Fynn Ubami brought his rifle to his shoulder, took careful aim, and squeezed the trigger. A red light flashed in the rifle’s targeting scope, confirming a successful tag.

His target, hooded and hunched over next to a warehouse against the cold and wind, swung around to glare up at the roof. Fynn quickly maximized the zoom on the scope but was unable to make out the stranger’s face. He dropped the rifle into his equipment bag and scrambled down the six flights of stairs to street level. He’d come back for his gear later.

On the ground, he sprinted in the direction of his last sighting of the stranger. The man was gone. Thanks to the tag, though, the stranger had been branded, so the next time he passed a public scanner it would alert Security. Besides, not knowing where he was right now gave Fynn an excuse to search the warehouse the man had exited. Who would doubt that the Deputy Chief of colony security had caught a man breaking into an abandoned warehouse? The fact that he’d actually seen the man leaving and not breaking in was only a small point.

Fynn pulled his Personal Information Manager from its protective shell on his belt,entered his Security override code, and the screen lit up with a pale amber glow. Even before the Great Isolation, the other colonies in the star cluster had found the planet of Imali’s use of PIMs to be a quaint reminder of the pre-neural implant past. Fynn set the PIM on the warehouse’s lock, which hissed and then opened with an audible buzz. Backwoods tech or not, his PIM always got the job done.

It was dim inside, but enough evening light from the planet’s twin moons filtered through the glass skylight for Fynn to make his way around the aisles of shelving. Going to be a long night. He unclasped his jacket. At least it’s warm in here.

He turned on the small camera in his PIM and began cataloging the rusty machinery that lined the shelves. These relics were a cold monument to the past. They had probably been spare parts for the old spaceport behind the warehouse but now they were nothing but a faint reminder of glory past.

At the end of the first aisle, he ran his hand over a sensor and a door slid open. The bright light that radiated from the walls of the room momentarily blinded him. He drew his stunner and, holding it with both hands, cautiously stepped into the room.

Then he noticed the smell: vomit and sweat.

He dropped his arms to his sides as he looked around the room: people strapped to cupped metal chairs, bodies contorted, heads flopping. Drool spilled from exaggerated grins while fingers twitched inside the plexicubes on the armrests. His training quickly reasserted itself and he raised his weapon, circling the room, sidestepping, keeping his back to the wall. Satisfied that there were no immediate threats, he holstered the weapon and stooped over the nearest palsied body, gently brushing aside thick matted hair from the woman’s face. Her breathing was shallow and her brown eyes stared out into infinity, an expression of unutterable ecstasy on her face. He recognized the expression: the woman was jacked up on Naprotol. This was a drug house — the largest he’d ever seen.

Naprotol stimulated the brain’s pleasure receptors and became more addictive with every use. He rubbed his hand over the junkie’s plexicube, the drug delivery system. The user simply strapped herself into a chair, inserted a finger into the plexicube, and Napped while transferring units of her life-time to an unknown supplier. A user could spend months of her life in a single night. Time was the most valuable commodity on Imali. It was life, and it was currency.

Fynn stood and studied the other people strapped to the chairs. They all wore standard, government-issue yellow coveralls and muted red heating jackets. This was the uniform of the welfare dependents, the sub-fortunate who could not find jobs in Imali’s economy. But why target the poor with the most costly drug on the planet?

As he glanced around the room, Fynn noticed a shriveled body in the far corner. He had a bad feeling as he approached. Feeling for a pulse and finding none, he pulled out his PIM to record the scene. Some of the straps on the victim’s chair were undone. It looked as if the man had tried to disconnect himself, but had been too weak and was now completely drained of funds — completely out of time. The time-chip that had been implanted at birth to regulate his lifespan and expenditures had failed. This was a homicide.

Fynn unstrapped his portable evidence kit from his jacket, removed a small needle, and drew a blood sample from the dead man’s arm. Then he left the building as quickly as he could. Back on the street he took a deep breath of the frigid, decay-free air; then he pulled out his PIM and spoke into its receiver: “Dr. Aldridge.”

A few moments later the connection was completed. A groggy and irritated female voice replied. “Fynn?”

“Sorry to wake you,” he said while transmitting the data files. “I need a favor.”

“Of course you do. Why else would you call me?”

“I’ve just sent you some data. How soon before you can get back to me with an analysis?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow — during working hours. Good night.” She closed the connection.

He stared at his PIM. How dare she disregard him like that? If she hadn’t been the best forensic analyst in his department — hell, probably the best on the planet — he would’ve had her dismissed years ago. But he knew he wouldn’t dismiss her. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to see her again.

He reactivated the PIM and contacted Security HQ to tell them what to expect at the warehouse. Then he saw a shadow move at the far end of the street block; it might be his target. He sprinted after it, managing to turn the next corner just in time to see it disappear into an unlit alley. He reached into his jacket, pulled his stunner, and approached. A small canister flew out of the darkness toward him. Instinctively, he ducked.

And blacked out.

When he regained consciousness, he twisted into a sitting position and braced his back against an alley wall. Gassed. Rookie mistake. He glanced at his watch. Only out for a few minutes. He wiped the freezing sweat from his brow and, leaning his head against his knees, waited for the lightheadedness to pass. Then he struggled to his feet and slowly began to make his way back to where he had left his gear.

As he staggered back around the corner, he saw a detachment of Security officers entering and exiting the warehouse. A woman with a short-cropped Afro was the first to notice him. It was his partner Thandi Safu. She rushed over to him; “Fynn! Where were you? We tried contacting you after your call.”

“Nothing big. Thought I saw the guy, so I chased him around a corner. Ran into a cloud of gas.”

As he told her what had happened to him, a group of the officers joined them. One looked closely at him. “Thandi, get him to a hospital.”

Fynn shook his head. “I’m all right.”

“No,” Thandi said. “I’m taking you straight to the hospital.”
*
Early the next morning a doctor finally discharged him. After a few hours of sleep at home, Fynn stood outside the Security HQ’s forensic lab slamming his palm against its metallic door. This lab contained the most advanced equipment that the Magistrate’s Office allowed on Imali.

This was Emily Aldridge’s lab. She was ignoring his attempts to reach her and he needed answers about the homicide. Conceding to his impatience, he pulled out his PIM and transmitted his identification to override the lock on the door.

An oversized Doberman scampered to its feet and growled when the door opened. Fynn backed away, raising his stunner to firing position. The dog sprang toward the door and abruptly vanished.

As laughter echoed from inside the lab he realized he’d fallen for one of Aldridge’s little traps — again. “Very funny,” he said, walking through the doorway.

Inside, perched on a metal stool, sat a tall, blue-eyed blonde. On a planet that had been predominantly settled by a coalition from the National African States of Old Earth, Aldridge’s looks were considered odd and a touch exotic. Still, despite her Anglo features, Fynn found her intensity and confident manner irritatingly attractive.

She smoothed her white lab coat. “Didn’t your parents teach you anything? It’s not polite to enter unannounced.” She pointed toward the far corner of the room. “Stand over there and don’t touch anything. I’m nearly done.”

He watched her hands dance over various sensors on the lab’s main consoles. What would it be like to have them dance over me like that? But as her superior officer he could make no advances. Still, he couldn’t help thinking about it.

She cleared her throat and gestured toward the center of the room, where a holo-image of a blood cell suddenly appeared. “Please pay attention to the blood’s nanolandscape…and —” She paused mid-sentence as she brushed a loose tendril of straight blond hair back behind her ear. “And not me.”

He felt himself blush as he turned toward the flattened red disk rotating in the center of the room.

She approached the hologram. “This is a blood cell from your dead guy.” She poked a finger through a small, hexagonal object that was piggybacking the cell wall. “And this is an anomaly.” She put a finger to her lips, asking for Fynn’s silence; then she returned to the central console and swept a hand over the lights glowing on the panel. All the equipment except the central console and the stool vanished. “There — I’ve just deactivated all the electronics in the room. We ought to have privacy, at least for a short while.”

Fynn stiffened. She was referring to the snoops who might be monitoring this lab. Ever since the beginning of the Great Isolation, the Magistrate’s Office had been given the right to monitor any use of technology. They had even randomly monitored the lab there at Security HQ. The mayor’s decree had been that no technology changes were allowed that could adversely affect Imali’s economy. The magistrate vigorously enforced this law.

She looked at Fynn. “The anomaly is a nano-device laced with DNA that matches that of your victim.”

“So it’s medical… what makes that so important?”

She glared at him. “Because I said so. Isn’t that reason enough?” She paused and took a deep breath. “Sorry, that didn’t come out right. I’m as tired as you look.”

He felt a small stab of triumph; she had begun the analysis last night, like he’d asked. But his triumph was erased by the anxiety on her face.

“I know medical,” she continued. “And what you saw was not medical. It’s a partially organic nanobot. By law, it’s forbidden technology.” She hesitated, considering, then stepped towards Fynn and said in a soft voice. “This is much bigger than a group of Nappers getting high or even a science violation. This bot may be for forgery.”

He stared at her wordlessly, muscles tensing. The creation of time was the only crime in the colony that called for the death sentence. Unregulated life-spans would devalue time. “Why do you say that?”

“Two reasons. First, I couldn’t determine his biological age at the time of death. My best guess is that somehow as they circulate through the body, those nanos replace aging cells. And, second, I don’t know who he is. His DNA doesn’t match anyone on record — and my medical database is supposed to include everyone.”

“An offworlder?”

“No, his DNA is too well adapted to Imali. I think he may have been born pre-Isolation, before we began cataloging DNA at birth.” Aldridge hesitated again. “I have a really bad feeling about all this. I could get into trouble for just having seen forbidden technology. You know how ruthless the Timers are about renegade tech and those tainted by knowing about it. Hell, if PIMs weren’t used to conduct business, just looking at one would get your ass in jail, or worse.”

Fynn nodded. She was right to fear the magistrate. The man regularly allowed his Timers to overstep their prime mandate — sometimes violently — but he figured Aldridge would just receive a warning not to disclose any technical information to the public. He’d protect her from any other reprimands. “If the victim had unlimited time, then what killed him? And how is it possible that his time-chip didn’t record the counterfeit?”

“You mean you think the bank’s propagandists could be wrong and you can trick a time-chip?”

He frowned. “Well, they would know, wouldn’t they? They’re the ones who implant us with the damned things.”

“It’s your turn to take a deep breath and relax. I’m not the enemy here. I didn’t think it was possible to bypass it either. This is all new to me, and it’s all beyond what we’re allowed to know. But there’s something else you need to know. Your corpse’s lipid spheres are empty.” She held up a hand. “Before you ask, they’re molecules that store energy. But the ones in this guy’s blood held something else — what, I don’t know, it’s gone now — which leads me to believe that your victim may have been acting as a courier of some sort.”

“Do me a favor, Fynn,” Aldridge said firmly, “and don’t tell anyone you gave me a sample of the victim’s blood. If I get pressed on it I will only report that he Napped to death and that I couldn’t ID him.”

Before Fynn could reply, his PIM vibrated. He slid it off his belt and read the text message. “Looks like it’s my turn to be questioned.”

Aldridge grabbed his arm as he turned to go. “If I had to guess, I’d say that this is Lyncomb technology.” She released his arm and he walked out of the lab.

A shiver ran up his back. Silas Lyncomb… the Boogie Man.

Hundreds of years ago he had nearly destroyed the colony with promises of immortality and freedom from the banks. Thousands of citizens had flooded the markets with “years” of time, speculating that they could live forever. Imali’s stock market had crashed, and centuries of invested time had been lost in minutes. Then the riots began. The mayor had been forced to declare martial law to regain control of the colony.

Lyncomb had been arrested and exiled offworld. The way Fynn had it figured, “exiled” meant executed. The Great Isolation was put into effect to save the colony from offworld predators seeking to profit from the colony’s depreciation.

The Magistrate was tasked with reducing the planet’s technology level to the minimum amount necessary to maintain a stable economy – but not so reduced that it couldn’t be monitored and managed by the Banks. Security was given dispensation on certain tech to maintain the law.

Fynn’s PIM vibrated again. Reluctantly, he took the lift-tube to his superior’s office. His boss, Security Chief Wekesa Tournee, sat in his command chair, looking at Fynn as if he were a fly trapped in a spider’s web of monitors and holo-projectors. Except for some wrinkles around his eyes and a light salting of gray in his thinning black hair, the chief showed very few signs of his 82 years on the job. The mayor had been generous in awarding him taxpayer years for his service.

The chief swiveled towards Fynn and nodded, indicating that he should take the chair opposite him. “We have laws in this colony. By what right did you break into that warehouse?”

“It’s my obligation to follow up on anything suspicious.”

“No!” The chief slapped his desk. “When you’re off duty, your only obligation is to report your suspicions to Security. It would have been easy enough for an active team to trace the tag you branded on the man. And with no backup, you’re lucky you were only gassed.”

“Sir, the drugs. I uncovered a serious threat to the colony.”

The chief leaned back in his chair. “There is someone from the Magistrate’s Office who wants to talk to you.”

Fynn shook his head. Just when he thought the day couldn’t get any worse, he had to deal with some bureaucrat over jurisdiction.

The chief looked at him skeptically. “You don’t like the Office much, do you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Fynn said curtly.

“Deputy,” the chief said calmly and directly. “The Office protects the markets that ensure our standard of living and —”

“Yes Sir, I know the declaration. I could recite it before I knew how to tell time.”

The chief sighed. “You were right before; whether or not you like the Office, it doesn’t matter.” He passed his hand over a desk sensor. A gaunt, ebony face appeared just below one of the ceiling holo-projectors. The man looked to be at least a hundred, but he was actually much older.

Fynn rose and stood at attention. He’d never been in the magistrate’s presence before, not even virtually.

“Greetings, Deputy Chief Ubami,” the magistrate said in his creaky voice. “The Office will be taking over the investigation at Warehouse Depot 134.” The hologram briefly flickered. “My apologies for the poor connection. Our internal communications have been infected with a virus. A minor irritant, I assure you — one that will be eradicated.”

Still standing, Fynn asked, “Sir, why am I being ordered off the case?” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the chief shooting him a look of warning.

“I think you know,” said the magistrate. Then the transmission ended.

The chief eyed Fynn. “What the hell was that all about? What do you know?”

Fynn shrugged.

The chief stared at him for a long moment, then flashed a bland smile. “You’re dismissed.”

Fynn left in disgust. He walked into his own office and found Thandi sitting at his desk, using his computer. “Good morning, Lieutenant Safu. Is there anything else of mine you would like?”

She looked up at him with almond eyes and said coolly, “Maybe later I’ll let you know. By the way, you still look like crap. You should have stayed home today.”

“Don’t you have your own office?”

She reclined deeper in the chair. “Are you going to tell me what you thought you were doing last night?”

“An informant —”

“You mean one of those beggars you’re always questioning?”

“An informant reported skimmers coming and going from that warehouse. I was curious. There are no active business licenses in that grid. It’s a ghost sector.”

“So why didn’t you invite me along?” She paused for a moment. “Partner.”

“There were no outstanding warrants, charges or even a registered complaint. I didn’t want to involve you based on a rumor. I didn’t expect to find what I found. And now I’m even more curious because I’ve just been ordered off the case.”

“But you’ve just handed Security their biggest drug bust ever! Not to mention that there was a fatality!”

He shrugged. “The Office pulled me.”

She looked at him for a long moment, then stood abruptly and grabbed her jacket. “Let’s go. We need some fresh air.”

Fynn sighed, took his own jacket, and followed her out. Why are the women on this planet so damned bossy?

Once outside, Thandi looked him square in the eye. “I know you. You’re going to go around the Office on this. Well, my advice is, don’t. I’m serious: you need to be careful. You’re next in line to be Chief, so don’t blow it by crossing the Timers. I’m not sure even the mayor can control them anymore.”

Fynn began walking along the boulevard leading to Commerce Park, one of the many parks spread throughout the district to give it a look of prosperity. Thandi paced him. He reached into his jacket to turn up its thermostat. Even with the sun at its apex, it was still cold. Always cold. If things hadn’t been so much worse on Old Earth after the Warming, he would have cursed his ancestors for settling on this hell of a planet. In a low voice, he said, “I’m always careful.”

“You got gassed! How careful was that? But now that I’m here to watch your back, what’s the plan?”

A scruffy man wearing tattered yellow coveralls approached them, PIM out. When Fynn slid out his own PIM, Thandi grabbed his wrist. “Don’t. You’re only encouraging him.”

He pulled his arm free. “To do what? Eat a warm meal? Buy some heat?”

“Or maybe purchase Naprotol.”

He glared at her, deliberately taking his time with the transaction. “I’m only transferring a few seconds.”

“It’s not our fault that these people wasted their time,” she said. “We’re all born with the same amount of time.” She nodded at the beggar. “The difference between them and us is that they’re lazy. We work for our extra time.”

“You sound like a Timer.”

“God forbid! It’s just that I’m pro-market. You must really be over-tired. Usually I’m not able to offend you this early in the day.” She looked him over. “But you’ve never told me what you think of the economy. Well?”

A dangerous question. He took a deep breath of the frigid air. “Spending time is our patriotic duty. A stable market guarantees us our jobs, guarantees the colony’s survival.”

“Yeah, I remember hearing that same public service announcement. Now tell me what you really think.”

Now Fynn remembered why he hated having partners. But he trusted Thandi. He had to. “Sometimes I wonder if things could be better. I mean, are the other colonies near subsistence like us or did they come up with a better system? Thanks to the Isolation, I’ll never know.” He paused and looked at her. “You have any problems with what I just said?”

Thandi held up her arms. “ Don’t worry, I support the Free-Thought Amendment.” She flashed an impish smile. “Now, tell me the plan.”

“We trace my tag.”

“From a surveillance rifle?”

“Yeah.”

“You really were busy last night. Didn’t you turn over the tag specs to the magistrate?”

“No. They’re still in the rifle. I was pretty out of it when you took me to the hospital, and this morning I was busy with Forensics.” As soon as he said Forensics he regretted it.

“You mean Aldridge? How is she involved?”

“She’s not. I wanted to discuss time-chip malfunctions. She showed me the door and told me to talk to a bank.”

Thandi smiled. “In other words, she blew you off again.”

He ignored that. “So I haven’t had the chance to download the rifle’s logs. Now let’s find a transport and get the hell out of here. I’m cold.”

A half-hour later they were on the roof where Fynn had left his surveillance gear. Thandi leaned over the edge of the safety railing and pointed at the line of trucks across the street. “It looks like the Timers are stripping the inside of the warehouse.”

“Come away from there!” Fynn said, the frigid wind slapping his face. “You’re in the line of sight of the warehouse. I don’t want them to see us. Let’s just get what we came for and get the hell out of here.” He picked up the abandoned rifle and pressed his right thumb into an indention on its barrel, then flipped it over and keyed in his personal code. A green light flashed, confirming his code and DNA. He tossed the rifle to Thandi and packed up the rest of the gear he’d left behind while she downloaded its logs to her PIM. After a few minutes of working with the PIM, she shook it in frustration.

He rubbed his hands together from the cold. “What?”

“The information is segregating across the data stream. This is the second time today this has happened on the Security Net. They still haven’t purged that new virus. Ah… finally, here we go. What the – oh.” She handed him her PIM.

He looked at the screen. “I don’t understand. It’s blank.”

“That’s because you missed.”

“I don’t miss,” he said defensively. “Besides, I got confirmation on the hit. That virus is affecting your scan. It has to be.”

“No. You know rifles are isolated from the net for security reasons. If it were my PIM, there would still be residual information. Not a blank screen. Is it possible to block a branding?”

“I doubt anyone would even know how.”

Emily’s words echoed in his head: All this is beyond what we’re allowed to know. He pushed the thought aside. There was another possibility. “The bastard could have doubled back and somehow tampered with the rifle.”

Thandi took Fynn’s arm. “We did all we could. It’s out of our hands now. Go home and get some sleep. We’re not earning any minutes for this. Besides, I have a date – something you should try sometime. Perhaps with a blonde I know.”

She’s right, Fynn thought. Nothing more to do tonight. They left the building, avoiding any contact with the Timers.
*
Later that night, Fynn’s PIM buzzed while he was in the shower. He switched off the water, slipped on his robe, and padded into the bedroom, where he activated the bedroom’s communicator.

Aldridge’s face appeared on the monitor. She was pale, and had bags under her eyes. “I know what was in those lipid spheres,” she said. “You’re the only one I can trust with this, so listen.”

“Should you be talking about forbidden tech on an open line?”

“Why do you always talk when I say listen? Of course I’ve taken precautions. No one is monitoring us. It appears that there are actually two different types of nanobots involved. The first one is the kind I showed you: the one that allows a person to spend time at no physical cost. But I found a second one hiding in those lipid spheres. From membrane analysis, I’m pretty sure the second type was designed to act as a dissembler virus, like the one that’s been affecting the systems on Imali. I believe he was purging himself of these bots to infect the drug dealers when he died.” She paused to take a breath.

“And you’re sure about all this?”

“No. I’ve never seen a dissembler virus before. They’re supposed to exist only in theory.” She hesitated for a moment. “And Fynn, I think someone else knows that I know about the nanobots.”

He could see her trembling. “Who, Emily?”

“How the hell should I know? All I know is that all my work files have been copied. The only reason I noticed was… well, because I’m better than they are.”

“Tell Security. You’re one of us. We can protect you.”

Her face softened and she smiled. “Tell them what? That I’ve been doing unauthorized research on illegal technology? Hell, with my luck the chief would probably send you to arrest me.”

She pressed some buttons on a nearby terminal. “I don’t have much time,” she said, more urgently than before. “Nothing we have at Security can neutralize the dissembler. Maybe the Timers know how, but I’m not going to them. But, I do have some good news. The forgery bots contain unique properties that I’ve been able to isolate. Based on that, I was able to create a designer virus that will cause a blue smudge when it comes in contact with the skin of anyone carrying one of those currency bots. It should take only about five minutes for a skin reaction to appear, and it will last for about an hour.”

“Good. At least we can identify this shadow group before the virus spreads too far.”

She looked over her shoulder, and Fynn could see a red light flashing on one of her terminals. When she turned back, she looked even paler. “I’ve got to go,” she said. “I’ve sent a tube to your apartment.”

From the communicator’s speakers he could hear the grinding sound of a door being forced opened. His chest tightened. “Wait!” he called. “I’ll come to you.”

She smiled wistfully. “Too late.” The monitor went blank.

Fynn logged into the Security Net and traced the call to a private lab near the business district. Then he called Security and ordered a squad of officers to meet him there.

He switched off the safety protocols of his skimmer as he raced to the lab. Once there he stopped a couple of Medtechs who were maneuvering a stretcher into an ambulance. He pulled down the blanket covering the face and a great empty space opened inside his gut when he saw the glazed blue eyes staring up at him in ecstasy.

Fynn stepped aside and let the Medtechs take the body away. He stood facing the ambulance, struggling to control his emotions, until it finally drove off. He entered the building and found Thandi leaning against the door to the lab. “You got here quick,” he said, externally composed.

She stopped dictating to her PIM and looked up. “Yeah, my date ended early and I was on my way home when the Security page came. I was only a few klicks away.” She nodded towards the lab. “No signs of forced entry.”

He studied the doorway and saw none of the damage that he’d heard over his communicator. Whoever had been here was professional. “Any Timers here?”

“Timers? I don’t think so. Why?”

“Never mind.” He walked into the lab. Thandi followed. A young Security officer was passing a scanner over a work desk; when he saw Fynn, he immediately stood at attention.

Fynn saluted absently in his direction. “Stand at ease, Officer. What have you found so far?”

The man relaxed. “It looks like a Naprotol overdose, Sir.”

“What’s your name?”

“Officer Dumay Frankel, Sir.”

“Well, Frankel,” he said bitterly, “let’s leave that conclusion for the coroner. Your job is to tell me about this lab. Any signs of a break-in?”

Frankel lower his gaze. “None, Sir. The only non-victim DNA prints within the last 24 hours all belong either to Security officers or the Medtechs.”

Fynn turned to Thandi. “When did she leave Headquarters for the night?”

She referenced her PIM. “She clocked out early, right after a scheduled meeting with Chief Tournee. And according to her scheduler she was supposed to be across town at a medical conference. She wasn’t supposed to be here today at all.”

He nodded. “Do you have any ideas about what happened here?”

“Frankel’s team found a plexicube, but other than the obvious, no.”

Fynn turned back to Officer Frankel. “Make backups of all her files.” After Frankel returned to the work desk, he spoke in a low voice to Thandi. “Just in case any Timers stop by and things start to disappear.”

She followed him back out onto the street and demanded that Fynn tell her what he knew. He told her about Emily’s call. He told her everything, as he should have done from the beginning.

Thandi stood wide-eyed, listening to everything. “Did you actually see anyone enter the room when you were talking to her?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Then we have a problem. You’re the only witness, and you didn’t see anything.” She squeezed his shoulder. “I know how you felt about her.”

Unable to speak, he pulled away and returned to his skimmer. When he arrived back at his apartment there was a small package waiting in his mail cubicle. It was from Emily.
*
Early the next morning, Fynn entered Chief Tournee’s Office, knowing the chief would be out until late morning. He walked into the private bathroom, pulled out a plastic tube and squeezed a small amount of the gel onto the soap dispenser, and spread a bit more on the faucet handle. Emily, he silently prayed, I hope this works.

He returned to his own office, slid his PIM into its cradle on his desk, and keyed in a record of his suspicions and actions. He locked the file so that if anything happened to him only Thandi would be granted access.

“Good morning Fynn.”

He switched off the monitor. Thandi took the chair across from him and began tapping her fingers along the desk.

“You know that tapping annoys me. Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

She took a deep breath. “Do you believe Dr. Aldridge had the ability to crack the code on your rifle? Mimicking your DNA would be no problem for someone like her.”

“What would have been her motive? To get killed?”

“Maybe she wanted to protect you from something. Maybe there was more to that technology than she told you.”

He stiffened at her comment.

“You don’t need to protect her from them anymore. Go to the chief with everything. If you think Aldridge’s death is tied to what you found in that warehouse, we’ll need his help. He has access to more sources of information than we do.”

He glanced at his watch. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll be seeing him soon.”

Thandi eyes narrowed. “What for? And why are you all twitchy? Are you hiding something from me?”

He shook his head. “Me? From you?” He stood up and grabbed an empty mug. “I’m going for coffee.”

“Wait.” She pulled his PIM out of its cradle and handed it to him. “Don’t forget this; you’re still on duty. What the hell? Yuck!” She wiped goo from her hand onto her pants. “Where did you have this? Never mind, I don’t want to know. You really do need to get out more.”

“Ha, ha. Funny girl.” He took the PIM and rubbed it dry on his pants, then left to get coffee. And wait.

When his PIM reported the chief had returned to HQ he went to see him. “Sir,” he said as entered the chief’s office. “What did Medical say about Dr. Aldridge?”

The chief looked up from his terminals. “She died Napping.”

Fynn looked away, shaking his head. “Impossible. She would never do it.” Then he stepped toward the chief’s desk, and as he did so, he stumbled, spilling his coffee. The chief jumped out of his seat, brushing the liquid mess from his jacket.

“Sorry, Sir.”

“No need for that. There’s no real damage.” The chief turned and walked into his private bathroom.

“Thank you, Sir,” Fynn called, smiling.

A few moments later, the chief returned from the bathroom and walked to a cabinet near his desk. He pressed his thumb to the lock and pulled out a bottle of Earth whiskey, very rare, from before the Isolation. He filled two tumblers and offer one to his Deputy Chief. “Here’s to Dr. Aldridge,” he said gravely. “A damned fine scientist and a damned fine woman.” He drank, and refilled his glass. “She was one of the best we had. She must have been overworked.” He paused. “The ComSat satellite reported that the two of you communicated the last two nights. And you may have been the last person to see her alive. Is there something you need to tell me?”

Fynn shook his head. “The first time was after my warehouse discovery. The next time was to discuss the possibility of tracing the source of the Naprotol used by —”

“And you reported that someone was breaking into her lab during that conversation.”

“Someone was.”

“No, someone wasn’t. You claim to have seen nothing and there is no forensic evidence that anyone else was there. Tell me of her emotional state over last few days.”

“Dr. Aldridge was agitated.” Fynn looked at the floor. “Like always.” He didn’t want to have this discussion, not now and definitely not with the chief. All he wanted was for the gel to take effect.

The chief took the half-empty bottle back to the cabinet, making sure the cabinet door was firmly latched. “That’s it, then. You’re dismissed.”
*
Fynn made his way back to his office. There had been enough time for Emily’s chemical to work. He’d been so sure that the chief had been one of those responsible for her death.

Thandi looked up from her PIM as the office door slid open. “The Net’s reporting that the virus is spreading through the banking system. Doesn’t sound so good.”

Fynn fell into his chair. “Yeah, sounds like the end of world. Say, have you noticed anything unusual about Chief Tournee?”

“What do you mean?”

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. The fatigue of the last few days was catching up with him. “Just answer me.”

“No, but it’s not like I have that much access to him. You’re his deputy. You tell me.”

“He made a mistake yesterday.”

“What are you talking about?”

“At my half-assed debriefing, he mentioned my tag. Besides you, I told no one.”

Her face went dead serious. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

“Of course I do! But the only way he could have known was if he were involved.”

“I don’t feel comfortable talking about this,” she said, idly scratching her right palm.

He stared at her hand, and suddenly his pulse throbbed in his ears. “What’s wrong with your hand?”

She held up her hand and spread her fingers. “I’m not sure. Some sort of weird rash, I guess. Blue… go figure. I’ll get it checked out later.” She stood up. “Let’s get out of here and you can tell me your suspicions.”

He forced himself to breathe normally. “Yeah, sure. Just give me a few minutes. I need to make some calls.”

She slid back into her chair. “I’ll wait.”

He swallowed. “No, no… go. I’ll meet you at Emily’s lab. It should be clear of Security officers by now. I just have a few things to do here first.”

“Okay, sure.”
*
It was late afternoon when Fynn walked into the lab.

Thandi sat on a stool, tapping her fingers impatiently on a counter. “Took you long enough.”

“There were things that needed to be done. Where did you go on your date last night?”

She smiled and slid off the stool. “That’s an odd question to ask at a time like this.”

“I checked with Frankel. He said you were already at the lab when his team arrived.”

She sighed. “I was at my girlfriend’s apartment when dispatch informed me of your call. They figured, as your partner, I should know. Her apartment is only a few kilometers from here. But I told you all this already. What’s going on?”

“You seem to have a knack for showing up where there’s trouble. You were also around to take me to the hospital after I got gassed. You weren’t scheduled for duty.”

“The chief contacted me. He was concerned that you were missing, so I —”

“And then there is my rifle’s log,” he said evenly. “After I entered my code and DNA you had the opportunity to erase the log while pretending to download it.”

The mocha skin around her eyes tightened as her eyes narrowed and, oddly enough, his first thought was that she looked ancient. “Why are we talking about me?” she asked. “I thought you suspected the chief might be involved in her murder.”

Fynn shook his head. “He’s an incompetent, not a murderer. I just came from a meeting with him and the mayor. They told me that the Office had been working their own drug investigation in the warehouse district. The mayor approved it because the Office believed some of us in Security might be profiting from the drug traffic. It didn’t help that I’d been seen alone, conducting reconnaissance in the area over the last week. They informed their inside man, Chief Tournee, of my suspicious actions and he told them I hadn’t been sanctioned for any operations in the area.

“He followed me the night of my drug bust, Thandi. According to him, when I chased after my suspect, he copied my surveillance rifle’s DNA tag, then purged the log to erase any evidence that he’d tampered with my rifle. As the chief, only he has the overriding key code to all Security equipment.”

“What does any of that have to do with me?”

“Enough! No more games. I already have most of this figured out.” He nodded at her hand.

She studied the fading rash and smiled again. “Oh, you’re good.” She held her palm up. “My guess is that your Emily is responsible for this.”

Fynn took a few steps closer. “Was it you I tagged that night?”

She nodded.

“I thought so. But you never seemed concerned.”

“I wasn’t. I have so many masks on my DNA that I’m surprised that your rifle could even get a lock. I wouldn’t have set off any scanners. Did the chief even try to activate the trace?”

“No, he handed it over to the magistrate without uploading it to the Security Net. Because of his flagrant disregard of Security, I ordered his suspension. I have the mayor’s full backing. I also told the mayor everything I know about you.”

She took a few steps back. “Everything? You don’t know anything! It’s all circumstantial.” She sighed. “Poor Tournee. I’m sure he didn’t know what was going down in the warehouse. Before he became chief, I considered recruiting him, but his loyalties were unstable. I guess the magistrate took advantage of that.”

Fynn cocked an eyebrow. “Before he became chief?”

She flung her head back, laughing. “I’m a little older than I look — about 180 years older. And my last name isn’t Safu. It’s Lyncomb.”

A jolt rushed through him. “Lyncomb!”

“I’m Silas’s daughter. And despite the propaganda, not everyone from the revolution was executed — unlike my father. Sympathizers hid me along with a good number of his scientists. Just as Dad predicted, we invented the fountain of youth, using nanorobotics and stem-cell referencing technology. Yeah, forbidden technology.” She beamed. “Our group is growing. Soon we’ll be ready to liberate this planet.”

“And this so-called liberation will come through Naprotol?”

She looked at him and shook her head. “You just don’t get it, do you? If you’re going to be a government puppet, at least learn who’s pulling your strings. We didn’t create Napping. The Office did. The Timers weren’t conducting an investigation. They were keeping watch over their project.”

No! It’s just not possible! But deep down, Fynn believed it. He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Project?”

“To exploit the poor that you have so much sympathy for. The drug siphons their time away. To the Office, this is the perfect solution to all the colony’s problems. They inject the user’s currency into the economy while shortening the lives of the public dependents, making them less of a nuisance to taxpayers. What you saw in the warehouse was one of their market corrections for the current recession. Over the last decade we’ve been compiling evidence that links the drug to the Office and the Office to the Banks.”

“Evidence?” Fynn’s police instincts began to seep through the numbness. “But why not turn it over to Security or, if you don’t trust us, the mayor?”

“The political and economic environment isn’t ready yet. We still need to prepare for the fallout.”

“What about the dead user I found at the warehouse?”

A tear crept into her voice. “He has a name. It’s Keni Moza. We were there because it gave us the perfect opportunity to infect the Net. What better way than to use their own business against them? Keni volunteered to transport the virus.”

“A dissembler virus.”

“Yes. Aldridge got that part right. Did you notice that the Office’s systems began suffering from the virus before anyone else’s?”

At the mention of Emily’s name his heart hammered in his chest. “Why… why did you have to kill her?”

“ You Goddamned fool! I didn’t kill her! It was the Timers. She must have warned you about the danger of her studying the tech you gave her. If you’d told me, your partner, what she’d known, my people could have protected her. She’d be in hiding, but she’d be alive.”

“Just tell me about Keni.”

“To have our plan work without tipping off the Timers, his time-chip was deactivated. I was there to make sure he got out before the Naprotol overwhelmed him. One of my spotters saw you, so I ordered Keni to abort and get the hell out.” Thandi looked down, her eyes shining. “While I was getting away, the idiot went through with the plan, damn him.” She turned away from Fynn. “He was too high from the Naprotol to disconnect himself from the chair before he ran out of time.”

“What about all that economic fallout you were worried about?”

“The virus will corrupt the system very slowly; it’ll take years before the banking system cracks and tumbles.” She paused. “Fynn, there’s only one question remaining: what are you going to do next?”

Fynn paled. “I made a mistake,” he whispered. God, I didn’t know.”

Thandi stared at him, her eyes wide. “Fynn, what did you —”

Just as he grabbed her arm, a bullet crashed through the window and tore into her chest. As she collapsed, Fynn fell to his knees, reaching for her hand.

He’d told her the truth, but only part of it. He’d also told the magistrate everything he’d known. Including her whereabouts. He was now responsible for three deaths. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
*
Fynn’s communication terminal chimed. He slid his chair away from the monitoring web and placed the DNA-sealed box he’d been studying into a desk drawer. He spun his chair around and switched on the holo-projector. It took the cameras a few tries before they were able to activate completely. Over the previous few weeks, the dissembler virus had begun to create a greater and greater drag on the response time of information systems. But not to worry — the Office promised a cure any day now.

“Greetings, Chief Ubami. Just calling to see how you’re settling into your new job and to personally thank you for your efforts in rooting out that traitor and reporting her to us instead of taking matters into your own hands. It’s good to know that we can count on you when it comes to protecting the stability of our colony.”

Fynn studied the shriveled face of the magistrate. “Thank you, Sir. Things are going very well indeed.”

“Good. You are a pragmatist, Fynn, and that is exactly what we need in a Security Chief. I’m sure we’ll be working closely together in the future to protect the colony.”

The magistrate’s image faded and Fynn turned back to his desk. “Yeah, you bastard — I’m exactly the kind of chief Imali needs.”

He retrieved the sealed box from the drawer, opened it, and took out its contents: a long, slim syringe tipped with a bright synthsteel needle. The hypo contained a warm, brown fluid that seemed to eddy and flow with a life of its own. It hadn’t been difficult to contact the anti-Office underground and propose a deal that was beneficial for all parties.

Smiling grimly, Fynn pressed the needle into his arm and released the flood of rebel nanobots into his bloodstream.

---

David Siegel Bernstein lives within the shadow of Philadelphia in Pennsylvania. To support his writing addiction, and excessively extravagant lifestyle, he consults as a forensic statistician. He has been published in numerous print and online magazines—including the “Best of 2006″ in Apollo’s Lyre. His published work has been chosen to appear in literary, genre and poetry anthologies. His nonfiction has been published in academic journals and newsletters.

His non-literary projects include: Re-inventing the wheel, the Sisyphus relief project, and referring to himself in the third person (as THE David, lest fools confuse him with the other one)..