Marked by Alex Hughes

did a good job of compensating, enough that she’d been promoted to management, but body language just wasn’t there. She’d responded to my question with a repeating question out of socialization and habit, not interest.
    That, plus the sideways thought patterns occasionally, made her a very interesting mind. Combined with the order I’d felt immediately, I was betting she was genius level or better in her field, and far more creative than the average in odd directions. I wished I had more time to watch that mind work in her element.
    â€œI have a schedule today,” she said, looking at the clock. “What do you need to know?”
    Well, normally I’d ask if she liked Wright, but I had the feeling that wasn’t the best question right now. “Why did Wright get fired?” I asked instead.
    Now she glanced at me, then away. A few thoughts like fishes darted across her mind, some in odd directions. “Noah Wright, pay level four, was let go from his job for sharing sensitive information with noncleared sources.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?” I asked.
    â€œI can’t tell you the information.”
    â€œI didn’t ask you to. What did he do with it?”
    â€œHe posted it on the WorldNet without password protection or quarantine allowances. He then posted several messages in forums to advertise the information. By the time he was discovered, the sensitive information was effectively worldwide. The government found the information. They are not happy.”
    â€œIs it still there?” I asked.
    â€œI don’t know,” she said. “Several of our key employees worked to remove it. But once the information is out there, it is hard to erase completely.”
    â€œSeveral of your key employees?” I asked. “Let’s talk to them first.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Over the course of the next hours, I talked to perhaps twenty people, most of whom had worked with Wright on a regular basis. A picture slowly emerged of a quiet man who treated his coworkers well, who made steady progress on his goals and steady contributions to his teammates, but was otherwise unexceptional.
    The next person I talked to had a different story.
    â€œWright was a bastard,” she said, a Nicole Sagara. She was a small, fragile-looking woman in a lab coat with a huge surge of anger going off in Mindspace.
    â€œWhy was Wright a bastard?” I asked calmly.
    Sagara looked at Cornell, who was studying the file. Then she looked back at me. “It’s no secret that I reported him for suggestive comments in the workplace. They weren’t even at me. But I got tired of hearing dismissive terms for women. I got tired of him taking credit for my work—and Johanna’s work—and Laila’s work—without so much as an acknowledgment that we were on the team. I got tired of him being an asshole, and telling me to get him coffee. I requested a transfer. Three times. But I didn’t get it.”
    Cornell’s mind changed shape then, and she looked up. “Nicole. I told you that I knew about his exaggerations. He was not getting any extra credit for his falsehoods. Your work was good work. His work complemented your work. The final projects were stronger than any individual on the team could do alone. Teamwork is stressful. But good results happen.”
    â€œHe threatened to take a laser pistol and stick it up my ass,” Sagara said. “HR backed me up on the transfer. And the punch. They said it was justified, even if I did break his nose.”
    â€œHe got a permanent mark on his record. He is fired now. Your work on both the Galen Project and the laser pistol technology is exemplary. I don’t understand why we continue to have this conversation.”
    Traitor,
Sagara thought so hard I could hear it despite her low numbers in Ability. Her anger was truly a thing to behold. “Just because he was a Free