On The Imperium’s Secret Service (Imperium Cicernus) (27 page)

Finally, they waved a paper under Mariko’s nose and insisted that she sign it.  It confirmed that they hadn't visited any world under Imperial Quarantine within the last six months and acknowledged that they would be held personally responsible if they lied and disease spread into Sumter’s ecosystem.  Mariko signed with a flourish and marched through the gates as if she owned the building, Mai following behind in her wake.  They probably couldn't see the sweat on the back of her neck, she hoped.  Fitz had once told her that the secret to dealing with minor functionalities was never to let them think that they had the upper hand.

Fitz was waiting outside with a droll smile on his face, consulting a datapad someone had given to him.  “You’ll be pleased to know that they have recommended a number of very expensive hotels,” he said, with a wink. 

Mariko rolled her eyes.  She would have bet good money that most of those hotels were heavily bugged too. 

“I’ve ordered a taxi to take us to the Sumter Ritz,” he told them. “It seems to be the best of a bad bunch.”

Mariko said nothing as they took an elevator to the surface and looked out over Sumter City.  For a Sector Capital, there was something oddly depressing about it: a mixture of cheap buildings under the dome, along with a handful of more permanent edifices.  Most of the buildings lacked any sense of elegance, being nothing more than reinforced concrete blocks.  A number of humans and aliens lived beside them, on the streets.  Mariko realised, with a shock of horror, that they didn't have anywhere else to go.

The taxi ride only added to the sense of desolation.  Few building seemed to be more than temporary measures, illuminated only by the pale light that shone down from the dome high overhead.  It would have been simple enough to expand the dome or provide limited adjustment so that humans could survive in the outside environment, but the Imperium hadn't bothered.  Sumter’s real wealth lay in the wormhole junction and the excessive fees that they charged for transit.  There was no incentive to improve conditions on the planet itself.

Fitz tapped his lips as they finally reached the hotel.  Given what they were paying, it should have been luxury personified – and they did
try
.  But there was something sad about it, as if the owners no longer really cared about trying to make a profit.  Mariko took one look at the menu and rolled her eyes.  The owners would have gone out of business on Edo long ago.

“We start work tomorrow,” Fitz said, for the benefit of any unseen ears.  He searched the rooms carefully, working his way through all the places where a bug could be hidden.  One of them was hidden, rather neatly, in a power socket.  Another had been more blatantly hidden in an overhead chandelier.  “Go run a bath.  We all need a soak.”

Mariko nodded – running water would make it harder for the bugs to hear them – and went to do as she was told.  The real plan didn't involve sleep – at least, not yet.  They had to be on their way before something else went wrong.

“What a dump.”

Fitz didn't disagree with her as he led her up the stairs of Apartment Complex #77.  It was a squalid building, reeking with the stench of something she didn't want to identify, barely illuminated by a series of fluorescent lights embedded in the ceiling.  Small piles of rubbish lay everywhere, as if the cleaners couldn't be bothered sweeping it all up and discarding it, or even feeding it into a fabricator as raw materials.  Some of the concrete used to make the apartment block even looked decayed, as if it was on the verge of collapse.  Mariko couldn't imagine why
anyone
would want to live in the complex.

“Clearly the Secessionists aren't bothering to pay very much,” Fitz muttered, as they stopped outside the right door. 

Mariko waited while Fitz checked the remainder of the corridor for security devices, and then pressed a sonic screwdriver against the lock.  There was a click and the door opened, revealing a darkened room inside.  Fitz unhooked a flashlight from his belt and shone it around rather than turn on the light; the local monitoring software might notice an unexpected power drain and sound the alarm. 

Mariko followed him into the room, her heart pounding like a drum.  Fitz had told her that the key to a successful burglary was never to allow fear to overcome you, but in practice it was harder than it seemed.  She
knew
that she was out of place, even though they were carrying cards from Imperial Intelligence.  A
real
intelligence officer would know that merely waving the cards in front of any investigating policeman would convince any policeman to help with the burglary. 

“Stay there,” Fitz ordered, as he swept the room with a bug detector.  “Let me sweep the room first.”

Nothing appeared.

This puzzled Mariko until she realised that Imperial Intelligence wouldn't bother to spy on someone as low-ranking as Richardson, while the Secessionists knew better than to risk exposing their agent by bugging him.  After all, there were still the occasional, random loyalty checks carried out by Imperial Intelligence to worry about. 

Mariko unhooked her own flashlight and glanced around.  The apartment was neater than she had expected, but there were two piles of dirty clothes in the corners, as if the owner couldn't be bothered to wash them.  A pile of neatly-washed plates sat on one end of the kitchen sink beside a fridge that seemed to be on its last legs.  There was a very faint smell of incense or something that he might have used to cover up the stench from outside. 

When she got to his bedroom, she saw a single bed and a pile of books borrowed from the local library.  Most of them appeared to be trashy thrillers set in the glory days of the Imperium, but a couple were more recent.  And one of the books was a technical manual relating to starship operations.  Mariko didn't think it was classified – most data on starship operations was in the public domain – yet she couldn't think of any reason for Richardson to have it.  He was nothing more than a simple data-entry clerk.

“No private computer system,” Fitz said.  He spoke normally, but it seemed so loud that Mariko almost jumped out of her skin.  The urge to whisper was overpowering.  “The one here is from the Imperium – he won’t store anything delicate on it if he values his life.”

Mariko nodded in understanding.  The Imperium gave computers to its workers, carefully
not
mentioning that they had backdoors that allowed Imperial Intelligence to get past the security systems and access whatever data was stored on the device.  Mostly, according to Fitz, they found nothing more than pornography, but sometimes they found evidence of security breaches or worse.  Anyone with money would buy a system that hadn’t already been hacked by intelligence services, even though having one was regarded as grounds for suspicion in its own right. 

Fitz pushed a datachip into the computer and it whirred to life, using Imperial Intelligence’s codes to carry out a complete data dump.  Everything Richardson had stored on the computer would be dumped onto the chip for future analysis, perhaps by Imperial Intelligence’s people on Sumter if Fitz couldn't find anything for himself.  As soon as it was finished, Fitz removed the chip, placed the computer back where he’d found it and took one, final sweep around the room.  There was no sign of anything else interesting, apart from a handful of holographic porn datachips.  All of them, according to the scrawled notes on their side, featured humans and aliens copulating in a manner that would bring neither children nor long-term happiness. 

“Not much food in the fridge,” he observed, as he pulled the fridge away from the wall and studied the concrete panelling.  There seemed to be nothing there; after a moment, he put the fridge back.

He wandered over towards a portrait of a smiling lady on the other side of the room.  He poked and prodded it for a long moment, and then found the catch.  The painting opened like a cupboard, revealing a hidden safe. 

Fitz chuckled and made a single snide comment: “Traditionalist.”

Mariko went to study the safe.  There was no way to open the unit, apart from a standard DNA scanner, presumably keyed only to Richardson.  “Can you open it?”

“Probably, but it's too risky,” Fitz said.  He placed his hand against the metal of the safe, presumably using one of his implants to scan the interior.  “This kind of safe is a devil to open unless you have the right DNA pattern.  Imperial Intelligence put a price on the head of the person who invented them, just because they had problems opening two belonging to suspects.  Even when they cracked the system, they still didn't manage to break into the secure compartment half the time.  One safe had a HE charge attached that took out the entire building after someone pushed the wrong button.”

He snorted. 

“It will be much easier to get Richardson to open it for us,” he assured her, carefully replacing the painting where it covered the safe. 

Now that he’d pointed it out, Mariko could see that the painting didn't fit in with the rest of the room.  Richardson should have covered his entire wall in paintings to ensure that the safe was better-hidden.  But she was anxious to be gone.

“Just let me put a couple of bugs in here,” Fitz said, apparently picking up on her anxiety, “and then we can be on our way.”

Mariko waited impatiently as Fitz hid one bug in the living room and another in the bedroom, before shining his flashlight around to make sure that they hadn't left any obvious traces of their presence.  Fitz had issued them fingerprint gloves that would conceal their identities if a forensic team examined the room, but he’d been insistent that they leave as few traces as possible. 

Shaking his head, he beckoned for Mariko to follow him outside into the dingy corridor, locking the door behind her.  Then, he led the way down the unpleasant staircase to the outside world.

Darkness seemed to be falling over Sumter, although it was hard to be sure.  The local population looked busier, with hundreds of small cars driving about with a reckless disregard for the rules of the road.  Mariko was surprised to see them, until she remembered one of the pieces of data from the briefing notes.  Sumter had attempted to start up its native industry too early and ended up with a great many cars that were unsuitable for export, even to the more deprived worlds in the sector.  The local population had been able to obtain them at knockdown prices.

“Over there,” Fitz said, pointing to a small cafe.  “It’s time to start the oldest tradition of the spying industry.”

Mariko looked over at him, catching his smile.  “And that is?”

“Waiting,” Fitz said.  He led the way across the road, dodging a pair of tiny cars carrying young men with no hope in their eyes, and pushed the cafe door open.  “We get a bite to eat, dump the data to the ship...and we wait.”

The interior of the cafe almost made Mariko recoil.  On Edo, or on any other core world, it would have been shut down as a hazard to public health.  The genetic engineering in her system had its limits, she knew, and eating something from this cafe would push them right to the limits.  A huge stick of meat rotated in front of a glowing cooker, surrounded by a horde of flies that seemed intent on crawling all over the food before it could be served to the cafe’s human patrons. 

Not that there
were
many patrons. 

Mariko had the impression that the locals generally knew better than to buy food at such an unhealthy place.  There were only two other men in the cafe and they were both drinking beer at an astonishing rate.

“I think I’ve lost my appetite,” she said, as they sat down on a pair of filthy seats.  “You can't mean for us to
eat
here?”

“Maybe that part of the plan needs revision,” Fitz agreed.

The waitress tromped over towards them.  She was short, fat and utterly unhygienic.

Mariko took one look at her hands and resolved never to eat anything she might have touched.  It was a minor miracle that she hadn't killed anyone through food poisoning.  Of course, most of the planet’s inhabitants would have improved immune systems spliced into their DNA.  They’d be able to eat the food, even shake hands with the waitress.  They just wouldn't enjoy it very much. 

“Two
sealed
cans of Coke-Cola, please,” Fitz told the waitress.  The waitress nodded and ambled away.