Marked by Alex Hughes Page A

Data Campaigner doesn’t mean he should get away with all of this!”
    â€œThe paperwork was submitted for prosecution. What causes Mr. Wright campaigned for on his free time are none of our business. When he released sensitive information without authorization, he was fired.”
    The third time,
she thought.
And for all we know he was doing it all along.
“Can I go now?” Sagara asked resentfully.
    â€œDon’t forget your status report is due this afternoon,” Cornell said. “You may go.”
    When Sagara left, I asked Cornell, “What’s a Free Data Campaigner?”
    She rearranged papers, then answered, “In the twentieth century in the early days of Internet networking, many scientists and engineers believed that sharing information freely would benefit humanity. The majority of information was scientific in nature. Some people still think research should be available to all. This lab appreciates the idea, but we have government contracts for various military applications. There are national security concerns we have that simple science operations do not.” She recited this as if reading from a book.
    â€œWhat do you think?” I asked.
    Now she looked at me. “Wright did good work. But Wright should have followed the rules.”
    Then the next employee knocked on the door and I was off to the races again.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    After it was all over, Cornell took me back down the carpeted hallway toward the lobby. I hadn’t said I was a telepath, to her or to any of the interviewees. Perhaps this was a technical breach of privacy, but legally, I was okay. None of them had asked.
    The dribs and drabs I’d gotten of the secret information they kept talking about had been sobering. This particular facility handled a lot of weapons, and a lot of Tech-level projects the government was moving forward with for one reason or another despite the bans. It sounded to me like the gun-control arguments they’d had before the Tech Wars: the government wanted the citizens to be gun free, even starting legislation to take away their rifles, while the government held stockpiles of automatic weapons all over the country.
    It didn’t strike me like the Tech laws were doing much better. Maybe the Guild was right to do their own research. Maybe not. Both sides were breaking treaties to do it, and it made me very, very sad. Cooper, my personal hero of all the Guild founders, was very much a fan of honesty and integrity in dealing with people and organizations. Hard choices meant hard answers, he’d said. That, and stand for what you stand for.
    I think Swartz and Cooper would have gotten along okay.
    When we arrived at the front lobby, the receptionist was gone somewhere and Cherabino was seated quietly in one of the comfortable chairs, Michael standing next to her.
    â€œThank you for showing me around,” I told Cornell.
    â€œI can’t leave you unattended,” she said.
    â€œWe’re about to leave,” I promised. There was a forthrightness about Cornell that I appreciated, though I still missed the occasional eye contact or social body-language mirroring; the lack was like a discordant note in a symphony. I’d been around normals too long, clearly, if physical cues were overriding my sense of Mindspace. Either that or the injury I’d had until recently had changed me.
    She seemed hesitant but spoke anyway. “Noah Wright broke the rules, but he did not deserve to die. If there is something we can do to help you without breaking our promises to the government, it is the right thing to do so.”
    Cherabino moved us to the parking lot. “We’re running late,” she told me and Michael. “And when I called in, Paulsen was on the warpath.”
    â€œYou asked me to remind you to stop for food,” Michael said, once we were in the car.
    â€œYeah,” she said. “You willing to be the one