Rohyamar’s authorization gives you the authority to look at Umesh’s private files. So you start digging. It’s a lot of miscellanea: correspondence with a sister back on Stewart’s World, log files from games he’d been playing, texts with co-workers, routine alerts from the embassy about changes to his work schedule, those sorts of thing. You resist the urge to skim and force yourself to read every word. Even the smallest detail might be important. He has a borderline obsessive interest in an entertainment channel from Eidolon called MXplore. A few minutes of the chattering, hyperactive host is enough to give you a headache.
. . .
It’s late. Sand fills your eyes, and your ass hurts from sitting so long. You down another AcuWake and scarf a ration bar before diving back into Umesh’s files. Still nothing. No unexplained transfers of bits. No mysterious messages. Nothing. The only thing that was even slightly out of the ordinary was a thirty minute adjustment to Umesh’s work schedule that had happened over two weeks ago. But as far as you could tell, the rest of the embassy maintenance staff had had their schedule adjusted as well. Surely that couldn’t be it. . . .