Mining Games Page 5

  “This is going to uncover things better left buried,” said McArthur. “His SA file, his contract. Something is bound to surface.”

  “We went through all this when he returned,” said Martina. “Nobody can access classified employee information. Absolutely nobody.”

  “Here nobody can, but what about over there?” asked McArthur.

  “Same thing, I guarantee it.” The lawyer’s confidence was soothing. “Company security policies are the same all over, whether you’re in California or orbiting Neptune. The notion of privacy is sacred.”

  “What about him?” asked Nell while warming cold hands on her steaming cup. “Why can’t he access his file?”

  “Koulikov? The second he identifies himself on any computer, he’s as good as caught,” said Mrs. Burns.

  “But he could access his file,” she repeated.

  “Well, yes, I supposed he could,” admitted the lawyer.

  “If I was in his shoes, I would make my contract with Space Alloy public and scream out my innocence,” pursued Nell.

  Ian smiled at his assistant with apparent pride. “A very good point, but we don’t need to worry about that. After Koulikov’s deteriorating brain condition was exposed, we simply removed his original contract with Space Alloy from the system. It never existed. You won’t find it anywhere in the solar system, including his little module, which now sits in a New York museum.”

  “So he’s got nothing to prove he legally owns SA?” asked McArthur.

  “Let’s put it this way. He’s got nothing that anyone would be willing to listen to. In short, he’s alone.”

  McArthur was visibly calmer. “But won’t he be able to prove his sanity? After his escape…”

  “He won’t be able to prove anything, trust me. We have extremely good relations with a few specialists on Mars who will be more than willing to collaborate with us on the Koulikov case. Ray, he’s not going anywhere.”

  Ray McArthur sipped his coffee and finally nodded.

  * * *

  “Why did you do it?” asked the inspector for the tenth time while leaning over the sitting man. “What are you afraid of? Not cooperating with us is a lot worse than you think.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” mumbled Peter, his head down. His hands were tied behind his back.

  “Oh, stop that. We have recordings showing you fumbling with his bracelet, recordings showing you eating together, and recordings showing you talking together.”

  The wall showed a life-size video of him holding Vladimir Koulikov’s wrist in his lap.

  “I was looking at his hands, okay?”

  “Bullshit! Two hours later he was behaving differently. You even spoke with him. What did you talk about?” The displayed video was changing to follow the questions.

  “He didn’t know where he was, didn’t remember anything. I told him.”

  “What did you tell him, exactly?”

  “I told him where we are.”

  “That’s when he started accessing the library, inquiring about all sorts of things.”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with that!”

  “Oh, yes you did! You messed up his bracelet.”

  “No, I didn’t. I didn’t do anything. Look, if I knew how to mess up bracelets, I’d start with mine and give myself a high right now.”

  “He’s obviously lying,” said Greg Labelle to no one in particular. The psychiatric director was sitting at the back of the crowded room behind officers and medical personnel. “Why aren’t we giving him some truth serum? Koulikov’s been gone for 36 hours. God knows what sort of mayhem he’s causing. Lives might be in danger.”

  “We are all aware of the situation, Mr. Labelle. Let’s not get overly emotional about it,” said the inspector.

  “Overly emotional? How about being efficient?”

  “We’ll handle this investigation, Mr. Labelle. At the moment, it looks like the escapee’s change of behavior pattern two weeks ago should have warranted someone’s attention, or at least a note in his file, don’t you agree?”

  “What are you insinuating?”

  “A patient drugged to a docility level of fifteen shouldn’t be able to read or comprehend basic instructions. Before you criticize the efficiency of our interrogation methods, you should consider doing your fucking job. That way we wouldn’t have to worry about what sort of mayhem escaped deviants may cause.”

  The director bolted to his feet and locked into a staring contest with the other standing man. “You just pray that you never end up under my care.”

  “Well, Mr. Labelle, that is a scary thought considering the obvious incompetence so clearly demonstrated.”

  The inspector broke eye contact and zoomed in on the image of Vladimir reading documents in the library. The man appeared awake and in full possession of his faculties, unlike in the earlier images. Without saying a word, Greg walked to the door. It opened loudly in the ensuing silence.

  “Mr. Labelle,” called the inspector, stopping Greg in his tracks. “As of this moment, consider yourself part of this investigation. I require you to remain on the premises until we can interview you.”

  The director squared his shoulders and left the room.

  “Ah, is it just me or did the air just cleared up?” The inspector looked down at the accused man. “So where were we?”

  * * *

  It was the best banana he had ever had. Its shape and color were different than what he remembered, but the taste was perfect. His first Mars grown fruit. He’d been crawling in a vegetable patch for the last two days, and it felt good to finally stretch his legs.

  Vladimir moved a branch so he could survey the area. Luminosity was increasing as the skylights above caught the day’s first rays and sent them down. The underground greenhouse was slowly reappearing. It was silent and calm, just like dawn in a primeval forest. No drones were rolling through the narrow alleys and only a few insects were lazily beginning to buzz.

  The perfect time to make a movie.

  Vladimir jumped down and went to a predetermined spot at the end of the cave where he balanced the stolen watch on a branch from the last tree. He then stood straight in front of the small device with his back to the wall.

  “My name is Vladimir Koulikov and I was born on earth over 180 years ago. This is my story…”

  Once the recording was done, he grabbed the device and walked to an old fashioned door with faded writings on its aluminum surface. A quick yank brought him into a tiny, unlit corridor. It was a one person alley that had been abandoned.

  After a few twists and turns, he finally reached the busy maintenance corridor he was looking for. An intermittent flow of drones was moving along in both directions. Staying in his niche and watching through the cracked door, Vladimir waited patiently.

  A solitary drone was cruising along on widespread wheels. The white paint and red dust smears on its sides identified it as an outdoor model. The orange LED on top of it told the world, but mostly the other drones, that it was heading home for maintenance.

  As it rolled passed, Vladimir opened the door and extended an arm, carefully hooking his little tissue string around an edge of the machine’s cover. The drone never slowed its run, and the rough aluminum sign now hanging on its side, along with the pocket watch, bumped lightly at the next corner and disappeared from view.

  Vladimir closed the door and leaned against the cold wall. It was done. So now, his entire future rested on his recording and a thin plate with ‘FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE’ scratched on its side.

  The primitive communication method could not be helped. Any contact attempt through conventional means would be suicidal. If things worked as planned, he would spark interest in his peculiar situation. With any luck, some journalist somewhere would dig deep enough to reveal the truth.

  In the meantime, he would have to rough it on a vegetarian menu.

  * * *

  “How bad is it?” asked Nell as she stormed in.

  “Wo
rse than you can possibly imagine,” said Ian with both palms on his forehead.

  “Where are the others?”

  “Martina is on Earth monitoring the crisis from there. Emily just announced she is taking a leave of absence, and I haven’t heard from McArthur.”

  “How did Koulikov do it?”

  “I have no fucking idea. It’s been two weeks since he escaped and nobody has a clue where he is.”

  “He must be getting help from someone. How could he possibly remain on the run for so long? Someone’s hiding him.”

  “The only people he spoke with are still detained, so scratch that idea.”

  “Could they have set him up with outside help?”

  “All communication in and out of the facility is monitored. They didn’t contact anyone about him.”

  “So how do you explain the fact that he hasn’t been found?”

  “Greg Labelle, the man supervising Koulikov during his stay at McDouglass, told me the investigation is grinding forward slowly because of overzealous protection of the only witnesses.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that they don’t have a clue. And now this…this recording.”

  “What does he say?”

  “What does he say? Everything! He names us, accuses us, pleads his case, and talks about his contract! Do you realize what this means?”

  “He can say whatever he wants. He has no proof.”

  “He doesn’t need proof! Anyone looking at him and listening him talk will doubt McArthur’s diagnostic. He’s supposed to be a babbling lunatic!”

  Nell remained silent, refusing to fuel his anger.

  “Look at this,” he yelled, pointing at the number of incoming messages displayed on his wall. The three digit figure was steadily rising. “They’re all asking about the contract!”

  “Deleting it was standard procedure. Koulikov was declared insane. As soon as his file was updated, his contract was automatically flushed.”

  “Nell, what if they find a copy?”

  “That’s completely impossible,” said the assistant with confidence. “Files get lost all the time. This is nothing new. We’re not the first, and won’t be the last, to go through this.”

  Ian wasn’t convinced. “Look. What did I tell you?”

  He scrolled through his incoming mail and opened one from the worker’s union. It officially demanded a revision of Koulikov’s medical status and a copy of his original arrangement. As a Space Alloy employee and a spacer, he was now officially a union member.

  “That will be the day,” he said. “Contact Martina and make sure she gets her ass up here ASAP. We need her on this.”

  Nell had barely moved toward the door when a priority one message came through. Ian took it without hesitation, and a young employee appeared on his wall.

  “Mr. Roberts, I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, and I’m sorry to announce such bad news. Doctor McArthur’s body was just found in his bath. It appears he committed suicide.”

  * * *

  The amplified voice boomed like a gunshot in the silence.

  “Vladimir Koulikov, you are surrounded. Stand up, put your hands behind your head, and don’t move.”

  Scrambling frantically from his leafy bed, Vladimir raised his head above the waist-high vegetation and was shocked to see a circle of at least thirty spacers surrounding him. With few exceptions, everyone held a weapon of some sort.

  “Don’t shoot,” he yelled, lowering his head. “I surrender.”

  A good ten seconds went by and a miniature blimp appeared directly above him, probably filming and transmitting directly to some news agency. Apparently a lot of people had figured out where he was.

  “Mr. Koulikov, don’t force us to come after you,” said the voice.

  “I don’t want to be sedated,” yelled Vladimir. “I’m not insane.”

  Another voice took over; a friendlier voice. “Mr. Koulikov, as long as you cooperate with us you will not be harmed in any way. Your recording reached mainstream media, and we realize that you might have been the victim of a medical error. An inquiry is under way. In order to clear your name, you will need to come quietly.”

  Vladimir stood very slowly and placed his hands behind his head. A tall man wearing a helmet and body armor approached cautiously and secured his hands behind his back. The circle of spacers immediately closed in amid a confusing cacophony of noise and questions.

  “Get back, all of you get back,” yelled an authoritative voice with no effect.

  A hand on his shoulder guided him through the press and eventually out of the rowdy crowd. The miniature blimp was still hovering above them.

  Vladimir kept his eyes down and didn’t answer a single question. He could hear disappointment behind him as he reached what looked like a golf cart converted into a tourist bus. Many reporters were still close by.

  Vladimir was helped into a seat, and the bus with its three other passengers immediately took off.

  “Where are we going?”

  The friendly man from the field answered. “You will be detained at The Townhouse while waiting for the coming proceedings. My name is Mark Madden, and I will be your legal advisor during the upcoming tests. If you decide to retain my services, of course. For now, I would advise you to remain silent until we can discuss matters in private.”

  Vladimir half turned to look at the lawyer behind him, which made the other two men extremely nervous. “Why do I need a lawyer?”

  “To ensure that you are treated fairly and equitably and to avoid returning to to The McDouglass Institute. Now please, Mr. Koulikov, anything we say here is recorded. Let’s wait for a private interview.”

  Vladimir turned back and recognized the stretch of drone highway he had used to deliver his message. All the drones were parked on the sides, patiently waiting for this emergency vehicle to pass.

  The trip was over quickly, and Vladimir was taken to a small room with his lawyer, who insisted that his client’s handcuffed be removed. When the door closed, Mark placed a small device on the room’s central table.

  “A scrambler. Should give us the privacy we need,” he explained.

  “Why are you here?”

  “To help you and all Space Alloy employees.”

  “You working for them?”

  “I am the elected representative of the Space Alloy Regional Workers’ Union.”

  “Spacers,” said Vladimir without emotion.

  “Yes. And before you start mistrusting me, I must say that nothing would please me more than to validate your claim of Space Alloy shares.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because we’re tired of earth control.”

  “And you think I can help you with that?”

  “Nobody took me seriously when I decided to help you. In fact, they all thought I was drunk. But whether you realize it or not, you’re now one of us. You will not be allowed to live on Earth. Ever. So this makes you one of us.”

  An awkward silence followed.

  “So is it true?”

  “That I now own SA? I’m afraid so.”

  “A legal battle is unavoidable, unfortunately. That is, if we can locate the original agreement.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. What happens now?”

  “You will need to prove that you are not insane.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “Normally five days of observation and a number of psychological evaluations. In your case, I will argue for less.”

  “Five days doesn’t seem so bad after what I’ve been through.”

  “A lot can happen in five days. In your defense, you were interned the instant you returned and immediately sedated for life.”

  “The fairness of it all will never cease to amaze me.”

  The lawyer cleared his throat. “In the meantime, you need to access your file so we can start building a legal strategy to attack Space Alloy with your ownership claim.”

  Vladimir stepped
to a wall screen and went through the identification procedure. Finally, at long last, he was going to view his full personal file. A flow of memories rushed to the surface, threatening to drown the seriousness of the situation. Pictures and videos of his family and friends were at his fingertips. They were all long dead by now.

  He silently ignored everything and opened his Space Alloy folder with a calm hand.

  “It’s not there” he said after a few seconds.

  Madden, who had respectfully remained away, stepped up and searched the database with short and precise vocal commands.

  “It was erased after your return. This is a serious breach of security on top of a monstrous invasion of privacy. What’s material here is that without it, your claim to Space Alloy shares is null.” He sat down and massaged his temples.

  “Don’t worry, I know that document by heart. We’ll start that legal strategy of yours right away.”

  “What good will that do if we can’t produce an original?”

  The earthman seemed unconcerned and started going through old images. “An original is bound to surface at some point. Oh, and by the way, you’re hired.”

  * * *

  Ian was so still he could have been a statue as he stood on the observation deck. Having recently returned from a tropical vacation, his strong features were suntanned, and he appeared well rested for the coming meeting.

  Had it already been three years since the last work condition negotiations with the spacers? Nell straightened her collar as she saw the offworld shuttle dock below.

  “You look dreadful,” he said

  “So much has changed. How can we possibly prepare for everything they might demand?”

  “We can’t, so let’s not try.”

  “I’m sure that, by now, they are aware of your purchase of Jutrescro.”

  “I hope so. Should make them consider their threats more…carefully.”

  Nell looked her boss in the eye. “Do you think that Mr. Madden will want to add the Koulikov case to today’s agenda?”

  “He might, but I think he’ll want to keep both matters separate. An independent lawsuit against SA, one of many, is hardly relevant in the present discussions.”

  “Still, he’s in a strange situation,” said Nell. “As Koulikov’s lawyer and benefactor, he knows everything.”

  “And what’s that?” asked Ian with a smirk.