Prime Guardian by J.S. Morin & M.A. Larkin

Author:J.S. Morin & M.A. Larkin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Magical Scrivener Press

In the bowels of YF-77, a disused redundant computer core kept records of everything that went on aboard the station. A throwback to the Maho Saigai mantra of “keep it all, just in case,” the system was designed to hoard data on geological findings, visitor logs, financial transactions, encrypted comm traffic, and just about anything else the corporate stiffs thought might be valuable someday. If Solar Banking Committee regulators showed up to sift their data, the higher-ups liked the option of providing definitive proof that they were innocent.

Data could always get “corrupted” if it didn’t agree with the corporate narrative.

Now, Kane was crawling through the access shafts, hooking up data siphons wherever he could. This was a restricted area, so the Tiny Tyrant wouldn’t imagine he could still get in. Pillaging Jace’s false accounts hadn’t just locked the techster out of YF-77’s guts. It had given Kane a back way in—one that didn’t require his revoked station chief’s credentials to access.

“You know, Hiroko-chan,” Kane said to the data cable as it sucked secrets out of the station’s computer core for later sale. “We could have worked this shit out if you’d played ball. Could’ve even made it look legit. Blaster-rifle wedding. A kid or three. Amicable divorce with me getting the station and you taking the Rucker files … you might even have enjoyed it.” He hitched up his belt. “Had to go and play hardball.”

He’d already marked the astral lanes for his next gig. A certain political ally of Harold Schmidt now had a copy of the less-incriminating—but still highly suspicious—audio recordings that would damn Fujita when Kane handed over the rest. But Kane wasn’t handing over a goddamn thing until he was safely on Mars and part of the Witness Identity Safeguard Protocol. It was hard to envision himself as a WISP, but that sounded a damn sight better than wedging himself between the remnants of the Maho Saigai Mining Concern and the Rucker Syndicate. Especially since he was currently using an alias that the Ruckers had provided.

A siphon blinked green. Crawling over, Kane unplugged it and hooked it to the next core.

If anyone was paying attention and had an advanced scanner array, they might have noticed an inordinate amount of data beaming off YF-77 and into the Black Ocean. If they were clever, bored, and gave a shit, they might even work out that it was being received at a rental data storage site orbiting Kepler-22b. Kane’s digital accounts had plenty of terras to keep the data until he landed on his feet.

On the floor beside him, Kane’s datapad chimed. The surprise made him jump, hitting his head on the low ceiling. He swore and rubbed the lump already forming before picking up the datapad to see who the hell still had the gall to call him.

It was Kendra.

“Fuck’s sake …” He opened the comm. “What?”

“Sorry to bother you,” Kendra said. “But I’m still new at this job. Steve Carpenter is claiming you gave him verbal authorization for taking today off but never got around to logging it before … well, you know.

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