Skies Over Tomorrow: Constellation by Kelly B. Johnson Page B

replaced by the GDI emblem; and when Felix disconnected the com-link’s headset, the device powered off. “Supernova,” he said, removing the earpiece and mic. “And after all my efforts with trying to break this case.”
    Unhappy with the new status of the investigation, he put the link away, and wrapped up the headset and tucked it into the pocket from which he retrieved it. He checked the time: 06:41. “I really should have stopped by the Velvet before coming here,” he said, ignoring his growing hunger and deciding to continue his inspection of the hold. Duty dictated diligence with the case, despite Wilkes’ direction.
    Felix walked toward the entrance while pulling out a pair of high-tech spectacles and a flashlight from under the opposite side of his coat. At the entry, just to the left, was the location of the door and light controls; he depressed a couple of switches. Turning off the lights and closing off the cargo hold, he sealed himself in obscurity. With a click from the flashlight, an intense blue beam sliced through the darkness, and having slipped on the stylish eyewear, he adjusted its optical settings with the controls on its right arm. It enabled him to see chemical or organic matter or residue as revealed by the flashlight. He was looking for fingerprints, hair follicles, sweat, blood, saliva, something—anything. It was forensic surveying at the basic level. For Felix, it was tedious and time consuming.
    He started at the control panel and moved counterclockwise in examining the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and the cameras suspended in each corner of the space.
    Since the previous thefts, he had speculated that in order for the guards to avert suspicion and give credibility to their heard-nothing-saw-nothing claim, they knew storage facility cameras could not simply be turned off, as to do so required notifying and receiving bio-permissions from a couple officials high in the MAC command structure. Those adjutants would have had to then implement a more stringent security protocol, which would have logged their involvement. As there was no record of such activity, it was also a good thing the two executive officers had proven to have no knowledge of the prior four events. He was sure it would be the same this time around.
    Moreover, at such a level, the matter could have escalated with ease and attracted political scrutiny and unnecessary interests in Mars’ affairs, especially from its colonial representatives, and even the United Nations of Earth—if were to become widely known that MAC was losing provisions. Whoever was stealing from the Federation, like the High Council, preferred the entire situation be under wraps.
    After finding nothing, as expected, Felix found himself back at the entrance. He looked over every square centimeter of the hydraulic-driven doors and still found nothing. His stomach growled in protest of being ignored. Looking at his watch, only forty-five minutes had passed since he last checked, and he paused with thoughts of what to eat. It was at that moment that a faint glimmer caught his eye.
    Directing the beam of the flashlight to the floor, he tapped on the right arm of the glasses to start its filming, and as he approached the point of the reflection, more twinkles occurred. The spectacles recorded the languid shimmer of blue light and stored the digital footage in the memory bank within the left arm of its frame. The iota of molecules shown from where aisle nine should have been situated—where a menacing line of Hard Shells were racked, Felix remembered. He rescanned the floor, holding the flashlight ever lower, at a more leveled angle. Scribbled patterns, though ill-defined, were discovered; they seemed to be tire treads. He got down on his knees and set the flashlight next to a line that was part of one pattern. Swiping his index finger across a section of it and looking at his blackened fingertip, smelling it, and then