by Kevin Bragg
The gloves could be used to duplicate finger and handprints – perfect for getting around some biometric systems. The thumb of the right glove also possessed a fake ID chip for all manner of bogus transactions.
The headpiece resembled a glorified balaclava made from the same material as the rest of the suit. The visor worked as an optical head-mounted display, providing environmental feedback and recording capabilities with a built-in digital camera. The visor also had the ability to serve as a monitor for the computer tucked away in the backpack, which took first prize in the cool factor in my humble estimation.
Made from a sturdy high-resin polymer, the pack kept all of the FE9’s systems running, and me plugged into the city’s virtual network. And, best of all, a built-in jump jet. That’s right, a freaking jump jet capable of propelling the wearer to a maximum height of 40 metres in a 1g environment; much higher in lower gravity. A combination of hand movements in the gloves and a wireless connection to my watch-controlled thrust and direction.
I doubted that my decision to use it on Saturday night could be construed as smart, or even wise. I had never really done anything more than familiarise myself with the controls and respec the computer for a wide assortment of illicit activities. I had never used it in a live scenario either. In fact, I wouldn’t have dared to use it for a break in to MARA Corporation if I felt like I had a better option. It was the suit, or nothing.
I stripped down to my skivvies and pulled it on. I synced up my MAX smartwatch and ran through a systems check. Everything passed and I had nothing left to do but sneak into one of the most advanced companies in the entire system.
I stuffed the gloves and the headgear into their allotted storage space in the backpack, slid my jeans and button-up shirt over the FE9 and grabbed my jacket on the way out. Looking at me, you would never know that I wore something straight out of the comic books underneath.
I retraced my steps out of the building, reset the alarm and found Steve waiting to go at the other end of the block.
11
Kitterman Drive, the main north-south street, ran straight through RD1, interrupted on only two different occasions: the roundabout in the very centre of the dome and MARA Corporation. The road picked back up on the other side of Kitterman’s headquarters and continued to the Research District 2 connection tunnel. Four roads with equally uninspiring names – Corporations North, East, South and West – squared in the two buildings, which composed the core of her empire.
In the darkness, the roundabout glowed like a beacon under the intense beams of a dozen floodlights, signalling to the rest of the galaxy that New London mattered. All great metropolises have an enormous thoroughfare at their nexuses for all to marvel at. The intersection a block south of MARA Corp marked the convergence of the dome’s four major avenues: Kitterman, Congress, Franklin and New Street. A statue of the Roman god Mars stood majestically on a huge marble base at the centre of the roundabout. The enormous monument loomed over 10 metres tall and the subject matter demonstrated a complete lack of originality.
Mars on Mars.
But tourists loved to crowd around it and snap photos like it was a celebrity. Late at night, however, the taciturn giant held his vigil without the benefit of an adoring crowd.
A large sash, in gold fabric to honour New London’s approaching sesquicentennial, hung from his right shoulder down to his left hip like he was a contestant in a beauty pageant. Printed in black, block capitals on the front of the sash was the slogan: ‘Celebrating 150 Years of Life on Mars’.
Like Porter said, this town began as nothing more than a research station and a launch pad. As it advanced in the field of human habitation and 1g technology, so did New London. The dome we currently drove through was the first to be constructed. Tunnels ran out from RD1 like spokes on a wheel. More domes were built and connected to one another. Slowly, my city took shape and is now home to over half a million people.
I asked Steve to drop me off at the corner of Franklin and Corporation South. A manhole located there led to one of the many service corridors between the world above and the world below.
This particular tunnel serviced a nearby Underground line and connected to another passageway, which ran conveniently close to MARA Corporation. It’d allow me to get as close as possible to my target destination without running the risk of being seen above ground. I didn’t need videos of me in a super-suit jumping around New London popping up on the internet. It might blow my cover.
*
Steve glided through the roundabout onto Franklin and pulled the taxi over at the kerb. I put my right thumb up to the chip reader and paid him through a dummy account I had set up when I first became a PI.
‘Don’t leave just yet, Steve,’ I said as I got out. He waited. I stepped around to his side of the car and he put the window down.
‘Take this,’ I said and handed him an earpiece. He looked at it suspiciously. ‘You and I will be able to communicate through an open, encrypted channel.’
‘I thought that I would just wait for you on Division. Are you sure this is safe?’
‘We’ll call this a change of plans and don’t worry, it’s safe. The signal will constantly cycle through multiple sources per second. It’s very hard to trace.’
It sounded like a load of malarkey but Steve took the comm-unit anyway.
‘It’ll allow us to adapt to any emergencies that might arise,’ I continued. An image of my body bouncing off the side of a building like a rag doll, jetpack firing uncontrollably, flashed through my mind.
‘You got it, Mr Helmqvist.’ He clipped the device onto his ear. It looked like a fairly ordinary hands-free unit.
‘There is a small button that you press to turn it on.’ I reached in and pressed it. ‘Once it’s on, you can talk freely, so mind what you say.’
He threw me a wink and drove away slowly. With my hat pulled tight over my eyes to avoid facial recognition, I watched him round the corner and disappear into the urban jungle. A few seconds later, I took off down the sidewalk in the direction of the service hatch. Before I reached my destination, I ducked down another narrow, dark alley between two large and impressive piles of steel and concrete.
I found a spot away from the ever-present street lamps and surveillance cameras. I took off my outer layer of clothing and immediately realised I didn’t have any place to store them; only the gloves and malleable head gear fit in the compartmental spaces of the backpack.
I checked the pouches on the suit’s belt and found an evidence bag that could easily hold my trousers, shirt, shoes, jacket and hat. I jammed them all in, sealed it and looked for a place to hide the pouch.
In the end, I decided that if a skip or booth worked in the comic books, one would work for me. A couple of promising candidates sat at the end of the alley. I wedged the bag behind one of them and hoped for the best. I slid on my helmet, secured the backpack, attached the air hose to the mouthpiece, tightened up the belt, powered up the FE9 and prowled off to my date with a tunnel.
*
The alley I had used for my quick change connected to a larger system. It allowed me to reach the first access hatch quietly and unnoticed.
I negotiated my way through this maze of narrow lanes as silent as a shadow. In the top left-hand corner of my UI, a small map helped guide me to my destination. En route, I thought it best to try out the comm-link with Steve. I switched on my earpiece and I could hear music playing in the background.
‘Test. One. Two. Three.’
‘Roger that,’ Steve replied. The music stopped.
‘Good, it’s working,’ I said as I crept along. ‘Remember to keep it on the whole time.’
‘You got it, Mr Helmqvist.’ A pause and then he continued. ‘You seem to have a lot going on for an average-looking guy. I mean you’re a private investigator. You have this crazy suit and you’re good with computers. What gives?’
‘Average-looking? I’m hurt. I usually go for dashing.’
‘Oh! I
didn’t mean your looks.’
‘You been checking me out, Steve?’
‘Maybe I shoulda used unassuming.’
‘Well, tuxedos and martinis only work in the movies. I find it best to keep a low profile. You know, unassuming.’ He couldn’t see my grin.
The density of the ambient sound over his mic increased. He must have entered one of the tunnels connecting RD1 to another part of the city.
‘Seriously, though, what’s the story?’
‘Well, let’s just say that I’m an over-achiever… Wait. Hold on one second.’
‘Roger,’ he replied.
I liked that. It gave my little mission an air of authenticity.
I broke off the conversation because I had reached my next obstacle. To your average New Londoner, it looked like nothing more than your run-of-the-mill manhole cover. However, to those in the know, these portals granted entry into a subterranean byzantine world of intersecting and meandering tunnels.
My gateway to the very inner workings of the city itself.
Unfortunately, a central hub monitored these electronically locked hatches. The city didn’t want just anyone prying one open and disappearing into its bowels. I could try to bypass the system but I would risk being spotted by a passer-by. In the end, I went for the simple and direct route.
I grabbed a silver disc, about the size and shape of a hockey puck, out of my belt. It gave off a powerful but contained burst of energy, which would disable any electrical device within an 18-metre radius.
I placed it next to the manhole, pressed a small button on the top and ran for it. I had 20 seconds to distance myself from the discharge radius or be caught in the blast, zapping the FE9’s electronics. I’m not sure if the EMP would destroy the systems installed on it but I doubted it would do them any favours.
I legged it further down the alley and took up a position in a doorway far enough away from the cover. A few seconds later I saw a nearby streetlamp go out.
Success.
I had to move quickly. The power outage would have subway workers, and possibly the police, here in a few minutes.
It took me longer than I wanted, but eventually I managed to get the cover off and clambered down a set of metal rungs attached to the tunnel wall before anyone arrived at the scene. The lid clanged loudly as I slid it back into place; echoes bounced down the endless length of the pitch-black tunnel.
‘Okay. I’m in,’ I said over the comm-link.
‘Nice one. What’s it like in there?’
I switched on a small headlamp and scanned up and down the corridor.
‘It’s dark,’ I whispered, but in the quiet and empty space of the tunnel I might as well have been yelling at the top of my lungs. ‘And the air is warm and stuffy.’ I started north at a light trot. ‘So, like I was saying, if I’m going to do something, I go all in. No half-measures for me.’
‘Nothing wrong with that, Mr Helmqvist. It’s just that you seem to be good at a lot of things.’
‘Well, the PI racket isn’t exactly genius level work; you just have to be observant.’
‘What about all this tech stuff? I mean the suit and all your computer skills ain’t something you just pick up off the street.’
‘I have the army to thank for that. When I reported for training, they noticed that I had some aptitude with computer programming and whatnot. After basic training, they assigned me to Encryption and Cyber Espionage. Once there, they taught me all sorts of things – things that could get a person in a lot of trouble if used inappropriately.’
‘So you did ECE the whole two years of your Oblig?’ he replied.
Oblig was short for ‘obligatory service’ – two years of mandatory military service all New Londoners were required to perform the year they graduated high school or on their 18th birthday if they finished early. Most people did it without complaint – even if the entire concept didn’t make a whole lot of sense. We don’t have any natural enemies on Mars, and any direct hostility should be detected long before it arrives.
However, those facts don’t change the reality that we enjoy a rather tenuous living situation. Punch a sufficient number of holes in enough of the domes and we all learn what it literally means to be a fish out of water. An army, I suppose, makes us feel like nothing could ever happen as long as we have a fighting force to prevent it. That might be naïve but it wouldn’t be the first time mankind has been levelled with such a charge.
Anyway, it gave us something to do before we went on to university or whatever else people do when they leave school. Some even stay in the army and make a career out of it.
‘Four years,’ I replied. ‘I stayed on for another two because I enjoyed it so much.’
‘Damn,’ Steve said. ‘I worked in the motor pool for my two years then got the hell outta there.’
‘Nothing wrong with tha— I have company… Gotta go.’ The faint sound of voices echoed down the tunnel. I checked my watch and killed my light.
Eight minutes. Not bad for the public sector at this time of night.
*
In near total darkness, I barely saw the faint outline of the connecting tunnel of my next turn. I ducked into it and picked up the pace as much as I dared. Behind me, the workers’ lamps bounced wildly off the walls, ceiling and floor. The thud of their work boots resonated up and down the corridor as some of them set off in my general direction. Two of them took the same left I had a moment ago. Their lights bobbed up and down while they examined metre after metre of grime-encrusted conduit for signs of obvious damage.
I tiptoed past my exit hatch and continued down the passageway. I couldn’t be certain how thorough these guys might be. After a couple hundred metres, though, I crouched behind some pipe work and waited. The edge of darkness halted. The maintenance guys had stopped at the next access point.
Not quite so thorough.
The two workers from the Transit Safety Administration hovered at the edge of my night-vision range. From the chatter I could pick up, they reported everything was all clear at the manhole cover I planned to use. The workers milled about for a few minutes before retracing their steps. I waited until the glow from their lamps and the sound of their boots vanished in the darkness before returning to the hatch.
I shimmied up the ladder to the manhole cover and switched on my visor’s small pen lamp. No EMP this time because I wouldn’t have eight minutes and the police would definitely get involved on a second alarm.
To free up my hands, I attached myself to the metal rung of the ladder with a lanyard and hook on my belt and had a good look at my next challenge. The set-up was pretty simple. Two remotely controlled automated bolts secured the cover. The male-end of the bolt and the control system was attached to the roof of the tunnel. A pair of female ends that secured the locks in place were welded on to the bottom of the metal disk at the three and nine position. So long as I could override the control system, the locks would open automatically and I could make my escape.
I fished a cable out of a compartment in my belt and clamped the end with a piggyback connector onto one of the remote control wires. The other end I plugged into the left index finger of my glove. I could now access the Transit Authorities’ computer system with the touch screen on my MAX smartwatch.
This was not the first time I had infiltrated their network but tonight it took me longer than expected. They must have had a system upgrade recently. Once I was in, though, I still needed to locate the hatch directly above me. It all took time but I managed to figure it out in the end. A short but definitive clunk informed me of my success.
I stowed my gear and lifted the lid enough to get a good look around. With nothing in sight, I pushed the heavy lid aside and crawled out into another alley.
Quickly, I slid the cover back into place. Despite my care, the lid clanged down with too much force for my liking. The distinct sound of metal on metal echoed through the alley. I froze in place as the seconds ticked by. The sewer boffins had to have heard the ca
lamity as well.
I inched back into the darkness and waited. But no one came. No sirens. No hard hats popping up from the depths below. Maybe they’d already left the tunnel system. Maybe it was luck: that thin wire between survival and disaster.
12
MARA Corp had two main buildings in RD1. A squat, three-storey research and design facility dominated the northern half of the compound. Next to it stood the taller, and more elegant, corporate headquarters. At a total of four floors higher than the R&D building, it came as close to the apex of a dome as any structure in the city.
After I took in the full scope of my 40-metre obstacle, I slunk back into the alley to plan my next moves. It took me several minutes to figure out what I needed to do. Kitterman’s office sat on the top floor behind the softly glowing blue ‘C’ of the company’s name. A service door from the executive building, which opened out onto the R&D building’s roof, constituted my best point of entry.
The only things standing in my way were an 8-metre-tall brick wall enclosing the joint, getting onto the roof of the R&D building, bypassing the door’s biometric and keypad lock, avoiding detection by cameras and security guards alike and cracking the office door of one of the smartest people in the known galaxy.
More than ever I needed Pam. I had the skill set to pull this off. I knew that much. But she was my safety blanket. She always had my back and never made a mistake. However, I also knew I couldn’t contact her. To do so would be one more connection to me and this break-in.
Connections. Limiting collateral damage. Culpable deniability. All words used to justify the actions of a man about to commit a felony of the first degree.
