Popping a CAP

I'd just sat down at my desk when I got a call through the AIphone embedded in my head. I sub-vocalized my acceptance of the summons and headed out at a run to the nearest transport nexus. I was on my way to back up an extraction.

"Sir," the Corporal at the portal said, stopping me, "Don't you need to be in armor? Or, at least, some heavier clothing?"

I looked down at myself, and, yeah, he was right. New York City in mid-winter was not the place to materialize wearing short-sleeves. I nodded and headed for the local transient armor locker.

The delay was, for the most part, required, and I soon was back in the transport room where I was flashed to the surface, the armor's own AI telling me about its readiness to support me. I didn't even think about the BFG tucked below one arm or the stingers in both gauntlets, having been through a refresher just a week before.

Damn, this was a symbolic pick-up, and, truly, the dress code of all of the people serious cold-weather gear, what with the breeze blowing through the hall on Ellis Island.

My suit scanned the environment and gave me a summary of the physical situation which allowed me to know where the heavy weapons team was waiting, in the Bengal, doing a figure eight around both Ellis and Bledsoe islands. This had to be giving the people on the passing ferry boats quite a view.

I walked up to the Lieutenant in charge and asked "So, what do you have for me?"

"I'll bring you over to him... it's a weird one, sir. The card is complaining that there's something wrong with the holder."

This was a new one on me, so, nodding, I followed her over to the volunteer. I also spent a couple of seconds in armor envy given her graceful movement despite the encumbrance. I swore she could have done ballet in it.

When this pickup was over, I reminded the AI, I was going to bump up my frequency of armor exercises.

I was led to a young man, about twenty, and I held out my hand for his card. He'd already gathered four women and two men around him, implying that he was an eight.

Unless counterfeiting techniques had improved enormously, this card was the real thing. The embedded nanos integrated with a tiny AI embedded on the "smart" card was telling me that it hadn't been in contact with the person it was coded for in over a year. The card was telling me, just like it had told the Lieutenant, that something was terribly wrong.

Either this fellow's card had somehow gotten confused, something I thought unlikely, or he wasn't the person the card described, no matter how well the photo matched. No wonder the woman in charge of the pickup had called for my help! Being the G-2 leading the counterfeit trace teams, she'd wanted someone up the food-chain from herself to deal with this anomaly.

The main AI I was talking to-- and you don't have to subvocalize when you're inside armor-- couldn't make up its mind, so it left the decision up to me, and I'd need to use my gut instinct.

Realize, for a moment, that as an intelligence analyst, I really do not like anomalies. I don't like reminders that I don't understand something, and, in this case, I wasn't even sure, yet, what kind of questions to ask. I told the Lieutenant that she should transport him to the isolation unit and I'd have a talk with him-- and his concubines-- there.

In order to disturb the tranquility of this subject, I did wait until the next morning to arrive at the isolation unit. I knew he would be softened up a bit given that we were handling him differently.

Now, realize, one thing most volunteers avoid being is "unpleasantly arrogant". Add to this that the two men he'd apparently chosen weren't exactly cowed, either, setting off additional alarms with additional anomalies.

Laugh all you want, folks... as an intelligence analyst who has to worry about security... my paranoia goes to eleven, if not higher.

Oh, sure, we do see some arrogance in various volunteers, usually given that they've been stepped on in work and life, finding, during a pick-up, that the shoe is on the other foot. Some of the volunteers see a chance to act out their anger, so, we do see some short-lived arrogance during a pick-up. It's a good thing it doesn't last, though, since it comes from that sudden change in emotional altitude.

So you can see why I'd be annoyed.

This fellow, a James Wellen, rubbed me the wrong way immediately, as did the two men he'd picked, who also seemed to be in the mood to swagger. This was so wrong.

I've dealt with some other volunteers who didn't act quite as expected, and, as I usually chose, I led this one to a special CAP screening booth, which did not please him, unlike the others I'd done this with. I watched, my hackles going up, as the two men he'd chosen twitched and then backed off.

After sitting him down I took the card he'd used and placed it in the deep reader for comparisons.

"James" did not want to re-take his CAP test... so, with a wee bit of help from my enhanced and augmented body, I got him strapped down in the comfy chair within the booth. He was away from his concubines and I made sure my understudy was keeping an eye on them for me.

While he went through a deeper than usual CAP screening, I quickly screened the recording of his first 18 hours in the isolation unit. I paid special attention to the way he used and abused the four women who'd been transported with him, helped by the two men he'd brought aboard. The women were not happy but they were surprisingly obedient, but, then, stories of matter conversion and dumping bodies into space have been circulated back on Earth. James had been brutal with all four of the women... which wasn't consistent with any of the volunteers we ever extracted, since, no matter how emotionally scarred someone was prior to pick-up, man or woman, at least one of their selections would be treated as a "sweetie".

James didn't add up. His new CAP score, even taking into account his unwillingness to cooperate, didn't add up to the 8.3 on the card he'd been carrying, either, being closer to a 2.1... boosted only by his analytical abilities. All of the other indicators pointed towards sociopathy.

The DNA screening done as part of the CAP test also didn't agree with the records of the "real" James Wellen, either, which explained why the card didn't think of him as the person who should be carrying it.

The best news was that we now knew who it was... and his first pass through the CAP test had garnered a 2.3. Daniel deNardo had a lot to answer for.

I smiled. Finally, all but one of the anomalies had been eliminated... and that one was next.

The feeling that I would not like what I found was also present, but, hey, books would balance, one way or another.

Danny watched as I walked up to the alcove and dropped my butt onto a nearby chair.

"He is finally anxious, Captain" the AI reported in my ear. My grin turned more feral.

"So, Mister deNardo, what happened to the real James Wellen, after you took his card?"

He stayed silent.

I smiled some more, adding, "I hope you realize that there is a Constitution... but, given the circumstances, you have no rights, right now, and it's too late for you to think there's a right to not incriminate yourself. Every person being tested gets a batch of nanos to allow close monitoring of physical processes which only last a couple of days... and you just got a fresh batch. You will, I think, tell me what I want to know."

He also didn't know that those nanos made it easier for the card to recognize its rightful holder, either.

The nanos I spoke of are also there to ensure that someone being tested is clear of drugs, alcohol and the usual set of metabolic poisons. On top of this they measure whether the person under test is also true to both the test and themselves. They can't instill empathy... but are able to measure it based upon the response of the body to various stimuli.

Sadly they can't force out the truth... but they can let a questioner know the level of mendacity is being exercised, so, I would know, right away, when Danny boy here was lying.

He sat there like a stone. He wasn't planning to talk.

It was time to call in my interrogation specialist. I left our guest strapped down and had the chair move to a small cell where the robotic devices made sure he wouldn't make a mess when he had to "go".

The six people he'd grabbed were going to be kept in isolation, giving us a chance to perform additional observation. I had a feeling that the two men that our fish had picked weren't the kind we wanted around, either, and I was expecting to have some fun putting all three of the men into a decaying orbit... in an bubble boat so they could experience the heat of re-entry.

When Nancy, my interrogation specialist, got to me, I was glad she worked with us.

No one understood her talent.

No one at all. Not even her.

But-- and this was the key-- she was consistent. And, to top it all off, she was, in hindsight, proven consistently right.

There were times when I swore she could read minds, but, to my eye, it didn't seem like "the real thing", either, given that it was so limited.

Nancy, by the way, is a squid, not a Marine, a gropo, like me, so she had a much smaller body than I did. Added to that was her propensity to show off her body during an interrogation as an effort to distract almost all of the people she interviewed and she was a knock-out.

And, yes, we've yet to find a woman trying to use a faked CAP card, but I was sure it was going to happen eventually.

"So, Mister deNardo," she introduced herself, "I'm Nancy. I specialize in asking questions..." and I watched her as she touched his shoulder.

I've watched Nancy do her "work" before, but, I had never seen her shiver the way she did this time, just before she looked into his eyes and said "Omerta, eh?"

The shocked look on his face indicated to me that she'd just shaken him to the core. It also struck me that organized criminals had found a new way to try to get off the planet. I was also certain that they'd have to find another way, which would add to my job of trying to keep ahead of them.

"And, no, Danny boy," Nancy added, looking into his eyes as if she could see all the way through him, "I am not a witch. Nor am I a bitch, either, nor will I go into heat for the likes of you. I have my self-respect and have no interest in the kind of play I can hear you subvocally describing. Yes, little boy, we can read the movement of your vocal cords and muscles in your throat which no one can completely suppress."

Nancy, as usual, had me rapt. If only we could mass produce her. She turned to me and muttered "Get your mind out of my panties, Carl, 'cause, at this rate, I'm going to need another part of your anatomy when this is over." When she nails you between the eyes like that you can't help but flinch but the smile that accompanied her remark warmed me back up.

I relaxed and smiled back at her, then she turned back to our guest. "So, Danny... who are your picks, hmmmm?" I saw her pause, after this and other questions, her usual cadence leaving me in awe. "Your boss, huh? And one of his body guards? Yes? So what was your little plan? Oh, you weren't told all of that? And which of you killed the real James Wellen? Oh, it was someone else? But you knew that it was going to happen, huh?"

Daniel deNardo was sweating, hearing words pouring out of Nancy's mouth that he didn't want to speak himself. I could see him getting more and more frightened of Nancy as she got him to betray his boss.

Nancy paused again, looked Dan in the eyes with a stare that I swore could freeze helium, then told him "I'm going to enjoy seeing you-- and your buddies-- feel real heat." She turned to me, walked over, jumped onto the table in front of Daniel, and told me to give it to her hard, adding, "I know you don't want to hurt me, Carl, but... you've got to be hard on me, Carl, since I really need to wash this bastard out of my head..."

This was a first for the two of us and I was soon pounding into the smaller woman with enough enthusiasm to distract her from deNardo.

Of course coupling in front of a man who is naked and bound to a comfortable chair would usually bring most men to attention. Dan responded... but not like a "normal" man, but, then, we already knew that his kinks centered on domination and humiliating a woman while inflicting as much pain and suffering as he could.

The funny thing, when I could think about it, was that I'd always cared about Nancy, and felt good to be as caring as possible that evening.

Dan, Guido and Tony were placed in one of our "specials", a transparent bubble boat, with adequate life support, and gently de-orbited, while the women were put into the pool to be taken up by real volunteers. I advised the local civil service person to treat the four well and make sure none of them was disposed of, given what they'd already endured.

And I do mean the three men were gently de-orbited. We've had a lot of fun with this kind of execution, you see, since lethal injection, as a penalty, just doesn't have that "sting" of justice being served.

Their execution was beamed down for the news services of the planet below as a warning about interfering with volunteers. I was certain that this information would cause some of those who ran large criminal organizations, including various political parties, to change their strategy trying to sneak unqualified people off the planet.

One of our pilots did do a wonderful job with this bubble, changing the orbit so gently that the bubble managed to skip off the top of the atmosphere three times before it lost enough speed to sink in and go through re-entry. I heard there was some enthusiastic high-fiving running throuth the pilot corps, which seemed likely, I bet they played at this like skipping stones on a lake.

The bubble boat, being of Confederacy manufacture, survived atmospheric entry and landing, able to be recovered for eventual re-use.

All right, so we needed someone working with a leaf blower to remove the ashes from inside it.

Oh, sure, we wouldn't get the dead man back, but, trust me on this, there is some pleasure in being there to ensure that the books balance.