Dyson's Drop Part 7

*How'd you spot it?' he asked Ice Queen. *And don't tell me female intuition.'

*Got an external tomography scanner. a.n.a.lyses cross sections, shows anomalies.'

*Got to get me one,' signed Hawkeye, impressed. Alpha One came up from behind. *We got a problem?'

*Dealing with it, sir,' signed Ice Queen.

*Then deal with it. You *re holding us up.'

Ice Queen gritted her teeth in the dark. Hawkeye tapped into the circuitry of the tripwire using a quantum-tunnelling device to hijack and replace the current, blocking the feedback signals to the alarms. Hawkeye signalled for everybody to continue.

As he moved on, he resolved to study ancient methods of surveillance and detection. Some stuff they once used was so old it was new.

He wouldn't be caught out again.

The squad proceeded for another twenty minutes then Hawkeye signalled a stop. Alpha One was beside him in an eye blink.

*This it?'

*Target Zero,' said Hawkeye.

Alpha One ran his own scans, pinning down their location within a three-dimensional stereo-tank that appeared in the air before him, the image projected onto his retina by his facemask.

He confirmed they were at Target Zero.

*Entry Team - set up and start prepping.'

The middle two-by-two team hurried forward to the section of tunnel ceiling Alpha One had indicated and started opening packs and removing equipment. Meanwhile, Alpha One monitored the time. Above them was a metre of solid rock and reinforced ferroconcrete, impregnated with an array of sensors. It was topped by a gas-filled s.p.a.ce swept at random intervals by surveillance fields.

That was just for starters.

d.a.m.n impressive, thought Alpha One, but every system has its weakness. Sabotage from within would win the day every time.

While the entry team worked and the clock counted down, Hawkeye maintained his continuous monitoring. But he was frowning behind his mask.

Alpha One hunkered down beside him. He had come to trust Hawkeye's instincts.

*What is it?'

*I don't know.'

*Okay, tell me what it isn't.'

*It isn't RIM.'

*And?'

*I'm not sure, sir. It's a ghost signal, like the echo of an echo. It comes and goes and it's weak.'

*Could RIM be running a new scan? One we haven't registered?'

Hawkeye shook his head. *It's not a detection field as far as I can tell, and even if it were, it's not looking for us.'

*An artefact?' He thought that Hawkeye's sensor device was picking up or manufacturing a false signal.

*That's what it looks like, sir.'

*But you're not happy about it?'

*No, sir, I'm not. It bothers me. I got a funny feeling.'

*Okay. Keep an eye on it. But if it's not looking for us, then we have to a.s.sume it's benign.'

*Yes, sir.'

As Alpha One moved away, Ice Queen signed, *You and your funny feelings.'

*Kiss my b.u.t.t,' Hawkeye responded, good naturedly, but tense, he kept his eye on the ghost signal.

Fifteen minutes later, the entry team was ready and prepped and Alpha One, eyeing the time on his sleeve display, gave the signal to proceed.

Immediately, the entry team deployed a specialised dampening field, an extension of the *bubble' the squad had been moving within since they had entered the disused tunnel system deep beneath Lykis, which dated back to early settlement times.

The field pa.s.sed unhindered through the roof of the tunnel, isolating the sensors in a segment of ferroconcrete. Another field piggybacking on the first generated dummy signals - replicating in real time the signals from the sensors and basically indicating, *Everything's fine down here!'

With these fields in place, the entry team quickly vaporised a doorway in the ceiling. Before they penetrated into the gas-filled chamber above, however, a laser-tipped mobile probe chewed its way through the remaining rock and concrete and slid into the chamber, releasing a catalytic agent that neutralised the corrosive and poisonous gas within.

The catalyst effect took only seconds.

A tiny ping from the probe confirmed it was safe to continue. The remaining rock and concrete were vaporised, a self-clamping ultrathin unfolding ladder put in place, and the squad- body armour activated and mask filters working - swarmed up into the chamber. Here, two members of Alpha Force dug in, setting up a fallback position, protecting their escape route in case anything went wrong.

They also const.i.tuted a backup. Not that it would be needed.

The entire process was repeated beside the first, creating another doorway through the ceiling, and the rest of Alpha Force climbed up and into the lowest levels of RIM headquarters.

Black was sweating.

In moments like these he wished he had a twin, or somebody he could utterly trust, but that was a contradiction in terms. *Somebody' and *trust' didn't go together: who would look out for you except yourself? The moment you brought another person into the picture, you created the grounds for treachery.

*Create property and you create theft', it was said. Well, Black had his own saying: *Create trust and you create betrayal'. Of course, there was the Envoy. Despite his misgivings, he trusted the alien in ways he had never trusted anyone, but doing so made him feel vulnerable. He woke sometimes at night with panic attacks.

In some ways, he understood, the Envoy was beyond trust. But did he have his own agenda? If he'd been human, Black would have had no doubt that he did, but how did one measure - or even comprehend - an alien psychology?

And where the h.e.l.l was the Envoy right now, when Black could have used him?

Black wiped the sweat from his eyes with the sleeve of his tunic, and made a mental note to have the tunic washed. Fear sweat was different from normal sweat, a fact forensic a.n.a.lysis could reveal.

Black was taking a huge risk, aware of the irony.

If he was caught now, his Grand Plan would take a serious. .h.i.t, setting it back three years, and it would be Anneke Longshadow's fault. Even incarcerated, about to be consigned to the software factories of Urkor, she was still threatening his existence, goading him to take unnecessary risks.

How sweet for her if she brought about his exposure after all!

Black had hidden overnight in a cramped robotics maintenance closet, squeezed between an inert droid and the automatic door, having sneaked down to the floor above the detention level using a far-from perfect cloaking field. From here, he had made his way to the closet, hidden himself with a chameleon cloak, and waited till the skeleton night s.h.i.+ft had come on duty below him.

Then he'd cut a hole in the back of the closet and tapped into the main conduit carrying electronics to and from the detention level. Using a quantum tunnelling device similar to Hawkeye's, only larger and more sophisticated, he tapped into protected surveillance systems, and uploaded a nano-virus concealed in his repaired fingernail.

The virus was designed to wait patiently until the AI on the detention level ran a routine diagnostic, when it would insinuate itself, dumbing down the AI and venturing into a diagnostic sub-routine. From there it would make its way to the main surveillance hub and the techies.

At the hub, the virus would wait for the surveillance system to effectively *look the other way' then quickly create several virtual realities, each nestled within the other, and then embed the entire system inside these multiple realities.

Once this was done, the surveillance system would no longer be reading the *real world', but a replicated copy of the last snapshot it had taken of the real world, down to the last photon and vibration. And in that world, it would find nothing to worry itself about.

Unfortunately for Black, the ghost system was inherently unstable, and needed constant monitoring. By him. From close by.

That's why he was sweating.

Meanwhile, Alpha One studied the readout in front of him. The mole inside RIM had done its job well. He could see what the surveillance hub *saw' - nothing special. All RIM personnel were represented on the readout by clear pulsing dots and not a single member of Alpha Force was showing.

Alpha One's squad was now down to eight. Another two had deployed like the first two, protecting their escape route and providing backup if needed.

He stationed two more at the *bottleneck' in the system.

That left him six in all. The perfect number for an export - or execution - mission.

He signed everyone to be ready. Timing was everything.

When his sleeve display hit zero seconds, they surged out of their hidey-hole and sprinted silently through the corridors, moving towards the control room that led to the detention cells.

The squad encountered no resistance till they approached the control room. A young man stepped from a restroom, his zip still self-sealing as he adjusted his trousers. He blinked at the squad of silent men and women and died silently with his throat burned out.

Then they vaporised the door and burst into the control room.

It was child's play. Apart from being three in the morning, when a human being's biorhythms are at their lowest ebb, the detention crew were fatally complacent.

They had never expected an attack here, in the centre of RIM headquarters.

That complacency killed them as easily as it immobilised their AI system. Quickly and quietly. Before any alarm could be raised.

Suddenly, Hawkeye signed, *The ghost image is back.'

Alpha One studied the readout, but could not interpret it. He left two of his squad at the vaporised doorway and signalled the others to follow.

The detention cell complex was large and maze like, a final confounding trap to any who got this far. But it was no challenge to Hawkeye's electromagnetic decoders and the informant's area readouts.

Within minutes they were on the right tier in the right section.

Alpha One counted off the unnumbered, soundproofed cells - another attempt at baffiement and stopped before the one containing Anneke Longshadow.

He readied himself outside the door while a grunt placed a vaporising charge on it and flicked the tiny countdown b.u.t.ton.

Further back, Ice Queen checked all directions before peering over Hawkeye's shoulder at his readout screen. Hawkeye was watching the cell door, tense with antic.i.p.ation, everything else in the clear.

Suddenly, the cell door melted into a cloud of hot particles. There was a soft whoosh as air rushed in to fill the s.p.a.ce the door had occupied, then Alpha One and the grunt rushed into Anneke's cell, guns blazing with energy.

A NNEKE paced her cell while muttering a series of profanities under her breath. It was incon ceivable to her that she could have been treated so badly by RIM. It was a heavier blow than she had let on when she'd seen Jake. It cut her to the core, the worst rejection of her life.

She had done so much for RIM, risked so much. As for Urkor, and the infamous software factories with their coding benches and bleak locale, she gave the place little thought. Her youthful optimism took care of that. There would be opportunities for escape along the way, she was sure. If not in transit, then from Urkor itself For the umpteenth time she b.u.mped her head on the low ceiling. Grunting in pain, she forced herself to lie down on the hard cot in the corner.

Several times she caught herself on the brink of talking aloud, but just as quickly stifled the urge.

*They' would be listening and she had no doubt *they' included the mole, who would be celebrating her incarceration. In any case, she would give them no satisfaction. So she fumed in silence instead.

The first day and night were the worst.

No one came to see her or spoke to her. She was completely cut off from news outside of her cell. Food and drink appeared on a tray pushed from an automated slot in the wall. Once a jailer made the door transparent to stare at her. A couple of times she tried to signal h.e.l.lo through the soundproofing, but received nothing back other than a shrug.

Seen it all before, no doubt.

The uncomfortable cell was about three metres by three metres in length and width, but only two in height, giving it a claustrophobic feel, like a great weight were pressing down on her. Perhaps its designers intended it as a metaphor for guilt. Cute, when you looked at it like that.

There was a cot in one corner, a sink and toilet part.i.tion in another, and a small writing desk with chair and e-pad. She could send coded messages whenever she liked, without knowing whether the censors would pa.s.s them on or not, or in what way they would amend them.

In the end, she sent none. The world outside could continue on its merry way without Anneke Longshadow's involvement. And she knew Jake would keep communication open with Enigma and Oracle.

She concocted a variety of escape plans, but as she had been taken by surprise, she had not come prepared for this. Being imprisoned by RIM while the mole roamed its corridors, free to come and go, was one scenario she had not antic.i.p.ated.

On the evening of the second night she had a visitor. Jake. They chatted desultorily, avoiding touchy subjects guaranteed to be flagged by silent listeners. However, Jake was adept at the body language codes taught when he first entered RIM, but no longer practised, which Uncle Viktus had, in his interminably insistent way, compelled Anneke to learn.

*I'll get you out of here,' said Jake by s.h.i.+fting an eyebrow, touching his ear, and dropping one shoulder ever so slightly.

*No,' said Anneke, employing the same code. *The Commander would like nothing better. Besides, I need you to look after Deema.'

Jake slumped slightly, not a code, just sudden weariness. Anneke realised he was looking old. Retirement did not suit him. He was, she guessed, itching for action. Any action.

*Get me the transfer protocol, if you want to.

Routes, times, vehicle types, jump-gate coordinates. And anything you can on Urkor.' There was no body code for *Urkor' but she called it *that place'.

They chatted amiably for another hour until Jake, still disconsolate, took his leave. That's when Anneke experienced real depression. The heavy click of the cell door as it slid back out of the wall and automatically closed behind him rang through her soul like a bell struck once, tolling death.

That night she thought of it. Death.

Not her own. She had too much faith in life, and her own abilities, to contemplate suicide. But she thought of the death of her parents and the dreams she had been plagued by in the drench vats of Stormhagen.

*You have the dreams for a reason,' said Healer Elinor. *Do not turn away from your mind's need to heal because your body has mended.'

Ea{Y fir her to scry, thought Anneke. Had she ever lost anyone? Well, maybe she had. A sombre expression sometimes crossed Elinor's face. Perhaps it was generated by past grief. Maybe that's why she had become a healer; had there been someone she had failed to save?