Nikki is back inside NutriGen within a few minutes, walking straight in the front door much as she did earlier. Security is generally not a huge priority for most workplaces on Seedee, for the simple reason that at any given time, most people are too busy inside their own workplaces to be up to no good inside someone else’s.
Some of the scientific and engineering research facilities understandably take precautions against industrial espionage, because they are often in direct competition to develop technology and new products. That doesn’t apply to a facility primarily in the business of turning fish into protein.
Nikki’s greatest concern is therefore not gaining ingress, but being identified. The menial nature of much of the work here increases the possibility of employees scanning the news feeds for distraction, but certain environmental factors are working in Nikki’s favour by giving her a reason to slap on a face mask. Half the people in here are wearing them, so even though the fish tanks are not inside the noxious area, anyone passing her might plausibly assume she is on her way to or from there.
She retraces her earlier route and walks slowly among the tanks. The slot that was empty has been filled since she was last here, a new tank locked into the brackets. Another has been drained, one of its side walls completely removed; possibly for damage repair or maybe routine maintenance. The bottom remains covered in gravel, a smell of brine wafting from the interior. It isn’t pleasant, but it nonetheless sparks a warming memory, of walks on Venice Beach down to Marina Del Rey.
Why are the fish all avoiding that one corner? Alice had asked.
Nikki looks into one of the tanks, where she sees no evidence of this. She looks in another, a third, a fourth, then into the new one. Nothing there either, she thinks. Then suddenly it’s noticeable. A dozen fish, swimming in a group, dart one way then another, reacting as one to who knows what. They zip back and forth, but there’s an area they are consistently avoiding.
You asking me to be a fish psychologist now? How the hell would I know? Don’t look like anything to me.
Nikki goes to the drained tank, reaches in and picks up a handful of gravel. She walks back to the new tank, reaches above the walls and scatters it on the surface. She watches the tiny stones slowly sink, but most of them don’t reach the bottom. They appear to be suspended half a metre up, forming a flat surface. Something is there and yet not there: an area with a volume that has to be at least fifty litres.
She remembers as a kid, her science teacher making a Pyrex jar disappear inside a larger jar of cooking oil. The oil’s index of refraction matched that of the Pyrex, meaning you couldn’t see one inside the other. There has to be a vessel inside the tank made of some transparent nano-carbon material that matches the index of refraction of far less viscous liquids, such as water. And quite possibly alcohol.
Son of a bitch. This is how Julio is bringing in his tequila.
Nikki takes a moment to breathe. A few days ago, this would have been a game-changer, a discovery that put the balance of power in the palm of her hand. Now that she understands how small the power game between Yoram and Julio truly is, all she’s holding is a tuft of grass on the edge of a cliff.
It’s more than she had half an hour ago, however.
Nikki slips out of NutriGen and finds a quiet spot just off Hadfield. She checks the time to reassure herself that she’s still a few hours from the next shift change, then composes an anonymous message to send to Julio.
I am with FNG oversight. I just took up a position with FLAT and my beat includes Hadfield. I have discovered some significant irregularities at NutriGen concerning the transferable tanks used in the replenishment of fish stocks. It would be in your interest to discuss mutually reassuring arrangements.
She lays down a time and a carefully chosen venue, a place called Habitek that is among the very few premises on CdC that Nikki can guarantee will be empty. She signs off by adding:
Come alone and don’t be late. Anything happens that I don’t like, my associate has instructions to toss some limes into the tank and let the fish make margaritas.