"His name?" came his mother's puzzled voice over the comms. "You mean Lin Bao? Your cousin? Ming, you grew up with him. Did you hit your head on that... 'training exercise'?"
Lin Bao. The name clicked into place. He was a skinny, perpetually nervous kid who had always been overshadowed by his bombastic mother and more successful peers. He was the last person anyone would suspect of anything, which, Lin Ming realized with a cold certainty, made him the perfect delivery boy for treason.
"No, Mom, I'm fine," Lin Ming said, his mind racing. "Just... curious. How's he doing? Is Aunt Le still bragging about his 'important job'?"
There was a long-suffering sigh on the other end of the line. "Oh, you have no idea. Yesterday she came over and told me Bao was personally in charge of polishing Zenith's medals. I had to remind her that you are Zenith, and you haven't been issued any physical medals yet. It was very awkward." She paused. "Is everything okay, Ming?"
The instinct to protect his family was overwhelming. The last thing he wanted was to drag them into a Blacklight spy hunt. "Everything's great, Mom. Just say hi to Dad and An for me. I'll be home for dinner tomorrow."
He hung up, his expression grim.
"Lin Bao..." Quynh Nhu tested the name. "Sounds like a loser. Are you telling me the biggest traitor in the ASEAN command structure might be your dweeby cousin?"
"It fits," Lin Ming said, thinking aloud. "Instructor Long has the clearance, but not the motive or the skill. He's too proud of the Dragon's Fang program to betray it. So the real mole—let's assume it's General Armitage for now—needed a proxy. Someone with access to Long's data streams who wouldn't ask questions. Someone they could manipulate or bribe. Someone nobody would ever look at twice."
"Your cousin," Pham Tuan finished, his eyes wide. "The perfect unsuspecting pawn."
The sheer, infuriating absurdity of it was staggering. While they were fighting for their lives on Mars, the weak link in humanity's defense was a nepo-baby who probably got his job because his mother wouldn't stop bragging to his superiors.
Minerva: The theory is plausible. A low-level technician handling encrypted data packets would be standard procedure. If the packets were flagged as 'high-priority logistical updates' from a General's office, he would simply pass them along. He's not a spy; he's a living USB stick.
[SYSTEM MISSION: Unflattering Family Reunion!]
[Objective: Confirm if your cousin is a traitor, a fool, or both.]
[Bonus Objective: Withhold the urge to 'face-slap' a direct family member. Or don't. The system is here for you either way.]
"We can't just go to Blacklight with this," Lin Ming decided. "It's too thin. It's just my family gossip against a high-ranking general. They'll bury it."
"So what do we do?" Quynh Nhu asked. "Invite him over for tea and ask him if he's betraying the human race?"
"Essentially, yes," Lin Ming said, a plan clicking into place. "But with a bit more... style." He turned to Minerva's icon. "Minerva, I need you to do something for me. You said you could set a trap for the mole's next transmission."
Minerva: Correct. I can create a 'honeypot' data packet.
"Perfect," Lin Ming said. "Here's what I want you to put in it. Make it look like a top-secret report from my mission. Mention a newly discovered power source on Mars. Call it 'Element Zero'. Say it's a substance that can hyper-accelerate cultivation for anyone at the Foundation Establishment level. Make it sound like the single most valuable resource in the solar system." He paused. "And make sure the file is flagged to be personally routed by Instructor Long's top logistical tech, Lin Bao."
Quynh Nhu's eyes lit up with understanding. "You're baiting the hook. You're giving the mole something so juicy he'll have to report it immediately."
"Exactly," Lin Ming confirmed. "Minerva, can you track the packet once Lin Bao sends it on? Can you pinpoint the true source? The one who receives it?"
Minerva: His workstation is connected to the military network. If he sends my honeypot file, I will be able to follow its data trail through the network like a bloodhound. I can triangulate General Armitage's terminal, or whoever the real mole is, the moment they decrypt it. It will be... a digital smoking gun.
"Then the plan is set," Lin Ming declared. "Minerva, prepare the file. I'll handle the rest."
The next day, Lin Ming did not go see his cousin. He went home for dinner, just like he'd promised. His father, mother, and sister were overjoyed to have their hero home. The meal was warm and filled with laughter. About halfway through, as if on cue, there was a knock on the door.
It was Aunt Lin Le and her son, Lin Bao.
"Oh, what a coincidence! We were just in the neighborhood!" Aunt Le announced, pushing her nervous-looking son inside. "Bao, look! It's your famous cousin! Go on, say hello! Tell him about your very important work!"
Lin Bao fidgeted, unable to meet Lin Ming's gaze. "H-hello, cousin. It's an honor."
Lin Ming smiled warmly, playing the part of the friendly, unsuspecting relative. "Bao! It's great to see you. I hear you're doing great work under Instructor Long. In fact, I have a personal report I just filed. It's top secret, but I'm sure it's already making waves. Something about a new power source..." He let the sentence hang in the air, a perfectly cast line.
Lin Bao's eyes flickered with a sudden, intense interest. It was a tiny reaction, almost imperceptible, but Lin Ming saw it.
"Oh!" Aunt Le seized the opportunity. "See? Important! My Bao is involved in top-secret power sources! He's practically running the war effort!"
The rest of the evening was an exercise in agonizing small talk. Lin Ming endured his aunt's endless bragging, all the while watching his cousin out of the corner of his eye. Bao was trying to act normal, but he was sweating. He kept checking his personal comms unit. He was waiting.
After they left, Lin Ming got a simple, one-word message from Minerva.
Minerva: Sent.
The trap was sprung.
Now, all they had to do was wait for the rat to take the bait. The fate of the entire war effort rested on the shoulders of his dweeby, unsuspecting cousin and a file about a fake element named after a video game. It was, Lin Ming thought, the most Task Force Chimera-style plan imaginable.