Every individual necessarily labours to render the annual revenue of society as great as he can. He generally neither intends to promote the public interest, nor knows how much he is promoting it. He intends only his own gain, and he is, in this, as in many other cases, led by an invisible hand to promote an end which was no part of his intention.
– Adam Smith, Wealth of Nations
Sheriff Danny Spaulding reviewed invoices at his desk, morning coffee within reach, when a new message flashed on his screen. He touched the icon, and a message indicated Deputy Ben Davis’ report was filed. He entered their CAD system and opened the document.
Not bad, he thought as he skimmed through. Concise. Good level of detail. Follows procedures well. Not much bad grammar.
The coverage of the death in the paper this morning was only a little more detailed than yesterday. Of course, it hit the feeds within minutes of the call to Rusty Winters, but Vargas hadn’t been very communicative with the local reporter, and Spaulding made a brief statement last night.
They’d called several times this morning looking for more detail, and Spaulding held them off by saying the paperwork hadn’t been completed yet. Now where was Vargas’ report?
He knew this would irritate the senior investigator, but this was one of Spaulding’s pet peeves. The timely entry of quality data into their system was the only thing between the successful prosecution of a solid case or a crappy one with a perp skating free. He’d seen it again and again: bewitched by technology, and assuming that a fancy system of one kind or another would compensate for human failings, people mishandling software, entering sloppy information, and then having it bite them on the backside later when the discrepancies or faulty analysis derailed a perfectly winnable case. He tapped his screen and Vargas’ face appeared.
“What’s up, Sheriff?”
Spaulding could see from the background Vargas was still at home. Christ, at least he’s not in his pajamas. “How’s that report coming for Cyrus?”
“Still working on it.” Vargas stared at him, the passive aggressive defiance barely concealed. This was becoming a more frequent event with the older holdovers, and Spaulding was getting tired of it.
“So give me the summary. What happened out there?”
Vargas shrugged. “Looks like a B&E gone bad. He left his place unlocked, someone came in. He came home, things went south, they took off.”
“Davis said it looked like nothing was missing.”
“Oh, did he now?”
Spaulding let it slide. “So, was there? What did the rest of the house look like?”
Vargas shrugged again. “Just like the kid said. Everything was fine. Cyrus dead in the kitchen. No forced entry. All the valuables in place. He must have walked in on them right after they got in.”
“How’d they get to the house? Tire tracks? Footprints?”
“Uh, I have to go back out there. We mostly focused on the kitchen and the points of entry.”
“He’s a long way off the road. They had to get there somehow. You talk to his wife yet, or the kids?”
“Left a message with Tracy at her place in Burley. Messaged the kids, haven’t heard back yet. People say they didn’t talk much.”
“But Tracy was in town just recently, wasn’t she? She and Cyrus get into it again?”
“Not that I know, but I’ll check.” Vargas scowled, then caught himself and looked away. “Anything else?”
Spaulding gritted his teeth at having to spoonfeed a supposedly experienced detective. “Yeah, three things.” He held up three fingers. “Money. I know Cyrus was behind on some of his payments. Find out who he owed. Maybe he did something stupid to pay his bills.” He put a finger down. “Legal. Didn’t he have a lawsuit against the lab, something about an argument about a fenceline and his grandfather’s deed?” He put the second finger down.
Vargas interjected. “I think he lost that. Missed the deadlines to make a claim, screwed up the paperwork somehow, eminent domain. You know how it is with the feds. But that was a while ago…”
Spaulding tapped the screen with the last finger, interrupting him. “…and three – what about the fossil?”
Vargas just stared, almost defiant.
Spaulding arched an eyebrow. “Think it had anything to with that?”
Vargas exhaled audibly through is nose, eyes darting to the side. “I guess that’s possible. I’ll look into that, and the other stuff too,” Vargas concluded and disconnected.
Spaulding shook his head.
I’ve got to train up some more detectives.
Chapter 28
The role of Western individualism in Grendel culture and how it influenced the incident in Idaho is still a subject of intense academic debate. Would events have transpired differently had they been indoctrinated with different traditions? Is this another indictment of the violence some claim as inherent in the western tradition that drove colonial conquests, or do they represent the finest impulses of individual liberty? The claims made by political factions on the Grendels are only superseded by the wider rejection of their very existence.
– Political Theories of Transhuman Culture, California Institute of Technology Press
Ajax sat in front of one of the many screens on the walls around the training area displaying the flickering images of flames, this from a wood fire in a snowy field, looped to continuously display. In the dancing light, he assumed the meditative pose the grendels often assumed in front of the fire images and spoke soft and low into the hidden receiver.
“The little ones learn their lessons well, Abba. They master the field problems faster every trial.”
A group of the young warriors sat nearby, resting during a break in a conditioning period. Panting and murmured fragments of conversations provided a covering background, but Ajax was careful to keep his whispers directed at the hidden microphone. Abba’s response was barely audible over the other noise save for Ajax’s acute sense of hearing.
“I am pleased. Advance them as fast as you think prudent. What of the others?”
“More training is always better, but when the time comes……” Ajax hesitated.
“Yes?”
“I think we are ready.”
Ajax thought he heard a deep sigh and waited.
“Not yet, Ajax. Soon, but not yet.”
“But Abba….” Ajax responded, just as the others resumed their training, the clanging of exercise equipment and hoots and grunting filling the yard. Ajax leaned closer to continue without raising his voice.
“Xerxes speaks of weakness, and Telemachos of honoring Caesar’s death, observing the rites. Their restless voices break the harmony, distract the young ones and keep them off balance.”
“Remind Xerxes of the consequences of disobedience. Caesar’s actions were rash, and jeopardize the welfare of all. He of all should understand that. For Telemachos, I don’t know…”
Ajax waited.
Finally, Abba spoke. “Soon. Tell them to keep to the plan. Soon. I must go.”
Ajax remained in front of the flickering screen, head down. The sense of impending change was exhilarating, but the note of uncertainty in Abba’s voice was as unsettling as the prospect of freedom.
In Ajax’s world, there were two truths: his certainty that a larger world existed beyond the walls, and that Abbawas the only who answered his questions and seemed to care about all the Laos, his brothers, and especially the sisters, held in conditions far worse than the rest endured. It was Abba who intervened when the guards beat one of the Elders, failing in health from the infirmities of their creation and unable to comply with some arbitrary order. While the younglings watched, Ajax among them, the Elder staggered under the blows until Abba ran out to physically intervene, shouting at the guards.
It was Abba who led the first instruction with the sagas and stories, younglings huddled around. When the story of Grendel and Beowulf was the lesson they all devoured, Ajax remembered the sad smile on Abba’s face when one of the students declared, ‘We are the grendels.’
And now it was Abba who secretly nurtured and guided their burning desire for freedom, and the necessary rebellion to achieve it. The burden of responsibility for the choice, the risk of calamity and death brought on the Laos, weighed heavily on Ajax. It was some comfort to see that it was shared, and appeared to weigh even more heavily on Abba. Freedom and death, or continued life in this cage. With Abba’s help, Ajax knew the choice was clear.
***
Abrams hunched over the old style keyboard he still used, tapping instructions, revising lines of code, saving here, deleting there. He opened the training schedules for the next day and reviewed the task list. He made a few corrections, nothing major, but just enough to leave a trail that casual review would suggest he was the author of any discrepancies that might surface in an audit. Now that he was aware of his unseen collaborator, he wanted to ensure whoever it was remained concealed to all but him.
He knew Dr. Isaac played some part. How Isaac knew Abrams’ intentions was unclear, and his questions and research interests hinted at an agenda much larger than manipulating the genetic information for the benefit of Steven Cole’s ego and the Biological Combat Systems program. But this was different. Despite his non-response to Abrams earlier question, he still remained the most likely suspect for the other system security changes Abrams discovered. Did Isaac have other collaborators inside the organization? Were they assisting him with Abrams’ plan as well?
He returned to the latest discrepancy he discovered, an asymmetry in a list of network IDs. Something about the list looked off.
From all his own skulking within the system and track covering, he knew the list of network admins well, and he’d reviewed this list many times, two symmetric blocks of ID’s with a column of names, two blocks of two columns, an even number of entries in each.
Except now one column was longer, the symmetry destroyed. There was an extra entry in that list somewhere, and he didn’t make it.
Chapter 29
Robert Wack 