Skies Over Tomorrow: Constellation by Kelly B. Johnson

he said. “I just have a few questions.”
    â€œOf course. It’s not as if I could refuse to answer.”
    â€œYes, you’re right.” Felix reached under his coat for his voice-recorder.
    It was a wide known bylaw that organizations of the Federation, including MAC, and even the High Council, were to yield to the GDI because the agency was charged with preserving the integrity of the Martian regime and its utopian existence. The recorder, a dowel-shaped device no longer than the palm length of the hand, was ready by its green lit bottom. “Keeping with protocol then, I’m Special Agent Felix Ilom of the Galactic Division of Investigations, lead investigator of case number 014603, as it relates to provisions that have mysteriously disappeared over the last few months.”
    â€œâ€˜Mysteriously disappeared’? Now that’s an interesting euphemism,” said McBride.
    â€œDo you have another way to describe how entire cargo depots are being cleared of goods?”
    â€œThe provisions were stolen.”
    Felix eyed the MAC soldier, and then said, “How do you know they were stolen?”
    â€œSmall talk among the rank-and-file.”
    â€œAmong the rank-and-file,” he said. “Is there small talk of a who among the quote-unquote rank-and-file?”
    â€œNo one comes to mind.”
    â€œAny ideas about why governmental provisions are being targeted? Is there an independent faction wanting to break away?”
    â€œI don’t know,” she said, “but now that you mention it, the stolen provisions are enough to feed a growing army.”
    â€œQuestion is how much does this growing army need?”
    â€œI didn’t say it was an army for certain.”
    Felix smiled. “Of course you didn’t,” he said. “You were on duty at the time these provisions were stolen—is that correct?”
    â€œYes, from 19:30 to 04:30.”
    â€œWhere were you most of the time?”
    â€œAt the surveillance desk.”
    â€œAnd you didn’t see anything unusual on the cameras?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhat percentage of time did you spend at the desk as opposed to foot patrol?”
    â€œI don’t know percentage of time, Detective Ilom. I do know at the top of every hour, I was on foot patrol for twenty minutes. I also know for sure that during my shift I saw nothing and heard nothing.”
    â€œNothing at all?”
    â€œThat’s correct.”
    â€œOK, that’s all I have to ask you for now,” said Felix, looking at and stopping the voice-recorder; its bottom now yellow. “Thank you for your time, Private.”
    â€œMy pleasure.” McBride turned about and walked off.
    â€œIf I have any more questions—”
    â€œThen it shouldn’t be hard for you to find me,” she said from over her shoulder. “After all, you are GDI.”
    â€œThat I am,” Felix said, his words reverberating off the alloy walls as he put the truth-stick—as the recorder is sometimes called—away after it indicated deceit by the amber light. Then under his breath while watching McBride’s retreating figure, he said, “I should have asked you to join me for breakfast. It would’ve been interesting to hear you lie some more.” She passed the entrance and turned left once she was in the corridor.
    Felix checked his watch for the time; it was 06:35. Having been up for almost two hours since being called out of bed to the storage facility at the urgent request of his commander, he did not have a chance to eat anything, and his stomach weakened during the questioning of the private.
    Controlling his hunger, Felix reached inside a coat pocket and pulled out a headset. Unfolding the communiqué peripherals, he slipped the earpiece over his left ear and let a cord dangle as he adjusted the mic on his Adam’s apple. He went under his coat again and retrieved his com-link, and then