Chapter 10: Results

Financial Regulation Office
New Pittsburgh, Mars
Saturday, August 18, 2147

“I assume you have more information on what we talked about the last time we met.” Hammerstroke Washer said.

“Good guess,” Romy Newfelt answered. She was the head of the Martian finance system and responsible for making sure it was safe from outside interference. Next to her was Darryl Roanbacker, whose department had discovered a discrepancy in some bank accounts. Sitting across from them was ‘Ass’ Blaster, the Deputy Director of Planetary Intelligence. He had assigned the analysts and coders needed to work with the financial analysts to figure out the problem.

“As I am sure you recall, we had two specific problems that one of my analysts discovered. One turned out to be relatively minor but the other is much more serious,” said Darryl.

“You had that EastHem fellow with you. He was the one who figured it out,” said Washer.

“Yes and no. He figured out there was a problem, but we kept him out of solving it.”

Washer raised an eyebrow. It was Blaster who responded. “Standard operational technique. Put bluntly, you don’t let the right hand know what the left hand is doing. In this case, we wanted to make sure he wasn’t involved. You know, create a problem and then find it and fix it to look good in our eyes.”

“You guys have a really twisted view of the Solar System,” Washer commented.

Blaster grinned. “It helps in this business.”

“Regardless,”, said Romy, “We did find two problems. The easy one was a coding issue.” She nodded to Darryl for him to explain.

Washer looked at him and Darryl said, “It turns out that if you reboot your personal computer and press two specific keys at the same time and then open your banking program you can generate an extra hundred credits. This is something that was built into the system for years, going way back before the Revolution.”

“Before the Revolution?”

“We found a few postings on obscure message boards dating back to 2134. Our bet is that it was created by a few programmers as a back door method to generate some extra cash. WestHem was so corrupt, and they paid people so little, there was zero loyalty,” commented Blaster.

“God knows that’s true enough,” agreed Washer. “So, what did you do?”

“Once we figured out how it was done, then we were able to track down the account owners. Nothing sneaky mind you. We didn’t break confidentiality. We simply put a block on the accounts and when people tried to use them, they got a message to contact the bank. When they did, we got their names and sent a couple of very unpleasant intelligence officers out to round them up.”

Washer nodded. “Alright, that wouldn’t violate confidentiality, at least by the letter of the law, though perhaps not the spirit. What did you do to them?”

“There were twenty-three offenders who figured it out. We held them overnight in a security lockdown, and then dragged them into an interrogation room and sweated the information out of them. It wasn’t all that much of an interrogation, either. Most were embarrassed about it. We told them we were taking back their ill-gotten gains and fining them an equivalent amount, and if they didn’t like it, we would try them for financial manipulation, fraud, computer hacking, and anything else we could come up with. They all folded,” said Romy.

Washer shrugged. If the twenty-three agreed to it, he wasn’t going to complain. It wasn’t what was taught in WestHem law schools, but Mars was building its own system. This was a common sense solution. “Okay, sounds fine. I assume you fixed the issue?”

“Done.”

“What about the other case? That was one where somebody had hundreds of thousands of credits?”

Blaster nodded. “That isn’t a financial problem, technically, but a planetary intelligence issue. WestHem planted a back door into our finance system before we kicked them out. Totally different hack than the other thing. Very high level, designed to be untraceable, or close to it. If the EastHem fellow hadn’t figured out the other problem we might have never noticed it.” He slid a document over to Washer. “I just forwarded this to you.”

The judge looked at the form. It designated the problem a planetary security threat and ordered the Secretary of Finance and the Martian Finance Department to cooperate with Planetary Intelligence in resolving the threat. “Where do you see this going, Ass?”

“At a minimum, we want complete access to this joker’s name and his life. I want my people to take him apart. Who is he and who is he working for? Where does he work? Doing what? Who does he know and talk to? Who do they know and talk to? Maybe send in a black bag team where he lives. We want to know everything about him!”

“And you suspect WestHem.”

“It was their finance system. It’s a logical conclusion. We need to make sure, though. In theory, it could be a false flag operation by EastHem. I doubt it, but I put a team on that idea, as well. We need to figure this out.”

“Huh.” Hammerstroke pulled the form up on the computer and started typing. Then he laid a finger on the computer pad. “Back to you.”

Blaster pulled the revised form up. “Okay. Planetary Intelligence can live with this. Romy?”

“Agreed.”

The revision included an order to inform the Operations Board of the Martian Voting System of the breach of the finance system and ordered that they review their own security system. Both Romy and Ass put derm to pad.

“So that EastHem fellow did good? What did you do with him?”

Darryl smiled. “We bumped him up a level, gave him a raise. It’s still too early to let him deal with EastHem or WestHem finances, and we might never let him do that anyway. Still, he did a good job figuring this out. He has an interesting take on banking, considering he was trained in a totally different system. That gives him a different view of things. I want to keep using him.”

“We’re watching him, too,” added Blaster. “Not because we don’t trust him, but he isn’t Martian-born. It’s standard protocol.”

“Yeah.”

Westinghouse Towers
New Pittsburgh, Mars
Saturday, August 18, 2147

“So, tonight is a celebration?” asked Paul Winston.

“That’s right! You got that promotion and raise, and we’re going out to celebrate!” his wife, Mary, answered. “I’ve already got it planned.”

“Okay.”

“Jill from next door is coming by at seven-thirty. She will stay with the boys until we get back.”

Paul smiled and nodded. “Where are we going?” It was doubtful that they’d be going all that far. Unlike Earth, the Martian transport system was completely oriented to public transit. You walked everywhere, which wasn’t a bad deal considering that it never rained, and the temperature was a steady 22 degrees. If it was more than a few blocks, you took an electric tram operated by NewPitt Tramways. If you had to travel to a different city, you took a maglev train run by MarsTrans.

“Not far. Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”

“Uh huh.” Paul rolled his eyes. He loved his wife dearly, but she had a habit of trying to surprise him. Sometimes that worked out well. Sometimes it didn’t. Her last big surprise was supposed to be friends coming to their home for a fun weekend. Instead, EastHem State Security had knocked on the door and they ended up on Mars.

Paul didn’t give it any more thought until he got home. He left his office at half-past-five, taking a tram and walking two blocks, getting home before six. He hugged his sons and kissed his wife. “Are we still on for tonight?” he asked.

She grinned. “Absolutely! Jill will be here at seven-thirty.”

“At least it’s easy enough to get ready to go out. It’s not like we have to spend an hour changing into our tuxes and evening gowns.” For all its convenience, the Martian attire of shorts, t-shirts, and canvas shoes didn’t give much license for getting dressed up. A Martian formal dinner looked a lot like lunch at a Brighton Beach pizzeria.

At seven, Paul went into his bedroom to prepare for a night out. After a quick shower, he pulled on a clean pair of khaki shorts and a plain blue t-shirt. He was slipping on his shoes when Mary came into the bedroom. “Jill got here a few minutes early. She’s stuffing burgers in their greedy little mouths even as we speak.”

Paul smiled at the descriptions and stood up. He was sure the boys were enjoying their burgers. The quality of Martian food had been one of those urban myths back in London, myths that required a much higher income than he would likely ever enjoy. Now, ‘sentenced’ to Mars, he enjoyed food that he couldn’t have dreamed about back in EastHem.

In the kitchen, their neighbors’ teen daughter, Jill, was feeding PJ and Randy. Dinner was sliders, mini-hamburgers on mini-buns. They had already finished one each and she was preparing seconds for them. Also being served were French fries hot from the oven. Jill was wearing matching shorts and a t-shirt in kaleidoscopic and psychedelic colors.

“That’s quite the color scheme, Jill.”

She smiled at him. “You like it? I’m thinking of taking color design in school.”

“Just make sure to offer sunglasses when you sell your designs.”

“What are sunglasses?”

Paul wasn’t sure how to answer that. Who needed sunglasses in a climate-controlled environment with artificial lighting? “Forget I mentioned it. Just remember, we won’t complain if you have to beat these two with a baseball bat if they act up.”

“DAD!” Randy protested. PJ simply rolled his eyes and chewed on his slider.

“Especially him! He’s the spare!”

His eldest son swallowed and said, “See? I told you you were a spare.”

“DAD!”

Paul simply smirked at Jill and left the kitchen.

Mary came out of the bedroom and Paul’s eyes popped open. “Very nice!” he told her. His wife blushed and smiled. He made a circling motion with his fingers, and she turned around. “Very nice!”

Mary had showered and was now wearing very tight and short black shorts, and an extremely tight and sheer white t-shirt. It was obvious it was all she had on, since her medium-sized breasts were jiggling freely, and her dark nipples were obvious through the thin fabric of her shirt. It seemed that there was more variability in Martian clothing than he had expected. She grabbed her shoulder bag and handed Paul his. Mary stuck her head into the kitchen and said, “You boys behave. We’ll be back late.”

The boys said good-bye and Jill said, “We’ll be fine. You two go have fun. See you in a day or two.”

“I wish!” She grabbed Paul’s hand and pulled him towards the door. “I told her she was free to sell them if she got a good offer.”

“I told her she could beat them with a large stick, if necessary.” Once in the hallway, he asked, “So, where are we going?”

“Downstairs.”

“Obviously.” To get anywhere, they had to go down to the street level.

“No, seriously. I made reservations at Picardo’s. Drinks in the bar at seven-thirty, dinner at eight.”

“Whoa! Picardo’s? No wonder you dressed up!” Every residential tower had a commercial section at street level. There were convenience stores, restaurants, grocery stores, bars, smoke shops, and every other sort of consumer business typical of an urban center.