Page 25 of Spark Transform

In the last year, the CPS’s reputation spinners had gotten much better at tracking any newstrends that cast them in a bad light. However, in Jane’s never-voiced opinion, they still completely tanked at consistent responses, much less effective ones.

Hujuru frowned. “Too farkin’ high, and it’s going galactic. It’s only been out two hours, and it’s already pulled in two related stories and a university study that all argue that Minder Corps veterans, especially after they become contractors, die significantly earlier than the general public. Farkin’ ratshit.”

Jane made herself ask the question she’d been avoiding for months. “How many independent contractors have you terminated?”

Hujuru shrugged. “Three thousand or so.” She frowned. “That’s for the whole planet, not just the city like the article implied. I’ve assigned the last few rogues to a special team. They’re very good at accidents.”

Jane struggled to keep a bland look on her face. She was glad she’d had temporary shields applied to her non-minder brain to keep telepath Hujuru from learning Jane’s opinion in this.

She accepted that securing galactic peace sometimes required sacrifices, and that no one wanted to see a flood of suddenly-unemployed and disgruntled minders sharing secrets or becoming criminals.

However, granting the covert-ops divisions unilateral decision authority was disastrously bad policy. Theoretically, the preferred option was to control or leash the ex-contractors. Jane strongly suspected Hujuru — and likely most of her peers across the galaxy — had found it simpler and cheaper to declare them all rogues and dispose of them.

Which likely made Novo G’s high mortality statistics depressingly accurate, and HQ had no one to blame but themselves. Not that they wouldn’t try.

Jane poured and sipped a glass of water to soothe her dry mouth. “How did Novo Granica get the ex-contractor IDs to compare with the planetary vital records?”

“Not from my people,” snapped Hujuru defensively. Her mouth twisted in disgust. “But anything is for sale in Ridderth Base’s Supply and Logistics.”

That was next on Jane’s cleanup list after the Legacy eradication project. Technically, regular military operations weren’t in her scope of command, but the military supply chief office’s galloping greed threatened the galactic peace. Why didn’t the media go after them for a change?

Jane pursed her lips. “The whole Novo Granica organization has a vendetta against the government, and the CPS in particular. They terrorize the local politicians. I have to waste valuable resources on damage control every time one of their stories inflames the public. Even Charrascos’s series on that old Jumper squad implies the CPS is negligently harming its own people. I’m sure she’s counting on the fact that we can’t prove otherwise without exposing potential operational weaknesses that could get active-duty Jumpers killed.”

“Without a doubt.” Hujuru’s ringlets swung as she nodded in agreement. “And every time a new profile article comes out, the rumors of the mythical miracle cure for waster’s disease trend again.”

Jane had to admit those rumors had lately been more persistent than usual. “Yes, and the media reports on that, too. False hope makes Jumpers susceptible to anyone with something to sell, no matter how dangerous. It’s cruel. Too bad we can’t just buy troublesome media companies like we used to in the old days.”

Hujuru hesitated, then blew out a measured breath. “I’ll admit they’re a pain in the ass. But Novo G in particular doesn’t publish unvetted stories, and their evidence always checks out. They’re careful to identify rumors as unsourced and get expert opinions on them. They never bite at our juiciest distraction bait like the younger, hungrier outfits do. We’ll spark a riot if we go after Novo G or the other top media companies without mountains of hard evidence.”

Jane nodded her acquiescence. “Of course.” She didn’t agree at all, but it wasn’t a battle she wanted just then. Hujuru, like many others on Mabingion, gave the media too much deference.

“One more thing.” Hujuru blanked her display. “Three of our pharma partners are complaining about a significant influx of minder-drug clones and reverses in Ridderth again. The courts are still backed up with the cases from the last action. I added several locations to the upcoming coordinated raids, and I’ll supervise–”

Jane interrupted. “No. Take them off the list. The CPS is not their shortcut around legal remedies. They can wait for an adjudication timeslot just like other businesses. If the pharmas have court orders, the planetary police should be enforcing those.”

Hujuru blinked in surprise. “That’s not, er, normal practice.”

Jane folded her fingers together. “You mean, not recent practice.” Her predecessor had demonstrably been on the pharma lobby’s payroll, as well as dozens of others. It had eventually led to his “promotion” to closer supervision in CPS HQ. She had no intention of ending up there herself. “It is, however, mine.”

Hujuru’s face blanked. “Okay, I’ll make a note.” She made a show of entering it on her percomp.

Jane’s head throbbed. Now she’d have to find out what Hujuru was up to. She’d conducted enough audits to recognize camouflage behavior when she saw it. “Since I have you here, where are you on the Ayorinn Legacy investigation?”

Hujuru grimaced. “If Ridderth has anyone or anything related to the Ayorinn forecast ratshit, we can’t find it. Our best deep-dive analysts say that ridiculous doggerel pops up in random locations, but no more in Ridderth than any other city on any other planet.” Her lips twisted in disdain. “That forecast conspiracy may have started here, but that was thirty-whatever years ago. Now it’s just a scam. I guarantee you that someone, somewhere, is making serious money on it. The stupid poems appear all over the galaxy, and credulous fools lap them up.” She hissed a heavy breath and shook her head, making her springy ringlets bounce in agitation. “My office is spread too thin as it is, and the Kameleon division is six months behind in even acknowledging requests for operatives.” Her mouth twisted. “I don’t know why HQ is so convinced that Ridderth is the source.”

Jane did. She’d started her CPS career as an expert statistician, and she’d discovered the pattern. As she’d pointed out to HQ, Ridderth was the only megacity on any member planet where the quatrains had never appeared first.

Officially, the CPS had promoted Jane to the Mabingion post to clean house after the previous administrator’s utter incompetence and brazen self-dealing. Her top-secret mission, directly from the mouth of the Citizen Protection Service’s High Marshal, was to use any means necessary to exterminate the pernicious, corrupting cancer that was the Ayorinn Legacy.

The CPS knew to its cost that the forecast was real. Whether or not the supposed meaning was real, people believed it. In Jane’s view, the danger far exceeded the combined threats of the lawless pirate clan, thieving interstellar jackers, and the planet-based criminal crew conglomerates.

The poetry spoke to people in ways the CPS had never been able to interpret or predict, but it worked. Each of the hundreds of quatrains raised the heat and stirred the pot, especially when the entertainment industry boosted the signal with provocative interpretations. Each resurgence of the meme left increasing death and destruction in its wake. Ridderth suffered more than most and had the ugly scars to prove it.

Imagining the whole galaxy on fire kept her working long hours on her plans when she should have been sleeping.

Which was why the first order she gave after her appointment had been to assign an entire Minder Corps data section of specialists to gather, evaluate, and sort key information about Ridderth. She now knew more about the city than its oldest residents.

Jane nodded sympathetically to Hujuru about her complaint. “Yes, HQ does tend to live in a stellar-fairy dimension all its own. That’s why I’m down here in the most corrupt city in the galaxy instead of up at Concordance Prime or at CPS HQ on Karybdis.” Jane gave Hujuru a wry smile. “I don’t like heights.”