Fugitive Telemetry (The Murderbot Diaries #6)(6)

Tural said, “I didn’t know that.” They leaned in with the scanner and took a tiny sample from the deceased’s coat.

Indah’s frown had deepened. She said, “So the clothes could indicate cultural origin, or have been chosen to blend in on some other station or system. Or just be a fashion whim.”

Don’t look at me like that’s my fault. I’m just telling you shit I know.

Tural studied the fabric analysis report. “You’re right, this is recycler fabric. It could have come from a store like that.”

“Or a transport.” They both stared at me. I said, “Some transports have very sophisticated onboard recyclers.”

Indah pressed her lips together. Look, I know I wasn’t narrowing it down, but you have to consider all possibilities. She said, “Can the clothes tell us anything?”

Well, sure. “The deceased wasn’t afraid of being noticed. Or they wanted to look like they weren’t afraid of being noticed. They wanted to look like a visitor.” Humans from the planet wore all kinds of things, but on the station the most common were the work/casual pants, short jacket, and a short or long shirt or tunic, and the more formal long robes or caftans in solid colors with patterned trim. Bright multicolored patterns like this were unusual enough to stand out. “There are two ways to move through station transit rings if you’re afraid someone’s watching for you. You can try to fade into the background, which is much easier to do if there’s a crowd. You can also make yourself look distinctive, like someone who isn’t worried about being seen.” I would never have been able to pull it off. But an actual human with actual human body language who didn’t have to worry about the energy weapons in their arms pinging weapons scanners might. “You have to be ready to change out your clothes and appearance. You would always need to look like you came from somewhere else.” Which was easy enough to do on big stations with lots of automated shops.

Tural’s expression had gone from frustrated to thoughtful and even Indah looked speculative. Tural said, “Medical should check to see if this person’s skin or hair color was altered recently.”

Indah looked down at the body. “Hmm. If I saw this person swinging along the walkway, I’d think they were a legitimate visitor and not give them a second thought.”

Uh-huh, and that’s why I needed to oversee Mensah’s security. I said, “You need a travel bag, too.” It sounded facetious, but it really was important. If this human’s distinctness had been a disguise, they needed a bag. A bag implied you had somewhere to go, it helped you fit in. I checked the images my drones had collected of the area surrounding this junction, but there was no stray discarded bag. “If the idea was to look like a visitor, there should be a bag.”

“Can’t hurt to look.” Indah stepped back and said into her comm, “I need a check of the immediate area, and a station-wide check at lost-and-found depots. We’re looking for anything resembling a travel bag.” She paused to listen to her feed and added, “Pathology is here. We need to get out of the way.”

Tural asked, “Can I take the broken interface for analysis? The scene’s been scanned and position-mapped.”

Indah nodded. “Take it.”

Tural hesitated, glanced at me, but Indah told me, “That’s enough for now. We’ll call you if we need you.”

I know a “fuck off” when I hear one. So I fucked off.





Chapter Three



MY FIRST JOB AS a consultant for Station Security had turned into a non-event, which was completely unsurprising. They really didn’t want me here and whatever Mensah said, they weren’t going to suddenly change their minds.

No access to private station systems was just the first restriction. The second was that I had to not conceal my identity. Not that I had been actively concealing it. Mensah’s staff, family, and the council had been told what I was; it was just the rest of the station who either hadn’t noticed me or thought I was Mensah’s security consultant. Station Security had wanted me to implement a public feed ID and they had wanted to put out a public safety warning notifying Station personnel and residents that there was a SecUnit running around loose. Mensah had refused to consider the public safety notice, but in one of the stupid meetings with Indah she had asked, “What exactly would this feed ID say?”

It gave me a 1.2 percent performance reliability drop. I tapped Pin-Lee’s feed and sent to her, Make a legal thing so I don’t have to do that.

She sent back, Mensah has to give them something, but she sent to Mensah, It doesn’t want the feed ID.

Humans and augmented humans can have null feed IDs. I knew from my shows that it meant different things depending on what polity, station, area, etc., they lived in. Here on Preservation it meant “please don’t interact with me.” It was perfect. And I’d already agreed not to hack their systems, what the fuck else could they want?

Senior Indah said, “The feed ID doesn’t need to say anything other than what everyone else’s says, just name, gender, and…” She trailed off. She was looking at me and I was looking at her.

Pin-Lee pointed out, “Everyone else who has a feed ID has one voluntarily. Consensually, one might say.”

Senior Indah stopped looking at me to glare at Pin-Lee. “All we’re asking for is a name.”