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Molina Mold – Was the epidemic a conspiracy against the People’s Alliance, as some in Levski claimed, or simply the result of poor maintenance and cheap quality? The only thing that was certain was that the trigger was a faulty filter from Gyson Inc., installed shortly before the outbreak. But was the UEE behind it? Were the filters tampered with on their way to Levski?

The shipment went through a distribution center on Microtech—an ideal location for tampering. That’s exactly where I wanted to start. Marching in and asking questions was not an option. I had to infiltrate and reach the central server. Fortunately, I knew the buildings from a previous undercover investigation. This time, however, I had no support.

Dressed as a member of the Alliance Aid support unit, I stood in the break room for employees and pilots. It smelled of fried beans, and there were leftovers on the stove. I was alone. I was still operating within the law, but every step took me further away from it.

I took a bite of the beans, walked over to the seating area, and discreetly opened the maintenance hatch behind the plant. One last look over my shoulder, then I crawled in and climbed down the ladder. My boots clattered metallically on the grating floor. Pipes, boxes, dim light – and the question: where to? My memory was worse than I thought.

Aimlessly, I wandered through corridors, ladders, and pipes until I finally found myself back at the ladder I had come down. Cursing, I continued on until I found the elevator to the upper level.

A short ride, the elevator door slid open. A wide corridor, gray concrete walls, large plants. Twenty meters away: the conference room – my destination. I set off. Hopefully no one would want to see my ID, but why would they – I was coming from inside the building. But suddenly, out of the corner of my eye: a guard. My steps faltered. With legs as heavy as lead, I tried to ignore him and walked straight into the conference room. The door closed. I exhaled tensely and listened. Was anyone following me? All remained quiet.

Behind the reception desk, I crawled through a maintenance hatch into a windowless room and stood in front of the server cabinets. Cold sweat formed on my forehead. This couldn’t be true. No terminal, no connection, no way to hack. I looked around. Bare walls, a pipe, two boxes of armor parts. Why were they here? It didn’t matter. I wouldn’t find anything here regarding the filters. I had to go down to the warehouse, to areas with strict controls.

Another hatch led me into an office. On the desk lay an access card – my ticket through the lobby to the elevator in the security area.

With a queasy feeling, I descended the stairs. The lobby was empty, cold light falling through the glass roof. Outside, a snowstorm raged, a stark contrast to the heat inside me. I scurried past the reception desk and went downstairs.

In the security area, a heavy metal gate blocked the way to the warehouse. To the left of it, behind glass: the control room. The gate could only be opened from there. There was no one there to stop me – but also no one to open it. To the right was a small storage room. I crawled through a trapdoor into a maintenance tunnel.

Cramped, red light. Crawling, I fought my way forward, crawled under a low-hanging pipe, and entered a high-ceilinged room. Breathing heavily, I climbed into a ventilation shaft high above and continued on to a narrow, wobbly metal walkway under the ceiling of the security area. Not high, but dizzying enough. I felt my way forward on all fours.

A metallic rumbling made me freeze. The gate opened. Two people ran underneath me.

“When is the arms dealer coming back?”

“I think Friday.”

They disappeared into the elevator. An arms dealer in the distribution center? What was going on here?

I crawled on, reached a ceiling hatch, and jumped into the control room. And froze again.

The weapon cabinets contained models that couldn’t be bought anywhere. Boxes were stacked with armor, clothing, artifacts, drinks—things I had never seen in a store. A black market? I hesitated, then took what I could carry. Pike would have had fun with this.

I checked the situation on the surveillance monitor, opened the gate, and slipped through. I jumped over a railing onto a hidden path below and crept past machines and workers to the main warehouse.

It was quiet there. Containers hung in rows up to the ceiling, every space occupied. They all bore the same logo: Cleanair Inc – Quality Filters. Why weren’t they delivered to Levski? Who was Cleanair Inc?

A door rumbled. I jumped behind the containers.

I carefully crept past the shelves. At a terminal, I gained access to the warehouse lists. Only filters from Cleanair Inc – stored indefinitely. What in the world did that mean?

I searched for Gyson. Their filters came directly from the factory in the Ferron system and were immediately sent on to Levski. No evidence of replacement, no time for tampering. After the outbreak of the epidemic and the start of aid deliveries, only Cleanair filters were accepted and stored. Strange.

Behind a desk, I found a safe, an antiquated model. Quickly cracked. Inside was a message from Cleanair to the dispatcher:

As soon as you stop accepting goods, our friends will interrupt Gyson’s delivery via the alternative route. If PT is blocked, open the gates and flood the market with our filters. You too will benefit from the profits of our sudden market dominance.

PT had to be Port Tressler. That explained the blockade of the orbital station that I had broken through.

A noise startled me. I hurriedly backed up all the data and disappeared from the distribution center.

*

On the flight to Levski, I looked at my findings. The drinks appeared to be rare goods from other star systems. I wondered if I could make money with them among the high society in Stanton. I opened a can of Quantanium water, sat down on the red sofa, and thought about the results of my investigation.

Cleanair Inc. – a new company from ArcCorp. They were having trouble gaining a foothold in the market and took advantage of the emergency in Levski, blocking Port Tressler and trying to push through their filters. I had probably thwarted that.

I found no evidence of tampered Gyson filters. Maybe Molina Mold was indeed the result of a faulty product. Gyson was known for poor quality control. An obvious explanation. But also a perfect cover for a covert UEE operation – tampering directly in the factory, without arousing suspicion.

It was unsatisfactory. But for now, the obvious had to suffice. Alliance Aid’s assistance was effective in Levski. That argued against a conspiracy. Still, I couldn’t completely let go of my suspicion. Only one thing was certain: corporations were ruthless. They either cut corners on quality or shamelessly exploited emergency situations.

Translated with DeepL.com (free version)