“How can you read anything at that speed?” Kane demanded.
“Well, this is an old system,” she replied distractedly. “I never got around to upgrading the access and scroll time.”
It took a moment for the meaning of Brigid’s response to register with Kane. When it did, he opened his mouth to ask if she expected him to believe she actually absorbed the speeding jumble of characters. But she brought the data stream to an abrupt halt.
Tapping the screen with a forefinger, she said, “This appears to be a recent file of bills of lading and transfer of goods. The last scheduled delivery is listed as today. However, there isn’t an entry of the receipt of the goods.”
Kane leaned closer, squinting at the words and numbers. “Dulce delivery,” he read aloud. “Eighteen units.”
“Units of what?”
Kane did a quick mental calculation. Though he couldn’t be certain, he recollected at least that many people in the Mesa Verde holding cell.
“Units of what?” repeated Brigid.
Kane let out his breath in a slow sigh, and saw the woman avert her face as alcohol fumes washed over her. “People. Sort of. Outlanders.”
Her brow furrowed. “A smuggler, you said?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t they usually smuggle outlanders into villes?”
“Usually.”
“There are no villes in New Mexico. That would be under the jurisdiction of Cobaltville, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Unless,” she continued, “something is going on in Dulce that requires outlanders for cheap labor. Where was the slaghole?”
“Mesa Verde canyon. He had it in the Cliff Palace.” Kane smiled mirthlessly. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. It was a black op, a deep penetration.”
“And you don’t know why.”
“What makes you say that?”
Brigid glanced up at him. “You wouldn’t be so curious if you knew why the op was black coded. You just went along with the order. You want to know how the smuggler was delivering his units to Dulce. That’s a long journey overland, even in a war wag.”
“It gets worse,” Kane replied. “How did Reeththat was the slagger’s namebring ville tech into a hellzone?”
“Why didn’t you ask him?”
“I did. Before he could answer, a termination warrant was served.”
“Oh. Well, maybe he moved the tech through the Pits. Using noncitizens to shift the stuff through the lower squats.”
“He still would have needed a flyer to get it into the canyon. There’s no road into the hellzone that I know of.”
Brigid massaged her temples. “This makes my head hurt. You can maybe find a wag in the Pits, but the only place you can find a flyer, even a disabled one is”
“Let’s not go there,” Kane interrupted sharply.
Brigid fixed a penetrating green gaze on his face. “You brought all this up. Curiosity always has its price, you know.”
Kane couldn’t deny that she spoke the truth, and he knew the only place a flyer could be found was the armory, on C Level of the Administrative Monolith. The information on the disk was now unsecured, and as a Magistrate, it was his duty to report it, since he couldn’t resecure it. Protocol didn’t work that way. There was nothing on the disk indicating a brewing revolution or a planned overthrow of the barons.
His first impulse was to destroy the disk and walk away from the mysteries it posed. But now he had involved someone outside of his division, and his options were limited. Closure was required. His judgment had been clouded by liquor, and that error had to be concealed at all costs, by any measures necessary.
The Sin Eater holstered at his forearm suddenly seemed to increase in weight. It almost dragged his arm down, and his palm itched with the insistent urgency to fill it with the butt
Kane straightened up quickly, unsteadily. Brigid’s eyes flickered in surprise, in apprehension. Kane allowed his right arm to dangle at his side, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the painful throbbing inside the walls of his skull. By any measures necessary. He heard the woman’s rich voice, calm and clear through the pounding in his ears.
“Tomorrow I’ll scan the data base, run a correlation search, see what we have about Dulce. Okay?”