't help smiling. Braben noticed and paused, mid-adjustment.

“What?”

Kodiak laughed. “Nothing.”

The table chimed, and the data display altered. Kodiak refocused on his task, leaning over the table for a closer look.

At Braben's request, an agent had brought in Kodiak's AI glasses from Helprin's Gambit. They were standard issue for the maintenance crews aboard the platform, using a short-range psi-fi field to pair with the wearer's mind, assisting with any kind of technical repair. On a platform as big as the Gambit, with systems as advanced as they were, the AI glasses were a good way of forgoing hundreds of hours of training for the tech crew, a population of workers with a high turnover.

Now the glasses were being put to a new use. They sat on the table next to Kodiak's arm, pairing immediately with the table computer and, consequently, the Bureau's main systems, as well as Kodiak's mind. Using a standard interface on the table in front of him, with the help of his little AI friend, Kodiak had spent the last couple of hours programming a filter for the manifest data, using the master application itself to read the code they had taken from the auxiliary control room without actually loading it up. Access to the master app was no problem—it was the actual data loading that was blocked until they had the requisite security clearance. Something they
still
didn't have.

Kodiak was pleased with the results—Braben, less so, although he had admitted he was impressed. The processed data, now displayed in the manifest application, was still too much to handle manually, but once his system was working, Kodiak had set up a series of filters, using a simple process of elimination to disregard the bulk of the irrelevant matches and ditch them right from the start, allowing them to drill down to the salient leads.

The table now showed a big map of the Capitol Complex, zoomed in on an area that included the Fleet Admiral's private office on one side and the flat-topped building opposite, the shooter's supposed vantage point. The map was swarming with tags, each representing somebody carrying a Fleet manifest tracker embedded in their brainstem. But as the manifest ran Kodiak's script, systematically parsing data, individual markers began to be distinguishable.

But there was a problem. Even with the filter running, there were still too many tags. It wasn't so much like looking for a needle in a haystack, it was like looking for a needle in a stack of
needles.

Braben sighed and slumped back in his chair. Then he pushed it away from the table, put his hands behind his head, and spun around a few rotations.

Kodiak frowned at the table display, then he rubbed his face. Okay, what else could he run? They had the data. Thanks to the glasses, they had a way of reading it. That was what they had wanted all along, right? So … now what?

Kodiak licked his lips, considering the different ways to cut the data. Then Braben pulled himself back to the table and tapped it with an index finger.

“Von, there are IDs all
over
the place.” He pointed at the rooftop schematic. Even at the time of the shooting, there were several tags in the area. “Any one of these could be the shooter, or part of his team, or his handler, or whatever.”

Kodiak nodded. “That's right.”

“And that's if they are tagged in the first place. Even if this
is
an inside job, they could have used contractors—personnel from outside the Fleet who aren't in the manifest.”

“Right again.” Kodiak felt his stomach sink. Had this all been a colossal waste of time? Surely not … the assassinations
had
to be an inside job. But even so, as Braben had just said, that didn't mean they had used tagged Fleet personnel to carry out the shootings.

So why had their access to the manifest been delayed and delayed? Somebody didn't want them to see it. And there had to be a reason for that.

But Kodiak wasn't done yet. He squinted at the table display in concentration, then reached and swiped the Capitol Complex map to one side; then he tapped a sequence, bringing up the schematic of the Fleet Memorial. As on the other map, the place was covered in tags.

Braben nodded as he got the idea. “Comparative search.”

“Yep,” said Kodiak, typing up the code for a new set of filters. By his arm, a small blue light winked on the inside of his AI glasses as they assisted with feeding his commands directly into the manifest application. “We run another script, matching manifest tags at the time of the two shootings at both the Capitol Complex and the Memorial.”

“And see what sticks out. Nice work, Agent.”

Kodiak allowed himself a smile. Work complete, he sat back as the manifest data was re-processed. “Might take a few minutes.” He yawned. “You wanna go get us some coffee while we wait?”

“Now
there's
a plan.” Braben lifted himself from his chair and stretched, then headed to the door.

Kodiak turned in his chair. “Maybe get me a—”

The tabled chimed. Kodiak and Braben exchanged a look; then Kodiak turned back around, Braben returning to stand over the table.

There was a manifest tag highlighted in red on the Fleet Memorial map. Another on the schematic of the Capitol Complex.

Braben let out a breath. “Well I'll be. It worked.”

Kodiak nodded. “Damn right it did.”

He began typing, calling up the manifest ID data. The two maps slid out of the way, and the agents were presented with the image of a marine, an official portrait, the young man in full uniform, facing the camera in the customary three-quarter turn, his expression firm. His records came up next to him.

One line caught Kodiak's eye. It was a piece of boxed text, in bold red.

Kodiak had that sinking feeling again.

Braben leaned down, reading the text off the display aloud.

“Sergeant Smith, Tyler. Seven-five-three-five-three-eight-zero. Psi-Marine Corps.” He paused. “Oh
shit.
”

Kodiak nodded as he read off the rest. “Killed in action, Warworld 4114. Twenty-ninth February, twenty-nine seventy.”

*   *   *

“They're good, I'll give
them that.”

Avalon sat at the table in the planning room, Kodiak and Braben standing on either side of her. The two schematic maps were displayed on the table, the two red manifest tags blinking. Below the maps, right in front of the chief, was the official record of Sergeant Tyler Smith, Psi-Marine Corps.

Sergeant Tyler Smith,
deceased.

Kodiak rubbed his chin. “They
are
good. That's just what worries me.”

“Okay,” said the chief, “so what does this tell us?”

Braben smoothed down the front of his shirt, lining his tie up with the buttons, as he spoke. “We have a couple theories.”

“Go ahead.”

“The first is that this isn't a real ID—the
tag
is genuine and belongs to Tyler Smith. But they're using the ID of a dead marine to cover someone else, the real shooter. It's impossible to remove a manifest tag without killing the subject—that means they might somehow have got Tyler's tag from his body and used the data on it to spoof another tag to show his ID.”

“Which means,” said Kodiak, “that the shooter
is
Fleet. They're tagged. Only it's broadcasting Tyler's ID.”

The chief nodded. “Like yours is broadcasting a cover identity.”

“Right,” said Braben. “Option two, the more likely one, is that Tyler Smith is
not
dead—according to his records he aced elective marksmanship at the Academy. Which points to him as the shooter, and the manifest ID really is his. Only that presents its own problems.”

Avalon turned to her agent. “Starting with how a psi-marine listed as killed in action three months ago is actually alive and walking around New Orem?”

Kodiak clicked his tongue. “Not only that.” He sat next to the chief and touched the table, bringing up some simple controls under his fingertips. As he rotated his hand, the timestamp on the manifest moved backward in time a few minutes.

The red tags on both maps vanished. Kodiak then moved forward to a few minutes after each shooting had taken place. The red tags blipped into view, then vanished.

Avalon frowned. She turned to face Kodiak. “How the hell is that possible?”

Kodiak shrugged. It was a big problem, a glitch in the manifest data that was hard to account for. Tyler Smith's tag showed up at the time of each shooting, but only for a short while—a couple of minutes at each location. Before and after, there was no sign of it.

He sighed. “Neither of our first two options explain how they got in and out of each location without the tag showing up in the manifest. Whether it's Tyler, or someone spoofing their tag to be Tyler.”

“And,” said Braben, “if you could somehow magically turn the manifest tag on and off, like this seems to indicate, then why let it show up on the manifest at all? They could go anywhere, do anything, and not show up. Doesn't make sense.”

Kodiak cast his eye over the manifest data again. They'd gone to a lot of trouble to get it—Avalon hadn't said much when they'd told her what had happened—in fact, all she had done was nodded, telling him she would handle it. The fact was they had the manifest data and now it showed
something.
It was just a matter of figuring out what that was.

“Has the Bureau been granted manifest access yet?” he asked.

Avalon shook her head. “No. Still in process, every time I ask.”

Braben folded his arms. “They really don't want us to see this, do they?”

Avalon leaned back over the table, slowly shaking her head. As Kodiak watched, her eyes moved over the data, taking it all in. Without looking up, she asked, “What's your next step then, Von?”

Wasn't that the question?

“We have two hits,” he said, pointing to the data on display. “And we've had two events. We don't know if that's it, or if they plan to strike again. If we can get access to the live manifest, we can monitor it, and when Tyler's ID pops, we can try and grab him.”

Avalon nodded and pushed her chair from the table. “I'll go down to the Fleet Command Center myself and get the feed piped up to us.”

“Good,” said Kodiak. “In the meantime, we pull up everything we can on Tyler Smith. Full Fleet record, personality profile, Academy records, family, the works. Either he's still alive, or they're using his ID. Either way, they will have chosen him for a reason.”

Avalon nodded and looked at Braben. Braben adjusted his tie. “On it,” he said. Then he headed out of the planning room.

Kodiak looked at the chief. Her expression was firm, determined. Kodiak could see the muscles at the back of her jaw work as she gritted her teeth.

“We're onto something,” said Kodiak.

The chief nodded. “Time to get that manifest access,” she said, then she left.

Alone in the planning room, Kodiak turned back to the table. The face of Tyler Smith stared back at him.

Tyler Smith. Psi-marine. Killed in action.

Kodiak pulled on his bottom lip again in thought.

So, what makes you so special?

*   *   *

Kodiak was fixing himself
another coffee when Braben marched back into the bullpen. He trotted down the stairs onto the busy main floor, nodding at his partner to join him once again in the planning room. Kodiak acknowledged and followed.

Braben flicked the privacy shield on as Kodiak entered the room after him, and once again they were ensconced.

Kodiak nodded at his partner and took a sip of his drink. “What have you got?”

Braben held up a data stick between his finger and thumb. “Check it out,” he said, moving to the table and placing the stick on it.

A new military record appeared—it was a young woman, dressed not in full, dark marine uniform, but in the light fawn tunic of a Fleet Academy cadet. Kodiak blinked at the image, not sure if he was seeing what he was seeing. There was a distinct resemblance to the dead marine, Tyler Smith …

Braben leaned on the table, nodding at the record on display.

“Exactly,” he said, answering Kodiak's unaired question. “Psi-Sergeant Tyler Smith has a sister—a
twin
sister, Caitlin. She didn't follow her brother into the Academy until six months after he enrolled. More important, she never completed her training.”

Braben slid data around the table. More records, more personnel files. Finding the page he wanted, he tapped at it to emphasize his point.

“But she didn't just drop out of the Academy. Three months ago she
disappeared.
”

Kodiak frowned. “Disappeared? She would have been tagged when she entered the Academy.…”

Kodiak's words trailed off. Yes, she would have been tagged, like everyone and everything else in the Fleet.

Like her brother.

Braben stood from the table and looked at Kodiak. Kodiak felt his mouth form a small “O.”

Braben nodded. “She's listed as missing, presumed dead—with no tag showing on the manifest, it's assumed she was killed, the tag itself destroyed.”

“So she's officially dead,” said Kodiak. “Just like her brother.”