Jack Dagiri walked the halls of the production facility, with Nellie on a leash. As he walked his pet, he could detect the familiar odors permeating the air: a combination of chemicals and sweat.
Lining the entire length of the warehouse, stacked cases of Elation filled one side. On the other side, he could see the workers operating the production machinery—tubes rose up from this area, carrying the Elation in its pure form to another area for final processing.
Dagiri looked above at the tubes and followed the black goo with his eyes as it traveled across his warehouse. The workers on the receiving end scrambled to operate the controls—perhaps sensing that their slave-driver was nearby.
Dagiri would have been happy to replace all of the worthless fringe scum with robots if he could. Unfortunately, the robot machinery was more expensive than the scum, and with the outlawing of A.I., it was difficult to make the robots smart enough for the job; not to mention, such a purchase would attract too much attention to his operation.
There was a bright side, though. Society’s own production of fringe scum would always provide him with an endless supply of workers.
Dagiri walked by a group, all wearing facemasks, who were working on a section of wall. It took him a moment to realize that they were pulling down what remained of the supervisor he had crucified on the wall days ago. It was then that the smell of feces and the onset of human decay hit his senses.
The workers noticed him for the first time and stopped cold. Nellie sniffed the air and her ears perked up. The dead supervisor, though, was not an Elation addict, so his meat would not be suitable for her.
Dagiri gave them a smile and a nod, and they continued with their morbid task. At that moment, Steve hurried up to him with a datapad. Dagiri watched him approach, both wondering what his lapdog had for him this time and also fighting the urge to sic Nellie on him for the sheer pleasure it would bring him.
Steve stopped, keeping his distance from Nellie.
“Yes?” Dagiri said, turning his attention back to the workers stuffing the body into a bag.
Steve followed his gaze, covering his nose in disgust. “Sir, I have some information we obtained from the UEP database.” His voice came out whinier than usual. He reached over on tiptoes as he handed him the datapad.
“So we still own the UEP systems, I see.”
The data was a report showing private communications to UEP Navy forces regarding a mobilization near the Venusian superstation Venus-1. He paged through the data and stopped suddenly as he saw a picture of the A.I. relic. The orders for the UEP forces were to operate covertly to apprehend the device or destroy it as a last resort.
The report further advised that the device was in the hands of a wanted group of criminals who were also responsible for numerous pirate raids. The plan seemed to entail capturing and interrogating members of the organization to learn the location of the device.
He handed the datapad back to Steve. He then touched his wrist-link, and a holographic image appeared. Hargo’s rugged face looked back at him.
“Yes, sir,” Hargo said.
“What is the status on the hackers?”
Hargo paused for a moment. “We have the hideout within sight, but have to keep our distance. There’s a Martian Civic Guardian investigating it. I see explosive damage to the door. I think they escaped, sir.”
Dagiri’s face flushed. “Escaped… or captured?”
“We got here just as the Guardian arrived, and they didn’t take anybody out. They must have escaped.”
“We’ll deal with that later,” Dagiri said, trying to calm himself down in the process of articulating his words. “You need to go immediately to Aphrodite Springs on Venus-1. Something’s about to happen there. I’ll send you the data. I suspect our stolen prize is there, along with the thieves who took it.”
“Affirmative, sir.”
“And Hargo,” Dagiri said, “we will discuss this and your previous failure with the cargo when you get back. It will be a more favorable discussion if this does not turn out to be a failure as well.”