Locks

Many a cat can only be lured in by switching off all the lights and keeping very still. Until the indignant cry of a cat-locked-out comes at the door.

- Pam Brown

Darwin was safely ensconced at my feet under the desk, finding and then blending into one of the few shadowed places in the lab.

I sat there for a few minutes considering my next move. Later on, when I had time to reflect, I came to recognize that moment of silent reflection as the pivot upon which everything changed. This was the moment that led to the discoveries and confirmation of everything that was to follow.

When I say 'considering,' I mean that I was open to the flow, of course. Nothing that happened next was a surprise. In fact, the opposite was true. I was waiting precisely for –

"What in the nine hells do you think you are doing?" Mr. Jones said.

I turned casually in my chair. Behind her stood a grinning Petersen and a severely chastised Wilson. And guards. Mr. Jones had brought four guards with her this time, including our intrepid captain, all of them well disciplined and standing at sharp attention.

"Finding Leena," I said casually. I could see the bands of cause and effect wrapping around each of them, the ties that Mr. Jones had to Petersen, and those tying Petersen to Wilson. Strangely, I saw nothing significant between Mr. Jones and Wilson. Another fact for the mental file.

"I told you NOT to touch anything." Petersen jumped in, almost gleeful at my getting caught red-handed. I trained my senses upon him fully. That is when I realized that the reason that Petersen was so happy when others were being punished was that, for a short time, he didn't feel like he was the one being judged. Petersen lived in fear of judgement, of being found unequal to the tasks set before him, and so had spent his life deflecting attention and blame but never building anything of his own.

Most people would have loathed the little bootlicker, but I only felt mild pity. Being a Finder means that you cannot hold on to petty grudges and retributions. You learn too much about why people do the things they do, and this knowledge leads you more often than not to understanding instead of anger.

"I can't very well do my job without lifting a few rocks and peering under them," I explained. "I have changed nothing, and your information is still safe under our confidentiality clause. You have no need for alarm."

"Do I look alarmed to you?" she asked archly.

"I wasn't speaking to you," I said, "I was speaking to Mr. Petersen. Your instructions to Pertersen, if I remember correctly, were to see to my needs and provide information and access. He did neither. Instead, he assigned an underling to the task, providing only the vaguest of directions while he went off to secure his own projects. He was, whether deliberately or not, passively hampering the work you have commissioned me to do. I, in order to honor our agreement, was forced to operate on my own."

During all of this, Petersen was shrinking down into himself. I had turned the attention fully back onto him. He was living out his worst nightmare. I still pitied him, but that did not mean that I condoned his actions, nor would I let him impede my work. He was an obstacle, and had to be removed.

"Wilson here, on the other hand, was extremely helpful. She provided the information and access I required to complete my tasks. If I were you, I would fire Petersen, promote Wilson and let me get on with my job."

This, of course, was a deliberate ploy. I knew exactly what effect my suggestions would have.

"I don't think so Finder. You have been enough trouble for one day, and I am weary of you. Why don't you stay here for the night, as my guest of course? We can regroup in the morning and see where we stand." She turned to her guards. "Lock them all up in the holding cells. I will deal with the three of them in the morning." The guards snapped to attention. Then without a single glance back, Mr. Jones walked back to her waiting office.

The captain indicated that each guard was to shadow one of us. He assigned the youngest guard to me, if I were to judge by the slight hesitations in her precise movements, as if they were still new to her. He put his hand on her nervous wrist familiarly, then leaned in to talk quietly to her while glancing in my direction. In the end, he doubled up with her for my escort.

Petersen's expression was one of a man crushed under the weight of all of his broken dreams, but like petty men in every age, he shifted the blame for his shortcomings to another. It was a coin toss if it would be me or Wilson, but I was hoping for the former.

"This is all your fault." Why does it always start that way? It is so unimaginative. I mean it, almost everyone seeking to avoid the consequences of their choices starts with that particular phrase. Is there some magical quality to that combination of words that automatically shifts the responsibility from the accuser to the accused? Is there some trigger in the human brain that allows self-forgiveness through self-delusion that is that is encoded into that set of sounds? As a Finder, this is one of the great mysteries. Boringly predictable, but a mystery none-the-less.

"If you had kept your mouth shut, we wouldn't be in this situation."

"Precisely," I replied. "Which is why I did not 'keep my mouth shut."

"You wanted to be detained? Are you insane?" He was starting to get scared. Not just nervous, but actually fearful. "Do you know what happens to people under interrogation here?"

"No, actually. I do not." I paused to make sure I was looking at him in the eyes. "Do you?"

"Of course I do! I've..."

More information. It would seem that Mr. Petersen had a few extra-curricular activities, and from the look on his face, he enjoyed them a little too much. He imagined that all interrogators would be fond of the same techniques he had used on others. Apparently, he did not relish having the positions reversed.

"You have led interrogations here," I finished for him. "Why is the leader of a scientific project bothered with interviewing detainees?" Then I took a gamble. "Have you been defending the company against corporate espionage?"

Petersen's answering smirk was the confirmation I needed. He was confident that because I had guessed incorrectly, I would be at a loss for answers. The fact that I had several possible answers did not occur to him. To the small minded, there is only ever one answer to every question. To one who thinks and sees, even incorrect answers are valuable information, for they eliminate an entire chain of possibility from the future. Every wrong choice increases focus.

"Ha! You have no idea what I am doing here. I'm heading the most important project in the world! She'll see that soon. They need me!"

Wilson, who had be silent up to this point, finally spoke up. "Petersen, you are a pathetic little dung beetle. What WE are doing here IS important, really important. It can change everything! And here you are, you slimy sadistic sycophant," (I gave her points for alliteration), "worrying about your own skin. Lots of people have sacrificed for this project," and here there was a catch to her breath, hardly noticeable, "and all you can think of is how it affects your miserable career. I hope she bumps you down to lav-tech. One thing is for sure, I won't be working for you."

The choice to voluntarily leave a job was a serious one. There was no guarantee that your company would find another position for you, and you could end up homeless as well as unemployed. On the other hand, a manager who loses a valuable asset would also be held accountable for loss of talent, and may end up suffering even more dire consequences.

All this was being watched by the guards, silently and without expression from the visored faces, until the captain spoke up. "Yes, sir," he said into his comm.

He turned to Wilson and the guard with her. "Wilson," he conveyed, "return to your station to collect your things. Corporal Arnaaluk here will accompany you, then she will escort you to your new office in the core. All of the changes have been entered."

Petersen began to protest. "There is only one office in the core! Mine!" As I said, only one idea at a time.

Changing to a more casual tone, the captain said, "Congratulations on your promotion, Wilson. It is always a pleasure to see good people recognized." He extended his hand, which she took hesitatingly.

She straightened, smiled sweetly at Petersen, then turned to me with her hand held out, palm up. "Pass card please." I handed it over with a slight grin of my own. She would be fine.

"This way ma'am," Arnaaluk indicated.

As they were leaving, Petersen was sputtering. "But that is MY job!" He turned to me, "This is YOUR FAULT!"

Why do they persist in this illusion of innocence and victimhood? I really don't understand it. "Hardly," I replied in a cheerful voice. "You heard our friend here. It came straight from the chief. I had nothing to do with it."

I was lying of course. I was quite confident that it was my suggestion that kept Mr. Jones tuned in to what was happening here. She had waited until Wilson displayed an appropriate level of loyalty so that it would appear that she had made the decision based on her own judgement rather than on my promptings.

Petersen continued to protest wordlessly, no longer able to string sentences together, reduced to sputters and groans. The captain ignored him and turned to me. "You will follow me, sir. The situation is still fluid and the final decisions as to your status remain to be determined."

In other words, I was still going to the detention cells. At least I would have company. I looked around and, of course, Darwin was gone. I was getting tired and I needed to think more carefully about the day's proceedings. A night's sleep was in order anyhow, even if it was to be in a detention cot.

We were led through the cubicles to a door in the far wall. It was non-descript in the extreme, plain to point of very nearly blending into the wall without appearing to try to. This is what I meant earlier about the art of hiding in plain sight. Try to look ordinary, but not too ordinary, and you will be functionally, and for all practical purposes, invisible.

The door, of course, led to another elevator that would bring us even further down into the building, presumably where the detention cells were. It would seem that Cells was not a euphemism after all. I was about to get first-hand experience of that.

The elevator was of sufficient size to accommodate three guards and two prisoners, so we weren't cramped. I kept waiting for Darwin to do that last-minute reappearing trick that he was growing so fond of lately, slipping through the crack in the door at the last possible moment, but in this case the door closed silently without our final guest joining.

Darwin and I were truly separated for the first time in years. I maintained my calm, as there was no immediate danger. I was pretty sure that Mr. Jones was not about to have me tortured. I suspect that she was just trying to curtail my consistent intrusions into her workplace and to let the disruptions I had caused in a day of active Finding to settle back into normal routine. In truth, I couldn't take all the responsibility, Leena's disappearance had precipitated the whole thing. Whoever was responsible for that event could easily accept some of the blame for the turmoil in this branch of 3p Mining & Refining.

We arrived at the detention floor without incident, though Petersen was sniveling the whole way. His body guard jabbed him once with the butt of his gun, but this just sent the man into an uncontrolled sobbing jag. I could almost feel sorry for him, but I was a firm believer in the maxim that 'How you deal with problems determines, in large part, the effect that they have on you.' Petersen was not dealing well, refusing even now to see any personal culpability in the current situation.

Even standing there, I was still digging, still researching, still trying to Find. I suspected that Petersen might have information concerning Leena's time here, either as an employee on the floor far above, or as a prisoner here below. If she had been down here, I wanted to have a look at the layout and see if I could figure out how she had escaped. If not, then where did she leave from, where was she going? Hell, I would settle for a damned picture at this point, not that it would be much help in a prison cell.

Two cell guards sat at the monitoring station at the entrance of the cell blocks. They informed us that we would have to sign in using our passes and submit them for 'security purposes'.

Since I didn't have one, they took a blood sample for the sniffers. Petersen was relieved of his pass, and I was frisked and relieved of my lab-coat. Petersen whimpered the whole time, mumbling that it wasn't his fault. My sense was that he was nearing a break. Perhaps it would be a chance for him to build a new, less insipid personality.

The captain stayed at the front station with the prison guards, while our escorts walked us to the cell block. I was escorted to my cell by the young guard, who was almost gentle in her handling of me.

"Thank you," I said. "You have been very kind."

"My... the captain told me you were here on a job, and that this was just a place to keep you safe. You're not really a prisoner, you know."

Behind the mask was a young woman, judging by her voice. She was trying to sound firm and professional, and was in large part succeeding.

"But I cannot leave when I choose, can I?"

She hesitated, then opened the door to my cell, "I am sorry sir," and she sounded like she meant it. I walked in and looked around.

As we were considered low risk, we had bedding, paper and stylus, as well as the commode and sink combination. Cameras watched us through thick paned glass, and there wasn't a blind corner in the room.

The young guard hesitated at the door.

"Go ahead and ask your question," I said, without looking back at her.

Building her courage she said, "The captain," there was a small hesitation here, like the name was unfamiliar to her, "says you are a Finder. Can you really read minds and do magic and stuff?"

"I am afraid Finding is much more prosaic than what you have seen in the vids. There is no magic. One merely needs to pay attention to details."

She paused, then laughed a little at herself. "Listen to me, acting like a school girl. I apologize, Finder, for speaking out of turn. I hope you have a good night. Please just call out if you need anything."

Now I turned to face her, relaxed and smiling. "It is fine, soldier. I would ask a favor of you though."

"Yes?"

"Could you ask your father, the captain, to please keep an eye out for Darwin? I am afraid he has wandered off again."

I could sense her surprise. "How did you... Are you sure you can't read minds? Who is Darwin?"

"Darwin is my partner, who lately has taken to vanishing at inconvenient times. He is also a cat. A very large, very black cat. If you could pass along my request, it would be greatly appreciated."

"You partner is a... cat? Maybe my question wasn't so silly after all. I will pass on your request, Finder. Sleep well."

She executed an expert salute, then closed the door. She would be fine, and under the tutelage of her father would likely become an excellent security officer, and probably be groomed to take his place someday.

A pang of regret lanced through me. Thoughts too dark to complete threatened to step out of their shadows. For me, there would be no children, no legacy. Since the school was closed, there would be no more true Finders, we were to be the last, my missing colleagues and me.

Relieved of almost everything I could use to continue my research, I did the only thing left to do. I crawled into the bed, stretched out, and went to sleep. It had been a long day. My last thought was of Darwin. Where was he now?