Chapter 10

outpost’s resident digital security specialist. “Captain, I have a favor to ask.”

“Whatever you need, Colonel.”

“The public folder where we queue deployment orders before the release

—can you turn on tracking for everyone who views that folder?”

“Sure,” Thoreau replied. “What are you looking for?”

“A pattern. Can you send me a log of the views every hour?”

“Yes, sir, I can set up an automatic report for you.”

“Excellent. And is there any chance you can give me access to view the

outgoing communications from the facility?”

Thoreau hesitated. “Half of it is classified as personal information. We

don’t make a point of listening in on conversations between our soldiers and

loved ones back home.”

“I don’t need the content, just the precise data use for any files transferred

within the facility and outside.”

“Just file size, huh?” The security specialist thought for a moment. “I

think I could configure a dashboard for you. Is there something I should be

aware of, sir?”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I determine that,” Kaen told him. “When

can you have the dashboard ready?”

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

Now that’s Guard efficiency. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll keep you

apprised.”

“I’m on it.”

No sooner had Kaen ended the comm link than a message from Cindy

popped up on his desktop that the mission brief was ready.

He pulled up the file and attached a dummy set of encrypted orders and a

manifest—information that would be easier to forward rather than transcribe

into a different communication. After closing out of the file, he made a note

of the specific file size, then added a tracker to it. Even if the perpetrator

stripped away the tracker—as any competent individual would—he’d be able

to see if a data packet that size began circulating. Of course, there were no

guarantees that the information wouldn’t be relayed in some other manner,

but the short timeframe would prompt distributing the message to

collaborators as quickly as possible. He leaned back in his chair. Now we see who bites.

— — —

Moving into Stage Three so soon wasn’t part of the original plan, but

Monica Waylon didn’t have a choice. With the Tararian Guard closing in,

she’d need to do some swift housekeeping.

She strode down the hall with her lab coat fluttering behind her,

examining the specimens to either side of the corridor. Early in her career,

research subjects had been living, intelligent beings; now they were only

tools.

One of the female subjects glared at Monica from inside a cell as she

passed, softly glowing green eyes hard with rage. “You can’t keep us here.

Let us out!”

Monica stopped and pivoted on her heel. It figured that it would be that

woman to speak up. “We can do whatever we please. You should have read

the contract more closely.”

“No contract could justify holding innocent civilians captive like this

for… stars know how long it’s been!”

“Oh, but you’re our employees.” A devious smile touched Monica’s lips.

“It’s all laid out very clearly in the contract. If the work demands you become

permanent residents, then it’s within our rights to enforce that clause.”

The woman in the cell snarled. “I never signed up to work here!”

“But you chose to immigrate to this world. Like I said, the terms were

clearly stated.”

“That agreement was two thousand pages long! No one could be

expected to read—”

“That’s too bad.” Monica continued on her way.

Deep down, she knew she was being a heartless bitch, but it was part of

the job. When she began working for MTech right out of her graduate

program in genetics, a new universe of ethics opened up. No longer was it

black and white, good and evil of science and morality, but rather endless

shades of gray. To advance, one must push the boundaries of established

norms.

Sometimes, testing those boundaries meant inconveniencing a few people. But, for the good of the science and for the Mysaran Coalition, she

had a duty to take whatever steps were necessary to achieve the desired ends.

In this case, that meant crafting new tools to carry her people into the future.

Monica reached the ‘observation room’, as they had dubbed the

administration center for the underground lab. A series of computer stations

were arranged in the center of the room, with monitors mounted to the walls

displaying footage of the holding cells and treatment rooms. A door to her

right led to the rest of the facility and one on the left provided access to a lab

space.

Tim was seated in a rolling chair amidst the central stations. He did a full

spin in the chair and stopped, facing her. “Please tell me we get to do

something, already. I’m going out of my mind down here.”

“Your wish has been granted. We have clearance to proceed with Stage

Three.”

“About time.” Tim did another spin in his chair. “The locals have been

asking questions again, you know.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. They always were a nosy bunch, given how

they are.”

“It’s what makes them so perfect, after all.”

Monica examined the other scientist. “Does it ever bother you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“What we’re doing here. Permanently changing people’s lives.”

He shrugged. “I do think about it sometimes, but my job requires me to

remain objective.”

“Yes, it does,” Monica emphasized. She joined him in the center of the

room and activated the control panel, navigating to a video she’d recovered

from deleted surveillance footage the night before.

The video popped up on the screen closest to Tim’s chair—just a still

image of a holding cell, paused on the first frame.

“Now, Tim, I have always valued how you are dedicated to the science.

In the five years we’ve worked together, I have only gained respect for your

capabilities as a geneticist. However, for as great as you are with the science,

I feel you are equally prone to misplaced sympathies.”

“How did you get…?” Tim’s face paled. “Monica, I don’t know what you

saw, but it’s not what you think.”