Logan sat looking at the terminal, the blinking input request gently lighting up the darkness around him. He had been staring at it for a few hours now, his mind twirling around the possible search parameters seeking the best solution. The pale sky of the evening had given way to the black of night. A bright-colored sign flared to life, sending neon yellow light shining into his room.
"Fucking damn it!" He blurted, the blinding light shaking him out of his concentration. "Blinds... Blinds!.... Close Blinds!!" he repeated, getting slightly agitated. There was a slow whirr as blinds began to stem the invading light. "Damn, VIs never listen when you need them," he thought.
Virtual Intelligence had been around for centuries, an offshoot of research into true AIs. They were capable of simple tasks or complex processing and problem-solving given a specific data set to work with. They were specifically labeled and marketed as unable to learn or develop beyond the particular fields of data provided. The United Colonial Government closely monitored their manufacturing and development; no one wanted another AI uprising. VIs were everywhere and used in just about every avenue of life, including the crappy VI that refused to close the blinds when he asked. You get what you pay for, though, and he didn't think this was the best model, probably not, considering where he was staying.
Logan got up and headed toward the fridge for a drink. He had been on Bendraar for three weeks without finding his target. Logan was usually able to wrap things up in a week or two and submit a report to get payment. Being paid per job was certainly not ideal, especially since he was meant to be a government employee. Funds were getting a little tight
Being an auditor, at least one at his level, was not glamorous work; but there were upsides. Auditors got to travel and see quite a few different worlds, free transport on any naval vessel going in the direction they needed, access to relatively decent health care, and a permit to carry a weapon even in usually restricted areas if needed. They had an extensive job description. There were auditors for almost everything one could think of, but most jobs fell into two general categories: death and taxes.
If a medical drug harmed or killed people, an auditor would probably eventually show up at the company's headquarters to review their files. If they were also dodging taxes, they could expect a handful of less friendly auditors to help figure out the problem and fix it. Usually forcefully. It's fair to say the UCG cared more about tax dodging than medical malpractice, but it would probably depend on who got hurt and how influential they were.
Auditors functioned like investigators with some enforcement duties depending on the level and type of case they were working on. Local law enforcement and auditors usually didn't get along; almost anything involving government funds or activities fell into an auditor's jurisdiction.
Logan grabbed a Vortex seltzer from the fridge, opened it, and walked back to the terminal. The gentle fizzing of the cold drink made him realize his thirst.
He had been searching for one individual, a construction foreman named George Kraz, who had been skimming credits here and there from planetary government construction jobs. His activity was quickly noticed but buried under a list of higher-profile cases.
The UCG was huge compared to the severity of the infraction; in fact, the Government's budget was padded to account for small levels of corruption and pocket-lining. There wasn't any time or resources for the USG to go after everyone guilty of corruption, so it tended to look the other way for minor infractions and hoped an auditor would eventually get to it.
The Colonial Audit Service was created during a time of turmoil. The scars of the AI uprising were still healing, and there were constant skirmishes with the Stex as Earth struggled to form colonies beyond the core worlds. Government oversight was stretched thin as it struggled to control the corporations, widespread corruption and crime on distant planets. That was almost 500 years ago.
In the last few months, George had seemingly been desperate for credits. The amounts he had taken and tried to hide rose sharply, bumping him up in the proverbial auditor queue as soon as the discrepancies were noticed. Subsequently, the file landed in Logan's hands.
Logan's problem was that he couldn't find him. He was confident George hadn't made it off-world. None of his credit accounts had been touched in over two weeks. No prior payments or transfers led back to anything shady. At least not shady enough to indicate he was smuggled off the planet.
The blinking input request still gently flashed, waiting for the string of words that would lead Logan to his target. He drank his seltzer, the carbonated water swirling into a vortex as he lifted the bottle. An interesting branding trick that worked; people loved a gimmick.
He had visited George's office, apartment, known hangouts, and the past ten construction projects he had either worked on or been involved with, even slightly. It's like he vanished and decided he didn't need the credits anymore. Or he was dead, and Logan was chasing a ghost.
Logan sighed and sat, pulling up George's recent communications and going over them the third time. They were a little disjointed and showed an onset of paranoia and fear as the date of his disappearance approached. Mentions of 'hearing them' and 'they are coming for us' became more common. George was afraid of something, but it wasn't clear what.
A general search showed a slew of new missing person reports across the planet in the last 30 days, probably raising an eyebrow somewhere, but George wasn't one of them. Looking at the communications again didn't spark anything. Logan hoped to notice something he missed, but nothing was popping out. The input request blinked calmly at him.
Foundation repair, ventilation system installation, mag-lev tunnel construction, and lift repair were on the list of the last projects George had overseen. These were unimportant except for the extension of a mag-lev train track section and the corresponding tunnel on Level eight of the tower block Logan was currently in. He typed a few phrases into his terminal, and after a moment of searching, it returned the pre-construction diagrams of the tunnel and the current technical readouts. Taking both, he tossed them in the air, materializing as a 3D representation overlaid on each other.
A conveniently small device, the terminal was an auditor's best friend. It was Logan's link to the Colonial Audit Service database anywhere in Colonial space, providing access to specific local systems and services if required. It was capable of projecting information and 3D data manipulation.
He had looked at the schematics before, searching for inconsistencies or additional sections that may have been added as a hideout, but everything lined up perfectly. The tunnel ran through a pre-planned section on Level eight to house a mag-lev track when this block was built. Temporary supports were placed in the tunnel's location until construction began, but the surrounding walls were almost three thousand feet of solid Durasteel to support the tower spire above. There was nowhere to hide; Logan was sure of it. He looked them over again for a few minutes before pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Where the hell had George gone?
A light chime from the Glass on his wrist pulled him from his thoughts. At first, he thought it must have been Mera, his Colonial Audit Service handler asking for another update since he was running behind schedule. He was surprised to see Lilith's name on the call.
The Universal Glass Door Communications Device or 'Glass' sat comfortably in a special holder on his wrist. It could also be conveniently held in hand and was about as thin as a piece of glass, if not a smidge thicker.
Logan accepted the call and was immediately treated to the lovely, if a little gaunt, face of Lilith smiling at him from the communications window projected in front of him. The window allowed the viewer to see above the collarbones of the person they were talking to.
"Good timing! I was about to rip my hair out," he joked. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Lilith smiled back at him. "I concluded some business and noticed you were available for a direct connection. I thought I would see what you were up to. It's been a while."
The top right of his window showed this to be true; they were on a direct rather than a costly interplanetary connection. She was on Bendraar.
"What are the odds? It certainly has been a little while. I'm currently on a job and hit a wall." Logan gave her a weary smile but attempted to show he was pleased to hear from her.
"How about I save you and your precious hair, and we grab a bite to eat? It would be nice to catch up." Her smile never seemed to fade even as she spoke.
Lilith was a fairly attractive woman. She had dark purple hair that fell past her shoulders, framing her oval face, fair skin, and slightly mismatched lips, with the top being a little larger than the bottom. What drew attention to Lilith was her eyes, soft violet, like clear polished amethysts that almost sparkled. The top of her breasts was visible at the bottom of the window. Logan blinked quickly and looked back up at her.
"That sounds like a great distraction. Did you have somewhere in mind?" Logan blurted out.
"I'm sort of in the mood for noodles. I know a place on Level six near Benton Plaza. It's a bit of a hole in the wall, but they serve good stuff," she said with a slightly inaudible laugh.
Logan sighed; she had noticed where he was looking. "How does thirty or forty minutes sound? I'll have a quick shower and meet you there."
"Perfect. I'm looking forward to it. I'll send you the navpoint." She gave him a big smile and waved as the call disconnected. His Glass chimed, showing an attached address for a shop called 'Oodles of Noodles.' He rolled his eyes.
Logan stepped into the shower and let the hot water run down his body. He was average in most ways, maybe a little under in others. Standing at five feet six inches, Logan was marginally shorter than most men but never let it bother him. His height never stopped him from doing work; if anything, it was an advantage as people usually underestimated him. He was a little rugged-looking with a square jaw, a clean-shaven face and slender enough with broad shoulders and a little pudge here and there. Overall, he was in decent shape.
After showering, Logan looked in the mirror. At 32, he didn't look his age. His dirty-blond hairstyle was an undercut, longer in the front and shorter in the back, with a styled fringe on the left. Green eyes looked out from his face. He thought it might be time to grow the old beard again. He hastily dressed in comfortable clothes, grabbed his jacket and terminal, then headed out the door.
Benton Plaza sounded nice, but it was a pretty name slapped on an enclosed square below one of the large towers that defined Bendraar's capital city. It was up five levels in a different block than he was. It would probably take him 20 minutes to get there using the transit system. The trains were incredibly fast, but they often sat at the station for a few minutes before racing to their next destination.
From the elevator window, as he slowly ascended a few levels, Logan could see the layers of the lower city nestled below the tower spires that defined each block. Rows of apartments went down roughly forty levels before ending at a metal slab that housed this block's core systems. Ventilation tunnels, power conduits, water processing, and other systems wound their way through each tower spire before diving into the slab that supported the block above it.
