by Dan Moren
CHAPTER 15
Location Charlie was a supply room on sub-deck 12 that Nat had picked out. It was long-term storage: mechanical parts and extra furniture that shouldn’t be needed while the ship was in flight. It wasn’t comfortable, but what it lacked in amenities it made up for in total anonymity.
“Nice digs,” said Brody, looking around. “I still think this might be an upgrade from the bunk room.”
Kovalic figured it better if he didn’t mention the luxuriously large stateroom he and Sayers had so recently vacated.
There was a triple rap at the door, followed by a shorter double rap. Nat glanced at her sleeve; they’d bypassed the security feed in the hallway, sending a looped image to the main system while intercepting the live feed for themselves. She gave him a nod.
Kovalic punched the door control and the hatchway slid open, admitting Sayers and Tapper, then closed after them with a hiss.
Nat gave him the high sign. “We’re secure.”
“Good to see you all, though I wish it were under better circumstances,” said Kovalic.
“So,” said Tapper. “How fucked are we, on a scale of one to totally fucked?”
“That depends on how you feel about a little not-so-friendly competition.”
Tapper scowled. “Goddamn crims are here, aren’t they?”
“Got it in one.”
“Well, we knew they’d want the tablet as much as we do,” said Nat.
“We did,” Kovalic agreed. “What’s got me scratching my head is that they decided to pay me a visit.”
That earned double-takes around the room.
“And you’re still here? Sounds like you had an interesting morning, boss,” said Tapper.
“You could say that. What we’re dealing with is an SOE team run by Commander Ekaterin Mirza.”
“Mirza?” echoed Tapper. “From the Kameral IV recon mission that went south?”
“Oh really?” said Nat, eyeing Kovalic. “So you’re old friends?”
“Not unless a friend is someone who warns you that they’ll kill you next time they see you.”
Nat waggled her hand in a so-so gesture.
“Look, the SOE are Eyes’ elite, and from what I saw on Kameral, Mirza’s one of their best,” said Kovalic. “We can’t afford to underestimate her. Yes, Brody?” The pilot had raised a hand.
“For those of us who don’t speak fluent military jargon and have no idea what an SOE team is, care to fill us in?”
“That’s the Illyricans’ Special Operations Executive, kid,” said Tapper. “Small covert direct action teams that report to the head of IIS. They specialize in sabotage, assassination, and high-risk black operations.”
Brody blinked. “Uhhh, that kind of sounds like–”
“Like us?” said Kovalic. “It should. The SPT was built on the SOE model.”
“Hoo boy,” said Brody. “So this makes this Mirza what… the Illyrican you?”
It wasn’t an unflattering comparison: Mirza was hyper-competent, dangerous, and smart. Then again, she was also merciless and unforgiving. Kovalic hoped he might have the advantage in that department – if it was in fact an advantage.
“We need to identify the rest of Mirza’s team,” said Nat. “Simon, you said you saw another man with her.”
“Only briefly,” said Kovalic. “They got the drop on me, and he didn’t stick around for the post-knockout chat. Tall, shaved head.”
“And we’re estimating at least two more.”
Sayers cleared her throat. “I may have run into one of them up in the executive lounge.”
“Oh?” said Kovalic, exchanging a look with Nat. “What happened?”
“There was a guy watching me. Solid build, stubble, a scar just here,” she said, indicating her temple. “Reeked of Illyrican cologne. I took a knockout gun off him in the bathroom.”
“In the bathroom?” said Brody. “What were you doing in there?”
Sayers eyed him. “What do you do in the bathroom?”
“OK,” said Kovalic, interrupting before Brody could provide an answer that he was pretty sure he didn’t want or need to hear. “That’s three. I’d guess one or two more. Nat, we’re going to need a tap into the security system. First priority is to find footage from outside the stateroom before my attack or from the executive lounge around the time of Sayers’s run-in. If we get lucky, we might be able to tag the SOE team’s biometrics and retrace their steps.”
The commander chewed her lip. “The executive lounge will be tougher; there are limited cameras in there and they’re on a discrete network with additional layers of security. The high-rollers pay for their privacy and they pay well.”
And, she didn’t need to add, around here you got what you paid for. “Understood. See what you can do.” It was a long shot; Mirza would be at least as careful as Kovalic had been. “But Eyes isn’t the main event here. Their presence just means we need to get to the tablet, and fast.”
Tapper snorted. “Getting it off the ship is going to be a trick and a half. Even if Eyes weren’t gunning for us, White Star’s security is top notch from what I’ve seen.”
“If it were easy, sergeant, they wouldn’t have sent us.” Kovalic spread his hands. “I’m open to suggestions.”
“Do we have any idea where the tablet is currently?” Nat asked.
“We’ve been operating under the assumption that Xi’s keeping it in her private collection, up on the executive level.”
“No,” said Sayers. “It’s not. I’m pretty sure it’s in the Queen Amina’s vault.”
Four pairs of eyes swiveled to the specialist, who blanched under the attention. For a moment, there was no sound at all in the storage compartment.
“Well,” said Tapper, exhaling and seemingly speaking for all of them. “Shit.”
All five of them traipsing into the vault access room on the esplanade would have pushed well past the limits of staying inconspicuous. So Kovalic went in alone while the rest of the team staked out positions at cafés and parklets nearby.
The attendant at check-in had briefly mentioned something about storing valuables in the ship’s vault, and Kovalic chastised himself for not paying closer attention. Even he could be distracted by the opulence of his surroundings.
He was hardly immune to errors, but he made a point to at least learn from them. He’d be extra vigilant this time – but he’d still left his comm channel open for the rest of the team to listen in, just in case he missed something.
The open archway was marked with the icon of a safe, and led into a vestibule with a reception desk, hallways curving back around each side. It was, unsurprisingly, empty of other passengers. Not exactly the kind of place that people hung out when there was eating and gambling to be done.
A woman with a swirl of purple-silver hair stood by a display emblazoned with a white star and the word Queen Amina in flowing script, and gave him what Kovalic had begun to think of as the Company Smile.
“Good morning, sir. How may I help you?”
“Morning. I’ve got some valuables in my stateroom that I’m considering putting into the vault. Could you run me through what that would entail?”
“Of course!” said the woman brightly. “Right this way.” She led him around the curve to a long white hallway lined with frosted glass panels, a red or green light above each. “You may choose any vacant compartment, indicated by the green light. Just hold your sleeve near the access panel.” With one hand, she indicated the panel next to the door.
Kovalic hesitated before waving his sleeve at the panel. Nat had looked into unfreezing his credit, but it seemed Mirza hadn’t hacked the system, rather taking the much simpler route of flagging his identity with a red notice from the Illyrican government. Clearing his record would mean talking to the security department, which would not only take up valuable time, but also require putting his false identity, good as it might be, under the microscope. They’d taken the interim solution of cloning a sleeve from a passenger
who bore a superficial resemblance to Kovalic while they figured out something more permanent.
Fortunately, it appeared that this system only checked to see if he was a valid passenger. The frosted-glass door slid aside to reveal a room containing a console and a small hatch in the wall that reminded him of an old dumbwaiter. In front of the hatch sat a small metal table.
“So,” continued the woman, “you just wave your sleeve over the console and it will pull up the secure enclave for your room – if you need more than one, that can be arranged. The empty container will be retrieved by our automated system and delivered here,” she said, pointing to the door. “Place whatever you want in the lockbox and seal it with an access code of your choice and a biometric facial scan. After you’ve locked the box, simply activate the return system on the console, and the lockbox will be sent back down to our vault.”
“Hm,” said Kovalic, clasping his hands behind his back, and peering at the door in the wall, which was probably three or four feet high and as many wide. “How exactly are the boxes transported? Mechanical convenience of some kind?”
“Oh, no. We have a state of the art repulsor field system that helps prevent any damage to more fragile items. A laser grid scans and verifies each lockbox as it passes through, to maintain a record of custody.”
“I see,” said Kovalic. “And where is the vault actually located? Is there any other way that it can be accessed?” He injected a note of concern into his voice: the cautious and security-conscious consumer.
“No, no, that would be impossible during flight,” said the woman, clasping her hands. “The vault is located near the ship’s engines and there’s a solid foot of composite shielding in between them and the rest of the ship.”
Kovalic made a suitably impressed noise. “Very good. And the security on the consoles and lockboxes?”
“State of the art encryption. The lockboxes maintain their own local security and are not networked in any way. Compromising one box wouldn’t compromise any of the others. Likewise, the console systems are on an isolated circuit, inaccessible from the rest of the shipboard systems.”
“And surveillance systems?” said Kovalic, raising a circling finger at the ceiling.
“We respect our customers’ privacy. The only cameras are in the hallway and the reception area.”
“Very impressive. One last question: if I have something particularly valuable to store, would this be the most secure place on the ship?”
“Oh, absolutely, sir,” she said, eyes wide. “I can’t think of any place else that even comes close.”
Kovalic hemmed. “I mean, I understand you have to say that – your job and all. But you can’t tell me that the crew keep their valuables in the same place as passengers?”
“They absolutely do,” said the guide, a mix of pride and rebuke in her voice. “I can guarantee that our own staff – all the way up to the Queen Amina’s owner – use the vault system. We treat our guests as we treat ourselves.”
“Well,” said Kovalic. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”
Ten minutes later, they’d reconvened in a private meeting room the level above the esplanade. Nat had hacked their way in, so that Mirza – or anybody else paying attention to them – wouldn’t know it was them, and Kovalic had flipped on the baffle for good measure.
Nat flicked a holoscreen into existence above the table, displaying the starliner’s schematics. The Queen Amina had forty-two decks, but the engines occupied three decks on the ventral side, plus a huge chunk of the rear of the ship. As Nat zoomed in on that area, a small box appeared, nestled amidships, just fore of the engine compartment and aft of what looked to be the ship’s main power plant. It was surrounded on all sides by thick borders.
Tapper let out a low whistle. “They are not kidding around here.” He waved a hand at the lines. “Like the lady said, we’re looking at a heavy-duty composite of titanium, lead, and probably even some plasticrete in the mix. Even if we could get down to it – and the nearest access looks like it’s about three decks away – drilling or burning through it would take heavy duty equipment and time that we don’t have. Not to mention all the alarms we’d likely set off.”
“So directly cracking the vault is out,” said Nat. “What about the shafts used to transport lock boxes to and from the vault? Could we send someone down one and then pull them back up with the box?”
“It’s a tight fit, but the real problem is that laser scanner grid,” said Tapper. “We might be able to trick it into thinking a person is a lockbox, but even then we’re still going to need someone to wait in the vault access room to pull them out. Might raise eyebrows from the staff if we’re in there for thirty or forty minutes, and last thing we want is them checking in on us.”
Kovalic made a face. “How about hacking our way into the console?”
“Maybe, but it’s not going to be easy,” said Nat. “The air gap means you’d need to be in the access room, and the three-factor authentication means we need Xi’s sleeve, face scan, and access code.”
“Sweet Moses on a log roll,” said Tapper. “I’ve seen banks and royal palaces with less security.”
“Anybody else think this thing is basically uncrackable?” said Brody, looking around.
“There’s no such thing as an uncrackable system,” said Sayers. “As long as people need to get things in and out, there’s a way to exploit it.”
“Sound like you have some experience with that,” said Tapper.
“Enough.”
“If you got a suggestion, specialist, now’s the time to put it out there,” said Nat.
With the expectant glances leveled from all sides, Sayers leaned over to the holoscreen, enlarging the section at the very bottom of the ship. As it zoomed in, a small rectangle appeared. “There,” she said. “Service hatch. That’s our way in.”
Tapper squinted at it. “That’s an exterior service hatch. Not that I don’t appreciate outside-the-box thinking, but that is literally outside the box.”
“Which also means that they probably didn’t spend as much time securing it.”
“Because it’s outside the ship.”
“You wanted a way in,” said Sayers, frustration mounting in her voice. “Now you want to complain about it?”
“OK, OK,” said Kovalic, putting a hand out towards each of them. “Settle down. Sayers is right – that hatch is probably our best way in.”
“And how in the name of the almighty are we going to get to it?”
Nat panned the schematic. “The closest airlock is on sub-deck 17. From there, it’s about a hundred and fifty meters across the hull to the service hatch. I should be able to bypass the cycle alarm on the airlock, but the bigger problem is the ship’s outboard sensor array. It’s going to pick up an anomaly the second anyone sets foot out there.”
“We can’t hack those?” asked Kovalic.
Nat shook her head; with a flick of her fingers, she’d zoomed back out to a view of the entire ship and overlaid a second set of lines on the schematic. “Command and control systems are separate from the rest of the ship. I’d need to be on the bridge or at an auxiliary control station.”
Kovalic didn’t need Nat to add that gaining access to either of those would require a lot more time they couldn’t spare and a lot more risk of getting caught.
“What if we didn’t have to hack their sensors?” Brody said slowly.
“What if I was the king of all the universe?” said Tapper.
“No, I mean, what if the sensors are already scrambled?”
“What are you thinking, lieutenant?” said Kovalic.
Brody tapped his sleeve and brought up a different display: the ship’s course. “We’re currently about four hours away from the Hamza gate, at which point we’ll make the wormhole jump from the Badr System to Hanif space.” He zoomed in, focusing on a dot at the end of the line.
“Holy shit,” Nat muttered.
“What am I missing?” said Tapper,
looking back and forth between them.
“The gravitational and electromagnetic effects of a wormhole play havoc with sensor arrays,” said Brody. “There’s way too much interference; you get false positives all over the place. Most pilots ignore them or even shut them down during transit.”
“He’s right,” said Nat. “Commonwealth Navy SOP is to suspend sensor systems during wormhole transit. Not like there’s much to detect there anyway.”
Brody was shaking his head. “Going outside in a wormhole…that’s a pretty risky play.”
Spacewalks were dangerous enough on their own, but performing one in a wormhole was a whole different story. One wrong move and the gravimetric currents would sweep you away – and that was far from the worst case scenario.
But if it was the best option, the risk was worth it. The job was too important.
“How long does this jump take?” Kovalic asked.
Brody’s eyes rolled up in thought; most pilots ended up memorizing a lot of data about intersystem travel. “Badr to Hamza’s a short one. Fifty-six minutes, seventeen seconds.”
“That’s a tight margin,” said Kovalic. “Fifty-six minutes to pop the airlock, make it across the hull, get inboard, find the right container, retrieve it, and get back to the airlock – with the container in tow.”
“Not to mention the whole separate problem of actually opening the damn box once we’ve got it,” put in Tapper.
“One impossibility at a time, if you don’t mind, sergeant.” His mind was already compiling lists of resources and running down the timetable. It was doable, if just barely. But there were a lot of variables. “We’ll need an EVA suit.”
“Should be able to snipe one from the maintenance department without too much attention,” said Tapper. “Who’s going?”
Kovalic surveyed his team. “Commander Taylor and I have logged the most EVA time, but she’ll need to be at a terminal to override the service hatch lock and just in case any alarms crop up. So I guess I’m drawing the short straw on this one? Tapper will watch my back at the airlock. Brody, how’s transport coming? As soon as Xi discovers the box is missing, the ship’s going to be in full lockdown. I don’t want us stuck without a way out of here.”
