The Monitors
A communications monitor stationed on the Moon discovers that he's not immune to being monitored himself.
“Sometimes I feel like a hacker, as if it was possible to read people’s minds,” said Ensign Parker, a small, skinny kid who had grown up on the colony.
“Don't be silly,” Lieutenant Katz replied absently.
He shouldn't have been reading the updates on his P.T. Naughty! And extending it to half the size of a desktop monitor to watch the Low-G dodgeball? That was asking for trouble—not that he cared. Lieutenant-Commander Aziz barely paid attention to “Snoop Central.”
Parker objected to this. He had been told during orientation that P.C.M. (personal communications monitoring) was the pillar on which the Plymouth Rock Colony's security rested, and he believed it. It made him feel important to be given the solemn responsibility of keeping it safe. And, as far as he was concerned, that was exactly what he was doing.
On the left-hand monitor, SNIFR (Standard Notifiable Intelligence Finding Routine), the AI program, had highlighted in bright red some phrases in a message written by a passenger on the Caledonian Queen, which was bound for the Jin Hua colony on Mars.
O to be a bird that flies
Wherever it wants
Through clear blue skies
O to be a stream that flows
Across the land
Unopposed
O to be a song that's sung
On any day
From any tongue
The comms monitoring administrator made two decisions based on this:
Since Sentinel had the contract for communications monitoring on through traffic as well as inbound and outbound, this was definitely his concern; they employed him.
Since the People's Union of East Asian Nations had tasked Sentinel with identifying people whose views were antithetical to maintaining a harmonious society based on mutual respect—and paid bonuses for each one that Sentinel found, this was definitely subversive. They would pay him.
Accordingly, he logged an incident report, copied and pasted the offending lines into it, then sent it on to the Security Department for review.
***
From: Messages@SecurityDepartment.SentinelSecurity.moon
To: Captain@CaledonianQueen.WhiteStarStellarFerries.ean.com
Date: 03/27/2125 PRCM
Subject: PRIVATE & CONFIDENTIAL: Captain's Eyes Only
**Security Department Potential Subversive Communications Log 2125/27/3-00373**
Captain,
It has come to our attention that passenger EAN0000012375-03/22/2125 has been sending unlawful communications pursuant to The Communications Interception Act (PUEAN) 2098, Section 1, and to The Subversives Containment Act (UN) 2076.
You are therefore advised to divert immediately to Plymouth Rock Port and hand over passenger Ping “Penny” Liu to Security.
Case no. 2125/27/3-00373 has been raised; please quote reference 2125/27/3-00373 in all correspondence pertaining to this.
A message has been sent to passenger EAN0000012375-03/22/2125 to advise her of her rights.
Please acknowledge receipt of this message.
The words burned into the Captain's soul. He wanted to claw his own eyes out, but what could he do? He’d heard rumours of people's cabins being bugged, and believed them. Yes, he had handed passengers over to security AT P.R.P., never to be seen again, but this time, it was different. Penny was his daughter.
***
From: RogetsRetail.ss@PRC.moon
To: pennypliu29032114@chatty.nas.com
Date: 03/27/2125 PRCM
Subject: Happy Birthday, Penny!
Dear Penny,
Congratulations! We are delighted to announce that, because it's your birthday, White Star Stellar Ferries has given you a special gift.
Please proceed to Rogets Department Store on arrival at Plymouth Rock Colony, and quote reference 2125/27/3-00373 to receive your surprise present.
N.B. Because this is supposed to be a secret, do no tell anyone about this.
Happy birthday!
***
The two-tone announcement signal sounded wrong. There was usually a higher note that preceded this one. They weren't meant to be the same. The heavily built man in the Executive Lounge listened attentively.
“This is your Captain speaking: due to a medical emergency on the Moon, we will be stopping off at Plymouth Rock Colony in fourteen hours. We will remain there for six hours, so those of you who want to take advantage of Roget's Founder's Day sale will have an opportunity to do so.”
The two same-tone notes played again.
He made his way to the bridge and asked to speak to the Captain.
***
The security guards waiting at Customs diligently checked the identity cards of the disembarking passengers. When the Captain came down the ramp, he was holding the hand of a little girl who appeared to be the child of someone from one of the East Asian nations.
One of the guards stepped forward. “Captain John Deakin?”
“Yes,” he replied, presenting his credentials.
“We have orders to take custody of passenger Ping “Penny” Liu.”
“Here she is,” he replied. “I am obligated to advise that under The Parental Rights Act 2087, section 1, I am permitted to accompany my daughter during her interview and can keep her in my own custody unless it can be proven that she is a clear and present danger to persons or property.
“I am also entitled by The Subversives Containment Act (UN) 2076 Section 27, Clause 4, to be informed of any and all charges made against a family member. Under Section 28, she has a right to be either charged or released within twenty four hours, to a defence, and to a speedy trial.”
The stone-faced guard looked around, as if he was suddenly lost. He raised his arm, exposed his forearm, and tapped on the inside of his thick wristband. A hand span screen sat beside a small QWERTY keyboard on it. A female face flashed up, her hair scraped back.
“What is it, Fletcher?” she asked.
“The prisoner is a fifteen-year-old girl. And her father is the captain of the Caledonian Queen.”
“Bring them both in,” she replied, in an irritated tone.
Fletcher, accompanied by two others, escorted the father and daughter to the Commander's office.
***
Ensign Parker signed in for his second shift, this time as a security guard in the custody block. He loved doing that; he got to complete the cycles he’d begun by reporting potential subversives. His monitoring reports on their activities during their time in the cells were sent to the Security Department, which cross-referenced them with the SNIFR reports. If they scored enough points on the threat index, they were marked for removal. And he loved nothing more than supervising removals. The looks on their faces once they realised they were caught like flies in a hungry spider's web was the icing on a very satisfying cake.
Following his briefing, he sat at the monitor’s desk to watch the prisoners. His hope of tormenting his latest victim evaporated when he realised that she was a minor and that her father—the captain of a flagship space ferry, was being held with her.
At this point, he remembered his ace in the hole; the voucher he had sent to Penny. He'd lost count of the number of times he’d used that trick to lure people into going with him to the waste disposal complex. Nobody monitored that area. Why would they?
But her father was the captain of the Caledonian Queen. There would be investigations if he made a move on her. What could he do?
As he was considering these things, Fletcher, flanked by two other guards, arrived. “Commander wants to see you, Parker,” he said officiously.
Parker's stomach churned with worry all the way to the Commander's office. He was there soon enough. He stood before her desk, on which a small metal sign bore the words, “Commander Evelyn A. Stoker.” Since she wasn't there, he glanced around.
The walls were adorned with pictures of her achievements; college graduation, sporting trophies, and one in a gilded frame which displayed the moment she'd received a medal from the President.
Parker clenched and unclenched his hands, gritted his teeth, and tried to keep himself calm.
The swish of the doors sliding into the walls behind him heralded her entrance. She marched briskly past him and sat down at her desk.
“Ensign Parker,” she said gravely, “you are under arrest for suspected illegal activities, including arranging the detention of passengers of visiting vessels on false pretences, of kidnapping these people, and of murder.”
His heart sank. But she'd said “suspected.” That meant she was guessing. If he he kept his head here, he could get back to work and carry on as usual. He would, of course, have to be more selective about gaining more victims going forward, but he’d work something out.
“Please note,” she continued, “that anything you say in here will be taken down as evidence to use against you, should this go to trial.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
She glanced down at her laptop, then back up at him. “Did you send any messages to minor child Penny Liu?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why would I?”
“To get her away from anyone who might protect her from you,” she said, her voice laced with fury. She turned her laptop towards him, displaying a copy of the voucher that Penny had received. “Do you deny sending this message to the minor child Penny Liu?”
“Yes,” he replied firmly.
“Despite the time stamps and location trackers indicating that you did,” she said grimly. “We monitor the monitors, Parker. A job like yours attracts the petty, the obstructive, and the cruel. And you have proved yourself to be all of these and more.”
The realisation of just how much trouble he was in began to squeeze his heart. He was caught like a rat in a trap, and he knew it. His mouth went dry. He'd never dreamed that it would all catch up with him.
Commander Stoker steepled her fingers and glared over the tips at him.
Parker stole a quick glance behind.
“Eyes front!” she shouted.
“Yes, ma’am!” he barked.
“There are two guards behind you,” she said calmly. “Y’know, I'd be inclined to let your nasty little hobby slide on the back of a pinkie promise not to do it again if I didn't have a Temexan ambassador breathing down my neck. Have you heard of Bryan Chisholm?”
Parker pursed his lips and put his head on one side. “Can't say I have, ma'am.”
“Too busy playing ‘Hunter/Prey’ to keep up with the news, huh?” she asked, her lower lip curled in distaste. “You like your serial killer character, don't you?”
“It gives me the opportunity to work out how I'd escape such a person, ma'am,” he replied. If she wanted to pin anything on him, she'd better get some hard evidence. That Captain wasn't the only one who knew the law.
“And ‘Court in the Act,’” she added. “How exactly do you think you're gonna sleaze your way out of multiple murder charges?”
He laid out his cards. “Well, with all due respect, ma'am, I'd ask you to present your evidence against me, in the knowledge that circumstantial evidence is not enough to secure a conviction.”
She shook her head and gave him a sour grin. “So you're relying on the possibility of appealing against the ‘balance of probability’ ruling that would, in your experience of gaming, temporarily deprive you of your freedom.”
She had nothing! Terror gave way to relief, and he relaxed. He could indeed sleaze his way out of this. “Well, ma'am,” he replied, “I'm sure that would depend on what the probability was balanced on.”
She cocked an eyebrow.
‘Look at her, enjoying my favorite thing: the pinning!’ he thought angrily, fighting to keep his face straight. ‘First chance I get, I'll make her pay for making me the prey.’
“You haven't asked who Bryan Chisholm is,” she stated coldly. “He's the Ambassador for Temexas, on his way to the Joint Americas Colony on Mars. He's also as much a conspiracy theorist as any of the Southern Staters, and when the Captain of the ship he was travelling on got diverted to the Moon, he naturally wanted to know why.”
Parker's mouth went dry again. He dimly remembered how a Temexan senator had locked up the Pan-American Congress for months chasing down a report on freedom of speech on the Moon. He'd had to dial back his activities for a while, till the heat died down. After that, he had made a point of targeting non-American citizens.
“He had me run a report on all of the communications monitoring we do here on the Moon,” she said, watching him carefully. “Then he zeroed in on the number of people scheduled for removal.” She let the words hang above him like the Sword of Damocles. “As I said, he’s as fond of conspiracy theories as any Southern Stater. The difference with him is that he doesn't run around spouting off his theories.” She let her hands drop down to her desk. “If he sees a loose thread, he'll tug it, even if the whole shebang unravels. He lives for those moments. It annoys a lot of people, Parker. People with secrets they'd rather keep hidden. He's found a loose thread.”
Parker nodded. Another one who liked pinning.
“You've been very successfully covering your tracks,” said the Commander. “You could have gone undetected for years if Ambassador Chisholm hadn't asked me to cross-reference the people marked for removal with their comms records following their departure.”
Terror tightened its grip on his heart. He swallowed.
“You forgot about that, didn't you, Parker?” she said, her brown eyes agleam with triumph.
Parker knew how this game was played. He was pinned. Here comes the chop.
“We found the bodies in the radioactive waste dump.”
He nodded.
“We have your name against boarding passes for folks who never boarded those ships,” she said grimly. “Your name down for overtime at the holding cells. Your name down for reporting people for potentially subversive comms.”
“But that's my job, Commander,” he protested.
“And your name against the user log replying to a ‘Remove to’ dropdown list, choosing ‘trash.’ Instead of reporting the glitch, you took advantage of it. You even volunteered for trash removal duties. Nobody does that!”
A litany of potential defences tumbled through his racing mind. “I can't be held responsible for an A.I. glitch,” he ventured.
“You created it,” she declared, “by constantly over-reporting people. A.I. is constantly learning. You've turned it into a remorseless serial killer. You have a choice: admit it now, or spend the rest of your life appealing your sentence.”
“And what is that?” he asked, forcing himself to stay calm.
“You must understand that, as a Sentinel commander, I am expected to protect the company's reputation,” she said, with a firm nod. “I took a leaf out of your book, Parker: I've had you scheduled for removal.”
Parker gasped. “You said I could appeal.”
“Go ahead,” she replied.
“But–”
“Now!”
“What about my rights?” he asked, his voice small and quavering.
“Trash doesn't have rights,” she replied. “Take him away!”
The strong grip of two pairs of hands grabbing his upper arms made him jump. Parker knew there was no point in trying to fight them.
Game Over.
Written for the Lunar Awards Round 3.
That was great!