Here is a line for those who like to note if they are First Time Readers (FTR) or Re-Readers (RR).
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I carried a heavy case through the hallway of a rather rundown building. What could anyone have possibly wanted with a spaceship database this old? This thing was so outdated that it still had manual override switches on it, and they'd demanded it be purged of all data not just once, but three times.
It had taken me weeks to track down this specific model even with all my connections, so it was no wonder they hadn't been able to find one. But the payment they offered was quite generous, and if they were doing something shady, there were all sorts of rewards nowadays for giving the Enforcement agencies information on criminal rings and their activities.
I avoided staring directly at the clumsily hidden cameras as I looked around in a fashion that I hoped resembled me searching for the landmarks they'd given me. Landmarks! Not even a real address!
Whoever had installed their security system had clearly taken them for a ride with the woefully outdated security cameras and sensors. These things were so old they ran wires instead of using wireless transmitters. I had thought some of the tech I owned was close to being antiques, but at least I'd kept them updated and serviced.
I paused and examined a painting of three mangos. The seams in the walls on either side of it were far too obvious. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I knocked on the wall beside the frame twice. With the faint squealing of rollers that the installer had likely forgotten to grease, the "hidden" door slid to the side.
Two guards stood in the opening. Or I assumed they were guards due to the large phasers they were carrying. They had some muscle, but it looked like they spent plenty of time just sitting around watching security footage.
"Jennisa?" asked one of them.
"Yes, sir. That would be me," I replied politely, using the same customer service voice I'd picked up after working far too many shifts in a call center.
Who else was going to stroll through a rundown building like this just to knock on a wall beside an ugly mango painting? Had I just entered a film set for a poorly funded spy movie? If so, I was demanding royalties or something else worthwhile out of it.
The guard picked up a security scanning wand and barely got within three steps of me before it started screeching an alarm.
As he frowned at me, I hastily bowed my head. "My apologies, sir. I have metal rods in my bones from an accident. You may search my pockets if you wish."
He hesitated, then did the barest tapping of the fabric over my pockets, like he had no clue how to search someone. Stepping back, he asked, "Do you have any phones or devices on you?"
I held up one arm to show a clunky tech bracelet. "Just an old bracelet with music and some downloaded maps to find this place. The internet connection had been switched off. I was told that was acceptable when I inquired."
Without even asking to see my ID—what kind of guards had these people hired?—he waved me inside. I followed him to another room where two men in business suits waited. Why were there six cameras in this small room? Either the security installer had scammed them or something was fishy around here...
Feeling more and more like I was on a film set, I placed the bulky case on top of the table and opened the latches. The guard waited by the door as the two men in suits came forward and pulled out the database, scrutinizing all the labels and cross-checking their phones. I felt mildly offended; did they really think I would bring a database if the serial numbers didn't match their request? What kind of hack did they think I was?
"It really is the right model," the one with brown hair murmured in awe.
The black-haired man stood up and addressed me. "It was formatted and purged, correct?"
"Three times, sir. The receipts are in the folder, printed as per your request and the digital copies destroyed," I replied with a slight bow of my head, once more leaning into my customer service experience.
"Excellent. Here's your payment." He flicked through the bills to prove they were all there before handing them to me. "You are dismissed."
I took them and bowed my head again like a good little hired gremlin. "Thank you, sir."
My mind raced as I tried to figure out what they were doing here. I needed more information if this was going to go any farther. Well, they had been scammed by the security installer, so it might not be too hard to get more out of them. Perhaps more than they realized if things played out right.
As I turned to go, I commented, "Please remember to connect the cables in the proper order and equalize the power flows when powering them up to avoid overloading and melting the circuitry. This model was infamous for power overloads."
None of it was true, of course, but the looks the men were exchanging as I walked toward the door were promising. Come on, take the bait. I mentally chanted as each step took me closer to the exit. Take the bai—
"Wait," Mr. Black Hair said.
I turned around and clasped my hands in front of me. "Yes, sir?"
"This has to be connected in a special way?"
"Yes, sir. It's in the manual." I wished them luck finding the manual since that manufacturer had never bothered to create one. I tilted my head as if just noticing their confusion. "If you wish my help in connecting them, I can assist. For a fee, of course."
The money wasn't my main goal this time, but it was what they'd expect from a freelancer. The two men exchanged a long look.
Mr. Black Hair said, "How about an additional five percent on the agreed commission?"
I smiled and inclined my head. "Thank you, sir. That would be agreeable. Do you wish in-person assistance or virtual? What day or time works best for you?"
"In person," he immediately replied. "The other database is just in the next room. We can do it now."
The two men promptly headed for a closed door as the guard picked up the database with an expression of boredom, as if he were used to the gullible duo's behavior and was just here for the paycheck.
My eyes flickered around as I entered a room filled with dozens of shelves, each of them packed with database parts and tools. On a central worktable, under a rather large bright light, sat another database. The exact same model as the one I'd just brought. My steps slowed; something about this situation seemed very strange, even more so than before.
"The power supply melted last year during a software upgrade. We can't even power it on," Mr. Brown Hair said, striding toward the table. "We need you to move the AI from this database into the new one."
My jaw dropped momentarily. What kind of technological nitwit— I shook my head to recollect myself. "Umm... sir, if this is a spaceship AI, the upload should be done when it's connected to a spaceship. Otherwise, the software often has issues connecting with all the ship's systems."
"Just do it."
I bit my tongue and reminded myself that he was the paying customer and it was his machinery. If he refused to heed my warnings, then my contract kept me secure if his demands messed something up. If nothing else, this proved they were trying to hide something, unless they planned to quickly sell the AI as-is, which would still net them a tidy profit.
More importantly, it gave me an excuse to touch the database during the transfer. There were several cameras in this room, but I doubted they'd be a problem even if this group reviewed the recordings.
Putting on a pleasant expression that did not match my internal muttering, I walked forward. "I will need a second set of hands to turn some dials. Do you have antistatic gloves?"
The two men exchanged a confused look yet again. It was a good thing I came prepared some days... I dug into a pocket and pulled out several sets of gloves—they weren't antistatic, of course, but that part didn't matter. They would keep me from leaving fingerprints behind.
Mr. Black Hair stepped in front of their database as if making sure I didn't touch it. "What has to be done?"
The guard with the new database waited with a dull expression, so I gestured to the open end of the workbench. "Please set it there while I find the transfer cables."
He obliged and went to stand by the door, absently staring at the wall instead of watching me as I put on the pair of gloves and searched the shelf of cables for the proper connector type needed for these databases. So many wrong models were present. I was no longer surprised that they had damaged their original system.
I finally located a compatible set and took them over to the table, using excessively obvious care to connect all but one cable. Thankfully, I knew enough about old tech to know how to tap into the power bypass relays and feed the old device just enough power to transfer the data. I passed my scowling "assistant" a pair of gloves.
As I connected the power to the new database, I said, "When I plug in that last transfer cable, please turn those two dials all the way to the right and hold them there tightly. They'll want to turn back a bit, but please don't let them. I have to do the same here. We'll have to hold them for about a minute to ensure the transfer is well underway."
Once again, it was a lie. All we had to do was plug in the cable, but it was a beautiful coverup for what I was about to do. The base files would transfer before the AI did, and I was most curious about why they were putting so much effort into recovering this database.
In a smooth, practiced motion, I slid the transfer cable into the last slot, and as I pulled my hand back, my bracelet brushed against a corner, flipping open a download pin. As I twisted the dials, my wrist oh-so-conveniently braced against the side of the database where the mini port was located. The software in my heavily-modified bracelet would have immediately activated and started scraping data in a non-traceable fashion.
Mere seconds later, one of the dozens of blinking lights shone steadily. The upload was already complete. This was definitely not a production spaceship database, or I would have only obtained a fraction of the files in the minute I had specified.
Feeling disappointed, I stared at the clock on the wall, which was a battery-powered archaic device with two mechanical hands instead of a proper digital version.
I began counting down the seconds. "Five, four, three, two, one, and we're done." I pulled my hand away with a small twist to pop the download pin back into its slot, far better hidden than their sliding door had been.
"That's it?" Mr. Black Hair asked.
I stepped away from the table and pulled off my gloves. "The transfer is underway. Please wait until all of the lights stop blinking and disconnect the cables in the same order I attached them. Be sure to power down the new database before unplugging the power supply. Is there anything else I can help you with today?"
"That will be all." Mr. Black Hair didn't look away from the blinking lights.
Since they'd certainly have to watch the recordings to see how I'd hooked up the cables, I bowed. Too bad they didn't know that two of the lights wouldn't stop flashing until the system went into idle mode one hour after it had run every check and received no further inputs from external sources.
Mr. Brown Hair passed me the extra payment, then the guard escorted me out of the hidden rooms. I made my way through the abandoned industrial area until I could flag down a shuttle to take me back to my side of the city.
I climbed into the back seat and gazed out the window as it took flight. Finding spaceship parts wasn't my usual type of work, but it had paid well. I doubted the files I'd nabbed were the kind Enforcement would pay for, but sometimes there was a diamond in the rough hidden among the rubble.
And that group had been acting decidedly odd...