The Vanished Seas (Major Bhaajan series Book 3)

by Catherine Asaro

  I suggest you leave, Max thought. Fast.

  No kidding. I walked in the other direction from the speakers, toward a back entrance to the palace. Breezes whispered over my skin. I stayed among the trees, adding their natural concealment to the shroud provided by my jammer. Somewhere a pico-ruzik whistled its eerie cry.

  I meant leave the palace, Max thought. The risk is too great.

  Yah, well, if the Majdas are trying to kill me, that risk is bigger. I need to know, and I can’t find what I need off-site. Their protections are too strong.

  Max had no response for that.

  I reached the back entrance with no further incident. A molecular airlock shimmered in its archway, keyed to the DNA of the Majda family and staff.

  Max, I asked. Double check that the house system still recognizes my DNA.

  I checked earlier. I can do it again. Give me a moment; I need to ensure the trapdoors I put into their mesh systems weren’t discovered and set with ambushes. After a few seconds, he said, I found one ambush. I have avoided it. Shall I access their mesh?

  Yes. They still might detect us in their mesh system, but Max was good at what he did, enough that I was willing to take the risk.

  We’re in, Max thought. And yes, the system will accept your DNA.

  Interesting. Their security couldn’t have overlooked my having access to their mesh; they were too efficient to make that mistake. That meant the Majdas still intended to let me enter their home. It made sense if they wanted me to continue working for them. Then again, they might keep my ID in their system to deflect suspicion if my corpse turned up somewhere.

  I edged forward, staying out of sight until I reached the archway. When I slipped through the airlock, it slid along my skin like a soap bubble. The corridor inside had floors tiled in white, blue, and gold hexagons. The ivory walls gleamed, with mosaics running along them at waist height. Tall vases with flowering plants stood in niches in the walls.

  I headed into the palace.

  The palace suite where I’d lived looked the same, though nearly two years had passed since I’d stayed here. A palm-reader I’d forgotten still lay where I’d left it on a table. With my heightened senses, I smelled the trace of disuse in the room. It wasn’t dust: Cleaning bots would keep this room spotless. Places that had stood empty for too long had a scent I could only describe as aged. Probably no one had been here since I left; the palace had hundreds of rooms, and no one needed this one. Wasting that much space struck me as about as sensible as standing on your head and blowing bubbles, but what did I know.

  A dark red rug carpeted the living room, plush and dusted with holo-sparkles. Holoscapes glowed in front of the walls, images of the sun setting over the desert, with the sky darkening to cobalt above the luminous bands of red and gold. The black lacquer tables stood low to the ground, surrounded by pillows brocaded in sunset colors. I loved images of the sky, especially the brilliant colors of the setting sun. My apartment also reflected that taste, but light filled its open spaces. I hadn’t realized the darker tone of this suite. I wondered if it reflected a buried unease I didn’t know how to express, staying in a place so lavish it felt like a crime.

  I didn’t turn on lamps; I could see well enough with the dim light from the holoscapes. The console stood on the far side of the room, curved around a control chair. I went over and sat down.

  Max, I’m ready.

  I’m not, he answered. I’m studying the palace security. It has changed more than I realized. I need more time.

  We don’t have more time. Someone might find me.

  Someone is more likely to find you if I trip an alarm.

  I schooled myself to patience. Do what you need to do. And turn on my IR.

  Max didn’t answer, busy with his checks, but he easily multitasked. The room took on a blurred glow as the infrared filters in my eyes activated. They let me see at wavelengths longer than visible light, like those produced by heat. Cold areas were dark; hot areas were bright. The room mostly looked dark blue, including me, with my holosuit matching the air temperature. The console, however, showed a lighter shade of blue.

  This console is using too much energy, I thought. It shouldn’t be warmer than the room.

  According to my sensors, it’s been active since you were last here, Max thought.

  For more than TWO years?

  Yes. Palace mesh systems don’t hibernate. They are always ready for use.

  Gods. The energy this console used could run Gourd’s water filtration machines for a year. My people were dying of thirst while this fucking console consumed resources by doing nothing.

  Given the energy usage of the entire palace, Max added, they probably don’t even notice the energy drain of a single console.

  I gritted my teeth. Good for them.

  I’m sorry. His thought had a subdued feel.

  Any luck with security?

  Yes, I’m ready. I’ve created a shell within your old account. As long as you operate within that shell, your activities on the Majda mesh shouldn’t be detected.

  Good. I’d known my account remained active because I used it from my apartment when I needed it for a job. The moment I linked in from an outside location, however, it activated monitors in the Majda system. Tonight I couldn’t risk accessing their mesh from the outside. I had to be inside Majda security to shroud my activities at a deep enough level.

  I pulled a cord off my belt and clicked one end into the console. The other went into my gauntlet, which connected to the socket in my wrist. Although I could have used wireless, it was a bit less secure and slower than this direct link.

  Accessing the Majda mesh, Max thought.

  Another thought came into my mind, androgynous. My greetings, Major Bhaajan.

  My greetings, Jan, I thought.

  What can I do for you? Jan asked.

  I need for you to leave.

  I don’t understand your meaning. I am an EI. I can’t go anywhere.

  I need to go under your programming. Put yourself inside a shell.

  You are already in a shell, Jan thought. If I put myself inside a shell that is also inside yours, I will be unable to interact with you, and I will also be hidden from the Majda network. Jan no longer sounded friendly. You are not allowed to operate in this covert manner.

  Secondary shell activated, Max thought.

  Jan went silent.

  Thanks, Max, I thought. Did I distract her enough for you to erase her memory of my entry?

  Yes. But we can’t maintain these shells for long. Please search quickly.

  Will do. I tapped the console screen. Bring up the root directory for this console.

  I recommend a direct mesh-to-brain link rather than using the screen. It’s more secure.

  I wasn’t a fan of jacking directly into systems I didn’t trust. Who knew what spamoozala it might download into my brain. For a short time, though, I’d take the chance. Better that than increase the risk the Majdas would discover me slinking around their mesh.

  All right. I closed my eyes. Show me the files.

  An array of icons appeared in my mind. Cyber-riders called such images thumbers, apparently from the old-fashioned word “thumbnail.” When they liked whatever function the image represented, they sometimes replaced it with the thumbs-up sign so popular on Earth. If they were pissed, they turned the thumb into a third finger. Here the icons portrayed athletes doing random stuff. The one that showed a running woman had the name error-free systems. A thumber labeled under diagnosis pictured the runner sitting on the ground with a medic treating her foot.

  I scrolled through the records, looking for security monitors. Nothing, nothing—there! A group of thumbers came up with names like console monitor, intranet monitor, or submesh monitor. These mostly looked like bugs, of the insect rather than the mesh variety.

  The thumber for the intranet monitor showed a web like those created by sand-weavers, industrious little creatures that lived in the desert, neither reptiles nor inse
cts, but something between. They wove their webs out of the sand and a glue their bodies produced. I’d heard they covered the starship ruins on the shore of the Vanished Sea with those corrosive webs, forcing the army techs to keep cleaning the hulls.

  Max, bring up the intranet monitor, I thought.

  The picture grew in size and then faded, replaced by an array of names like IM-processor-usage, IM-diagnostics, IM-this and IM-that. I looked for something that would get me access to the larger mesh that spanned the palace. Using a subsystem of their own mesh to reach the main system rather than accessing it directly would better hide my actions. I hoped.

  The sand-weaver image came up again, this time with the title IM-full-mesh.

  Open, I thought.

  The thumber expanded to fill my view and then morphed into the image of a foyer with corridors radiating outward in every direction like the spokes of a wheel.

  Max! I thought. Where do these pathways lead?

  Some have labels, he answered. An overlay appeared marking each hallway with phrases like kitchen intraweb, north garden intraweb, and one called disposal intraweb that showed a man wrinkling his nose in distaste.

  These don’t look promising, I thought.

  I dug up something else. Several new passages appeared to my left, each closed by a stone door with an old-fashioned padlock. These were hidden.

  As I focused on the locked passages, they grew in size until they dominated my view. Unlock, I thought. Nothing happened, big surprise there. Can you open them?

  I’m investigating. Max paused. I’m also avoiding probes. They regularly sample every region of the palace mesh. So far, we’re fine, but we won’t stay hidden for long.

  Got it. I concentrated on the locked pathways. Something is off-kilter here.

  What do you mean?

  I’m not sure. I brought up the full foyer again and scanned the other corridors. They led to domestic functions, things like the laundry or utilities. Of course none of them had titles like secret intraweb. Those would be hidden, like the padlocked passages Max had found. Without his help, I doubted I could have located them. Those had to be what I needed.

  Yah, right.

  Max, I thought. Open the disposal intraweb.

  Why? It will detract from my investigation of the locked systems.

  Exactly. It’s the least likely pathway an interloper will investigate. A spy would look at subtle attempts to hide data, like unlabeled pathways that are discreetly hidden.

  Well, yes, he thought. That’s exactly where we should look. Not at the sewer system.

  Max, think about it. Those hidden pathways weren’t really hidden.

  They were very well hidden. Only systems sophisticated enough to spy on the Majda intraweb from the inside could find them. Like me.

  Exactly. It’s a decoy meant to distract the best spies. These Majda security types are smart.

  Maybe. Or maybe you’re overthinking it. I can look at the sewer or I can crack open the locked pathways. We don’t have time to do both.

  I understand. I’m afraid we have to visit the sewers.

  Very well. He was doing an annoyingly good job of simulating resignation.

  The thumber with the man wrinkling his nose expanded until it filled my view—and then it faded into a long corridor with black walls, nothing else, just a hall that stretched out forever.

  I don’t like it, Max thought. Where are the menus for waste disposal functions?

  I headed down the corridor. Let’s see where it goes.

  Even more probes are sampling this region. We don’t have much time.

  I’m hurrying. I deepened my concentration, which manifested as me jogging. The black walls streamed by, nothing, nothing—wait, was that a red streak that flashed by?

  I went back to the streak. It formed a line of writing: First access.

  First access to what? Max thought.

  I’ve no idea. Can you open this door?

  What door?

  This one. I focused on the wall, and the outline of a door appeared.

  Just a moment—it has locks—all right, I’m opening the file.

  I pushed the door, and it swung open, revealing a white space, as if I were standing in bright light and nothing else.

  Open security files, I thought.

  Nothing happened.

  It must need an access code, Max thought.

  If I give it my Majda password, will that set off alarms outside this shell?

  It shouldn’t, but I can’t guarantee that. The shell is weakening.

  My password only let me access the outer levels of the palace mesh. I was never meant to go this deep. However, now that I was here, it might help open the locks. Unfortunately, it could also leave a trail that pointed to me.

  We don’t have time to find a work-around, I thought. Give it my password.

  Done.

  Open security files, I thought.

  The brightness solidified into a circular chamber that glowed white. Hieroglyphics in blue and gold flowed across the walls too fast to read.

  Slow transmission, I thought.

  The thumbers slowed until I could make out file names. They had nothing to do with me. Just show files linked to Major Bhaajan.

  Most of the thumbers disappeared, leaving only a handful. One labeled Bhaajan-hiring showed me descending to the palace roof from the flyer that had brought me here for my first job. Another called Bhaajan-accommodations showed me relaxing in cushions around a lacquered table in this suite. Another caught my attention. It was just my face, which wouldn’t have seemed interesting, except for the title.

  Open Bhaajan-clearance-history, I thought.

  The image faded into a list of menu items organized by date. Ho! The records went back to the year I’d been born. Even I didn’t have files that old. Did the Majdas know my lineage? My mother had died giving me birth, and no one knew anything about my father. Someone had left me at the Cries orphanage with a note that read, She is the jan of Bhaaj. That was all I knew, that I was the daughter of a woman named Bhaaj. I’d run away from the prisonlike orphanage with the help of an older girl when I was three, and from that day on I had gladly called the Undercity my home. For all my searching, I’d never learned anything about my parents.

  A chill went through me. Open birth file.

  We don’t have time, Max thought. We have to go. Now!

  Copy every file in the records the Majdas keep on me.

  It will take too long.

  Do it! Fast.

  Copying. Max displayed a bar filling with green to show his progress. Ten percent. Twenty percent. Normally he copied files a lot faster, but he would have to outwit the protections on these. Forty percent.

  The thumbers flickered.

  A probe just brushed our shell, Max thought.

  The progress bar showed sixty percent.

  Did it detect us? I asked.

  I don’t think so. However, it did register an energy blip we may have caused.

  Keep copying.

  The bar showed eighty percent. The room wavered and began to fade.

  Bhaaj, we have to get out. The probe is aware of our shell. It’s trying to delete it.

  The progress bar increased to ninety percent.

  Finish your download, I thought.

  We have to get out.

  Not yet!

  The bar increased to one hundred percent.

  Download complete, Max told me. NOW GO!

  I ran from the white room. The entrance was solidifying as I raced through it. I got stuck in the thickening wall and wrenched my way out into the corridor. As I sprinted down the hallway, it dissolved around me.

  Max, delete all record of our operations. Erase all trace of your deletions, and erase the record of those erasures. It’s a three-stage process here; our trail won’t truly disappear unless you sweep all three levels.

  Erasing, Max thought.

  As I reached the end of the corridor, it melted around me. Opening my eyes,
I jerked my cable out of the console. Are we out of the Majda mesh?

  We’re clear and the deletions are done. However, the probe knows someone infiltrated the mesh.

  I jumped up. Does it know it was me?

  I don’t think so.

  With the palace on alert, its motion sensors would become even more sensitive. Any tiny movement, even people breathing, would register. However, hundreds of people lived in the palace. If I acted normal, as if I were part of the staff, my walking shouldn’t trip alarms. Even if my shroud didn’t hide me completely, it would blur my identity.

  I crossed to the closed door. Do you detect anyone on the other side?

  No, I’m not getting life signs.

  Is my jammer still operational?

  Yes, you’re good.

  I reached for my pulse revolver in my shoulder holster—and found nothing. I’d deliberately come unarmed. Shooting anyone here would be lunacy, and bringing weapons increased the chance security would detect me. Even so, I felt naked without my gun.

  I opened the door. The foyer outside was indeed empty. Taking a deep breath, I headed to the hall beyond, walking normally.

  Someone is in the corridor ahead that crosses this one, Max thought. You need to hide.

  I stepped into an alcove just off the hallway, staying behind its ivory-and-gold wall.

  Sit on the bench, Max said. Fix your shoes or something, so it looks like you had a reason to come in here.

  I sat down and fooled with my boots. The voices of two people talking drifted to me as they passed in the other hallway. When their steps receded, I thought, Safe now?

  Yes. Go.

  I resumed my walk. I wanted to run, but I held back, schooling my breathing, my pace, everything to be as normal as possible.