Chapter 10 #2
An ache started at the back of Jane’s skull. “Let me guess. Novo G got a megavault’s worth of Mabingion CPS data from some obscure field office on a planet halfway across the galaxy that didn’t even know it had published anything.”
“Near enough. Just like we’ve been screaming about to HQ for months.” Hujuru hissed out a breath. “And we’ll get the blame again. Ignore the fact that CPS data security protocols are decades out of date. Ignore the fact that HQ has no idea what data they have, where it is, or where it’s sent.”
Jane jumped in before Hujuru could work herself up to a rant. “What’s the article’s open rate?”
In the last year, the CPS’s reputation spinners had gotten much better at tracking any newstrends that cast them in a bad light. However, in Jane’s never-voiced opinion, they still completely tanked at consistent responses, much less effective ones.
Hujuru frowned. “Too farkin’ high, and it’s going galactic.
It’s only been out two hours, and it’s already pulled in two related stories and a university study that all argue that Minder Corps veterans, especially after they become contractors, die significantly earlier than the general public. Farkin’ ratshit.”
Jane made herself ask the question she’d been avoiding for months. “How many independent contractors have you terminated?”
Hujuru shrugged. “Three thousand or so.” She frowned. “That’s for the whole planet, not just the city like the article implied. I’ve assigned the last few rogues to a special team. They’re very good at accidents.”
Jane struggled to keep a bland look on her face. She was glad she’d had temporary shields applied to her non-minder brain to keep telepath Hujuru from learning Jane’s opinion in this.
She accepted that securing galactic peace sometimes required sacrifices, and that no one wanted to see a flood of suddenly-unemployed and disgruntled minders sharing secrets or becoming criminals.
However, granting the covert-ops divisions unilateral decision authority was disastrously bad policy.
Theoretically, the preferred option was to control or leash the ex-contractors.
Jane strongly suspected Hujuru — and likely most of her peers across the galaxy — had found it simpler and cheaper to declare them all rogues and dispose of them.
Which likely made Novo G’s high mortality statistics depressingly accurate, and HQ had no one to blame but themselves. Not that they wouldn’t try.
Jane poured and sipped a glass of water to soothe her dry mouth. “How did Novo Granica get the ex-contractor IDs to compare with the planetary vital records?”
“Not from my people,” snapped Hujuru defensively. Her mouth twisted in disgust. “But anything is for sale in Ridderth Base’s Supply and Logistics.”
That was next on Jane’s cleanup list after the Legacy eradication project. Technically, regular military operations weren’t in her scope of command, but the military supply chief office’s galloping greed threatened the galactic peace. Why didn’t the media go after them for a change?
Jane pursed her lips. “The whole Novo Granica organization has a vendetta against the government, and the CPS in particular. They terrorize the local politicians. I have to waste valuable resources on damage control every time one of their stories inflames the public. Even Charrascos’s series on that old Jumper squad implies the CPS is negligently harming its own people.
I’m sure she’s counting on the fact that we can’t prove otherwise without exposing potential operational weaknesses that could get active-duty Jumpers killed. ”
“Without a doubt.” Hujuru’s ringlets swung as she nodded in agreement. “And every time a new profile article comes out, the rumors of the mythical miracle cure for waster’s disease trend again.”
Jane had to admit those rumors had lately been more persistent than usual.
“Yes, and the media reports on that, too. False hope makes Jumpers susceptible to anyone with something to sell, no matter how dangerous. It’s cruel.
Too bad we can’t just buy troublesome media companies like we used to in the old days. ”
Hujuru hesitated, then blew out a measured breath.
“I’ll admit they’re a pain in the ass. But Novo G in particular doesn’t publish unvetted stories, and their evidence always checks out.
They’re careful to identify rumors as unsourced and get expert opinions on them.
They never bite at our juiciest distraction bait like the younger, hungrier outfits do.
We’ll spark a riot if we go after Novo G or the other top media companies without mountains of hard evidence. ”
Jane nodded her acquiescence. “Of course.” She didn’t agree at all, but it wasn’t a battle she wanted just then. Hujuru, like many others on Mabingion, gave the media too much deference.
“One more thing.” Hujuru blanked her display.
“Three of our pharma partners are complaining about a significant influx of minder-drug clones and reverses in Ridderth again. The courts are still backed up with the cases from the last action. I added several locations to the upcoming coordinated raids, and I’ll supervise–”
Jane interrupted. “No. Take them off the list. The CPS is not their shortcut around legal remedies. They can wait for an adjudication timeslot just like other businesses. If the pharmas have court orders, the planetary police should be enforcing those.”
Hujuru blinked in surprise. “That’s not, er, normal practice.”
Jane folded her fingers together. “You mean, not recent practice.” Her predecessor had demonstrably been on the pharma lobby’s payroll, as well as dozens of others.
It had eventually led to his “promotion” to closer supervision in CPS HQ.
She had no intention of ending up there herself. “It is, however, mine.”
Hujuru’s face blanked. “Okay, I’ll make a note.” She made a show of entering it on her percomp.
Jane’s head throbbed. Now she’d have to find out what Hujuru was up to. She’d conducted enough audits to recognize camouflage behavior when she saw it. “Since I have you here, where are you on the Ayorinn Legacy investigation?”