DATELINE: SESEN Part Four - [Comm-Links](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/comm-links) - DATELINE: SESEN Part Four DATELINE: SESEN Part Four ========================= Undefined Undefined Dateline: Sesen [Previous](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/comm-links/13569) [Next](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/comm-links/13571) Content ------- English Ulla Yadav Accused of Piracy. Government of Small Planet Refuses to Extradite Her to the Proper Authorities. UEE Suspects Yadav was Executed Without Trial. Out in the field, Yadav never woke up in the same place twice, but decades had passed since she’d last opened her eyes after a long sleep and felt disoriented. However, when she regained consciousness in the governor’s med bay, she slipped into a rare moment of pure panic. She’d never been this far out of her depth before. Information was her trade and her ally. She never entered a situation without knowing what kind of conflicts she might face. Insurgent camps, syndicate strongholds, warlords’ compounds — she’d spent years of her life surrounded by criminals and pirates with no easy means of escape, and she’d always felt safer than she did right now. Her ship’s databases hadn’t even been sure this planet was inhabitable — let alone inhabited. Research was impossible. They’d gone in blind. She knew nothing about the customs, traditions, or what might be a simple gaffe versus a deadly mistake. Information was the only thing that kept a reporter safe. And here she had none. The recovery room lay quiet. No ambient music, no bustle out in the hall. A doorless toilet sat in one corner, next to a small window that let in a stream of bright light. How long had she been under? Someone had left a plate covered with foiled paper on a nearby nightstand. Hers was the only bed. Where was Haddix? Testing her elbow, she found it functional, though it still had a bit of a twinge. That was odd. The bones should have been re-fused well enough to erase all signs of injury. She touched her temple — at least the gouge was completely gone. She’d been dressed in a pale blue smock, and a thin robe had been laid by the bedside. They’d scrubbed her skin so clean that she smelled fresh as an infant. A few of her fingers had wireless monitor caps attached, and a simple saline IV trailed from her forearm. Everything she deemed unnecessary proved easy to remove. After throwing on the robe, she tiptoed, barefooted, to the door. All was quiet — not like in a regular hospital. She tried the doorknob. Locked. Yadav jumped back as a voice addressed her from the other side. “Madame?” “Uh, yes?” “Please step away from the door and get back in bed.” It was Sato, the man who had held an Arclight to her head. “The doctor will be with you soon.” “Can you tell me where my colleague is? There was a man who came in with me.” Silence. For a moment, she wondered if he had walked away. Then there came an uncomfortable cough. “I’m not at liberty to say.” Yadav stumbled back. She knew what that meant. Good news was never confidential. But ‘bad news’ could comprise a million different possibilities. Her mind jumped to an extreme: “How could he have died?” Her voice rose several decibels. Though she’d made a leap in logic, her instincts told her it was true. “Haddix was alive when we got here. If he made it into surgery there’s no way his wounds would have led to a permakill. Not in these facilities.” Unless they let him die. She’d had run-ins (and interviews) with AntiLaz killers. There were ways of making sure that when you assassinated someone, they stayed dead. Shooting down an ejection pod, high-temp disintegration and bone grinding. But the easiest method, by far, was just to make sure they never received the proper resuscitation. Deny them medical treatment. Let the body lie. “You’re kidding me, right?” She lunged at the door, yanking hard on the handle. “Let me see him. Now.” “Ma’am, please get back in bed. The doctor will be here shortly.” She walked backwards until she hit the bed, and sat down heavily. How can he be gone? she thought. He was right here, in a hospital. Why is he gone? Uncontrollable tremors took over her limbs. She clasped her hands in her lap to steady herself. Whether she was shaking from anger or shock, she couldn’t say. Colleagues had been injured in the field under her watch before. But this was the first death. He’d wanted to turn back. Not because he was afraid, but because he was a professional. He knew the odds of anything resembling a good outcome were low. He knew that if they infiltrated that asteroid belt that he might never see — His kids. He had two daughters. And a wife. Yadav had met them once, at a company affair a long time ago. Beyond that, she didn’t know much about Haddix. She didn’t socialize while on the job, preferring to stay focused, in pure business mode. It kept things clean. Everyone knew where they stood and what their task was without personal matters getting in the way. She liked it. It was an efficient way to work. But it also meant she never got to know her colleagues. This was supposed to be a simple fraud case. Clean. Low-risk. Yadav wanted to scream, and pound on the door, and throw things. But this was no time for self-reproach. If they’d let Haddix die, she had to get out of here. Her flight suit was nowhere in the room. None of her effects were there, broken or otherwise. No MobiGlas, no camera drones, no travel kit. Her fingers flew to her ear. Thankfully they hadn’t extracted her recorder. It was cybernetically attached, but the individual recording device could be changed out. Quickly, she examined the window. Fully sealed. The duct work was minimal, maybe big enough for a cat to crawl through, but certainly not a mature woman. The only way in or out was through the door, and it had at least one guard. She could wait for the doctor to arrive and rush the gap when she entered. But this was a government facility, surely crawling with personnel. The chances that Yadav would be able to get anywhere near the front door without someone stopping her were slim to none. Maybe there was a way to get the guard to help her. Not bribery, something more subtle. How could she convince him to let her out? She couldn’t fake choking or convulsing or anything medical, obviously. What would make him escort her from the room? From the building? Fire. If she could reach some bare wiring … The monitoring caps she’d had on her fingers must have sent her data elsewhere in the med bay, as there weren’t any screens or machines. Nothing with easily exposable wiring. And all of the light fixtures were too high for her to reach, even if she stood on the bed. But there were several electrical outlets in the room, all with safety plates guarding them. She needed a tool — something to pry with. She scooped up the IV needle, but immediately realized it wouldn’t have enough tensile strength to pull up the plates. The hooks that supported the IV bag were too thick, as was the bolt that controlled the stand’s height. Perhaps there was some part of the bed she could use. She dug under the mattress and found a wireless remote — ah ha! It was an electric bed. If she needed to she could root around until she found the motor, but she suspected the batteries in the remote would do the job. She’d started many fires in her day — usually for survival out in the desert, or the jungle. Remote, inhospitable places. All in the name of tracking down a lead. It took three volts to start a fire. Dismantling the remote was a swift job. Now she just needed something combustible. The waste basket was empty, of course, so she wadded up the blue hospital gown and tossed it in. Now, how to form a circuit and cause a spark? Again she looked to the needle, but didn’t think she could bend it properly. She picked up the plate that had been left for her. Beneath the foiled paper was a pile of couscous. The covering was the same consistency as a gum wrapper — perfect. She rolled it into a thin strip, then ripped the center a bit — not all the way through. The foiled top would conduct the electricity, and the paper would ignite. After cinching the robe tight around her waist, she squatted over the basket. It took her several false starts, but eventually a spark took hold, smoldering before evolving into a full flame. The small curl of smoke it generated was laughable at best. Yadav hoisted the basket above her head, hoping to tease the detectors into going off. No dice. She needed a bigger, better flame. The only thing left to burn was the mattress. She shook the contents of the waste basket onto the hospital bed. For a moment she feared she’d smothered what little fire she had, but soon there was a faint whomp, and a strong stench of burning synthetic fabric. Puffs of light gray smoke billowed from beneath the crumpled gown, followed by lapping orange flames. Small, black clouds amassed near the ceiling. Yadav waited. And waited. The smoke stung her nose and tickled her throat. After another thirty seconds she could feel it in her lungs. She covered her face with the sleeve of her robe. Sirens should have wailed, flame retardant should have burst from hidden compartments in the walls and ceiling. But nothing happened. “Help,” she yelled, running to the door. She slapped her open palm against the metal. She noticed the seal around the door was tight — a measure meant to reduce the spread of air-born infection. “There’s a fire, let me out.” She sneezed. “The smoke — ” “Ma’am, no offense, but this isn’t my first day on the job.” She couldn’t believe the fire system was malfunctioning. This had to be some kind of cosmic joke. She’d been held at gunpoint by mentally ill prisoners off their anti-psychotics. She’d been trapped in the New United headquarters with a bomb less than five minutes from detonation. But this was how she was going to die? to be continued … Ulla Yadav wegen Piraterie angeklagt. Die Regierung von Small Planet weigert sich, sie an die zuständigen Behörden weiterzugeben. UEE-Verdächtige Yadav wurde ohne Prozess hingerichtet. Auf dem Feld wachte Yadav nie zweimal am selben Ort auf, aber Jahrzehnte waren vergangen, seit sie nach einem langen Schlaf die Augen geöffnet hatte und sich desorientiert fühlte. Als sie jedoch in der Med-Bucht des Gouverneurs wieder zu Bewusstsein kam, rutschte sie in einen seltenen Moment reiner Panik. Sie war noch nie zuvor so weit über ihre Grenzen hinausgegangen. Informationen waren ihr Handwerk und ihr Verbündeter. Sie trat nie in eine Situation ein, ohne zu wissen, mit welchen Konflikten sie konfrontiert sein könnte. Aufständische Lager, Syndikatsburgen, Kriegsherrengelände - sie hatte Jahre ihres Lebens inmitten von Kriminellen und Piraten ohne einfache Fluchtwege verbracht, und sie hatte sich immer sicherer gefühlt, als sie es jetzt tat. Die Datenbanken ihres Schiffes waren nicht einmal sicher, ob dieser Planet bewohnbar war - geschweige denn bewohnt. Forschung war unmöglich. Sie waren blind geworden. Sie wusste nichts über die Bräuche, Traditionen oder was ein einfaches Versehen gegenüber einem tödlichen Fehler sein könnte. Informationen waren das Einzige, was einen Reporter sicher hielt. Und hier hatte sie keine. Der Aufwachraum lag ruhig. Keine Hintergrundmusik, kein Treiben im Flur. Eine türlose Toilette saß in einer Ecke, neben einem kleinen Fenster, das einen hellen Lichtstrahl hereinlässt. Wie lange war sie schon unter Wasser? Jemand hatte einen mit folienbeschichtetem Papier bedeckten Teller auf einem nahegelegenen Nachttisch zurückgelassen. Ihr Bett war das einzige. Wo war Haddix? Als sie ihren Ellenbogen testete, fand sie ihn funktionsfähig, obwohl er immer noch ein wenig stechend war. Das war merkwürdig. Die Knochen sollten gut genug wieder zusammengefügt worden sein, um alle Anzeichen von Verletzungen zu beseitigen. Sie berührte ihren Tempel - zumindest war der Hohlmeißel komplett weg. Sie war in einen hellblauen Kittel gekleidet, und am Bett war ein dünnes Gewand gelegt worden. Sie hatten ihre Haut so sauber geschrubbt, dass sie wie ein Säugling frisch roch. Einige ihrer Finger hatten drahtlose Monitorkappen angebracht, und eine einfache Kochsalzlösung IV zog aus ihrem Unterarm. Alles, was sie für unnötig hielt, war leicht zu entfernen. Nachdem sie das Gewand angeworfen hatte, ging sie barfuß zur Tür. Alles war ruhig - nicht wie in einem normalen Krankenhaus. Sie versuchte es mit dem Türknauf. Abgeschlossen. Yadav sprang zurück, als eine Stimme sie von der anderen Seite ansprach. " Madame?" "Äh, ja?" "Bitte geh von der Tür weg und geh wieder ins Bett." Es war Sato, der Mann, der ihr ein Bogenlicht an den Kopf gehalten hatte. "Der Arzt wird bald bei dir sein." "Können Sie mir sagen, wo mein Kollege ist? Da war ein Mann, der mit mir reinkam." Stille. Für einen Moment fragte sie sich, ob er weggegangen sei. Dann kam ein unangenehmer Husten. "Es steht mir nicht frei, das zu sagen." Yadav stolperte zurück. Sie wusste, was das bedeutet. Gute Nachrichten waren nie vertraulich. Aber "schlechte Nachrichten" könnten eine Million verschiedene Möglichkeiten umfassen. Ihr Verstand sprang auf die Spitze: "Wie konnte er nur sterben?" Ihre Stimme stieg um mehrere Dezibel. Obwohl sie einen Sprung in der Logik gemacht hatte, sagten ihr Instinkte ihr, dass es wahr sei. "Haddix war am Leben, als wir hier ankamen. Wenn er es in die Operation geschafft hätte, hätten seine Wunden auf keinen Fall zu einer Permakillität geführt. Nicht in diesen Einrichtungen." Es sei denn, sie lassen ihn sterben. Sie hatte Zusammenstöße (und Interviews) mit AntiLaz-Killern. Es gab Möglichkeiten, sicherzustellen, dass, wenn man jemanden ermordet hat, dieser tot blieb. Abschuss einer Auswurfsäule, Hochtemperatur-Desintegration und Knochenmahlung. Aber die einfachste Methode war bei weitem nur, sicherzustellen, dass sie nie die richtige Reanimation erhielten. Verweigere ihnen die medizinische Behandlung. Lasst den Körper liegen. "Du verarscht mich, oder?" Sie stürzte sich an die Tür und zog hart am Griff. "Lass mich ihn sehen. Jetzt." "Ma'am, bitte gehen Sie wieder ins Bett. Der Arzt wird in Kürze hier sein." Sie ging rückwärts, bis sie auf das Bett traf, und setzte sich schwer hin. Wie kann er weg sein? dachte sie. Er war genau hier, in einem Krankenhaus. Warum ist er weg? Unkontrollierbare Zittern überzogen ihre Gliedmaßen. Sie fasste ihre Hände in ihrem Schoß, um sich zu beruhigen. Ob sie vor Wut oder Schock zitterte, konnte sie nicht sagen. Kollegen waren unter ihrer Aufsicht schon einmal auf dem Feld verletzt worden. Aber das war der erste Tod. Er wollte umkehren. Nicht, weil er Angst hatte, sondern weil er ein Profi war. Er wusste, dass die Chancen auf etwas, das einem guten Ergebnis ähnelt, gering waren. Er wusste, dass, wenn sie den Asteroidengürtel infiltrieren, den er vielleicht nie sieht - Seine Kinder. Er hatte zwei Töchter. Und eine Frau. Yadav hatte sie einmal getroffen, bei einer Firmenangelegenheit vor langer Zeit. Darüber hinaus wusste sie nicht viel über Haddix. Sie sozialisierte sich nicht während der Arbeit und zog es vor, konzentriert zu bleiben, im reinen Geschäftsmodus. Es hielt die Dinge sauber. Jeder wusste, wo er stand und was seine Aufgabe war, ohne dass persönliche Angelegenheiten im Weg standen. Es gefiel ihr. Es war eine effiziente Art zu arbeiten. Aber es bedeutete auch, dass sie ihre Kollegen nie kennenlernte. Das sollte ein einfacher Betrugsfall sein. Sauber. Geringes Risiko. Yadav wollte schreien, an die Tür klopfen und Sachen werfen. Aber das war keine Zeit für Selbstvorwürfe. Wenn sie Haddix sterben ließen, musste sie hier raus. Ihr Fluganzug war nirgendwo im Raum. Keine ihrer Auswirkungen war da, weder gebrochen noch anderweitig. Kein MobiGlas, keine Kameradrohnen, keine Reiseausrüstung. Ihre Finger flogen zu ihrem Ohr. Zum Glück hatten sie ihren Rekorder nicht herausgezogen. Es war kybernetisch angebunden, aber das einzelne Aufnahmegerät konnte ausgetauscht werden. Schnell untersuchte sie das Fenster. Vollständig versiegelt. Die Kanalarbeit war minimal, vielleicht groß genug, damit eine Katze durchkriechen konnte, aber sicherlich keine reife Frau. Der einzige Weg hinein oder hinaus führte durch die Tür, und sie hatte mindestens eine Wache. Sie konnte auf die Ankunft des Arztes warten und die Lücke stürmen, als sie eintrat. Aber das war eine Regierungseinrichtung, die sicher mit Personal überhäuft war. Die Chancen, dass Yadav in der Lage sein würde, irgendwo in die Nähe der Haustür zu gelangen, ohne dass jemand sie aufhält, waren gering bis gar nicht. Vielleicht gab es einen Weg, die Wache dazu zu bringen, ihr zu helfen. Keine Bestechung, etwas Subtileres. Wie konnte sie ihn davon überzeugen, sie rauszulassen? Sie konnte nicht vortäuschen, zu würgen oder zu krampfen oder irgendetwas Medizinisches, offensichtlich. Was würde ihn dazu bringen, sie aus dem Zimmer zu begleiten? Vom Gebäude aus? Feuer. Wenn sie ein paar blanke Kabel erreichen könnte.... Die Überwachungskappen, die sie an den Fingern hatte, müssen ihre Daten an einen anderen Ort in der Med-Bay geschickt haben, da es keine Bildschirme oder Maschinen gab. Nichts mit leicht exponierbarer Verkabelung. Und alle Leuchten waren zu hoch, um sie zu erreichen, selbst wenn sie auf dem Bett stand. Aber es gab mehrere Steckdosen im Raum, alle mit Sicherheitsschildern, die sie schützten. Sie brauchte ein Werkzeug - etwas, womit sie sich auseinandersetzen konnte. Sie schöpfte die IV-Nadel hoch, erkannte aber sofort, dass sie nicht genügend Zugfestigkeit haben würde, um die Platten hochzuziehen. Die Haken, die den IV-Beutel trugen, waren zu dick, ebenso wie der Bolzen, der die Höhe des Ständers steuerte. Vielleicht war da ein Teil des Bettes, das sie benutzen konnte. Sie grub unter der Matratze und fand eine drahtlose Fernbedienung - ah ha! Es war ein elektrisches Bett. Wenn sie es brauchte, konnte sie herumwurzeln, bis sie den Motor fand, aber sie vermutete, dass die Batterien in der Fernbedienung die Arbeit erledigen würden. Sie hatte zu ihrer Zeit viele Brände gelegt - meist zum Überleben in der Wüste oder im Dschungel. Abgelegene, unwirtliche Orte. Alles im Namen der Suche nach einer Spur. Es dauerte drei Volt, um ein Feuer zu entfachen. Die Demontage der Fernbedienung war schnell erledigt. Jetzt brauchte sie nur noch etwas Brennbarem. Der Papierkorb war natürlich leer, also wickelte sie das blaue Krankenhauskleid auf und warf es hinein. Nun, wie bildet man einen Stromkreis und verursacht einen Funken? Wieder blickte sie zur Nadel, dachte aber nicht, dass sie sie sie richtig biegen könnte. Sie hob den Teller auf, der für sie übrig geblieben war. Unter dem folierten Papier befand sich ein Haufen Couscous. Der Bezug war die gleiche Konsistenz wie eine Gummiverpackung - perfekt. Sie rollte es zu einem dünnen Streifen und riss dann die Mitte ein wenig auf - nicht ganz durch. Das folierte Oberteil würde den Strom leiten, und das Papier würde sich entzünden. Nachdem sie das Gewand eng um ihre Taille gelegt hatte, hockte sie sich über den Korb. Es dauerte mehrere Fehlstarts, aber schließlich setzte sich ein Funke durch, der schwelte, bevor er sich zu einer vollen Flamme entwickelte. Die kleine Rauchwölbung, die sie erzeugte, war bestenfalls lächerlich. Yadav hob den Korb über ihren Kopf und hoffte, die Detektoren dazu zu bringen, loszugehen. Keine Würfel. Sie brauchte eine größere, bessere Flamme. Das Einzige, was noch zu verbrennen war, war die Matratze. Sie schüttelte den Inhalt des Papierkorbes auf das Krankenhausbett. Für einen Moment befürchtete sie, dass sie das kleine Feuer, das sie hatte, erstickt hatte, aber bald gab es ein schwaches Wespen und einen starken Gestank von brennendem synthetischem Gewebe. Puffs von hellgrauem Rauch wehten unter dem zerknitterten Kleid, gefolgt von orangefarbenen Flammen. Kleine, schwarze Wolken sammelten sich in der Nähe der Decke. Yadav wartete. Und wartete. Der Rauch stechen ihre Nase und kitzelten ihre Kehle. Nach weiteren dreißig Sekunden konnte sie es in ihrer Lunge spüren. Sie bedeckte ihr Gesicht mit dem Ärmel ihres Gewandes. Sirenen sollten geheult haben, Flammschutzmittel sollte aus versteckten Fächern in Wänden und Decke explodiert sein. Aber es ist nichts passiert. "Hilfe", schrie sie und rannte zur Tür. Sie schlug ihre offene Handfläche gegen das Metall. Sie bemerkte, dass die Dichtung um die Tür herum dicht war - eine Maßnahme, die die Ausbreitung von luftgetragenen Infektionen reduzieren sollte. "Es brennt, lass mich raus." Sie hat geniest. "Der Rauch -" "Ma'am, nichts für ungut, aber das ist nicht mein erster Tag im Job." Sie konnte nicht glauben, dass das Feuersystem nicht funktionierte. Das musste eine Art kosmischer Witz sein. Sie war von psychisch kranken Gefangenen festgehalten worden, die von ihren Antipsychotika befreit waren. Sie war im Hauptquartier von New United mit einer Bombe weniger als fünf Minuten vor der Detonation gefangen. Aber so sollte sie sterben? wird fortgesetzt..... Ulla Yadav Accused of Piracy. Government of Small Planet Refuses to Extradite Her to the Proper Authorities. UEE Suspects Yadav was Executed Without Trial. Out in the field, Yadav never woke up in the same place twice, but decades had passed since she’d last opened her eyes after a long sleep and felt disoriented. However, when she regained consciousness in the governor’s med bay, she slipped into a rare moment of pure panic. She’d never been this far out of her depth before. Information was her trade and her ally. She never entered a situation without knowing what kind of conflicts she might face. Insurgent camps, syndicate strongholds, warlords’ compounds — she’d spent years of her life surrounded by criminals and pirates with no easy means of escape, and she’d always felt safer than she did right now. Her ship’s databases hadn’t even been sure this planet was inhabitable — let alone inhabited. Research was impossible. They’d gone in blind. She knew nothing about the customs, traditions, or what might be a simple gaffe versus a deadly mistake. Information was the only thing that kept a reporter safe. And here she had none. The recovery room lay quiet. No ambient music, no bustle out in the hall. A doorless toilet sat in one corner, next to a small window that let in a stream of bright light. How long had she been under? Someone had left a plate covered with foiled paper on a nearby nightstand. Hers was the only bed. Where was Haddix? Testing her elbow, she found it functional, though it still had a bit of a twinge. That was odd. The bones should have been re-fused well enough to erase all signs of injury. She touched her temple — at least the gouge was completely gone. She’d been dressed in a pale blue smock, and a thin robe had been laid by the bedside. They’d scrubbed her skin so clean that she smelled fresh as an infant. A few of her fingers had wireless monitor caps attached, and a simple saline IV trailed from her forearm. Everything she deemed unnecessary proved easy to remove. After throwing on the robe, she tiptoed, barefooted, to the door. All was quiet — not like in a regular hospital. She tried the doorknob. Locked. Yadav jumped back as a voice addressed her from the other side. “Madame?” “Uh, yes?” “Please step away from the door and get back in bed.” It was Sato, the man who had held an Arclight to her head. “The doctor will be with you soon.” “Can you tell me where my colleague is? There was a man who came in with me.” Silence. For a moment, she wondered if he had walked away. Then there came an uncomfortable cough. “I’m not at liberty to say.” Yadav stumbled back. She knew what that meant. Good news was never confidential. But ‘bad news’ could comprise a million different possibilities. Her mind jumped to an extreme: “How could he have died?” Her voice rose several decibels. Though she’d made a leap in logic, her instincts told her it was true. “Haddix was alive when we got here. If he made it into surgery there’s no way his wounds would have led to a permakill. Not in these facilities.” Unless they let him die. She’d had run-ins (and interviews) with AntiLaz killers. There were ways of making sure that when you assassinated someone, they stayed dead. Shooting down an ejection pod, high-temp disintegration and bone grinding. But the easiest method, by far, was just to make sure they never received the proper resuscitation. Deny them medical treatment. Let the body lie. “You’re kidding me, right?” She lunged at the door, yanking hard on the handle. “Let me see him. Now.” “Ma’am, please get back in bed. The doctor will be here shortly.” She walked backwards until she hit the bed, and sat down heavily. How can he be gone? she thought. He was right here, in a hospital. Why is he gone? Uncontrollable tremors took over her limbs. She clasped her hands in her lap to steady herself. Whether she was shaking from anger or shock, she couldn’t say. Colleagues had been injured in the field under her watch before. But this was the first death. He’d wanted to turn back. Not because he was afraid, but because he was a professional. He knew the odds of anything resembling a good outcome were low. He knew that if they infiltrated that asteroid belt that he might never see — His kids. He had two daughters. And a wife. Yadav had met them once, at a company affair a long time ago. Beyond that, she didn’t know much about Haddix. She didn’t socialize while on the job, preferring to stay focused, in pure business mode. It kept things clean. Everyone knew where they stood and what their task was without personal matters getting in the way. She liked it. It was an efficient way to work. But it also meant she never got to know her colleagues. This was supposed to be a simple fraud case. Clean. Low-risk. Yadav wanted to scream, and pound on the door, and throw things. But this was no time for self-reproach. If they’d let Haddix die, she had to get out of here. Her flight suit was nowhere in the room. None of her effects were there, broken or otherwise. No MobiGlas, no camera drones, no travel kit. Her fingers flew to her ear. Thankfully they hadn’t extracted her recorder. It was cybernetically attached, but the individual recording device could be changed out. Quickly, she examined the window. Fully sealed. The duct work was minimal, maybe big enough for a cat to crawl through, but certainly not a mature woman. The only way in or out was through the door, and it had at least one guard. She could wait for the doctor to arrive and rush the gap when she entered. But this was a government facility, surely crawling with personnel. The chances that Yadav would be able to get anywhere near the front door without someone stopping her were slim to none. Maybe there was a way to get the guard to help her. Not bribery, something more subtle. How could she convince him to let her out? She couldn’t fake choking or convulsing or anything medical, obviously. What would make him escort her from the room? From the building? Fire. If she could reach some bare wiring … The monitoring caps she’d had on her fingers must have sent her data elsewhere in the med bay, as there weren’t any screens or machines. Nothing with easily exposable wiring. And all of the light fixtures were too high for her to reach, even if she stood on the bed. But there were several electrical outlets in the room, all with safety plates guarding them. She needed a tool — something to pry with. She scooped up the IV needle, but immediately realized it wouldn’t have enough tensile strength to pull up the plates. The hooks that supported the IV bag were too thick, as was the bolt that controlled the stand’s height. Perhaps there was some part of the bed she could use. She dug under the mattress and found a wireless remote — ah ha! It was an electric bed. If she needed to she could root around until she found the motor, but she suspected the batteries in the remote would do the job. She’d started many fires in her day — usually for survival out in the desert, or the jungle. Remote, inhospitable places. All in the name of tracking down a lead. It took three volts to start a fire. Dismantling the remote was a swift job. Now she just needed something combustible. The waste basket was empty, of course, so she wadded up the blue hospital gown and tossed it in. Now, how to form a circuit and cause a spark? Again she looked to the needle, but didn’t think she could bend it properly. She picked up the plate that had been left for her. Beneath the foiled paper was a pile of couscous. The covering was the same consistency as a gum wrapper — perfect. She rolled it into a thin strip, then ripped the center a bit — not all the way through. The foiled top would conduct the electricity, and the paper would ignite. After cinching the robe tight around her waist, she squatted over the basket. It took her several false starts, but eventually a spark took hold, smoldering before evolving into a full flame. The small curl of smoke it generated was laughable at best. Yadav hoisted the basket above her head, hoping to tease the detectors into going off. No dice. She needed a bigger, better flame. The only thing left to burn was the mattress. She shook the contents of the waste basket onto the hospital bed. For a moment she feared she’d smothered what little fire she had, but soon there was a faint whomp, and a strong stench of burning synthetic fabric. Puffs of light gray smoke billowed from beneath the crumpled gown, followed by lapping orange flames. Small, black clouds amassed near the ceiling. Yadav waited. And waited. The smoke stung her nose and tickled her throat. After another thirty seconds she could feel it in her lungs. She covered her face with the sleeve of her robe. Sirens should have wailed, flame retardant should have burst from hidden compartments in the walls and ceiling. But nothing happened. “Help,” she yelled, running to the door. She slapped her open palm against the metal. She noticed the seal around the door was tight — a measure meant to reduce the spread of air-born infection. “There’s a fire, let me out.” She sneezed. “The smoke — ” “Ma’am, no offense, but this isn’t my first day on the job.” She couldn’t believe the fire system was malfunctioning. This had to be some kind of cosmic joke. She’d been held at gunpoint by mentally ill prisoners off their anti-psychotics. She’d been trapped in the New United headquarters with a bomb less than five minutes from detonation. But this was how she was going to die? to be continued … Links ----- No links available. Images ------ 1 image/jpeg [ ![](https://robertsspaceindustries.com/media/x3l6h1jdbgno8r/source/DatelineSesenFI3.jpg) ](https://robertsspaceindustries.com/media/x3l6h1jdbgno8r/source/DatelineSesenFI3.jpg) DatelineSesenFI3.jpg [Details](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/comm-links/images/1292) Last Modified 12 years ago Size 1.52 MB [Source](https://robertsspaceindustries.com/media/x3l6h1jdbgno8r/source/DatelineSesenFI3.jpg) [Info](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/comm-links/images/1292) Metadata -------- CIG ID 13570 Channel Undefined Category Undefined Series Dateline: Sesen Comments 47 Published 12 years ago (2014-02-21T00:00:00+00:00) [RSI Article](https://robertsspaceindustries.com/comm-link/serialized-fiction/13570-DATELINE-SESEN-Part-Four) [API](https://api.star-citizen.wiki/api/comm-links/13570)