by Cary Caffrey
Seeing the gun that appeared in her hand, Connor gasped. "You're armed."
"A necessary precaution." The front door chimed again, this time longer and more persistently. "I think you better find out who it is."
Looking thoroughly confused, Connor nodded slowly and walked toward the door; Miranda slid back into the shadows of the darkened office.
"Who is it? Do you know what time it is?"
"CTF Security, Mr. Lachlan. We need you to open the door."
"Security? At this hour? What on Earth—"
"Please open the door, Mr. Lachlan. This is not a request."
Connor undid the latch. Bright lights streamed in from the hallway.
Peering out from behind the half-opened office door, Miranda saw the two individuals standing there. The first one was tall, the collar of his overcoat pulled up high around his neck. The wide brim of his hat dripped, wet from the pouring rain outside. He held out his Security Services ID for Connor's inspection. His shorter, more squat companion seemed content to remain behind him, both of his hands thrust deep into his pockets.
"What's the meaning of this?" Connor asked. "What the devil is going on?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Lachlan," the taller man said, pushing past him into the foyer. "But we've detected an unauthorized access of your company files—from your personal terminal."
"Now wait just a minute." Connor had to move to block the man's path before he could enter the apartment. "What do you mean, unauthorized? I have complete access to my company's files from here. And those servers are on a closed grid. How could Security possibly know?"
The taller man poked his finger into Connor's chest. "Mr. Lachlan, please allow us to do our job. I shouldn't need to remind you, interfering with a Council investigation is a federal offense."
"Council investigation? Now look here. I know the law. You can't just barge in here—"
The security men were looking at Connor. Neither of them saw Miranda slip from her cover in the shadows. Neither of them saw the small hideout pistol in her hand.
Miranda moved fast, firing without warning. Connor heard the muted sound of the two silenced shots, the quick thud, thud from the snub-nosed pistol. The two security men slumped quickly and silently to the floor. Connor could only stare in disbelief, watching as two crimson pools widened beneath their bodies, spreading out across the floor until the two pools became one.
"Sorry about the carpet," Miranda said.
"Are they…?"
"I hope so—yes. Quite dead. We got lucky."
"Lucky?" Connor slumped back against the wall. "I think I'm going to be sick. Do you know what you've done! They'll arrest you. They'll hang the both of us!"
Miranda tried not to roll her eyes as she rifled through the men's pockets. "Don't be silly. No one's been hanged in nearly two centuries. Besides, I think their law-enforcement days are done."
"You know what I mean. You'll be arrested. I'll be arrested! You can't just go around…killing CTF Security men."
"Well, now there's the thing," Miranda said. She couldn't help but enjoy the complete look of dismay on Connor's face. "You see, neither of them are with CTF Security."
"What do you mean? I saw his ID. How would you even know?"
Miranda rose, stood next to him, and placed her hand on his cheek. "Because, my dear Mr. Lachlan, because I am CTF Security. And…well, you see, I'm the one who's been investigating you."
*
It was nearly 5 a.m. when Miranda left Connor's apartment. Connor had peppered her with questions; questions Miranda could not afford to answer. Not now. It was too dangerous for her to stay any longer. The cleanup crew would arrive shortly. The bodies of the two men would be taken away for identification before sterilization and disposal. She could not risk her own people knowing of her presence here. This operation was strictly need to know, and not even her own department heads knew what she was up to.
Miranda exited the building. The uniformed doorman held the door for her and offered an umbrella to shield her from the torrential rain. It was a minor miracle this part of London wasn't half-submerged like so many of the older areas. But when she saw the car waiting for her and the man inside, she declined the offered shelter, waving the umbrella away.
Miranda walked quickly to the car that hovered by the curb, careful to step over the deeper puddles. This entire operation was strictly off the books. No one knew she was here. No one except him. No one except Randal Gillings, Chairman of the Council for Trade and Finance, CEO of Coran Industries.
She gave her foot a shake as she took the seat next to him. The older man tapped the roof, signaling to the driver, and they sped off.
"It appears your activities did not go undetected, Ms. Kane," Randal Gillings said. "Messy business."
Miranda tried not to curse. He was right. How they had discovered her intrusion into the server was a mystery. But that was a question for another day.
"We can't afford any loose ends," the older man said.
"Then you needn't worry. They won't be making any reports. I saw to that." Miranda reached into her purse and pulled out the data-cube, handing it to him. "Besides, I got what I came for. It's all here. Everything we suspected."
"The naval transponders?"
"Yes, they have them. Just as we predicted."
"Then you can prove his identity?" Gillings asked. He turned the small cube over in his hands, examining the device.
"Yes," Miranda said. "But it gets better. I know where he is."
"Well?"
"It's Bellatrix," Miranda said. "He's on Bellatrix."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Invitations
Sigrid had delayed things as much as possible, but it was becoming clear she was only putting off the inevitable. The damage to her systems was far greater than she'd let on. Her communications module still failed to function, but more troubling, she was losing functionality with some of her subsystems, putting a greater strain on her overtaxed PCM and threatening to collapse her entire artificial neural network.
Sigrid needed fixing.
Dr. Garrett was ready and waiting to receive her in the medical ward when she came by.
"I was this close to having armed guards haul you down here," Dr. Garrett said. Her tone was stern, but Sigrid caught the bemused grin. "Now, if you don't mind…" She patted the examination table. "I'd like to have a look at the damage you've done to all my fine work."
"I've done! I wasn't the one who—"
"Quiet now. Hush!"
Sigrid hopped up on the table, sitting back and pulling her hair out of the way. While this treatment wasn't exactly routine, Sigrid was used to the doctor poking and prodding her. Dr. Garrett worked wordlessly, attaching the data-uplink to Sigrid's PCM access port.
Sigrid didn't need to be asked. With the uplink in place, she began to count back from ten, finishing somewhere between eight and seven.
She had no memory of the procedure, nor the steps Dr. Garrett and her staff took to repair her damaged PCM, first removing the device from the casing within her skull, then repairing and replacing it. A new communications module replaced the damaged one, and new programming was uploaded to her matrix. She was oblivious to it all.
For Sigrid only a moment had passed, though it was many hours later when she finally opened her eyes. She thought to ask if something had happened, but then her finger found the tiny, four millimeter-wide scar at the base of her skull, the only evidence left behind of Dr. Garrett's work.
They had moved her from the surgery. She was lying in a bed, tucked into a set of clean white sheets. Suko was there at her bedside; she smiled down at her and brushed the hair back from her eyes.
"Morning, sleepyhead. Or should I say, good evening. Nice to see you back among the living."
Sigrid rose to lean on her elbow. "Amongst the… How long was I out?"
Her head felt foggy, heavy. And it hurt. She reached back and felt the uplink module still connected to the access port behind her ear.
<
br /> "You’re awake. Good," Dr. Garrett said as she entered the room. "Here, perhaps I can help you with that." She stepped toward her, coming to Sigrid's aid in removing the uplink. The device came free with a snick, making Sigrid's ears pop.
With the uplink removed, the world felt oddly quiet and empty. It took a moment for Sigrid to realize why. Her Primary Control Module was shut down, completely switched off. In a panic, Sigrid realized she was completely cut off from each and every one of her bionic components and enhancements. Without the PCM, none of the sensor nodes would function, not a single of the nanomites would talk to her. This was the first time since activation that Sigrid had experienced the world around her without the all-important device functioning. To have it down left her feeling hollow, detached, and quite a bit smaller.
Before Sigrid could ask what happened, Dr. Garrett initiated the hard-reboot of her PCM. One by one, her systems came back online, blinking to life, reconnecting her to the world around her with all its sights, sounds and smells. The new communications module was there, functioning again. But there was more.
Something was different. Very different.
Sigrid sat up straight, her eyes wide. "Doctor… What did you do?"
Suko, who was holding her hand, tightened her grip. "Do? What's wrong?"
"Not to worry," Dr. Garrett said; she didn't look up from the monitor at her bedside. "It's the new firmware. You shouldn't feel any difference."
Shouldn't feel…?
But of course she did. Sigrid felt a difference. A big difference.
By now she was highly attuned to each individual aspect of her physical self, as well as all her bionic components. Even the billions of nanomites that surged within her. Sigrid was aware of them all individually. This was by design. This was how all the girls were able to function at peak performance. After activation on Alcyone, Sigrid had found herself bombarded with new sensory data. It had been completely overwhelming. Only with time and practice had she learned to control the constant influx of information as it assaulted her.
What she experienced now was something different. The data still came at her: smells, the particles floating in the air, the chemical composition of the fibers in Dr. Garrett's uniform, the beating of Suko's heart close to hers. But Sigrid found herself experiencing something completely unexpected.
Control.
The data no longer assaulted her, didn't force her to address it and compartmentalize it as it streamed in through her sensory nodes. Instead, Sigrid found the volumes of sensory data presenting itself to her in a calm and organized fashion, filtered and prioritized by her PCM. This left Sigrid's mind markedly clear to focus where and on what she chose.
Suko continued to look at her, her eyes filled with worry.
"It's all right, Suko. I'm fine." Sigrid squeezed her hand to reassure her. Suko's touch was always electric, but Sigrid gasped at the rush of energy, like a wave of sparks coursing up her arm. "My God, I'm really fine."
Dr. Garrett smiled at her. "We thought you might like that. We've had a great deal of time to study how you girls use your programming, you know. Your recent run-in with the Merchantmen highlighted some troubling issues with redundancies. Your central core spends far too much time dealing with low-priority functions. The new subroutines should address that. I think you'll find reaction times, situational awareness, even your endurance, will be greatly improved."
"Endurance?" Suko said smartly. "I'll be happy to put that to a test."
"I'm afraid any tests of your physical, er, resilience will have to wait," Dr. Garrett said; her eyes remained focused on the pad in her hand, the banks of monitors, as she studied Sigrid's telemetry, though she still caught Suko's not-so-hidden meaning. "Sigrid will have to stay here. At least the night. She needs to rest—give her system time to adjust."
"May I stay with her?" Suko asked.
This time Dr. Garrett did look up, peering over the rims of her glasses. "She needs her rest, Ms. Tansho. I thought I made that perfectly clear." The doctor turned back to her pad, muttering. "No one listens to me—going to end up talking to myself."
*
Despite her protests and assurances that she would let Sigrid rest, Suko was summarily ushered out of the medical ward.
Suko found herself loitering outside, wondering if there was some excuse she could make to return to Sigrid's side. She was worried about these new upgrades, and she could only imagine what trouble Sigrid would get into now.
"She'll be quite all right," a voice said behind her.
Suko turned and saw Lady Hitomi in the doorway, sitting in her wheelchair.
"Dr. Garrett is the best," Hitomi said. "No one knows Sigrid better."
Suko never felt entirely comfortable around their matriarch. She was always quick to make sure she was busy with something when Sigrid wasn't around, keeping their conversations politely monosyllabic. She tilted her head toward the medical ward. "She's awake, if you want to see her."
"Actually, I came here to see you."
"Me?" Suko pointed a finger to her chest.
"Yes, dear. We need to talk. That is, unless you have something pressing?"
The declaration took her by surprise. She'd assumed the lady had come to see Sigrid. Suko leaned back against the doorframe, trying but failing to appear casual. "No, nothing important."
"Sigrid will be ready to leave on this mission of hers soon," Hitomi said. "She will assume I am coming with her, but I cannot."
"You can't? But why?"
As answer, Hitomi tapped her lacquered cane against the metal bracings fastened to her legs. "I'm afraid my days of adventuring are long over, dear. On a mission such as this, I will only be a liability. Sigrid will no doubt try to persuade me. I was hoping you might tell her for me, help convince her."
Suko didn't quite understand, but she nodded slowly. "Of course."
"She is quite the young woman, our Sigrid. Did she ever tell you she saved my life?"
Sigrid hadn't—not that it surprised Suko. Sigrid was never one to boast or brag.
Suko shook her head.
"I should be dead, you know," Hitomi said. "And I would be, if not for her. Many thousands died on the Lift when the Independents attacked—all those people needlessly sacrificed, all just to kill us. Sigrid never gave a thought to her own safety, never hesitated in her actions. And she never will. Not where her friends are concerned."
"That's what I'm afraid of, Mistress—Milady. Er, madam…"
Hitomi laughed. Then, to Suko's surprise, she took her hand. "You must call me Hitomi, dear. Sigrid can't seem to manage it, but perhaps you can."
Suko stared at the lady's hand, not sure if she should shake it or hold it.
"She will take care of everyone around her except for herself. That is why you must do what she cannot. I want you to see to her safety personally. Take care of her. Watch over her. And see that she comes back to us safe."
Suko moved to withdraw her hand, but the matriarch held fast, holding tight.
In that moment Suko saw perhaps a small glimpse of what Sigrid saw in the woman. For the longest time, Suko had assumed the lady to be just another industrialist, a federate, one of the ruling corporate elite and nothing more. But after seeing the world Hitomi had built for them, how much she'd given up to see it done, Suko had come to learn how wrong she was. Lady Hitomi cared for Sigrid, deeply. And she knew the lady cared for her as well. She cared for all of them.
"I—I will, milady. Sorry. Hitomi. I'll take care of her. I promise."
"I have every confidence. I know you will do your best, and that is all I can ask."
*
Dr. Garrett tried to keep Sigrid an extra day to rest and adjust, but Sigrid would have none of it. There was far too much to do, too many things that needed taking care of. And while Sigrid had been resting, recuperating from her repairs, her mistress had continued in her investigations.
Word came to Sigrid: Lady Hitomi had found something. She wouldn't say what, only th
at Sigrid should come to her at her earliest convenience.
Sigrid went to her now. Hitomi was waiting for her in the sitting room of her bungalow.
"Mistress?"
Hitomi patted the chair beside her, and Sigrid took the seat.
"I've been meaning to talk with you," Hitomi said. "I've had a chance to look through Mr. Wereme's things. A most interesting man."
"You found something?"
"Found? I'd say that's putting it mildly. Here, perhaps it's easier to show you."
Hitomi tapped the monitor on the table, activating the holographic display. Sigrid leaned forward to look more closely. She saw the familiar images of Wereme's scribblings, all of them scanned and organized by Hitomi.
"What do you make of these?" Hitomi asked.
"I wasn't sure. I thought…I thought perhaps a code. Of course, it could be nothing."
"I thought the same thing. And no, dear. It is not nothing. Far from it." Hitomi waved her hand, highlighting a grid she'd prepared: letters, numbers, and random half-words in rows and columns. "I tried searching for patterns, but I couldn't make any sense of it. Not at first. Not without a proper primer."
"A primer?"
"A catalyst. A commonality. I couldn't find one, so I thought to give it one. It was you who gave me the idea, Sigrid. I thought about your theory—about a connection between Wereme and the men behind the attacks on Alcyone."
"What primer did you use?"
Hitomi blinked at her. "Why, I used you, dear."
"Me?"
"Well, not just you—you and all of your sisters. All the girls from Project Andraste. I created an algorithm to look for patterns based on all of you." Hitomi tapped the screen and let the program run. Sigrid watched as all the letters moved into separate columns and rows. Her eyes widened at the realization. Hitomi was right. There was a pattern. And there was a connection. It was them. It was all of them. When the program was complete, the seemingly random set of letters and half-words morphed into a complete list. Thirty-two names sorted themselves neatly into columns. The thirty-two names of the original girls from the Academy on Alcyone.
For Sigrid, this was a bitter realization. This was the client list Corbin Price had referred to.