Rollie was in his usual hiding spot, in EEV Number 12, smoking one of his dwindling supply of real tobacco cigarettes. He'd just left the meeting that had taken place in the Captain's office after having been segregated from the rest of the crew for more than two hours. What conversation had taken place had been largely one-sided, with the Captain explaining why the survey team could never, under any circumstances, reveal that they had gone on board the ARA colony ship. He had to admit that, if he had known - hell, if he'd suspected - what was on it, he never would have volunteered to go in the first place.
With his cigarette held between clenched lips, he reached into one of his work jacket's inner pockets and pulled out a scuffed metaplast case, little bigger than a small matchbox. He considered what he was about to do once again, turning the case over and over between his fingers, as tendrils of smoke drifted across the close interior of the escape pod, where it was pulled into the life support system's air recycler.
He slid his right index fingernail under a faint recess in the case's surface where its two halves joined almost seamlessly. There was a faint click, and the case opened smoothly to reveal the carefully arranged data storage cards, twelve in all, each one in its own slit in the case's foam insert, and a special adapter to allow him direct access to their contents through his cranial interface. He removed the adapter from its slot in the foam, pulled out the built in CI jack, and unwound its threadlike connection cable. With the ease of great familiarity, and without removing the cigarette from his mouth, he laid back on the crash couch and connected the jack into the interface port behind his ear. He then removed a tiny data storage card from the case, and inserted it into the adapter, closed his eyes and pressed the small power button.
The sensation was of having one's mind suddenly feel like it had just expanded in volume a hundredfold. He felt as if he'd instantly stepped into a massive room in his mind; although they were small - barely the size of a child's fingernail, each card could hold a frighteningly huge amount of information, somewhere around 50 Terabytes. The one he had selected was empty, although not for long.
Rollie selected all of the POV images and video he had recorded through his cybernetic eyes, and copied them to the data chip. He wasn't a scientist, but he knew enough of the basics to be able to make visual records of what might be important, and he had done just that. The data card was packed with imagery of the bodies of the cybernetically enhanced GMHs, and of the lab technicians, surgeons, and researchers; basically everything that would be of interest to any competing entities with deep pockets, and a burning desire to see ARA Corporation's black ops R&D. He'd recorded hundreds of still images of everything, from document hardcopy, to lab equipment, and even a random piece of jewelry that had been drifting amidst the charnel horrors they'd found.
Once the copying was completed he accessed his cyberoptics' file cleaning program, and purged all of the original recordings from their on-board memory. He gently removed the data card from the adapter and returned it to its slot in the small case. He removed the CI jack from the port behind his ear, allowing the thread-thin cable to wind itself back into the adapter, and placed it back in its own slot in the foam, then closed the case and put it back in his jacket.
With his cigarette held between clenched lips, he reached into one of his work jacket's inner pockets and pulled out a scuffed metaplast case, little bigger than a small matchbox. He considered what he was about to do once again, turning the case over and over between his fingers, as tendrils of smoke drifted across the close interior of the escape pod, where it was pulled into the life support system's air recycler.
He slid his right index fingernail under a faint recess in the case's surface where its two halves joined almost seamlessly. There was a faint click, and the case opened smoothly to reveal the carefully arranged data storage cards, twelve in all, each one in its own slit in the case's foam insert, and a special adapter to allow him direct access to their contents through his cranial interface. He removed the adapter from its slot in the foam, pulled out the built in CI jack, and unwound its threadlike connection cable. With the ease of great familiarity, and without removing the cigarette from his mouth, he laid back on the crash couch and connected the jack into the interface port behind his ear. He then removed a tiny data storage card from the case, and inserted it into the adapter, closed his eyes and pressed the small power button.
The sensation was of having one's mind suddenly feel like it had just expanded in volume a hundredfold. He felt as if he'd instantly stepped into a massive room in his mind; although they were small - barely the size of a child's fingernail, each card could hold a frighteningly huge amount of information, somewhere around 50 Terabytes. The one he had selected was empty, although not for long.
Rollie selected all of the POV images and video he had recorded through his cybernetic eyes, and copied them to the data chip. He wasn't a scientist, but he knew enough of the basics to be able to make visual records of what might be important, and he had done just that. The data card was packed with imagery of the bodies of the cybernetically enhanced GMHs, and of the lab technicians, surgeons, and researchers; basically everything that would be of interest to any competing entities with deep pockets, and a burning desire to see ARA Corporation's black ops R&D. He'd recorded hundreds of still images of everything, from document hardcopy, to lab equipment, and even a random piece of jewelry that had been drifting amidst the charnel horrors they'd found.
Once the copying was completed he accessed his cyberoptics' file cleaning program, and purged all of the original recordings from their on-board memory. He gently removed the data card from the adapter and returned it to its slot in the small case. He removed the CI jack from the port behind his ear, allowing the thread-thin cable to wind itself back into the adapter, and placed it back in its own slot in the foam, then closed the case and put it back in his jacket.
Reaching into another pocket, he pulled out the only object brought off the ship.
He had smuggled out the small piece of jewelry, vacuum sealed in a mylar bag; the single image he'd recorded of it hadn't been transferred, just wiped from memory. Up until now he had only been able to give it a quick look, but here in his private hideout he could take the time to examine it more thoroughly. It was a small piece, made of artistically engraved platinum, about five centimetres long and ovoid in shape with an elliptical stone inset into its surface. The highly polished stone was like nothing he had ever seen before, it had swirling colors ranging from indigo to deep navy blue with occasional small gold flecks along the bands of color. All in all, it was an amazing find, and it would likely fetch a good price on Minotaur.
He was acutely aware of the danger involved in keeping the information contained on the tiny card in his possession, but Rollie was a firm believer in the concept of being prepared. The images and video he'd saved were potentially the biggest goldmine he could have been handed, with a price tag attached that was essentially a blank check. He doubted that anyone suspected that he'd taken the liberty of recording their entire trip through the ARA ship, because nobody had specifically asked him if he had. Truth be told, however, he would probably have denied having done it anyway if they'd asked, but this way, he didn't feel like an asshole for lying about it.
He was acutely aware of the danger involved in keeping the information contained on the tiny card in his possession, but Rollie was a firm believer in the concept of being prepared. The images and video he'd saved were potentially the biggest goldmine he could have been handed, with a price tag attached that was essentially a blank check. He doubted that anyone suspected that he'd taken the liberty of recording their entire trip through the ARA ship, because nobody had specifically asked him if he had. Truth be told, however, he would probably have denied having done it anyway if they'd asked, but this way, he didn't feel like an asshole for lying about it.
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