Site-7: SEGFAULT - SCP Foundation

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F.A.Q.

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Ari Katsaros and David Rosen woke up some fifty feet from each other at nearly the same time, just after the crack of dawn — an admittedly arbitrary concept in a place where it was night for months at a time. The Director’s suite had a main living space and kitchenette, with two rooms on opposite sides: one for the Overseer, and one for his bodyguard, each with an attached bathroom. The goal was that each party would have a reasonable expectation of privacy whilst being close enough to rapidly respond in the case of an emergency.

Of course, Site-7 was for all practical purposes a fortress; even if a hostile party did manage to locate the Site to begin with, pierce the SEP field, navigate the naval minefield, avoid the circling patrol boats, and successfully make it aboard the rigs, they would still be fighting through an army of highly-trained Site security personnel, followed by a contingent of some of the deadliest bodyguards in the world, followed by someone Rita Rodriguez had affectionately nicknamed the million-dollar woman. All things considered, lying in his bed, sheets wrapped around him, O5-2 felt pretty damn safe.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling something was watching him. It had first hit him when Ari had pumped a dozen bullets into the chest of the thing that had been wearing Yamada’s face. That he had gotten within arms’ length of someone fully intending to blow his brains out — the thing that was currently sitting locked in a titanium coffin a short mile away. He’d assigned it the internal codename Subject HAVE RED, not that it mattered; no one except Moses and himself knew about it. And Ari, of course. He’d stopped counting her as a variable, he mentally noted; her companionship was assumed.

Two was not a trusting person by nature. Working in RAISA is somewhat antithetical to the idea of trust — the philosophy is need-to-know, and nothing more. But even beyond that, he’d never been the kind of person to trust easily. He didn’t have many friends, and he wasn’t particularly open with any of them. Lying on his back in that dim bedroom, he realized with a start that Ari was probably the first person he had really trusted in years.

Fifty feet away, she was thinking the same thing about him.

When he wheeled himself out of the door into the living space, Ari was nowhere to be found. He looked around for a few seconds before rolling to her bedroom door. He’d never actually been inside since she’d moved in, he registered. His hand hovered in front of the door before knocking.

“Come in,” she called out. He pushed the door open before rolling in.

The room had been a small, relatively bare space originally; functionally identical to his, barring a few modifications for accessibility he’d had installed. A porthole window looking out over the glacial waters of the Norton Sound, a simple desk, a wardrobe, and a bed. Looking around, he noticed she’d added a few creature comforts. A decorative banner of a sports team he didn’t recognize hung over the bed, and she’d somehow gotten her hands on a gun case to contain her collection of firearms. There were pictures pinned to the walls — some featuring her, some not.

Ari was standing in front of a full-length mirror that was leaning against the wall, still wearing her workout clothes. She turned when she saw his reflection. “Something up?”

“No. Not really.”

“Okay. I’ll be ready to rock in a second.”

He nodded, but didn’t leave. Instead, he wheeled around the room, looking at the little knickknacks. There was a shard of what looked like pottery sitting on the desk; he picked it up.

“What’s this?”

“Ceramic shard from a bulletproof vest. First time I ever got shot, actually.”

“That happen often?”

“More than I’d like, less than you’d think.”

He snorted, putting the shard back where it was and resuming his wandering around the room.

“You’re freaking me out, chief.”

“Sorry. It… occurred to me that I put my life in your hands every day, but I don’t really know you.”

She cocked her head. “You’ve read my security profile.”

“Not exactly a holistic way to figure out what makes a person tick.”

She shrugged. “Well, what do you want to know?”

“Family?”

“You definitely know that.”

“Sure, but I’d like to hear it in your words.”

“My dad lives in a retirement community in Florida. He was in the Marines. Not the best dad in the world, for sure, but he did his best. Mom died when I was twenty-one.”

“Condolences.”

“It was a long time ago. I’ve got a younger brother, Alex. We don’t talk often, but he’s a good kid.”

“What’s he up to?”

“Marines, just like Dad.”

O5-2 nodded slowly. He spied a plush giraffe sitting on Ari’s bed and raised an eyebrow at her. She returned the look, crossing her arms. “It was a birthday gift from my brother. What about you?”

“Me?”

“Family.”

He shook his head. “You don’t really get to have a family as an O5. Luckily I didn’t have much of anyone to begin with, but I have an older sister somewhere. She thinks I’m dead.”

“Jeez.”

“It’s the price of power. I make sure she’s taken care of. She never has to worry about losing her job or going hungry.”

“That’s good of you. Must be lonely, though.”

He shrugged, turning the wheelchair around and heading for the door. “We chose lonely lives.”

Ari was leaning against the wall of the conference room, tuning out the white noise of another leadership meeting. Rita, Evie, Pierre, Chen, and occasionally the Director were exchanging talking points, debating project priorities and timelines and deadlines. Necessary stuff, the doldrum that kept RAISA running — but nothing that interested her. She was pulled out of the reverie when O5-2 asked Chen for an update on “the GOC guy.”

“I’m tapping into my connections,” Chen explained. “As far as I can tell, he hasn’t worked with the GOC for a while now. At least a year and a half.”

Ari butted in. “He said that working with the Coalition was a ‘temporary arrangement’. Makes sense.”

“Any idea where the target might be now?” O5-2 asked.

Internally, Ari started at the use of the word ‘target’. It was a long time since she’d seen Farhan, but she didn’t want the next time to be after unzipping a body bag.

“I have reason to believe he’s operating along Pakistan and India’s disputed border zone.”

Damnit.

Two mirrored her thoughts. “Lovely. He couldn’t have picked anywhere less tense, like the Gaza Strip?”

“There are a few leads I’m following to pin down his exact location. I hope your friend can handle himself, Ari.” Chen looked up at her with full sincerity. “Kashmir has gotten ridiculously hot over the past few years. India, Pakistan, China, a PENTAGRAM psychoartillery unit, UNGOC peacekeepers, and Myrmidon and Valravn operating in the middle of it all. It’s the mother of all powder kegs.”

She bit her lip. “And all it takes is one spark.”

The Director nodded. “Hopefully we can blackbag him before it blows rather than after. Keep at it.”

And then, just like that, Evie brought up something about a necessary patch to the SCiPnet numerical anomaly something-or-other, and the topic of Farhan was left in the wayside. Afterward, as she was following Two out, Rita touched her shoulder. The short machinist had her streaked hair tied back and a look of well-meaning concern on her face.

“Hey, Cat!”

“Cat?”

“Y’know, cat, because Cat-saros! And because you’re like a cat.”

“I am not.”

“You definitely are! Silent, dark, brooding, moody, definitely a cat.”

“I’m more of a dog person, actually,” she professed. “Anyway, what’s up?”

“I just wanted to say, you okay?”

Tch. She bit her tongue. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

“Good! Good, ‘cuz I just heard from Pierre about what happened the other day — I’m not cleared to know about combat operations, formally — and just, you know, don’t really know how that sort of thing can make you feel. Plus it’s been so busy lately with winter setting in and everything, we haven’t talked in a bit. Let’s grab a drink tonight?”

“Um, sure.”

“Great! Been a bit since we talked, I’ll get the whole gang together. We’ll make an evening out of it!”

They stood in awkward silence for a few seconds before Two called from down the hall. Ari put up her hands. “Gotta go.”

“Sure, sure! Go, do your job, I’ll shoot you a message later.”

Ari’s brow furrowed as she followed the Overseer down the hall. “Don’t know what that was about. Hope it’s not anything serious.”

Two sighed. “Really?”

“What?”

“She’s trying to be your friend. Even I know that, and my social circle extends to about thirteen people total.”

“We are friends.”

“You don’t get out much, do you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize friendship isn’t a one-and-done affair for most people. It’s a muscle, one that needs regular exercise to stay useful.” He patted his thigh with a rueful smile. “Otherwise it atrophies.”

She shrugged. “Way I see it, if you’re really friends, shouldn’t matter if you don’t talk to each other for a little while.”

“Me too. But I think you forget most people aren’t like us.”

She cocked her head down at him. “What are we like?”

He shrugged evasively as they rolled into an elevator. Ari didn’t bother reaching for the screens — the tablet sitting in Two’s lap was connected to nearly every terminal and utility point in the site. He tapped something, and the elevator began to descend.

“So what’s on the docket today?”

“I have to head offsite for a bit. Take care of some stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“Clearance, Ari.” Something about his vaguity incensed her. Before she was fully aware what she was doing, she leaned forward and slammed a fist into the emergency stop button on the elevator panel. The elevator jerked to a halt, and O5-2 looked up at her in shock. She stared back at him accusingly.

“Look.” The words tumbled out of her mouth. “This is a two-way street. My job is protecting you. And if you don’t trust me, I can’t do my job.”

“I do trust you.” It was the truth.

“Then how come I’m always out of the circle? Why do I have to ask for clearance to accompany you on Council business? Why do we keep having little incidents like the one at STAG?”

He didn’t respond.

“You say you trust me, and maybe you do, but that doesn’t mean anything unless you act like it. Your Secretary is supposed to be your right hand, an extension of yourself. Let me do my job.”

They were both silent for a few seconds, staring at one another. Finally, David broke it.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m still… learning how to do all this, I guess.”

Ari’s shoulders relaxed. Her breath calmed down.

“It’s fine. I just don’t want you to get into something where I can’t help you. I care about you, David.”

“I care about you too.”

They fell silent, and Ari pressed the button again. The elevator continued its descent.

“So, let’s try that again. Where are we going?”

“Site-7B.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I didn’t know we had a satellite facility,” she said as the Condor descended.

“Most people don’t. The Archival Office is by far our smallest section, but no less important.”

“A whole 20% of the acronym.”

He nodded as the quadcopter hit the landing pad with a shudder, rotors settling down. Ari pulled the door open, kicking the ramp out and looking around.

Site-7B — what she could see of it, anyway — wasn’t much. There was a tiny barebones airstrip she’d seen flying in, and a dirt path connected it to this clearing. Besides the helipad, there were a couple of storage sheds, a trailer, and a chain-link fence encircling it all. Beyond that were just dense pine trees.

In fact, the only thing of interest in sight was the cave. It was large — easily wide and tall enough to fit a truck through, but the entrance was completely blocked by a set of huge blast doors. As she watched, a guard spoke into his walkie-talkie, and the doors began to creak open inch-by-inch.

“Hello!”

She turned. There was an older woman standing a few feet behind her — she looked to be in her 60s, with a grey bun pierced through with a pen. There were crow’s feet around her eyes, and a warm smile on her face.

“Ms. Katsaros, I presume?” she asked, extending a hand.

“Hi. Yeah, call me Ari. Who…?”

“Head Archivist Marina Maxwell. I’m in charge of this sector of the Site. I’ve heard so much about you, it’s wonderful to finally meet you in person.”

They shook as Two rolled up to them.

“Nice to see you’ve met.”

“No thanks to you,” Maxwell ribbed gently. “Are we such an unlikeable lot that you have to sequester this nice young lady from us?” She had a laugh like falling water.

“No, just… never really came up.”

A heavy clunk interrupted them. The blast doors locked into place, fully open, revealing a natural tunnel descending into the rock face. The area in front of the entrance was surrounded by wire fences and floodlights illuminating it in harsh white, casting long shadows as they made their way in. Just before they entered, Maxwell stopped them.

“I hate to ask this, hun. But we have a strict policy with regards to contaminants in the vault.”

“Contaminants?”

“Any foreign material, especially stuff that’s electronic or anomalous in nature.”

Ari stared for a second, not understanding — then it clicked for her, at the same time time as it did for Two.

“Come on, Marina. You can’t be serious.”

“It’s fine,” Ari said, cutting him off. She reached her right hand over to her left, popping the clasps that kept her prosthetic attached to her bicep. The fingers went limp as the nervous connection was interrupted, then she slid it off. “I can go without it for a little bit.”

Maxwell accepted it gingerly, handing it off to one of the staff members. “We’ll take good care of it for you. Now, shall we?”

Ari shielded her eyes as they slipped in. The tunnel was wide, and had been partially expanded in places; the floor was concrete and metal panelling. The floor was at a downwards incline, and she wordlessly grasped one handle of Two’s wheelchair to avoid slippage.

“What is this place?” she asked as they came to a freight elevator. This didn’t have any of the accoutrements of Site-7’s modern elevators; it looked like it belonged in a mine somewhere. Maxwell pressed one of the lower buttons, and the elevator began to rapidly descend.

“He didn’t even tell you?” She made a slight noise of irritation, one hand reaching down to gently cuff the back of his head.

“It slipped my mind. I’m just a little busier these days than I used to be,” he answered with a slight edge.

She ignored him. “Well, sweetie, this is Site-7B: the RAISA Vault. When SCiPnet was first created in the seventies, Maria Jones was faced with the problem of digitizing all the paper records that we’d been using for so long. We needed some place to put the originals in case we ever needed to access them, but we also needed to make sure that they were completely protected against every kind of degradation.”

“Stuffing them into a damp cave seems counterproductive,” she commented as the elevator came to a stop.

“Not just any cave. The Deep Well cave complex is technically an anomaly; SCP-6784. The exact effects are… complicated, but the gist is that anomalous effects stop working inside the cave. That means they’re protected from anomalous forms of degradation; we’ve gone and reinforced that with a whole lot of technology.”

They wandered out of the elevator. The floor they were on was similar to the one they’d entered in, except that on all sides, she was surrounded with shelves that went up to the cave ceiling. They were stacked high with cardboard file containers. A few archivists were wandering around, moving boxes from place to place or inspecting containers. Unlike the main-Site personnel, the archivists enjoyed a few creature comforts — climate control that afforded them the luxury of business casual wear, most notably. Ari looked at her own fatigue pants and sweater with a twinge of jealousy.

“The DEEPWELL suite. It’s named after this place?”

Maxwell smiled. “Smart girl!”

“Place must be huge, to contain all these files.”

Maxwell and Two exchanged a look. “It’s definitely bigger than you’d think,” she brushed off. Ari elected not to pry.

They continued down the metal walkway. Ari couldn’t see a rhyme or reason to the organization of the shelves, but supposed there had to be one; the place was labyrinthine. They suddenly took a sharp left, veering into an aisle of shelves. Eventually, they stopped in front of one.

“I’ll leave you to it, David.” Maxwell wandered away, not seeing Two scowling at her back.

“So what’s the deal there?”

“The deal?”

“She clearly knows you.”

“Oh. She was… a mentor, of sorts, when I worked here. Before I was offered the position. We were close. Worked together a lot. Helped me get my footing in the organization — before the meteoric rise up. ”

He fell uncharacteristically silent for a second.

“Right. Uh, what are we looking for?”

“That box right there, with the tamper tape.” She spotted what he was talking about — getting it down was a mild struggle with only one hand, but she managed it, lowering it into his lap. He unceremoniously tore the seal, fingers digging through the files as he skimmed over them. She watched as his brow furrowed and his face contorted with worry.

“What is it?”

“You heard her whole spiel about how documents here can’t be altered? Cosmic insulation against ontological reality changes?”

“Sure.”

He plucked one paper out of the box, handing it to her. She looked it over. It was part of a personnel file, but had been haphazardly blanked out. Not redacted; the relevant information simply wasn’t there. A white gap — one that felt oddly familiar. She stared at it, and as she did, she faintly felt her surroundings fall away, giving way to a dull buzz building in the back of her head. It reminded her of the men without faces, the men that turned to look at her in the building and in the hanger and the men whose body bags she’d unzipped just a few short weeks ago. Identity sloughing off, like wet paint in the rain — clouding the waters and pooling in the gutter until they drained, drained away.

“Ari?”

She snapped out of it, handing the paper back to him. “That’s supposed to be impossible.”

“It is. Moses ran a DNA test on the bodies that would’ve bounced back a ping somewhere unless they simply weren’t in any genetic database in the world.”

“Or in one that we just don’t have access to.”

He snorted. “The odds of that are — well, nonexistent. Anyway, it’s moot, because it did turn up a ping. In our database.”

Ari’s eyes widened. “What?”

“We make all personnel, especially in the Security Department, surrender a DNA sample upon hiring. You can imagine it comes in handy a lot. Moses didn’t have access to it, but it gave me this — a personnel file for a Mobile Task Force operator that should by all rights be digitized into SCiPnet, that’s not. I don’t even know how long this box has been here. The data is just… missing. Name, hiring date, supervisor, history, anything. I don’t understand. This shouldn’t be possible.” He stared at the box and the impossible paper in front of him, at a loss. “This is RAISA. This doesn’t happen here.”

“What number?”

“What?”

“The MTF — what designation is it?”

He looked at the paper again.

“Delta-0. What’s Delta-0?”

She stared back at him in confusion.

“…We don’t have a Delta-0.”

A few hours later, they were sitting across from one another in the suite’s living room. Snow was beating down on the windows.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Two said, not raising his gaze from the papers spread out in front of him.

“It doesn’t,” Ari muttered in agreement. All she had in her hands was a mug of coffee.

“Personnel that don’t exist — files that don’t exist — an entire task force that doesn’t exist. Maybe the first two, but the third isn’t something you can hide.”

“Why not?”

He looked up at her in confusion.

“I know why not. Just, you know. Talking stuff out loud helps sometimes.” She continued sipping her coffee.

Two nodded slowly. “Okay. Sure. Let’s talk it out. The REPLICA in Hokkaido was taken over by at least two… things, working with some degree of planning and organization.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Things.”

“What, do you have a better name for them?”

She shrugged. “I’ve been calling them that word you used — infovores.”

“Huh. I mean, I suppose it is techncially accurate — they consume people’s identities. Okay. Fine, infovores. Two infovores.”

“You think it was just two of them?”

“No. You don’t break into a Foundation facility with just two guys. I don’t care how many identities you eat.”

“Okay, so there’s clearly some organization of them operating in conjunction. With the goal of… killing you, apparently. They were trying to lure you to the facility — and when that didn’t work, they tried to kill you at the airstrip.”

“Why, though? Who would want to kill me? Moses already went over the most likely suspects — this isn’t GOC technology, Hand would never be this cloak-and-dagger, PENTAGRAM have no motive. Who else is there?”

Ari found she had no answer. “Well, I don’t think either of us knows, so maybe shift gears: clearly these guys worked for us at some point in the past.”

“That’s what the documents suggest, at least.”

“Okay, so, sum them up for me.”

“Personnel that don’t exist, leading us to files that don’t exist, leading us to a task force that doesn’t exist. You might be able to hide those first two, but an MTF? No chance.” He leaned back in his chair. “How did you know Delta-0 doesn’t exist, anyway?”

“I was in the Security Department, remember? There aren’t any task forces with a dash-zero designation. There just aren’t. Everybody starts from dash-one. Even those guys,” she said, waving in the general direction of the Alpha-1 guards standing on the other side of the door.

“None of this makes any sense,” Two reiterated.

“It doesn’t,” Ari re-reiterated.

They sat in silence for a few seconds before Ari spoke again.

“Well. I know it’s impossible, but bear with me. Personnel that don’t exist and files that don’t exist could, feasibly, be hidden from you and everyone else if the person hiding them had a complex enough understanding of SCiPnet, right?”

He grumbled, which she took as assent to the premise.

“But a task force doesn’t work like that. You can’t just delete the file — there are mission orders, personnel records, requisitions, after-action reports. Entire supply lines and infrastructure for them, spreading across a dozen departments and divisions.”

“Sure.”

“Which means that in order to create a hidden task force, you’d need to redact that much information from across the entire Foundation. It needs an unparalleled level of influence, control…” Her voice trailed off as she saw his eyes light up. He sat up straight.

“A Council member.”

“Bingo.”

“That’s insane, though. Why would a Council member want me killed? I’ve only been on the Council for a year and a half. I don’t have the kind of enemies that Elev—” He cut himself off.

“Don’t tell me it’s another clearance thing.”

“No, no. Just, had an idea. Need to investigate it.”

She nodded.

“If this is a Council member — and I’m not saying it is, I’m just saying it’s a possibility — then you can’t trust… anyone. Seriously, you can’t bring this to a Council meeting, it’d be suicide.”

“I know.” David was silent for a few seconds. “Well, I can think of one person I can trust.”

In spite of the circumstance, Ari smiled. They lapsed back into silence before he broke it again a few seconds later.

“So. We have a non-existent MTF made up of face-eaters who want to kill us, possibly with the backing and support of a sitting Overseer. They could be anyone, they could be anywhere, and a DNA test is the only way to identify them.”

“Yup.”

He sighed. “We’re really in the thick of it, aren’t we?”

“Yup. But as far as places to be besieged, a fortress in the middle of the Arctic Ocean a hundred kilometers from the nearest sign of civilization and staffed with people utterly loyal to you is pretty good. Plus, look at the silver lining. If you get shot, you won’t have to go to any more Council meetings.”

He smiled ruefully. “Could be worse.”

She got to her feet, carrying the now-empty mug towards the kitchenette. But before that, she stopped next to him, placing a metal hand on his shoulder and squeezing. Then she walked away.

“In the middle of the Bering Sea and the beer is, somehow, still barely chilled. Astonishing.” Evie swirled her can around to underline the point.

The four of them were sitting around a table in Site-7’s canteen. At this hour of the night, it was fairly busy; technicians and engineers coming down from their shifts to unwind with a glass of wine or a beer. There was no bartender; the entire system was automated, requiring only a few taps on a screen. It had taken the RAISA engineers all of half an hour to hack into it and serve themselves free beer when it was installed, she had been told. A terrible pop song from the 2000s was playing over the din of conversation.

They were a few beers deep by now — not enough to get properly drunk, but just enough to have a light buzz going.

“Well, if you’re not gonna finish it…” Rita said, making a playful grab at Evie’s can. Evie snatched it away, downing it and slamming the empty, unmarked aluminum can on the table.

“She finished it,” Pierre noted duly. Ari laughed, and then they all laughed.

“Busy week for you guys?” she asked. A chorus of noises sounded out around the table.

“It’s always a busy week,” Evie said.

“Same here.”

“Not for me, actually,” Pierre offered.

“Yeah, well, you have the easiest job here,” Rita shot back. Pierre looked offended at the suggestion, in his way, but to his credit, did not rise to the bait. Instead, Ari came to his rescue.

“Hey, you try carrying that rifle around all day and barking orders.”

“Being grumpy is a full-time position, my friends.”

Ari took the last sip of her beer while they all laughed again. It occurred to her that she couldn’t remember the last time she'd had close friends. Like this.

She put the empty can down on the table, making it four. Then she planted her hand on the table, palm-up. The other three cheered, pushing their cans into the center. This was their favorite party trick. One by one, she planted them in the palm of her metal hand, then clamped it shut, crushing the cans into perfect little discs.

“I got it.”

She scooped them up, weaving through the techs standing and drinking, making her way to the recycling bin in the corner. Then she hit the automated bar again, swiping her card and watching as four more cans of beer were dispensed from the automated arm. Her ears perked up as she heard the room going silent behind her, turning around in confusion. Then she realized it wasn’t her they were going silent for.

O5-2 wheeled himself into the canteen, stopping right past the threshold. The conversational din died down respectfully, a few folks even greeting him with raised glasses or cans. He had an odd look on his face as he scanned the crowd, and gave her a sharp head tilt after landing on her. She got the message, and quickly dropped the beers off back at the table.

“Sorry, guys.”

They were going to reassure her it was fine when Two cut them off.

“They can come. And you can bring your beers.”

They exchanged a look, but got to their feet, following him out of the door. The music and noise faded as they walked down the hallway, a generally-friendly but confused air about the group. Two led.

“Where are we going?”

“Bluefin.”

Evie stifled a groan. “Long walk.”

“We can take the chopper, if you’d like.”

Ari cracked open her fresh beer. “We’ll walk.”

By the time they got the shipping and receiving platform, the respectful frost had mostly dissolved. They were drinking and laughing as they made their way down the walkways. They tried to offer Two a drink a few times, but he declined.

“Not a drinker?”

“Occasionally. Just not the stale pisswater the canteen stocks.”

The unexpected vulgarity drew out another round of laughs from the group as they descended into the platform. The topside of Bluefin was mostly just a bunch of stacked shipping containers, but the underside of the platform was a maze of catwalks, walkways, freight elevators, and docks. Idly, Ari noted that the last time she had been here with Rita and Pierre, it had been when she was first brought aboard the Site.

As they reached the bottom, she noticed another familiar sight in one of the docks: the snow-flecked hull of the Teaser. And, standing in front of it, her captain, looking as salt-grizzled as ever.

“Rudy!”

“Hey, kid.”

They met each other with a firm handshake. Rudy looked down.

“Good goddamn, what is that thing?”

She raised her left hand, flexing the fingers. “My compensation. Part of it, anyway.”

He let out a long, low whistle. “Damn. That is really quite impressive. Wow. Much better than my old thing.”

“How’ve you been? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Oh, you know, busy busy. Still running supply from here to port. You?”

She smiled. “Settled in pretty well.”

Two rolled up next to them, making Rudy jump to stand up straight. “Hello, Rudy. You have the package?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, skipper.” He turned and gave a sharp whistle. They all watched as they heard a pattering noise, growing louder until a large Alsatian rounded the corner, bounding up to them with its tongue lolling out of its mouth. It gave a sharp, loud bark.

Ari’s face lit up as she knelt down in front of the dog, ruffling its fur with her good hand. It barked happily at her again. It was wearing a vest, the kind bomb dogs wore — just “COMBAT UNIT” and a simple Site-7 patch sewn on.

“Who’s this guy?”

“I was thinking about the other day — how DNA identification is the only way to, you know,” Two explained, skirting around the topic while they had an audience. “But it occurred to me that STAG has had pretty consistent success in animals, particularly dogs, being able to detect people using memetic masks. Figured it couldn’t hurt to have one more layer of protection.”

“That’s all?”

“That, and I remember you saying you were a dog person.”

She smiled. “What’s his name?”

Two checked his tablet. “Probable Cause.”

She jerked back towards him so fast her neck nearly snapped. “His name is what?”

Two raised his hands. “He was a military dog. You know that sense of humor better than I do.”

Ari scratched behind the dog’s ears. “Uh, we’ll call you PC for now, I guess.”

PC barked in assent, then wandered over to the rest of the group, sniffing and inspecting them. Evie shied away; Pierre, bafflingly, held the dog’s gaze for a few seconds while Rita pet him. They were still playing with him when they heard the pitter-patter of feet behind them again — human, this time. Ari turned.

It was Chen, looking slightly-out-of-breath.

“Where have you guys been? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Two rolled forward. “What’s wrong?”

But Chen wasn’t looking at him; he was staring straight ahead at Ari.

“You’re gonna want to get your things. We found your friend.”

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