Seeds of Deception

THE SHUTTLE rattled through Ganymede’s upper atmosphere, metal hull protesting as super-heated oxygen scorched the exterior plating. In the economy cabin, Zeph Garner gripped his armrests, counting seconds until the shaking stopped. Atmospheric entry ranked as his least favorite part of interplanetary travel, though the statistics assured passengers this constituted the safest era of space flight in human history.

Statistics provided cold comfort when you felt your atoms might separate at any moment. The turbulence subsided as the craft pushed into stratospheric stability. Zeph loosened his grip, blood returning to whitened knuckles. Another routine descent toward Jupiter’s largest moon, where Ganymede Colony sprawled across the icy surface—a frontier metropolis of pressurized domes and underground habitats housing three million souls.

“First time on this route?” The woman beside him adjusted her position, reclaiming the shared armrest.

Zeph considered ignoring her. His security protocols discouraged unnecessary interactions during transit, but twenty minutes remained until landing. Isolation bred suspicion among observant passengers.

“Third time this year,” he said, manufacturing a tired smile. “The corporation rotates security consultants every four months.”

A calculated disclosure—specific enough to sound genuine, vague enough to foreclose further inquiry. His actual occupation remained classified, so “security consultant” provided convenient cover for corporate extraction specialists.

“Ah, one of the suits.” The woman’s mouth twisted into a sardonic smirk. “There goes my theory.”

“Theory?”

“That you might be interesting.” She extended her hand. “Tao Lin. Botanist.”

Zeph accepted the handshake, noting calluses inconsistent with laboratory work. “Zeph Garner. Boring suit, apparently.”

“No offense intended. I just spent three months at the research outpost surrounded by corporate types. Hoped to converse with someone whose mouth forms words besides ‘profit margins’ and ‘quarterly projections.’”

The shuttle entered a gentle right turn, adjusting course. Through the viewport, Jupiter’s massive presence dominated the horizon, bands of storm systems swirling across its surface. Ganymede remained invisible from this angle, though the navigation display showed their approach vector.

“Research outpost?” Zeph asked, maintaining the conversation while scanning the cabin. Sixteen passengers, most appearing to sleep or absorbed in personal entertainment. His standard security procedures dictated awareness of all potential variables.

“Agricultural sustainability trials.” Tao pulled a water bottle from her bag. “Testing plant adaptations to low-gravity environments for Mars expansion.”

“Sounds more interesting than security protocols.”

“Depends how much you enjoy watching soybean roots for growth variations.” She took a sip of water. “Three months of my life spent monitoring photosynthesis rates in simulated Martian light conditions.”

Zeph observed subtle details while she spoke. Tao Lin appeared mid-thirties, athletic build beneath civilian attire, eyes constantly moving—scanning exits, gauging distances. Situational awareness beyond typical botanist patterns.

“Worth the effort?” he asked.

“If you enjoy breathing oxygen and eating food.” Her smile revealed a genuine warmth that contradicted his initial assessment. “Plants remain our best technology for sustainable colonization. Machines break. Plants reproduce.”

For ten minutes, she spoke about resilient crop strains and modified root systems. Zeph maintained the conversation, asking appropriate questions while completing his cabin assessment. The transport appeared routine—no suspicious passengers, no unusual crew behavior.

“You don’t care about agricultural science,” Tao said.

Zeph shifted his attention back. “What?”

“You’re nodding and asking questions, but your eyes keep tracking the cabin. Military background?”

The observation triggered internal alarms. Civilian passengers rarely noticed such behavior.

“Corporate security requires situational awareness,” he said, his voice smooth. “Force of habit.”

Her eyes narrowed, pupils fixed on his face, tracking every microscopic reaction. The casual demeanor vanished, replaced by the focused precision of a targeting system. “Which corporation?”

“Ganymede Mining Collective.”

“Interesting, since GMC dissolved their security division last quarter and contracted through Artemis Protection Services.” She leaned closer. “Want to try again?”

Zeph maintained an unreadable expression despite escalating concern. This conversation had veered beyond casual transit interaction into dangerous territory.

“You seem remarkably informed about corporate security structures,” he said.

“Information keeps people alive on the frontier.” Tao returned her water bottle to her bag. “Just like recognizing when someone’s carrying a military-grade pulse pistol beneath a civilian jacket.”

Zeph tensed. The weapon remained invisible under his tailored coat, its profile eliminated through specialized holstering. No civilian should have detected it. “I think you’re mistaken,” he said, voice lowered.

“Your right side hangs heavier, you’ve adjusted your position six times to accommodate the weight, and you maintain a three-inch gap between your arm and torso for draw clearance.” She kept her voice conversational, as though discussing botanical research. “Unless you’re carrying an antique metal sidearm, it’s a TX-7 compact—preferred by extraction teams for its custom targeting system.”

The cabin grew much smaller. Zeph reassessed the woman beside him—not a botanist. Intelligence operative or corporate security, possibly private contractor. Either possibility presented significant complications.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Tao Lin’s expression remained pleasant, but something shifted in her eyes. “Someone who knows Paulo Santiago hired you to extract valuable research data from the Ganymede Colonial Repository.” She lowered her voice further. “Data my employer would prefer remain secure.”

Zeph maintained outward calm while processing this exposure. Santiago and the extraction team should have been the only ones to know the mission parameters. This level of intelligence penetration suggested high-level access or an internal leak.

“I don’t know who—”

“Skip the denials,” she interrupted. “Limited oxygen in this cabin. Let’s not waste it.”

The shuttle communications system chimed, the pilot’s voice filling the cabin: “Passengers, we’re beginning final approach to Ganymede Colony. Please secure all personal items and prepare for docking procedures. Local time is 0730 hours. Current exterior temperature minus 180 Celsius. Temperature inside the habitation is a comfortable 22 Celsius.”

Tao Lin leaned closer as other passengers stirred, preparing for arrival. “You have two options, Garner. Abort your mission now, return Santiago’s advance payment, and find alternate employment. Or proceed and encounter obstacles you’re not prepared to overcome.”

“Threats rarely persuade me,” Zeph said, maintaining eye contact. “Especially from someone who won’t identify their employer.”

“Not a threat. Professional courtesy.” She handed him a data chip. “This contains evidence that Santiago is setting you up. The data you’re contracted to extract has already been compromised. Colonial Security received an anonymous tip about an extraction attempt. They’ve prepared accordingly.”

Zeph didn’t take the chip. “Why warn me?”

“Santiago burned three of my colleagues last year on Titan. Left them for Colonial Security when an operation went sideways.” Something genuine flickered across her face—anger, perhaps grief. “Professional courtesy doesn’t extend to him.”

The docking sequence started, metal clamps securing the shuttle to Ganymede’s arrival terminal. Passengers gathered belongings, preparing to disembark.

Zeph weighed options. If Tao told the truth, proceeding meant walking into a trap. If Tao was lying, her unclear motivation still suggested a compromised operation.

“The data relates to botanical research,” Tao said, her voice just above a whisper. “Modified crop strains designed for radiation resistance. Santiago plans to sell to Mars Agricultural Consortium—who’ll patent the research and charge struggling colonies premium prices for seeds that prevent starvation.”

This detail aligned with Zeph’s limited mission briefing—extracting agricultural research data. Santiago had portrayed it as recovering stolen corporate intellectual property.

“That research came from public funding,” Tao said, continuing. “It belongs in the public domain, not restricted by corporate patents.”

Zeph offered no response as passengers shuffled toward the exit. Extraction specialists learned early to question motives, not morality. The mission parameters remained clear despite this unexpected complication.

“Weigh your options with care,” Tao said, standing as their row received clearance to exit. “Colonial Security doesn’t take prisoners during security breaches. They shoot first, document later.”

She moved toward the exit without looking back, just another passenger merging into the arrival flow. Zeph remained seated, watching her disappear through the airlock connecting the shuttle to the terminal.

The data chip remained on his armrest. Security protocols dictated treating unverified data sources as potential system threats. His training demanded he leave it behind.

Fingers closing around the chip, he slipped it into his pocket.

The shuttle emptied at a slow pace. Zeph joined the last group of passengers entering the terminal, mind racing through contingency plans. Colonial Repository security included automated defense systems and armed response teams. If they expected an extraction attempt, the mission success probability dropped below acceptable parameters.

He passed through the identity verification checkpoint, fabricated credentials passing the automated scan. Beyond the security barrier, Ganymede Colony’s central transit hub sprawled across three levels, with thousands of people moving between interplanetary departures and local transportation.

His gaze located Tao Lin near a public data terminal, her attention focused on the schedule display. As he watched, three Colonial Security officers approached her position from different directions—a standard interdiction pattern. She noticed right away, abandoning her position and moving toward the commercial sector at a casual pace.

Zeph altered his route, maintaining distance while tracking the developing situation. The security officers followed Tao, maintaining separation but clearly coordinating her interception. Their hands rested on holstered weapons.

Zeph reminded himself the mission hadn’t technically begun. Extraction protocols permitted abort without penalty if approach conditions revealed compromised security. Santiago’s contract included standard clauses covering operational discretion.

Zeph moved toward the nearest exit, activating his wrist communicator to arrange alternative transport off-station. A corporate shuttle would depart for Callisto in two hours—sufficient time to clear security and distance himself from whatever trap awaited.

His communicator chimed with an incoming message, anonymous sender: Botanist arrested. Security sweeping for accomplices. Your description circulating. Repository security quadrupled.

Zeph surveyed the terminal with renewed attention. Security personnel had indeed increased their presence, moving through crowded areas with apparent purpose. Near the main concourse, officers detained a woman matching Tao Lin’s general description.

Except she had been heading toward the commercial sector. This represented misdirection—security looking for multiple suspects.

His wrist communicator chimed again: Kill switch activated. Evidence links directly to you. Abort impossible now.

The implication registered immediately. Santiago had engineered a contingency ensuring mission completion regardless of circumstances. Standard contractor insurance—manufactured evidence linking Zeph to criminal activity, releasable if he failed to complete the extraction.

The terminal exit suddenly represented a dead end rather than escape.

Zeph altered course again, moving deeper into the station’s public areas. His mind raced through options, each more limited than the last. The mission had transformed from calculated risk to survival scenario.

A third message arrived: Maintenance shaft 7B. Service access panel requires facilities override: 3927A. Route to repository security blind spot uploaded to your comm.

Professional courtesy extended further than expected.

Zeph accessed the data chip Tao had provided, using a public terminal with anonymized access. The contents confirmed her warning: Colonial Security had received detailed information about an extraction operation targeting the repository. Source documentation traced back to Santiago himself—setting up a disposable asset for colonial capture while still acquiring the data through other means.

The data also revealed something unexpected: Santiago’s employer. Mars Agricultural Consortium’s chairman appeared in sealed financial records, transferring funds through multiple shells to Santiago’s operation accounts.

Zeph downloaded the evidence, cleared the terminal history, and proceeded toward maintenance shaft 7B. The choice had simplified—complete the mission on altered terms or face Colonial Security with manufactured evidence of espionage.

The maintenance access panel accepted the override code, sliding open to reveal a utility corridor used by service droids and emergency personnel. Zeph entered, following the uploaded route through Ganymede’s infrastructure skeleton—a parallel transit system invisible to regular colonists.

His extraction training included infrastructure penetration, but the uploaded route provided shortcuts and security blind spots no external contractor should know. Tao Lin’s employer had exceptional access to colonial systems.

The maintenance shaft ended at a service junction near the Colonial Repository’s environmental control section. According to the uploaded schematics, a security blind spot existed between camera coverage zones—a three-meter gap allowing an approach to the secure server housing without surveillance detection.

Zeph accessed the environmental control panel and used the provided override codes to adjust ventilation cycles. The security system would register the change as scheduled maintenance, creating a four-minute window to access the adjacent server room through the maintenance conduit.

Inside the server housing, he located the agricultural research database. The extraction tool copied the data within sixty seconds, exactly as planned in Santiago’s original mission brief. The divergence came when Zeph added Tao’s evidence files to the data package, uploading everything to three separate destinations: Santiago’s secure server, an anonymous public data hub, and the Mars Colonial Authority investigations division.

Three minutes later, Zeph exited through the maintenance system, leaving no trace of the extraction. The valuable research data now existed in both Santiago’s possession and the public domain, while evidence of the corporate conspiracy traveled directly to regulatory authorities. Professional courtesy extended in multiple directions.

As Zeph navigated toward the cargo district where independent shuttles operated with minimal documentation requirements, his communicator received a final message: Debt acknowledged. Necessary exit coordinates transmitted. We’ll contact you.

Attached coordinates led to a maintenance airlock where a small personnel transport awaited—unlocked and pre-programmed for departure to Callisto Station. No questions, no records.

Zeph boarded the transport, readying himself for departure. The mission had transformed from simple extraction to something more complex—a realignment of loyalties based on unexpected information. Santiago would receive his data but lose his corporate patron when the investigation concluded. The colonies would keep access to life-saving agricultural research without patent restrictions.

Ahead, uncertainty waited, a fitting state for those who traveled the spaces between worlds, between loyalties, between versions of truth.

Zeph tightened the flight harness as the transport entered automated navigation. In the space between planets, the most dangerous weapons remained invisible—information, timing, and the well-placed word from a stranger on a routine shuttle flight.