by Jaine Fenn
She was older than any of us, mid sixties at least, with an easy-going smile and a gaze that didn’t miss a trick. She’d only arrived in Olympus recently, from Earth, and her profession was openly listed as ‘security consultant’. As with the others, our chat was mainly small talk. When I commented on her strong US accent she said, ‘My parents saw the Small War.’
‘Saw as in…’ She was old enough to only be one generation removed from the worst thing humanity had ever done to itself, but I had trouble getting my head around how you can ‘see’ a nuclear exchange that sterilised half a continent, and survive.
‘They were hiking in the Rocky Mountains when it went down. Kinda ironic, really.’
‘Because that’s where the Doomsday UAI was?’ It was still a chilling thought, the idea that an inhuman intelligence could decide it made sense to wipe out a whole nation just because they were the enemy de jour. To this day, no one was quite sure how that disastrous first strike had come about.
‘Yeah. Pop said they had no idea what was going on until they saw a mushroom cloud on the horizon. Then he checked his cell and when there wasn’t any coverage, assumed the worst.’
‘But the fallout…’ She didn’t look like the mutant child of irradiated parents.
‘They were in the far north, and the wind was blowing from that direction. They walked across the Canadian border about the same time the Generals took an axe to that damn AI.’ She sounded angry about it, even though she hadn’t been born then.
Despite myself, I liked this woman. I felt a little star struck – because the only thing rarer than a genuine full-blood American is a genuine full-blood North Korean – but there was also an unexpected sense of kinship. Mum played up her quarter-heritage US blood, so I watched a lot of old US movies when I was growing up. Paula McIntyre was the ‘real deal’. For a moment I wanted to take her into my confidence, tell her up front what the target was. But much as I enjoyed talking to her, I’m the daughter of a con-artist. I don’t trust that easily.
Twelve hours later, we were crawling through ducts together. Having two people go in to physically lift the Eye was risky, but Mr P wanted me present for the whole job. ‘You can’t be sure what you’ll find; you might need two people for some of it. And you’re the person on the ground I hired, so you’re the only one I want handling the Eye.’
With Mr P’s words ringing in my ears, I still hadn’t told Ms McIntyre what we were here to steal. All she knew was that the target was somewhere in Everlight’s main corporate complex – that being where we were now. She didn’t look happy when I told her she’d get full details in due course but she was also a professional, and she didn’t gripe.
‘Which way here?’ She was in front, and we’d come to an intersection.
‘Left,’ I muttered into my comm. Her coverall-clad backside got moving again. We’d dressed as maintenance workers, a basic disguise which, along with some remote hacking from Nico, had got us into the ducts.
‘Okay.’ We crawled forward. Just round the corner, she stopped. ‘Hold up, we’ve got a sensor grid here.’ We both wore hudglasses; mine projected a map, while hers showed an overlay of radiant energy, temperature fluctuations, the UV and IR spectrum and other arcane environmental factors that could alert someone who knew what to look for to hidden security features.
‘Right. Time to do your stuff, Paula.’
Ducts feature in a certain type of US film. They’re great plot devices but lousy design choices. I mean, why would you build a secret entrance into your secure facility? On Mars, where you need to circulate a manufactured atmosphere to a lot of people living in sealed, confined spaces, you really do need some person-sized ducts. But whilst these ducts had got us into Everlight’s territory, the sensitive areas weren’t accessible this way. And, being Everlight, they’d built security features into some of these low-security ducts. In this case, a lattice of invisible laser beams that triggered an alarm if anything larger than a rat passed through; or if someone tried to disarm them and failed. I’d hoped we might get the locations of these little surprises from Nico’s preliminary research, but he’d said he couldn’t risk going that deep into Everlight’s security system, so we were on our own.
I sat back and counted breaths. I’m not phobic about confined spaces, but I am afraid of being caught. This was the first obstacle we’d come across requiring Ms McIntyre’s skill. She’d better be up to it.
Sixty-seven breaths later she said, ‘We’re clear.’
We set off again. My breathing remained shallow until I was sure we’d passed the unseen detection device. Logically, I should have continued to worry: if we had tripped an alarm it was probably silent. We could handle one possible response to Everlight discovering our route in; if they were irresponsible enough to pump knock-out gas into their own vents, we had rebreathers. More likely they’d just station guards at the exits. It’d be a while before we found out.
‘It would be good to know where we’re heading, Ms C.’
Maybe it was time to show a little trust. ‘I’ll ping you the map.’
‘Thanks.’ We crawled a few more metres. ‘The Celestial Colonnades?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Ah.’ That, to use the US parlance, was the sound a woman doing the math. Her next comment confirmed it. ‘That’s where the Eye of Heaven is currently on display.’
I could have dissembled, pointed out how many other expensive artefacts and trophy objects Everlight must have in their corporate museum, but I’d decided to trust her. ‘Yep.’
‘Ah.’ And that was the sound of a woman considering consequences. Maybe she’d suspected we were after the Eye, but now she knew. If she wasn’t kosher, if she had another agenda, this might be the moment she made her move. Then again, her current position, on hands and knees in front of me in a narrow crawlspace, wasn’t the place for it. ‘Thanks for letting me know.’
I got nothing from her neutral tone: not gratitude, not sarcasm, not concern.
We carried on.
Two corners later she found another detection device, this one pressure-based. It took a long time to disarm. If Everlight were mustering the troops, they’d be in place by now.
Round the next corner, our duct ended in a grill. My mouth dried up. We were about to break cover.
‘Anyone out there?’ I murmured over the comm.
‘All clear.’
‘Good. I’m assuming you can get that grill off safely?’
‘Shouldn’t be a problem.’
It wasn’t; from the speed she dealt with it I suspected the grill hadn’t even been alarmed. As Paula pulled it free of its frame she asked, ‘Are we coming back out this way?’
‘Nope.’
‘Good.’ She probably didn’t fancy making a quick getaway on hands and knees. Me neither.
Before we left the ducts we wriggled out of our coveralls. Underneath we wore skinsuits provided by Mr P which, when we pulled the hoods up, would mask body heat (except for our exposed faces) block scents and pheromones (not really an issue unless they had some very quirky security) and (the thing we were most likely to need in here) provide a basic chameleon function.
Unfortunately, this high-tech bonus was rather offset by the need to keep our low-tech coveralls with us. The bodysuits should have stopped us getting any DNA traces on the coveralls, and Shiv might have assumed they had and left them stuffed in the ducts, but I don’t take chances. We bundled the coveralls into our expandable backpacks, which were also camo’d up.
Paula eased the grill back into place after we’d climbed out. Having Everlight think we’d left that way might be useful if we triggered any defences, but we couldn’t leave any traces while we were still in the building.
We were in a carpeted corridor with anaemic yellow walls relieved by the occasional abstract print in pinks and reds. Executive country, Mum would call this. I’d spent much of the last decade passing through similar corridors, though not as an intruder.
We both ha
d the map and there was room to walk side-by-side, so we did. Two things could scupper us before we reached the target area: surveillance and foot patrols. For the former, we had to rely on Nico’s worm to ensure any cameras or other sensors along our path fed back nothing but empty corridor. Assuming his hack hadn’t been detected. For foot patrols, we had to rely on our wits. Or, if it came to it, on the stunguns we both carried.
Worst case would be running into guards who either saw us first and raised the alarm, or who we dealt with only to have their colleagues back at base wonder why their mates suddenly disappeared off the security feed. Nico should be was busy setting up the next part of the plan by now, with neither the connectivity nor the time to monitor the local security feed and give us a heads-up of incoming trouble.
It wasn’t far to the Celestial Colonnades. We took it slowly, pausing at the two intersections we passed. No sound save the faint hum of aircon. No smell save the faintest whiff of the most expensive incense.
Our destination wasn’t hard to find. Amongst plain doors only identified by discreet pseudo-metal panels an actual metal door, standing floor-to-ceiling, stood out. Up closer and it was clear this was two bronze doors, decorated with a bas-relief design of dragons and clouds, like something from an ancient feudal castle. There was no obvious handle.
Paula McIntyre stood in front of the doors and pursed her lips. Finally she said, ‘This looks interesting.’
‘But not impossible.’
‘Oh no. I love a challenge.’
I didn’t tell her to shelve relishing the challenge in favour of getting on with the job. She knew that. Instead I said, ‘I’ll keep watch,’ and padded up to the nearest junction. Glancing back, I saw her swing her pack round and remove several small objects. I recognised the flat palm-sized square of a sequencer, and a clear-cased micro-tool kit. I left her to it, and looked away, focusing on the intersecting corridor.
I’d been involved in two physical heists in my youth. One was an art heist in St Petersburg where I’d been a surprisingly lo-tech spotter; I’d been fourteen at the time. Two years earlier I’d had my only other experience in the ducts, when Mum had realised that the Cairo Museum had service tunnels a child could fit through. Those jobs had ended in success, though only just in St Petersburg.
However, in both cases we’d checked out the location in advance. That hadn’t been an option here. Though Everlight liked to show off their prized possessions, most of the time access was limited to those they thought deserved it, which generally meant the execs of other corps. Over the New Year they also let the great unwashed visit the company showcase, but only in the most regulated way. You applied for tickets – which were expensive, and required personal vetting to even request – and a lucky few hundred would get guided tours of the company’s spiritual heart at this most propitious of seasons. Obviously, I hadn’t applied. So, other than knowing the general shape of the rooms beyond that door, I was going in blind.
It could have been worse: outside New Year the Eye was sealed in secure storage, in an unknown location in the complex.
Movement! Two guards were sauntering down the corridor. I withdrew my head and hissed a warning to Paula. ‘Fight or flight?’ she asked over the comm.
‘Neither. Hide. But keep your gun to hand.’ I’d already drawn mine, and was jogging back towards the double doors. Once I saw Paula had her stungun out and was turning to face the wall I did the same, opposite her but a little offset, the hand with the gun in pressed into the wall, hidden by my skinsuit camouflaged body. If the guards spotted an odd bit of wall as they approached then we’d both turn and fight, catching them in the crossfire. Where were Paula’s tools? She wouldn’t have had time to gather them up, so they’d be on the floor near her feet, visible to anyone who looked. Should we just fire on the guards as soon as they reached the junction? I wasn’t sure how we’d know when that was, or how effective we’d be. I don’t carry lethal firearms on a job but stunguns aren’t the best range weapons.
I heard voices. The guards, a man and a woman, were griping about missing a New Year’s party. Good. If they were talking they weren’t watching their surroundings. Plus, we’d know where they were. I made myself breathe slow and even.
Their voices got suddenly louder. ‘…not as though the overtime rate even makes it worthwhile…’
Then quieter.
I took a proper breath. They’d walked straight past the end of the corridor. They hadn’t even looked our way. Holiday cover staff: never the sharpest.
‘Close call,’ murmured Paula in my ear as she unpeeled herself from the wall.
‘Let’s hope it’s the only one.’
Another good thing about the skinsuit is that it absorbs sweat. My body was reminding me how far I was out of my comfort zone. I respected Mr P’s logic, but I’d still rather not be here. Given the choice, I’m an organiser not a cat-burglar.
I jumped at Paula’s voice in my ear. ‘We’re in.’
One of the great doors clicked open. I went over and peered inside. I smelt old incense on the air, but saw nothing except darkness in the room beyond. As I switched my hudglasses to lo-light mode Paula nodded into the dark room and asked, ‘We sure the lights aren’t on auto?’ A reasonable question, especially if tripping said lights showed up on someone’s status board.
‘Not according to the schematics we’ve got.’ Schematics which hadn’t shown the security measures in the ducts. I hate unknown unknowns.
I gestured for Paula to go first. She shot me a look which I couldn’t make much of through her now-opaque glasses, and stepped across the threshold.
Nothing happened.
I followed her.
‘Let’s close this,’ I said, nodding back at the metal door once we were both in the room.
‘Good idea.’
It took both of us to pull the door closed manually, using the handle on the inside. I didn’t like the solid thunk it made when it swung back into place but we couldn’t risk any guards who were paying attention finding it open.
The plans showed four large, square rooms, each one big enough to swallow my old apartment. I had no information about the internal layout but we appeared to have stepped into history. We stood under an arch leading into a courtyard formed by tiled, ridged roofs reaching down on all four sides. I glanced up, half expecting to see stars, but there was just the high ceiling. No doubt the lighting, when it was on, included suitably atmospheric projections.
The courtyard was full of artfully arranged statues. Lion-dogs, dragons, nymphs, and, in pride of place in the centre, a life-sized Buddha in the Tibetan style. It was hard to tell in this – lack of – light, but the Buddha appeared to be carved from a single lump of solid jade. Some of the statues looked new; others so ancient and weathered I wasn’t even sure what they’d once been. Of course, nothing here was genuine, hauled up Earth’s gravity well and shipped all the way to Mars. But they would be faultless reproductions of items Everlight did own.
I was reasonably sure we wouldn’t find the Eye in this room, but we had to check. ‘I’ll go left, you take the right,’ I said to Paula.
‘Sure.’
As I picked my way through the statues I heard a gentle murmur from up ahead. After a moment, I identified it as running water. Other than the statues the only other features were the stone benches against the walls; the walls themselves were painted with detailed murals of Chinese myths and legends.
We met up on the threshold of the next room. ‘Do you want me to go first this time?’ I asked Paula.
‘Whatever works for you.’
‘Let’s do this together then.’
We entered side-by-side to find ourselves in another courtyard, though this time containing a sculpted garden, complete with stream running diagonally across the middle. As well as the benches around the edge there were love-seats and carved arbours amongst the well-trimmed hedges and gravel paths. The only way across the stream was a delicately curved metal bridge. Paula went first. H
alfway across, movement from below caught my eye. I froze. There was something in the water, something big. A fish. Of course. Not just any fish: a carp as long as my arm, beautifully mottled. Probably cost what I used to earn in a year.
The next room had a number of large square objects in it, some of them reflecting what little light came from behind us.
‘Wait!’
I froze at Paula’s whisper. ‘What is it?’
‘I think we’ve got a pressure-pad here.’ The woman was certainly earning her share. She came up to stand next to me, then crouched down and reached out in a sweeping motion, hand just above the patch of floor between the two rooms, where the gravel of the garden gave way to polished stone. ‘Yeah, it’s inbuilt and passive.’
‘Can you deal with it?’
‘Not easily. Like I said, inbuilt and passive.’
‘Ah. Yes.’ Sensors like this were part of a structure’s fabric, in this case probably a property of the pseudo-stone in front of us. You couldn’t turn them off without removing the floor. Most of the time, the signal they sent wouldn’t trigger an alarm – as otherwise every visitor to the place would be tripping its security – but they’d be switched to ‘live’ mode whenever the Colonnades were locked up. ‘What do you reckon your chances of dealing with it are?’
‘Fifty-fifty at best. And it’ll take some time.’
I respected her honesty. We were on a schedule. I looked up, as though there might be some convenient hand-holds on the ceiling. There weren’t. I looked down again, beyond her to the floor of the next room. It was lacquered wood; the stone only covered the area under the carved archway between the two rooms, about two meters in total. ‘How likely is it the sensors extend beyond the area of stone flooring?’
‘Highly unlikely.’
‘Then how about we just jump over it?’ In this gravity, two metres was nothing.
‘I… guess we could. Yes, that would work.’
We backed up as far as the topiary would allow. ‘I’ll go first,’ I said. I sprang forward, my feet pounding gravel. The sudden physical exertion felt odd, an explosive relief. I pushed off, was in the air for a long moment, then landed, well into the other room. As I stepped back to let Paula take her jump I wondered how poor Xiao-Fei would have dealt with this obstacle.