The Auditor

Act 2, Scene 1

A Moreauverse Novella

“I would not expect that they could, given they are outnumbered twenty to one and the weapons limitations here do not allow for sufficient armament to maintain tight control." As they continued around the slow curve the living areas came into view in a vaulted chamber several hundred meters across.

It was little more than a shanty town, with relatively few structures but plenty of light dispersed throughout. The structures seemed to serve as communal gathering places or work areas, with numerous non-human forms moving about. The clang of hand wielded tools and voices echoed to them from the distance. Looking up Johan realized they were at what appeared to be the base of a half dozen bore holes, rough circles perhaps twenty meters across that rose into darkness above them. The chamber was probably where one of the machines had been drawn into before being directed along a different path. Off to one side and ten meters above a constructed platform surrounded by clear windows looked out over the chamber.

“That would be the overseer's office?" Johan leaned on his cane and nodded toward the observation platform.

Brady followed his gaze but shook his head, “Crows' nest for security. Offices, for security and the foreman, are below." He pointed to a door below the observation booth lit with steady red lights which read 'authorized personnel only'. Two guards flanked it. “Billeting for the animals is over there." Brady pointed to another passageway on the far side of the chamber. “Kitchens that way." Toward another passageway. “We let them set up communal eating areas out here, but this isn't where most of them sleep. They mostly repair small items here, the larger maintenance bays are a level below us."

As they made their way into the chamber the sound of hand tools tapered off and all eyes turned toward them, perhaps twenty or thirty moreaus pausing what they were doing to stare at the intruders into their demesne. Most of them appeared to be raccoons, with a few others scattered throughout. Johan saw a single feline, dappled gray and black, a couple of canines of domestic stock, and a single Dade-Larson equine; large and hulking as the firm intended.

“I will need to have access to a private office to conduct my interviews. Somewhere that is not in the security area." He hooked a thumb toward the observation platform where he could see three vaguely humanoid shapes behind the glass looking down at them. Without waiting for Brady to answer he began making his way through the chamber. It was not crowded, the floor some manner of poured material that smoothed it out.

There were numerous large aquaponic systems but none seemed to be active at the moment, the tanks dry and the plant racks empty, the grow lights above unlit. There were other beds, normal dirt generated from somewhere, likely reclaimed waste from the smell which was not strong. Those did have plants, lush and crowded, their limbs heavy with fruit and vegetables. Many seemed to sport several different varieties of edible growth, grafted together on stout stalks. He saw the equine standing next to one of them, its stout hands and coveralls stained with earth. Limpid brown eyes stared at him with only mild curiosity and considerable concern.

He passed it by without a glance. A couple of canid template moreaus picking ripe produce from another bed shuffled around to its opposite side as he approached, leaving their laden baskets behind. Most of the moreaus moved adroitly out of their path well before they got within earshot for a summons or command. They progressed into the corridor that Brady had identified was for billeting.

It was another long passage, the ceiling arched but lower than the first, and well lit. From either side doors opened to large chambers with twenty-four beds, some in use for off shift labor to rest. A few seemed to be recreation rooms, some in use by moreaus at improvised game boards or gym equipment. Two doors opened to waiting areas the smell of which immediately said 'medical' to Johan's nose though, other than the waiting rooms he could not determine their exact functions. Closed airtight doors hid anything further from sight.

At length they came to a door that opened into a smaller room with no bunks, merely a table and a handful of chairs showing the dust of neglect. There was a similar room directly across the corridor but it was completely empty. “This will do." Johan decided on the room with the furnishings. “Interviews will begin forthwith. I saw a dog outside, brown in color and about one hundred thirty centimeters tall, ears that did not stick up. Associate, could you locate and bring that one, please."

As Salen withdrew Johan moved four of the chairs around to one side of the table and a last behind it.

“What would you like me to do, sir?" Brady asked diffidently as Johan eased himself down into the chair and propped his cane against the edge of the table.

“Stand there," he waved a hand without looking, “behind me and to the left by two meters. Say nothing, no matter what transpires between myself and the animal." He then turned his head slightly to fix the man with a stern, flat stare. “Nothing. Is that clear?"

“Yes, sir."

They waited in silence for several minutes before the door was pushed open and a medium height canine moreau fearfully stepped in, ushered by the taller black uniformed, black furred, very un-canine looking Salen. It stood just inside the door as the skunk closed it behind them.

“Please, take a seat." Johan said, his voice still emotionless and flat, as he waved toward the quartet of chairs. The dog's eyes immediately darted to Brady, widening until Johan saw whites, pupils dilating and its short tail appeared from between its thighs to nearly touch its stomach. Johan cleared his throat and waved at the chairs again, “Sit." He ordered, though without the hard edge of command.

The canine moreau hastily shuffled forward and dropped into one of the chairs, untucking its tail before it was sat upon, wrapping it about their waist and into their lap where they clutched it fiercely with shaking hands. “GeneMark 800 series, correct?"

Dark brown eyes darted toward him. “RR-GeneMark-812a-TAH, Master." After a heartbeat the ghost filled Johan's mind with the moreau's details.

Female, developed via gestational system, not free-born. “Tasia." He said as the ghost provided her dossier. “Previously of Seaboard Heights Scholastic, released seven years ago at completion of their GeneMark contract. Purchased by Practical Redistribution and sold to CMI, ending up here. What was your function at Seaboard, Tasia?"

“Child development behavioral analysis, master." She had to jerk her eyes back to him and away from Brady as she spoke.

“You were unable to purchase your contract upon completion of your primary assignment?"

“No such option was available to this one, master." Her eyes darted to Brady, back to Johan, and then to her lap. “This one was not a paid employee of Seaboard Heights, master."

“You were tasked with child care at that assignment, Tasia?"

She nodded, though did not look up from her lap though Johan could see her eyes occasionally glance up through her brows; at Brady, not him. “Yes, master. Primary duties outside of analysis was in caring for residents of the scholastic center, master, yes, master."

“I am The Auditor, Tasia, I am not your master, nor do I have any ownership claim to you beyond the scope of the company's requirements. You shall address me as Auditor, or sir. What duties have you performed since being transported to this facility?"

“This one understands, sir." She bowed her head and stared fixedly at the hands clutched in her lap. “This one observes and reports on behavioral health of labor, sir, to identify areas of stress and potential development of mental health issues among labor." He caught her brief upward glance through her thick furred brows, again at the human standing to one side behind him.

“Mister Brady." He said without turning his head.

“Yes?"

“Your duties here are complete, I will no longer require your assistance while I am in this area of the facility. Please return to your normal duties." Tasia did not move but Johan saw Salen shift, ever so slightly, his attention focused on Brady.

“Mister Auditor, this is -"

“That is all, mister Brady, please return to the cap. We know the way back and will have no issues returning."

“But the ani - labor, sir."

“If I have any issues with labor I will bring it up with operations security on this level, mister Brady, thank you." Johan never looked away from Tasia, who had fallen silent with no more questions being directed at her. Salen moved toward the table, circling around to one side preparing to escort the human out.

Brady let out an aggrieved sigh. “Very well. I will advise Commander Jeyev that you will return to command in your own time."

“Thank you, mister Brady." Salen stopped as Brady twitched into step, stalking toward the door. The skunk shaped dog followed a couple of meters behind, holding the door after Brady had left and watching the corridor beyond for several moments.

“He's into the common area." Salen said at length as he stepped back and closed the door. “It doesn't look like he'll be back, though he might head toward that security booth, I couldn't see from here."

Johan turned his thoughts inward. “Listening devices?"

“One, in the light fixture above. Currently not active." the ghost reported almost before he had formed the thought.

“See that it is not. Shift audio channel to another listening device elsewhere."

“Channel shifted."

“Tasia." The dog looked up cautiously, her gaze flicking briefly to Salen who had taken up Brady's post though with a much more relaxed pose, long tail swaying amiably behind him, short round ears pricked up and forward reassuringly. “I give you permission to speak freely, now. Nothing you say will be recorded or listened in on." He directed his eyes up toward the ceiling briefly.

“This one is confused, sir. Speak freely?"

“As you might to another animal, miss Tasia." Salen said gently, earning another timid glance. “We are not here to harm you or put you in any risk."

“Just speaking with this one causes risk, sirs."

Johan chuffed a short, humorous breath through his nose, earning a quick glance and a twitch of one drooping brown furred ear. “That is, unfortunately, unavoidable. Others will want to know what we are discussing, of course. And you will tell them we asked about your employment, housing, care, and other mundane things about the operations here."

“Yes?"

“What we want to know is just those things, miss Tasia. As well as the hierarchy down here, among the moreaus. Who is listened to by most, respected, whose opinion and actions carry the most weight among you?"

Her head tilted slowly, brown eyes narrowing slightly. “This one does not understand, sirs? What do sirs want of it?"

“We would like you to tell us who is listened to, among moreaus in this area because they are the ones most likely to know about how things truly are, not what those like mister Brady would like us to see, what the human crew are hiding from us?"

Whiskers twitched as the dog's muzzle wrinkled briefly and she scowled. “Truth of free speaking, sirs?"

“Fire away, miss Tasia, we're all ears." Johan smiled, as much as the faux mask of scars would allow. “Though they are less keen than your own, I admit."

Salen moved around the table and she eyed him as he drew up a chair, turned it around, and sat down to rest his arms across its back, his tail free to swing behind him. “His, maybe, but mine work just fine." He flicked them and smiled, his whiskers lifting though he showed very few teeth. “Our concern is your welfare, Tasia. And on improving it, soon."

“So, truth?" she spoke toward Salen, leaning back to sit more upright in the chair, the tail thrust through the gap in its back relaxing, marginally. “They treat us like shit, sirs. Less than slaves, even. Worse than the education center that looked at this one like some combination of pet and computer, with the interactive ability of neither. Up until the new commander took over this place was a paradise for this one and it's pack. Good food, freedom to do as we wished among ourselves, safe working conditions and labor hours that did not exhaust us to unservicability."

“That all changed with Jeyev?" Johan was fine letting Salen carry the conversation, leaning back slightly and resting his forearms on the table.

“Yes, him and his crew. After they killed Nan and all of his staff. Nan was good to us, and we wanted to be good to him. There was a… a revolt when they were killed. It did not go well for us at all. Trent was skinned alive right in the middle of the stockade." She waved an arm back in the general direction of the large chamber beyond. “They're nothing more than livestock pens. They destroyed the farms on the core wall, put out the star."

Johan raised his brows and leaned forward. “Killed?"

Tasia nodded. “I did not see it, but others said that the commander had them all brought down here in restraints, those still alive forced to carry their injured and dead. All of them… all…" She trailed off, collapsing in on herself and returning to the posture of diffident fear she had shown when Brady was in the room. “They were put through the reducers. Most were shot, first, but not all. Not Nan." Her voice quavered, devolving into a soft, grief filled whine. Salen reached over and rested a black furred hand upon her back. “Nan was thrown in alive and conscious."

“Miss Tasia," Johan said gently, quietly. “What are the reducers?"

“'S where the rock goes, when it comes down the tubes. Goes into seismic reducers that separate the harder material from the crackle. Further down the unusable material goes out the discharge chutes and the crackle is sent through the processors." She clutched her brown furred hands into fists, rumpling her coveralls. She looked up and met Johan's gaze with a hard stare. “That's why there was a revolt, when we saw what they did with Nan and the others. Them that were caught went in, too. New commander didn't even bother killing those they took alive, just threw them in and put it on screens in the stockade." Again she jerked an arm toward the commons. “Made us all watch them get… reduced. Then they killed Trent. He went.. enraged, feral. His mind just broke."

“You want to leave." A simple cut direct that made her ears twitch forward in confusion.

“Of course this one does." She said, somewhat sharply. “All of us do! We know we'll die here, even if we're not up in the tubes. Starved or beaten or fucked until we're no longer of any use, then they'll just throw us into the reducers, too. Probably without even bothering to make sure we're dead, first."

“Tasia, who is in charge down here, after the one you called Trent?" Johan figured that was the source of the macabre display in the command deck airlock and the commander's new coat.

“The tiger, Raks."

Johan tilted his head slightly. “The one who runs the gangs down here?"

Tasia snorted, ears and whiskers backing. “Yeah, he does. Keeps them on a leash, mostly, as much as they'll be leashed. If they go out and rape someone, or beat them bloody he doesn't do much about it. If they kill someone, he kills them. They know how far they can go and they go there, whenever they can."

“Anyone else that's listened to?"

“Baron. He's a raccoon, up in the tubes right now, working. He's the oldest of us, has been here since before they went into operation."

“The foreman?"

“Baron? No. The foreman's human, one of the commander's cronies. He doesn't dare do anything to Baron though we all know he wants to. Baron knows the most of anyone about the machines."

“Okay, miss Tasia, we would like to talk about how things actually run around here, so when people ask what we talked about you can tell the truth. We'll speak with Raks and Baron later and, with some luck, see about making things better."

“Nothing will get better until the new commander and his gang of thugs are gone."

“That's the plan, miss Tasia." Johan said with a warm, reassuring smile.

They talked with the canine moreau for another hour, generally learning how things had been for the moreaus and how they had changed after Nan and the previous command crew had been overthrown and executed. The comparison was stark and bleak. Under Commander Nan's oversight the Moreaus had been treated remarkably well, allowed to grow their own foods, mostly on the inner surface of the void somehow, and live as they wished. Compared to most locations that used moreau labor it had been a paradise.

Commander Jeyev, on the other hand, had almost doubled their work rotation, destroyed their previous living environment which had mostly been within the void, shut down some sort of star created from the plasma transfer, eliminated pretty much all of the entertainment they had and forced them back into the billets originally designed for the facility. The rulership passed down from the cap was totalitarian and brutal, though the humans who actually worked in the area, mostly security, tended to stay out of the moreau's lives. They had been well treated under the previous regime and chafed under the new one but, being humans and nominal citizens, could not be as poorly treated as the moreaus.

Barely. Only the new foreman and head of mining, one of Jeyev's installments, forced them to follow the new rules and procedures. Their living conditions had declined almost as precipitously as those of the moreaus they were expected to maintain security over.

The tension, she revealed, was palpable; a powder keg all too close to the forge simply waiting for a spark while the blacksmith continued to pound on molten metal.

Johan had Salen withdraw and randomly choose several more workers over the subsequent three hours while they waited for the current working shift to end and the 'tubes' which were currently in use shut down to transfer work crews. Most of those he was able to draw aside were not miners; they were laundry workers, repair technicians, and other service labor. All said pretty much the same as Tasia. Conditions had gone to absolute shit and no one could do anything about it without incurring the wrath of Jeyev's adherents.

Those Johan was very quickly able to identify and had the ghost begin preparing a segregation script. Luckily there were only seven to ten in the operations area of the facility, the rest held court in the cap above. They were thankfully in the minority so dealing with them would be passably manageable. Getting them all into one place before the fourth act would be the biggest challenge.

But not one Johan had been unable to accomplish before on his own with nothing more than his wits and his Ghost. Salen had improved upon that, among many other things.

As traffic began to pick up in the corridor beyond their impromptu interview room Johan and Salen went out into the commons, moving to stand where they could be seen from the elevated security booth and the moreaus shuffling out of their billets to find food. That proved to be the expected dry kibble common to moreau labor across the Alliance, supplemented with the sparse gleanings of the few gardens they had managed to maintain after the change.

Many an eye was turned toward them while the laborers, most of them raccoons with a smattering of other template species, sat at communal tables for their meal. None approached, though many whispered to their neighbors about the new arrivals. A dozen humans in security uniforms carrying pneumatic sliver guns patrolled the commons, most of them with only desultory attention toward their charges. None of them approached within ten meters of the strangers.

The small number that Johan pegged as the overseer's 'goons' marched with far more purpose and aggression, weapons held at the ready, and avoided the other guards, moving in a small group rather than spreading out. They chivved those in the line and snapped at the servers to pick up the pace.

An overloud klaxon announced the end of the meal period, those who had been last in line hastily scrabbling at their bowls to finish as the goon squad barked at them to get up and move toward another corridor. Within minutes the laborers were shuffled out and a relative peace descended on the commons. Those who remained behind to clean up pretty much ignored Johan though a few offered greetings to Salen in the canine language or feline sign. The remaining guards, those who had not fallen in with the overseer and his lackeys, did not interfere with the process, occasionally chatting to a nearby moreau amiably. None of them carried their weapons at the ready, instead keeping the long rifles slung and the sidearms holstered.

Tasia and the others that had been interviewed had, apparently, spread the word that the new arrivals were not a part of the political group in control though trust was certainly not present. At length one of the wandering guards ambled over and took up a relaxed post nearby, palm resting loosely on the butt of their holstered sidearm more as a place to put it rather than a ready pose to use it.

“You're the ones sent to inspect this shit show?" The woman asked, her voice challenging but not bellicose.

“We are." Johan nodded slowly, expression neutral and flat. “I am The Auditor, this is The Associate." He waved the hand not on his cane toward Salen.

“Funny names." She quipped with a quirk at the corner of her mouth. She was a shapely human, well stacked and muscular without being brutish. Her face was unblemished by scars but the eyes told them that she had seen action in her past.

“Maria Lamont." the ghost supplied. “Colonial Defense Authority, cashiered due to insubordination. Records indicate she procured a light freighter, without authorization, to assist in the evacuation of Nari's Flight, a short-range transport which had been forced to eject its power core before it failed. Credited with saving thirty human passengers, crew, and sixty moreaus which it was transporting. Due to unauthorized use of CODA resources she was court martialed and discharged. Various security positions subsequent, no meritorious notes or reprimands, six confirmed moreau kills under Axion Security. Retained as facility security three years four months, assigned labor area. No affiliations on record with segregation classified personnel. Numerous affiliations with resident moreaus on file, noted: potential moreau bias in event of conflict. No information of activities during ten day period resulting in change of command, post retained subsequent to that event."

“We have found it expedient not to have our citizenship identities openly provided, due to the nature of our inquiries." Johan noted. “Which this 'shitshow', as you describe it, currently is."

“So, what's your assessment, then?" She asked, posture and expression bold.

“It is as you have so eloquently stated." Johan said with a slow nod. “Not good."

“And?" She asked, posture more engaged, hip cocked, one eyebrow raised. “You going to do anything about it?"

“That is not my purview, miss Lamont. I will merely relate my observation on the state of the facility, revealing the reason for its precipitous drop in efficiency, and a general report on what steps may be necessary to remedy the situation. Whether or not that information will be acted upon is up to the Directors." He shifted slightly, taking weight off of his 'injured' leg, placing both hands on the head of his cane. “Which I suspect they shall, if they wish to continue to the primary supplier of the rare commodity it currently controls."

The woman's posture became less assured as she surreptitiously scanned the commons, as if watching the laborers at their work. “And the murders?"

“Which murders?"

She turned a smoldering stare at him, suddenly irritated. “Of Commander Nan and the entire fucking command staff." She muttered darkly. “Dozens of moreaus as well."

“Those will be reported as well, to include those so named as the perpetrators of such. The current commander tops that list. There will be an investigation once my findings are revealed, though that may take more time than changes to the current situation. He will be removed, of course, pending the outcome of those investigations. As well the purposeful destruction of corporate labor assets and desecration of such."

“Assets? They're people." She flicked her affronted glance at Salen and back. “Unless you don't view your 'Associate' as anything more than an ambulatory computer who can change the batteries in your leg and the stick up your ass."

The last actually forced a snort of mirth from Johan's nose before he could compose himself and the gaze he directed at the woman was far less cold. “The Associate is much more than that, miss Lamont." His sudden moment of vulnerable humanity seemed to shock the woman out of her growing ire and she, too, chuckled.

“Yeah, uh, sorry about that." She stammered, rubbing the back of her neck. “Mouth runs faster than the brain sometimes."

Johan shook his head. “No, miss Lamont, that is quite all right. I value forthrightness and frank talk. You care, and it comes through in your words and, judging from the reason you were discharged from CODA, actions. I do have one question about your past, if you will permit?"

“Sure, go ahead." She said with a nod, mollified by his unexpected response to her outburst.

“The dossier I was given stated that you 'commandeered' a vessel, without authorization, to save a hundred lives, both moreau and human, resulting in your discharge. Yet you took the lives of moreaus while you were working with Axion Security, or was I misinformed?"

“They had guns and were using them. Axion was hired to provide security and, as such, were the ones those weapons were being used against. They shot at me, I shot back, pretty simple. I don't care if it's human, furball, or bot; if it shoots at me, I shoot back." She shook her head slowly. “Did I like that I was shooting at furballs that just wanted to better their situation? Not at all. No more than if I had to shoot at the ones here, or other humans." She paused, looking up in the direction of the command cap. “Well, most humans, anyway."

Another guard was approaching at a swagger, one of the 'goon' squad that had been harassing the staff and laborers at their meal. He had remained behind at the entry to the corridor through which the moreaus had left but was now cutting directly toward them. He drew up beside the woman and, striking an arrogant pose, crossed his arms over his chest. “What'cha chatting about, Lamont?"

“Conditions." She replied tersely, her voice an annoyed growl. “What do you want, Pyg?"

“James Pygmalian." Johan heard within his head. “Numerous reprimands and discharge from multiple security forces. Person of interest under investigation for reports of piracy, extortion, and assaults. Internal CMI transfer, not requisition, as facility security two years three months. Demerits for excessive use prior to change of command. Multiple meritorious reports subsequent to change of command, promotion to corporal four months previous. Assessment: segregation, write out of script. Primary vocational skills: violence. Heavy weapons, explosives, melee combat, mechanized mobile combat armor."

“These the snoops poking their noses into our business?" The man seemed to growl every word and, judging from the wounds to his neck, could probably not manage anything better. “You should take your pet and scram, scar face." He leaned forward, dropping his arms to the pair of sidearms on his hips. “Don't go poking your nose into what is not your business, else you might lose it."

“As I have been retained by the members of the Board of Directors this facility, its operations, and operational status is my business, mister Pygmalian. If you have any problems with my function or presence you may take it up your chain of command. Otherwise, we have no further purpose for your presence. You are dismissed."

“Excuse me, what?" Pyg leaned forward as if he wanted to send them packing by more direct means. Salen drifted forward a pace, just ahead of Johan who had not moved, but he did not bristle or exhibit the same readiness for violence. Johan knew better; Salen was more than ready to commit violence and was master of over a dozen methods of delivering it; and that was without weapons.

“I think, Pyg, he said to piss off. He just did it with a bit more professionalism than you can comprehend."

“Watch it, Lamont." Pyg snarled with a glance aside at her. “You going to sick your freak on me, scar face? Can't fight your own battles, little man?"

Johan chuckled, extending his cane slightly to tap Salen's shin lightly as if to hold him back. “I look as I do, Pyg, because I fight my own fights. The man who left me looking as I do had about two hours to consider that before hard vacuum released him from those contemplations. I was able to cycle the airlock even as the fire he set consumed me. Fear is an emotion I no longer possess, mister Pygmalion." He leaned forward to catch the man's eyes, his own cold and flat. “Anger and wroth, however, remain. As I said before; you are dismissed."

“Again, Pyg, he said 'piss off'. Might be a good idea to do that, the crews are returning." Pyg rounded on the woman, who was a half meter shorter and forty kilos lighter, and she squared up without backing off an inch. “Think hard, Pyg." She warned, settling her weight on the balls of her feet while the larger man stayed firmly grounded and, as such, off balance. “I can take you on the sparring mat, don't think I can't do the same right here, right now."

“Violence," Johan cut in with the same flat voice he had been using, “direct or implied, will not be tolerated, you two. Stand down and see to your duties."

Pyg continued to turn, his furious glare locked on Lamont as he strode away, consciously adopting that confident swagger. “I guess that's my piss off too, eh, mister Auditor?" Lamont said as she fell back at ease.

“With less bluntness, officer, but yes. See to your charges. I will be conducting interviews of the human staff in the upcoming watch cycles. Do expect a summons from me for an official accounting. Carry on." She turned and took a step away before he spoke again. “Ah, yes, officer Lamont. I am looking for my next interviewee. I was told they were on the current work crew which I see is just coming off duty. A GeneMark 200 series technical, raccoon, generation code BRN? My records indicate it was referred to as 'Baron'?"

“Yeah, he's in that crowd." She nodded toward the shuffling lot of ragged looking laborers filtering into the commons, their backs bowed and steps weighed by exhaustion. “Want me to get him for you?"

“Please, but make sure he is allowed to eat, or bring food with him. We are in one of the rooms off the billets, number forty-seven, I believe." She nodded and trotted off as the returning laborers fell into a queue near the food line for their ration of kibble, water, and whatever vegetables were available. A few did not even bother, bypassing the line and staggering exhaustedly toward the billets passageway. Pyg had joined the same clique of security once again belligerently telling the workers to get their food and sit down.

Lamont moved among them, not getting in the way, jeeving smoothly out of the way of the shambling workers rather than forcing them to go around her. A few nodded as they passed, some quiet words. She paused by one and leaned close, surreptitiously pointing toward them with one hand before moving on. The racoon, a full head shorter than she was, looked up with a resigned expression before nodding and shuffling toward them.

“Yes, sirs?" The racoon, the silver of his muzzle whitening despite not even being twenty actual years old. He had been gestated in a growth tank, just as Salen had, so had emerged well into what humans would consider their twenties. That had allowed him to be decanted fully trained and ready to work within days of mastering his limbs.

“You did not take food, mister Baron." Johan observed. “Please, go collect it before the strong arms close the line. See to your needs and come to room forty-seven when you are ready." He waved one hand, a curt but gentle gesture. “Go."

The young but elderly looking raccoon gave them a quizzical look before shuffling off toward the line. Others let him in without rancor, allowing him to cut close to the head of the line rather than taking up its rear.

Johan and Salen followed the perimeter of the room back to the corridor to the billets, returning to the impromptu interview room. Salen took up a position just outside the door.

“TR(x)-GeneMark-207-BRN; 'Baron'. Released to facility operations eleven years seven months prior. Previous labor for corporation mining operations in Odessa; asteroid processing. No remarks on record. One of seven original laborers still remaining." That was all the ghost could call up from the station's files, leaving Johan with very little information to use. “Technical, training in seismic and sonic excavation, asteroid survey, collection, processing. Maintenance and operation of heavy sonic boring excavator and ancillary associated machinery."

Thirty minutes later Salen opened the door and allowed the raccoon, dressed in a new coverall with fur disheveled by recent air drying, enter. “Apologies, master, this one thought it best to bathe before presenting ourselves."

“Quite all right, mister Baron." Johan said warmly, letting a slight smile tug at the corners of his artificially scarred lips. “Please, have a seat. I am The Auditor and he is The Associate. I assume you have been informed, by now, of the purpose of our presence on this facility?"

“This one has, master." Baron said with a nod as he carefully settled himself into a chair, easing his tail through the slot at its rear. His ears were up, though not pinned forward, dark eyes curious. “What may this one provide?"

“As you will undoubtedly be questioned after our interview is concluded, mister Baron, we will go over the current status of the facility as well as its status prior to the current commander's assumption of control. You will accurately disseminate the details of this interview to the humans who will undoubtedly want to know of it, and the gossips who will be less aggressive in the same. I have interviewed others, as you have no doubt been told, and their experiences will match your own. However, there are other things which I would like to discuss that only you may be purview to."

“Those being, master?"

“Auditor or sir, mister Baron, or simply Baron as you prefer. This interview is not being recorded, by myself or the humans who would like to monitor this room but cannot. I have blocked their ability to listen in."

Baron blinked, his eyes shifting from Johan to Salen who had taken up his accustomed post behind and to one side of Johan. “Why would sirs do that?"

“Because my intent is to remove them from control." Johan watched that sink in and the raccoon's reaction was what he would have expected; curiosity, nervousness, fear all washed across his tapered muzzle. His whiskers drew back and his ears flattened briefly as his tail tucked underneath his chair.

“Why? Who would take their place? More like them, or more like Commander Nan?" He shook his head slowly, ears still backed. “That is a dangerous thing, ma- Auditor, sir. They will not relinquish the power they hold willingly, or the profits they're making as long as they hold this rock."

“Who will take over is not your concern, Baron, nor any other moreau laborer. I also intend to remove you from the station to a place that is far more safe."

Baron actually snorted, ears springing up before backing again. “Where is safe for such as us, human?" He said, venom behind his words but submissive deference in their delivery. “We were content here. Happy, even. Allowed to live our lives by our own wishes, until Jeyev slaughtered his way to the top."

“There are many such places, Baron, within the Alliance and beyond it. But we will require your assistance. The people listen to you, is that correct?"

The raccoon nodded slowly, “I do not lead them, but they follow my wisdom, yes. I am among the oldest here, the most experienced. Most of the others have not even been out of their growth tanks five years, very few more than that. The only ones who are older than me were not artificially gestated; they were born naturally."

“And most of them are, or were, criminals exiled here, yes." Johan said with a nod. “Some of those will not be allowed to join us, some will."

“What about the humans? The ones not cozying up to Jeyev or his lackeys?"

“Any that wish to come, and do not pose a threat or risk to us or you will be allowed to come as well. If you have an accounting of them I would be glad to have it, my information is not yet complete."

“Seventy-three percent veracity on human assessments, ninety-two percent veracity on non-human assessments. Segregation details compiling, ready for review when desired." the ghost inserted in Johan's inner ear. “Identification of those directly supporting the current dominant political group complete."

“And the children?"

That stopped Johan cold and, from the gleam in Baron's eyes and the brief flash of triumph across his sharp muzzle the raccoon realized it immediately. “Children?"

“No non-mature moreaus detected within accessible areas." the ghost complained.

“Yes, human, the children. Our children. You think that nature would not follow its course, even under the conditions we now suffer?"

“Where, how many?" Johan was floored. Of course he should have made that assumption; everyone fucked someone, at some point, unless they were entirely asexual. The mining outpost was not gender segregated or monogender limited. Pregnancies were bound to happen, even with copious contraceptive chemicals in the food and water.

“Thirty-one, and somewhere no one can find them, completely away from any surveillance. They are fiercely guarded." The last was given as a low, procyonid growl of challenge.

“Don't worry, mister Baron, we are not going to go after them, wherever they are. We simply have to account for them, and ensure that they are not left behind. They are more important than any of us. How has Jeyev and his people overlooked them? The added consumption of food and water would be unmistakable."

“Because the data is buried. They knew that children were being born, long before their coup. They've tried to find them ever since; to use as more leverage against us, not because of their safety."

“Well, we are most concerned about their safety." Johan assured him and Salen nodded, earning a glance from the raccoon. “You need to make sure they are prepared to move with the rest of your people, and move quickly when we take over."

“To where? This rock may be huge, but there's nowhere to go if we got off of it. The freighters can't support that many passengers for the time needed to get anywhere."

“We have a vessel more than capable on approach right now. It should be in position in just over a day, by station time. We will be discovered then, when Jeyev realizes the approaching ship is not what he expected. So, in a little over a day, two at most, you and your people must be ready to move, and move quickly."

That had the raccoon's interest now. “To where?"

“Lower ship bay, to the freighters. Some of the exiles have piloting experience and can get them safely away to the approaching ship."

“Those things are laden, or nearly so, by now. They were going to make another delivery in the next ten to fifteen days. They'll move like slugs."

“Don't worry about that. Just spread the word, Baron. Do it quietly, but quickly. And only tell humans you can trust with your lives."

“And the workers in the tubes? What happens when you do whatever it is you're going to do and evacuate? They'll be trapped in the tubes until the end of their shift, even if the rest get out."

“Who shuts down the boring machines?"

“The foreman is the only one with the codes. He will not be welcome."

“Can it be done manually?"

Baron chewed the whiskers on one side of his muzzle, their shortened length revealing his nervous habit. “Yeah, could be. Not easy, but it can be done. I'm the only one who can, and initiate a purge of the tube. I will just need to know when."

“We'll find out some way to communicate with you so we can send you a signal, if it's your shift. Can anyone else do it on another shift?"

Baron shook his head. “Purge the tube, yes. Shut down the borer, no. this one knows because it was among the assembly teams. It helped put together the control modules so it know which circuits to pull that will cause a failsafe shutdown."

Johan leaned his forearms on the table and nodded, “That will work, the computer will think something just broke, right, or overloaded?" Baron nodded. “Won't raise too many alarms. How long will that take, and for the workers to be out of the tube?"

“Five minutes to crash the borer, about half an hour to purge the material from the tube, another half an hour to shuttle the workers out. The current mole is closer to the lower end ship bay so we could be there before anyone from the core, maybe."

“Good. Once our interview is done I will leave you to prepare, while we figure out some method of communication."

“Boring equipment communication channels accessible." the ghost reported. If it had been given the ability to be sarcastic it may have said it was 'snarky' about being left out of the loop. “Making contact with laborer Baron, provided they are in the boring machine control cabin, possible."

Baron, dubious but optimistic, nodded with a twitch of his whiskers and tail. “Okay, stranger. This one is willing to trust you, simply because we have no other options but to die of overwork, starvation, or violence if we stay here. Don't fail us."

“Failing you would be just as lethal for us, probably moreso, sir. They don't need us to keep this place running." Baron chuffed a breath at being called 'sir' and shook his head.

“You're hope, Auditor, or whomever you are. It's not like the top brass has shown much interest in getting this rock back up to where Commander Nan had it. As long as they get their damn crackle they're apparently satisfied."

“Seems like." Johan lied with a helpless shrug. “Do you know of any others that people listen to, but can be discreet?"

“A couple, yes. Have you spoken with Rakshasa, yet?"

Johan shook his head, “Not as of yet, but he was on our list to interview, yes. Why? Trustworthy?"

“Yes, but dangerous. It is violence given fur, mister Auditor, but it is fair in its own way. Just be careful when you do, and try to shave off its muscle. They will certainly go straight to the types of humans you want kept in the dark."

“We were intending to go to him, on his turf. Would it be better to sequester them for a considerably more conspicuous interview here, where the risk of eavesdropping is lower?"

Baron shook his head, ears twitching. “No, it won't come here. That one doesn't usually leave the pits, down in the repair bays just blow the stockade. If you want to talk to them you'll have to do it in their lair."

“Can you get a message to him?" Johan held out a hand and, after a moment, Salen pressed a stylus and tablet of paper into his palm.

“Yes, shouldn't be a problem. Don't expect it to be for its eyes only, though."

“Preferable." He set the tablet down and wrote a short message in neat script, in Alliance common, on corporate letterhead.

“Scheduled interview, 0900, chambers of Rakshasa. Private. This is not a request. The Auditor." He folded it into a complex square, wrote the crime boss' name upon it, and slid it across the table. “I'm sure he knows who I am, by now. Can you have someone familiar with the area to escort us at 0800?"

“Yes. Tomas, the horse you saw tending the gardens. It's fought in the arena and knows how to get there and woe unto anyone who tries to keep it out." The raccoon actually smiled, all sharp, yellowed teeth, his eyes gleaming with fierce contemplation from his white dusted black mask. “If you need a bodyguard, that horse is for you. They've never been a part of any formal military or security; it grew up on some pretty mean streets and knows how to brawl better than any of the security here."

“Thank you, mister Baron. Now, to what this interview was supposed to cover." He launched into the same line of questions they had posed to Tasia and the others they had interviewed for the next half hour. By the end of it Baron was beginning to show the wear of his long shift and they let him go, requesting he send in two of his most discreet gossips. One came immediately, another an hour later, both raccoons.

They went through the identical interview process, with addendums that they discreetly spread the word: be ready to move at a moment's notice to the lower ship bays. After releasing the last interviewee they left the room, leaving nothing behind, and allowed the ghost to re-enable the listening device. When asked where the channel had been routed to the ghost informed them it had been the security office men's locker room where, it explained, a considerable number of liaisons between staff took place throughout the day.

Entertaining listening, then, Johan chuckled.

“Hey, strangers." A voice caught Johan's ear from nearby as they passed a buttress column along the wall near the exit corridor. “Want to get under some tail?" The voice was slurred, but not drunkenly so, and he turned toward the speaker. That turned out to be a rather tall, if lean, GeneMark shepherd model dressed in nothing at all.

Of course, with the thick pelt of gray, black, and russet fur she didn't need any as nothing salacious was visible. She did not look up boldly, despite her suggestive pose against the column, one leg cocked up on a basket of what looked like outgoing laundry in a way that, if he cared to look more closely, would have revealed more than her fur covered. Her tail, careworn and poorly groomed, flicked up to one side behind her as she cocked her hip. For all of her posing she had a slackness to her frame, as careworn as her tail, and she was far too thin.

“No." Johan said, though more warmly than he had shown the humans they had dealt with. “But the offer is appreciated." He made a motion toward his scarred face with a hand that was equally, and falsely, scarred.

“We hope that whatever did that didn't get through your clothes." She offered, muzzle dipped low to cast her eyes toward them but not cut direct. “Even injured everything works? And has needs?" She did not step forward but one arm reached out slightly, too far away to actually reach him, and made a stroking motion toward his crotch. “This one can satisfy any needs sirs might have." Her focus, while still not direct, slid toward Salen. “Alone or together, this one can provide." There was something wrong with her muzzle, Johan realized, though not what. It was too sunken along its length, whiskers all but nonexistent.

“Not at this time, miss, but thank you." She seemed to pout, curling in on herself a bit, tail dropping down to its customary position. “Tag for interview, 1400." He sent to the ghost without speaking.

“Identified, tagged."