Story code: ST-000085
Part 2: The Price of the Diagnostic
I left the dining room before the main course was served, but Marcus was quick to counter my move, turning my diagnostic check into a weapon against me. By the time I reached the Comm Terminal Hub, my palm-pad buzzed with an automated alert: a system-wide security quarantine had been placed on my terminal, initiated by Marcus himself. Standing in the center of the terminal hub, surrounded by the quiet hum of the quantum processors, I realized Marcus had presented a false alibi to Commander Chen, claiming my recent terminal upgrades had caused a critical system breach. The notification on my pad was explicit: Security Audit Pending. Access Restricted by Liaison Thorne. I stared at the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs. By blaming the routing error on my system upgrades, Marcus hadn’t just protected himself; he had shifted the entire cost of the discrepancy onto me. If the audit proceeded, my promotion would be suspended, and my security clearance would be revoked. I would be locked out of the network permanently. The pneumatic door to the hub slid open. Marcus walked in, his expression calm, almost sorrowful. He closed the door behind him and stood near the console, blocking my path to the main exit. ‘You shouldn’t have walked out of the dinner, Elena,’ he said, his voice echoing in the narrow room. ‘Commander Chen is confused. I had to explain that your scripts have been unstable lately.’ ‘My scripts are flawless, Marcus,’ I said, keeping my voice even despite the anger tightening in my chest. ‘You lied to the Commander. You flagged my station to cover up whatever is inside this Model-8 capsule.’ ‘I did what was necessary to protect the station’s integrity,’ he replied, stepping closer. ‘A routing discrepancy looks bad on your record. A temporary audit is just standard procedure. Once we archive the capsule, the audit will clear.’ ‘It will clear because you’ll delete the evidence,’ I said. I backed up toward the auxiliary console, my fingers finding the physical terminal interface behind my back. I slid the Model-8 capsule into the auxiliary reader. The mechanical drive clicked, and the screen flashed: Decrypting… 10%. Marcus saw the screen light up. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. He didn’t reach for me, but he took another step forward, his shadow falling over the console. ‘Stop the decryption, Elena. You don’t know what you’re interfering with. This isn’t just about relay bandwidth.’ ‘Then tell me what it is,’ I said, my hand hovering over the lock-command key. ‘It’s a private matter,’ he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. ‘Something that doesn’t concern the Sol-Proxima network. If you let this go, I can cancel the audit. Your promotion goes through, and we go back to work. If you force this open, the security protocols will lock us both out.’ The decryption progress bar reached 45%. A decrypted text file began to render on my secondary monitor, revealing a series of personal messages, coordinates to a homestead on Kepler-186f, and financial logs. ‘Who is Theresa Thorne?’ I asked, reading the header as it materialized. Marcus went silent, his face draining of color as the terminal screen reflected the true depth of the double life he had kept hidden from the entire station.