Page 49 of Pets in Space 10
“Okay, I’ll go first.” She quickly summarized what she’d discovered.
“Tikka’s hint was a good one. I think the fast-track project was inspired by a twenty-six-year-old shelved drug concept called Yagimiruki, which translates to ‘Goat Milk’ in Standard English.
Maybe they didn’t use project numbers back then?
Anyway, I suspect someone was trying to scrub that from HM-8544’s records, which made the mess.
References to Goat Milk are fragments at best, but 8544 and Goat Milk share a curious similarity.
The compound data modeling results for both” — she quickly called up the phrase on her tablet — “said ‘potentially persistent negative pharmacokinetic or neurokinetic effects in primary and orthogonal formulas.’ Does that mean anything to you?”
One eyebrow raised. “In a veterinary drug, that would mean bad side effects.” His mouth tightened. “In human medicine, that implies high addiction risk.”
Amalena sighed. “Damn. I was hoping I was just taking a brief side trip on the conspiracy skytrain.” She shook her head.
“We really need to see the archives. But if we’re about to be reassigned or terminated, there’s no way they’ll let us anywhere near them.
And there’s no way they’d believe us now if we said why we really wanted them. ”
An unreadable series of expressions flitted across his face. “I might be stepping onto your skytrain, but I think the CPS might be interested in leasing the concept.”
“The Citizen Protection Service?” The idea seemed far-fetched. “Why?”
On the screen, his movements suggested he’d started walking.
“My older brother is an Institute-trained telepath and a CPS field agent. We shared a family-owned apartment for seven years on Suun Asraya while I took my B-levels and got my first two jobs. He often invited his fellow CPS students and later coworkers over to party or blow off steam. Most of them were condescending jerks.” He let out a short, humorless laugh.
“They have an unmistakable… attitude, I guess you’d say.
The people I’ve been seeing in the conference rooms with Sainik?
Same attitude. I thought I was imagining things.
” He shook his head. “Most people only know the CPS from the Testing Centers, but the agency is massive. They have many missions and millions of minders on their payroll. People with higher-level talents are put on enhancement drugs, and sometimes it takes several combinations to get it right. The point is, 8544 is new and psychoactive, even if it’s just a concept.
The CPS can afford an exclusive license if it proves viable. ”
Amalena frowned in confusion. “Why would they gamble a megacorp’s ransom for a potential drug that could take years to develop? One that could turn out to have permanent addictive qualities?”
“From what I’ve seen, the CPS would consider that a plus. They don’t like to let their employees go.” He snorted derisively. “Addiction would be extra insurance to ensure loyalty.”
Just because she couldn’t see how a government agency could get away with doing that didn’t mean it wasn’t happening.
The implication was too big to think about.
She blew out a noisy breath and re-focused on a wrong she could hope to do something about.
“We can’t prove or disprove any of this without seeing the Goat Milk data.
But they’ll never grant access.” She rolled her eyes.
“Especially since, as of the day after tomorrow, we are both managers without teams.”
“Hmmm.” Gaerynx looked thoughtful. “The project is old enough that it might be in the company’s physical archives.”
Amalena blinked. “We have physical archives?”
“We did six years ago. It was in my orientation briefing. They cited disaster recovery and data degradation. Hard copies of everything older than ten years are in a secure, climate-controlled facility.”
She rolled her eyes. “Since my department is only six years old, they probably figured I didn’t need to know.” Because information gatekeeping was always so helpful.
A large flitter with a piercing engine whine loud enough to rattle her flitter’s canopy made a sloppy landing about thirty meters from where she was parked. “Sorry about the noise. How some people pass flight competency tests, I’ll never know.”
His eyes widened. “I think I have an idea…” His voice trailed off, and his lips thinned. “I’ll get back to you on that.”
She started to ask for details, then stopped herself.
Collecting and analyzing information made her feel like she was in control, but knowing something didn’t mean she could do anything about it.
Finding out her ex had been using the nonprofit organization to launder profits for himself and his sleazy friends had proved that.
Gaerynx wasn’t shutting her down; he just wasn’t ready to tell her.
Or maybe he was even protecting her. Her ex hadn’t done that, either.
It came down to trust. Their relationship… her mind stumbled over that word. Okay, their temporary alliance depended on it.
“Sounds good,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “You look for the archives. I’ll keep digging on my end. Let’s see what rattles loose.” Remembering her earlier frustration, she added, “Wait. Could we set a time to check in tonight?”
“Good idea. How about twenty-one hundred or so?” There was a vulnerable quality to his smile that did something to her heart.
“Great.” She reached for the disconnect before her hopeful heart thought of other things she could say to make him smile again.
Fortunately for her peace of mind, her more practical stomach reminded her that she still hadn’t made it to the café, and she would definitely need fuel to face the rest of the day.
***
An insistent, cascading chime dragged Amalena from the depths of sleep.
She blinked, disoriented, the words on her datapad blurring into nonsense.
Merix’s gentle paws were kneading her forearm, accompanied by almost kittenish meows he used to bring something to her attention.
She’d been reading a popular overview of human pharmacology to distract herself and must have nodded off in the soft, plump chair.
“Clever kitty,” she mumbled, stroking Merix’s shoulders.
Her housecomp was still chiming, signaling an incoming ping from Gaerynx. She glanced at the time displayed on the wall. Nearly twenty-three hundred. Two hours after they were supposed to connect. She’d pinged him at the time and ten minutes later, but gotten no response.
“Accept call,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. She sat up and breathed deeply to help get her brain going. She hoped her hair didn’t look like Merix had groomed her again.
Gaerynx’s image materialized on the wall display.
He was at home, a view of his living room behind him, all clean lines and bold colors.
He was shrugging off a casual dark jacket, revealing a tailored green tunic underneath.
The camera tracked his movement with a smooth, fluid motion that made Amalena think it might be one of the new floating types.
He looked exhausted, the lines of stress around his eyes too deep for his polite smile to hide.
He sat on a sleek, low-slung couch and rubbed his jaw. “Sorry I’m so late. Things got complicated.”
“No problem.” She shifted, carefully dislodging a now-protesting Merix, who hopped to the floor with a disgruntled flick of his tail. “Is everything okay?”
He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Define ‘okay.’ I found the physical archives in the main building’s basement.”
“Really? In the building?” Hope pierced through her fatigue. “That’s great.”
“Not really. When I got the door open, all that was left of them was slagged metal and ashes.”
A seep of cold settled in her stomach. “Holy shit.”
“Recent, too. The room was still hot and smoky. Smelled like a forest fire. I backed out and reported it to campus security. Two guards showed up and wanted me to wait for the head of security to arrive for a personal interview. I told them I’d write a detailed report and send it to them this evening, then got out and ordered an autocab.
” He sighed. “I just got home. I’ll write the report after I feed Pavrel, but I wanted to call you first. I’ll send you a copy, too, before they think to tell me it’s a corporate security secret or something. ”
She shook her head. “This is craz—”
The view of Gaerynx suddenly changed to a higher angle.
A moment later, a sand-colored feline with ridiculously long, tufted ears leaped onto the couch, then toward the camera.
Amalena briefly saw a closeup of the kulak’s brown-black nose and a flash of paw pad as the camera apparently dodged and Pavrel landed on something that made a crashing sound.
Gaerynx threw his hands up in the air and glared to his left.
A laugh escaped Amalena. “He’s very curious.”
“He’s a menace.” Pavrel came into view again by putting his large paws on Gaerynx’s thigh, then jumping onto Gaerynx’s legs and settling down. A classic feline “you still love me, right?” move if ever she saw one.
Gaerynx smiled ruefully as he rubbed behind the kulak’s ears. “It’s my own fault. I wasn’t thinking about precocious predators when I splurged on the camera. He thinks it’s his job to investigate.” His eyes glanced left again. “Apparently, it’s my job to clean up after him.” The smile faded.
“How did you even know where to look for the records?” Amalena asked, pulling a throw blanket over her legs in the suddenly chilly room.
“One of my previous jobs. The founders were cooking the books. A wily coworker taught me to look for paper records in the first place. It’s a tradition in the pharma industry to keep paper copies, even though the digital records are authoritative.
It doesn’t make sense, but it’s like a point of pride to do it, even for the multi-planet megacorps.
Some myth about ‘paper is truth,’ I guess.
Anyway, my coworker and I found the storage facility and talked our way in.
Those records ended up exonerating both of us when the planetary government investigators almost charged us with fraud along with the cheating founders.
” His expression turned sour. “My prolific job history probably has me at the top of the security chief’s watch list.”
“I’m sorry you’ve had bad luck in the jobs department. It especially tanks when it’s not your fault.” Amalena gave him a small smile. “But I have to admit, I’m glad you picked up some useful knowledge and skills.”
“Er, thanks,” he said, apparently surprised by her praise.
“I can’t believe the timing isn’t connected.
The fire stretches coincidence beyond all recognition,” Amalena said finally.
“Sainik, Dequer, or one of their crew must have remembered the paper records could trip them up. Even though I’ve been careful, maybe they figured out what I’ve been data-diving for and panicked.
Or maybe they thought of it earlier and scheduled the destruction and hoped it wouldn’t be discover for a few ten-days.
You just had the bad luck to find it within hours. ”
“Either way, our evidence just went up in smoke,” Gaerynx said. He looked utterly defeated. “I don’t know what to do next.”
She wanted to make him feel better, but didn’t know how. “Me neither.” Exhaustion made her limbs sluggish. “We’re both running on fumes. Let’s sleep on it. Maybe a fresh perspective in the morning will help.”
He nodded. The raw vulnerability in his expression made her heart ache. “Good idea. We’ll regroup tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice softer than she intended. “Get some rest, Gaerynx.”
“You too, Amalena.”
The connection ended, and his image faded from the wall, leaving her alone in the quiet of her empty living room. She had the absurd impulse to call Gaerynx back just to hear his voice, and maybe tell him she appreciated his honesty and strength.
As she slid into her bed, she considered her sparsely furnished space. She’d been so proud to afford this townhouse on her own, a tangible symbol of her recovery from disaster. Now, with her job — and maybe RyoGenomica itself — on such shaky ground, she felt lost.
A soft weight landed on the bed beside her.
Merix eased his way into the curve of her body and stretched long against her chest and stomach, his purr a low, comforting rumble.
She stroked his dense, darkly striped fur, deeply grateful for the simple, uncomplicated affection.
He was her furry rock with a fluffy tail.
Deep in her secret heart, she admitted she longed to be snuggling up to Gaerynx, too.