Subtle weapon, p.7
Subtle Weapon, page 7
part #2 of ShadowTech Series
And felt a tingle.
His eyes closed. He followed the tingles, and he analysed. Through those faint signals he mapped the impulses around the door.
There were four mag catches and two bolts. The bolts were operated via servos—the internal mech workings didn’t appear, but Piran read the pulses feeding the motors, followed the pulses back to the door’s system. No—duel systems. Extra security. If the main one failed, the other acted as a back-up, keeping the door locked down.
He read the streams of data that flashed across his lenses.
There was a detection routine in the outer system. If it caught any tampering, it triggered a burn-out in the inner system, locked the door tighter. Piran pushed gently, saw how a release from this required high clearance. Hackable, but very tricky. And there would be other routines running, deep in the system’s core. A door like this, the hack would have to appear like nothing. Any signs of force, and he’d be sealed in forever.
Or until they came for him.
He couldn’t rely on them, though. And the others weren’t going to help, were they? Neither Ryann nor Brice could work through doors like this. Ryann would try to charm her way out or something, and Brice would resort to force. Piran didn’t reckon either of those options would work.
The data flowed, and Piran let patterns emerge, allowed his mind to see what it needed.
Whoever had designed these systems knew what they were doing. There was a rogue routine on the outer layer, a kind of guardian that scanned constantly. It would be tricky to fool.
Tricky, but not impossible. Any hack would have to mimic existing code. To do that, Piran had to understand the base, had to familiarise himself with the root of the system. He needed to work from the inside.
Carefully, he pushed, easing around routines, opening doors, peering through transparencies. He didn’t read code so much as consume it, understanding without conscious effort. Complicated routines opened up to him, laid bare, and Piran understood.
Then he worked. He teased out lines, replicated them, knitted them together into a new parcel. But not so new that the guardian would become suspicious. The hack wasn’t an alien intrusion, but a part of the deep code. Piran didn’t infiltrate. He manipulated.
And he slipped through, into the inner system.
This one was more complex, the lines folding back on themselves, changing over time. The core code worked like a virus, infecting itself to grow strong. For a while—time meant nothing—Piran observed.
It was beautiful.
But he wasn’t here to admire. He was here to work.
Piran probed. He followed the changing algorithms, learnt their rhythms, felt them pulse. He massaged, and he slipped through again.
As he dived deeper, the surface became clearer. Piran felt the pulses running to the two bolts. He felt the data flowing to the mags. And he knew what to do.
He still needed stealth, though. There were after-shocks to consider.
Piran read detection routines, followed the patterns. He replicated them, overlaid his own routines, mimicked the system’s flavour.
And it worked.
He didn’t rush. Even when the bolts slid aside and the mags shut off, Piran took time to breathe. He let the patterns of data flow, checked there were no spikes. Only when he was sure did he slip from the system and return to the cell.
There was an edge to the door now. Piran gripped it with his fingertips, felt cool air wash over his hands as he pulled, as the door opened wider. The harsh light from the cell met softer light from beyond.
He eased the door open, pulling in that cool air, cheeks aching from the smile on his face.
The smile fell.
There were three of them in the corridor. The two guards glared at him, weapons raised, feet firm. And stood between them, the woman with the serious expression folded her arms.
Piran froze. She looked him up and down. A thin smile creased her lips.
“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?” she said.
Ryann
Ryann couldn’t shake the feeling of deja-vu.
The room the guards escorted her to was…acceptable. It was nothing special, but neither was it a cell. There was a bed to one side, the mattress firm and the covers clean. Across from this was a desk and chair, then an easy chair and small side-table. The furniture, on first glance, looked perfectly serviceable—not the best, but comfortable and practical. There was an open door to the rear, revealing a separate shower room. There was even a mid-range terminal on the desk.
There was no way out, though. As soon as the guards closed the door it locked tight.
She was a prisoner of Kaiahive. Again.
Ryann reached out with her lattice. The room was dampened, but she could touch a few things—lighting and heating, and also the terminal.
It ran a limited system. She scrolled through the list of files and folders, obscure data-point names giving no clue to their contents. The first one she opened contained what appeared to be a physical history of the island, complete with images and video, some real-life, others schematic or virtual representations.
With nothing better to do she sat in the easy-chair and scanned the data through her lenses. It didn’t appear to offer much more than what she already knew. It definitely wasn’t enough to distract her from her—their—predicament.
It made sense for Kaiahive to spit them up. She was confident that Brice would be fine, but Piran was a concern.
Not that there was anything she could do to help.
A buzzing filled the air, and she turned to the door. It clicked and opened a crack.
“You decent in there?” The voice was deep, male, and bored.
Ryann glanced at the sensor in the corner of the room. “I’m sure you can tell that for yourself,” she said.
The man behind the door huffed. “Fine.” And the door flew open.
The guard held a Preben at the ready. There was another guard behind him—taller, female. Both wore frosted face-shields that hid their features.
“Visitor,” the male guard said. He stood to one side, allowing another man to appear.
He was tall and bulky, but still wore his suit with a calm comfort. His thick head of hair was clean and styled, and his chin was smooth. Imposing was the word that came to Ryann. Even the lines radiating from his eyes and the slight sagging of his jowls spoke of experience rather than simple age.
He looked just as she remembered him.
“Macklyn Grivas,” she said.
He opened his arms and gave her an insincere smile. “You remember me. But you always were good with people, weren’t you? Attentive, too.” He waved an arm into the room. “May I?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“There’s always a choice. And subsequent consequences.”
A shard of ice ran up Ryann’s spine. “Make yourself at home. Sorry I can’t offer you a drink, but the room service in this place leaves a lot to be desired.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve grown sarcastic. I’m not sure it suits you. But thank you for your hospitality.”
He stepped into the room, pulled the chair from the desk, spun it so that the back-rest faced Ryann, then straddled it. She recalled him sitting like that in his office, back on Metis.
“Is this a promotion?” she asked.
“Being here? You could say that. I do what the company requires of me. It became necessary for someone to…fulfil a certain role, and I was the candidate selected.”
“You must be very happy.”
Macklyn tilted his head. “That attitude really doesn’t become you. Especially when I’m in a position to help you.”
“By holding me prisoner?”
“A necessity of circumstances.” He leaned back, hands resting on the chair’s back-rest. His nails were rounded and smooth, his fingers uncalloused. “So, what name would you prefer? Your latest activities were under the alias Mirna Nanos, weren’t they? Do you want to continue with this pretence?”
Ryann shook her head. “There doesn’t seem much point in that.”
“I’m glad you see sense. Very well. Ryann Harris. Your career progression has been…interesting. Some of my colleagues were wary when you became second to Cathal Lasko, but I believed your softer side would round out Lasko’s bitterness effectively—and so it proved. You made a fine team. And you nurtured a few decent crews. The last one showed great promise. Oh, there were rough edges, especially around Tris and Brice, but I always trusted that you’d smooth them down. Of course, that wasn’t to be, was it?”
Ryann didn’t answer. She let Macklyn talk.
“A shame, what happened at Haven. So many lives lost. So much promise wasted. But we learn from our mistakes, don’t we?”
Ryann told herself to remain calm. She took a deep breath.
The corners of his mouth twisted up. “I’ve struck a nerve, yes? But you contain your anger well. Of course, you were never quick to show frustrations, were you? Always one to take a step back, to consider matters before committing to action. But everyone has their breaking point, and perhaps you’re approaching yours.”
He leaned forward again, resting his chin on his forearms.
“You have nothing to say?”
“You didn’t ask a question,” she managed, through barely-moving lips.
“Ah. I’d hoped for a civil conversation, but you’re clearly incapable of acting like a mature adult at the moment.” He sat up straight. “To the point, then. Who are you working for?”
Ryann frowned. “Who am I working for?”
“That’s what I asked.”
“I’m not working for anyone.”
“No? You just happened to stumble on this place? What about back in Athelios. Who orchestrated your activities there?”
“Nobody.”
“But you were working for someone, yes? One of the local bosses, I believe.”
“It was a contract job.”
“Yes, yes. And you double-crossed him, didn’t you? I heard he kicked up a stink, took his anger out on some of his rivals. Quite entertaining, really.” He tilted his head again. “You see, we know everything about you, Ryann Harris.”
She wasn’t going to let him intimidate her like that, though. She sat straight. “What have you done with my crew?” she asked.
He raised his eyebrows. “Your crew? I didn’t realise you’d been promoted.”
“You know what I mean. Where are they?”
“Safe. We haven’t harmed them, if that’s what you wish to know. Just as we haven’t harmed you.”
“Not yet.”
“And, so long as everyone remains civil, there’s no reason that can’t continue. But let me allay your fears. Here.” He reached across for the terminal, picked it up, and the screen burst into life. He didn’t tap, using his lattice instead.
Ryann pushed, gently. She felt his trace, strong and intricate. She followed it as it pushed into the device, but it felt like swimming through treacle.
Macklyn shot her a look, complete with the hint of a smile. She pulled back.
But she’d seen an opening. In the brief moment when he entered the terminal’s system, she’d caught a bridge to the outside. Macklyn had access to the building’s system.
Macklyn angled the terminal so she could see the image.
Brice lay on a thin bedroll on the floor of his cell. His eyes were shut, and he had his hands behind his head. He looked at peace.
“Personally, I find it disconcerting,” Macklyn said. “His apparent lack of concern makes me wonder what’s going through his mind. I find it hard to trust someone like that. Don’t you?”
“He’s his own person.”
“So he doesn’t accept your command? Interesting. Does he still see you as only a second?”
“He thinks for himself.”
“Which means he won’t take orders.”
“I don’t give any.”
“But those you work for do.”
“I told you—I don’t work for anyone.”
He stared at her for five heartbeats, then sighed. He placed the terminal back on the table then pushed himself to his feet.
“Need I remind you of the seriousness of your situation? Your official status is ‘deceased’. You’re in a secure facility. You understand the implications, I’m sure.”
She stared back at him.
“Refusal to talk isn’t always a sign of strength,” he said. “I trust you’ll reconsider for our next meeting.”
The door opened. Macklyn stepped into the corridor, where the guards stood, weapons aimed at Ryann.
The door sealed Ryann in once more.
Deva
Deva lowered the empty but still-steaming mug and grinned at the woman sat across the table. The woman smiled.
Keelin sat to Deva’s left, her mug also empty. The table was old and battered, the chairs mismatched, and the lighting dim. There were no windows, only the door they’d come through.
The fourth seat around the table was taken by the man who had introduced the woman as Lise, and himself as Chiron.
“Call me Cara,” Deva had said. And when Chiron looked questioningly at Keelin, Deva had said, “Brienne.”
These people might not be Kaiahive, but they still couldn’t be trusted.
“Good drink?” Lise asked.
“Best thing I’ve had in ages,” Deva said. Which was an understatement. The flavours were incredible—dark chocolate with a hint of cinnamon, and other things she couldn’t place. It was sweet, but not overly-so, still with that bitter cocoa flavour that smacked of luxury.
“Not something you’d get in company places, that’s for sure,” Lise said.
She was short and stocky, hair shaved to a fine down. That could’ve been a harsh look on some, but it emphasised her large eyes and rounded, friendly face. It was the kind of face that always wore a smile.
Which was dangerous. Deva reminded herself she didn’t know the first thing about these people.
“How’s yours?” the man asked Keelin.
She shrugged. “Decent.”
“Nothing special?”
“Not particularly.”
The man—Chiron—smiled. “Thought you’d say that.”
He was impressive—not large, but held himself well. Knew he was important, confident in his abilities. There was a scar across his right cheek, but that did nothing to reduce his attractiveness, especially with those piercing eyes.
Yeah, he was dangerous too.
“You reckon you know us that well?” Keelin asked.
“I know enough.”
Keelin raised an eyebrow. Chiron met her gaze.
When Lise had first seen Keelin she’d done a double-take, like she’d been told what Keelin looked like but the reality was more than she expected. And that made sense—Deva had spotted sensors as they entered the building, so no doubt Lise and Chiron had monitored their arrival.
Chiron had looked Keelin up and down and then nodded, as if she was exactly what he’d been expecting.
“I’ll explain in a moment,” he said, waving a hand. “But first, what do you think of our compound?”
“That what you call this place?” Keelin watched Chiron as she spoke, her eyes narrower than normal.
“It’s as good a name as any. What are your impressions on our security?”
“You mean the fence? Wouldn’t keep a concerted attack out. Your guards aren’t trained, either. Too twitchy.”
“Not trained?”
“Not professional.”
“Those are different things. But carry on.”
“You’ve got sensors. Had us followed, so you’re used to staying out of sight. Reckon you’ve got a few surprises in store for anyone who gets too close. Rely on non-lattice tech, too.”
“Interesting. What makes you say that?”
“You’re the only person round here so far who has a lattice.”
Chiron pulled a face. “Something I would rectify if I could. But continue. It’s always useful to have an outside perspective on things.”
Keelin shrugged. “Buildings are decoys. Looks like they’re used, but most of your operation’s underground.”
“And you base this assertion on what?”
“Descended stairs to get here. And we passed a trap-door on the path in.”
Had they? Deva hadn’t noticed anything, and she silently cursed herself for being so unobservant.
“What makes you think you saw a trap-door?” Chiron asked.
“Leaves disturbed around an open space, ground was too flat to be natural, could just about see where the edges were.”
Chiron raised his eyebrows, glanced at Lise. She frowned. And Deva thought they might be sussing, but Keelin had said the man was the only one with a lattice.
“You pay attention to your surroundings,” Lise said. There was a note of accusation in her voice.
“Self-preservation.”
“Quite.” The woman turned to Deva, and a flicker of relief crossed her face. “Be interested to hear your story.”
“Story?” Deva said.
“Your adventures. How you ended up here.”
“Oh, that.” Best to stick to the story she’d come up with for the guards. “Started with botched alterations. The con-man who did it disappeared, we had no come-back, got fed up with all the comments and so on, needed somewhere quiet to lay low for a bit. You know, just to figure out options. Heard that this place was quiet, so we hired a submersible—she’s a pilot by trade.” Deva thrust a thumb in Keelin’s direction. “Found an underwater cave, surfaced in a cavern, walked into the crater, then climbed the wall. The rest you know, right? You had your eyes watching the ridge, saw what happened when we approached that guard-post or whatever it was.”
“We’ve received reports,” Lise said. “What’s your side?”
Deva shrugged. “Tried a friendly approach. Didn’t go down well. Had to defend ourselves.”
Chiron leaned in. “Which involved your colleague single-handedly defeating two armed guards, then entering a locked building and, presumably, removing the guards inside.” He looked over to Keelin. “That’s some botched operation.”
