Raising an eyebrow, Angel replied, “Hack in ourselves, and find out who else is monitoring?”
“Why not?”
“Aside from the fact that we'd be violating about a dozen laws, adding up to a couple of decades of prison, I can't think of a reason.” She shrugged, smiled, and added, “I think we can fool a gang of colonial badge-jockeys, though. When do you want to move?”
“As soon as I finish my drink,” she replied, taking a deeper sip, swiping to call up a schematic of the Administration Dome. “No point waiting, is there?”
Frowning, she replied, “Might be better if we waited until night.”
“That's eight hours away. Anything could happen in that time.” Glancing up at the ceiling, she added, “I don't like the idea of having that pirate base hanging over our heads. Nor do I feel particularly comfortable sitting around down here knowing that we're being watched by traitors.”
With a smile, Angel softly replied, “You realize that if that theory is true, you've just given them an invitation to attack us? If they're watching us right now,” she turned to the barista, flashing him an evil stare that sent him scurrying to the far side of the room, “then they'll know all about our little plan.”
“I hope so,” Morgan replied. “That'll make finding them a lot easier.”
Her smile growing, Angel balled her fists and said, “Life's always a lot more interesting with you around. Hurry up and finish that drink.”
Taking one final swig, Morgan rose, leaving a generous tip on the table as she walked out of the bar, back out into the commercial district beyond. It was the middle of the day, hundreds of colonists scurrying about on hasty errands, the restaurants and bars filled with workers taking their lunch break. She glanced around at the crowd, soaking in the atmosphere and attempting to spot the covert sentries she knew would be watching them. That she couldn't spot one meant nothing, only that they were good at their job. Or that she was bad at hers, but Angel didn't seem able to spot anyone either.
Deliberately, Morgan paused outside one of the shops, peering inside at the selection of clothes within, before turning back to the road. Angel slowly drifted to the other side of the street, occasionally glancing at her to make sure she hadn't been surprised, the two of them taking their time to wind through the crowds.
As they reached the main lock, a pair of policeman nodded, carefully noting their passage through to the Administration Dome. The Sheriff had increased security, but it was still lax enough that no one bothered to ask them why they were entering an area that ought to be restricted, evidently just assuming that they had business with the local government. She made a mental note to talk to the Sheriff about that, after they'd completed their work.
In the corner of her eye, she saw someone glancing at her, an old woman who quickly turned her attention back to a datapad when she realized Morgan had spotted her. At least she now had confirmation that her paranoia had a basis in reality. Angel looked across at her, making a quiet gesture to the side, a man rushing off on some newly remembered errant, determined to get back under cover. That meant at least two people, and the surveillance cameras would give them an opportunity to pick them up for questioning later. If nothing else, this mission was forcing their hidden enemy to show their hand.
Turning down a side street, she started to lose herself behind the Prospectors' Union, taking a path to her goal that was the next thing to random in the hopes of throwing off pursuit. She paused for a moment, pulling out her datapad and scanning through a series of files, simply flicking through the messages and reports she already had on display. She glanced around again, rubbing the back of her neck as though she was stiff, before continuing on her way.
Angel was out of sight, making her own way towards the target, and Morgan reached down into her pocket for her spare blowgun. Her usual weapon had been handed over to the police, as well as a sample of the paralyzing toxin she'd used to disable Novak's attacker, but she had four other types at her disposal, all of them fast-acting and impossible to counter. While she'd have preferred to have a more powerful weapon at her disposal, it was a lot quieter than Angel's pistol, albeit with far less margin for error.
Another turn, this time behind the towering Directorate building. Everything here was new, built for an expansion they were obviously anticipating in the near future, and most of the offices appeared unused, no sign of activity as yet. If they were able to get rid of the pirates, this would be the thriving hub of a rapidly growing colony in a matter of years. If they failed, soon enough the whole colony would be like this.
She'd visited a few abandoned colonies, even spent weeks in Cosmograd during her basic training learning urban security drill, and it was always a strange feeling to be somewhere that people had once lived, children had once played, that now was dark, silent and abandoned. The Solar System was littered with such settlements, deserted when the economy shifted or the war forced an evacuation that was initially temporary before becoming a permanent feature.
That could happen here all too easily. A lot of people would be unhappy if this colony was a success, not least the powerful extraction industries working the vast hydrocarbon deposits of Titan, while others would see it as an opportunity to take advantage of. She was almost surprised that they'd made it this far without someone stopping them, the lax security testament to the disinterest of the mega-corporations until now. Something else to talk to the Sheriff about. He'd need to strengthen his department in a hurry. Even if the pirates were wiped out, the very act would bring far too much attention to Sinaloa, attention they were ill-equipped to handle.
She turned another corner, this time making her way towards Police Headquarters. This at least was more active, and she saw a couple of guards standing at the entrance, both of them armed, and a group of miners standing outside, waving some sort of banner, shouting demands for the immediate rescue of their brethren in orbit. She wasn't unsympathetic, but she couldn't see how a demonstration down here was going to help. Though it would provide a nice, helpful distraction.
That thought gave her pause for a second. It was all too convenient, too easy, as though it had been carefully planned. If someone had wanted to give her a good opportunity to launch her hack, they could hardly have provided a better chance, but it would also give someone a good chance to stop her without being detected. She stopped for a second, glancing at the crowds, at the rhythmic chants, then pulled out her datapad again, scanning through the latest newsgroup posts. A demonstration had been planned for today, to show solidarity with the captives up in orbit, but it seemed to have moved rather away from the message of support that had been intended, and the crowd was a lot larger than the supportive responses suggested.
It worked both ways. At least she'd have a chance to work in peace, and suspecting a trap helped protect her from it. Walking behind the building, with one last glance at the crowd, she saw Angel waiting for her, pistol in hand, her eyes darting around as she watched for any unwanted guests.
“What took you so long?” she asked.
“I thought I'd take the scenic route.” Gesturing the way she had come, she added, “That all seemed...”
“Do you want to abort?”
“Not a chance. Let's get on with it.” She pulled out her datapad, tapped to access the police network, and frowned at the sea of gibberish that washed across the screen, her intrusion programs fighting and failing to gain access. Glancing around, she shook her head, entering a series of fruitless commands that only sent warning lights flashing, alerts that she was exceeding the capability of the datapad.
“I guess they upgraded their firewalls lately,” Morgan said, shaking her head. “None of the usual back doors are in position.” Cursing, she added, “Damn it, they've overlayed a United Nations security package on top.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they've gone to a lot of trouble to keep unwanted people out. Toss a co
in whether it was the police or the traitors, but the result is just the same. We can't get in.”
With a sigh, Angel said, “Let's get out of here, then. No point advertising our incompetence.”
“No, not yet,” Morgan replied. Pulling out her communicator, she said, “Morgan to Churchill on secured channel. I need to speak to,” she paused, weighed personalities in her head, and continued, “Captain Conway and Max, right now.”
“I'm on the line,” Conway replied, a second later. “What's wrong?”
“I've got a chance to hack into police headquarters, and I need approval to proceed.”
“You're asking for permission to break...”
“I've already tried, and it's way above anything I can do.”
Conway paused, then said, “That's interesting. What are they hiding?”
“I don't know, and that scares me.”
“Max, can you do it?”
The hacker broke in, and replied, “Can and am. I need more bandwidth, though. Tie in your communicator and turn the gain as high as you can. If you've got more than one, even better. I'll start work at this end right away.”
“On it,” Angel said, pulling out her communicator and patching it into the datapad while Morgan attached hers. The channel closed, all of the capacity of the boosted equipment working on cracking into the police computers. Morgan carefully placed the collection of components on the ground, pulling out her blowgun and glancing at Angel's pistol with barely concealed envy.
“You look silly with that thing,” Angel said, shaking her head. She reached down into the bulky padding of her jacket, and with the sound of ripping fabric, pulled out a second, smaller pistol, passing it to her. “Only four shots in that one, and I want it back if possible. And you can get me a new jacket when we get back to the ship.”
“Small price to pay,” Morgan replied, sliding her blowgun away. She looked around, the noise of the demonstration building to a crescendo. They'd broken into some sort of song, the words garbled and unintelligible. The protestors might be dedicated to their cause, but they needed to work on their performance. She looked back at the datapad, more text flashing down the screen, too fast for her to read. The system wasn't able to upload anything to the ship, everything stored locally to save bandwidth, but the data dump was finally in progress.
“How long?” Angel asked.
“I have no idea,” Morgan said. “It'll tell us when it's done.” She heard footsteps in the distance, and turned to see a shadow moving just out of sight. “I think we've got a friend.”
“Don't be shy!” Angel yelled, and the figure scurried off. Morgan heard a noise, and glanced up to see a trio of figures abseiling down from the roof, a bullet smashing into the ground beside her from a rooftop sniper. On instinct, she returned fire, moving to the side of the wall, while Angel took a shot at the rapidly descending figures, catching one of them in the shoulder, leaving him hanging in his harness, unable to descend.
Another pair of figures raced around the alley, charging right at them, and the noise from the protestors rose still further, confirming all her suspicions that they were there to mask the attack. Whoever they were fighting had all the information they needed, as well as plenty of local knowledge at their disposal.
Morgan fired a second shot, then a third, all of them wide of her target, and the sniper took another shot in response, the bullet hammering into the ground by her side. If they'd wanted to kill her, they would have. They wanted prisoners, not corpses. Glancing down at the datapad, she saw a green light flashing, the data download complete, but a red light warned that the signal back up to Churchill was being jammed.
“Come on,” she said, snatching the equipment and firing her last bullet, sending two of her attackers diving to the side. Holding the now-useless weapon in front of her, she charged down the alley, Angel following after a trio of well-placed shots that knocked another of the abseilers to the ground, groaning in pain from the wound to his leg. They were paying a price for their attack, but if they were caught, it wouldn't matter.
“Can we warn Churchill?” Angel asked, but Morgan shook her head.
“It'd take too long to untangle the communicators.” Gesturing down a side street, she said, “Police station?”
“And explain to them why we were hacking into the systems, assuming we managed to fight through the mob to get there?” Shaking her head, she continued, “There's a maintenance airlock at the end of the street. If we can get out into the open...”
Another bullet flew past, and this one caught Angel in the shoulder, sending her tumbling to the ground, blood spilling out onto the floor. She looked up, her face a mask of pain, and shook her head as Morgan knelt down to help her, gesturing at the attackers that were racing towards them, weapons at the ready.
“Get out of here,” she said. “I'll handle them.”
“I can't just leave you.”
The second bullet caught Morgan in the arm, sending her toppling onto her friend, Angel gasping in pain. The precious bundle of equipment dropped to the ground, smashed by a third bullet, and Morgan cursed through the agony that was surging through her system.
“Just her,” a voice said. “Leave the other one. We want them to know what happens when they try and interfere with our plans, and that one doesn't have any information anyway. Just a grunt.”
Angel growled, reaching for her weapon, but one of their attackers was faster, stabbing a hypodermic into her leg, the fierce woman dropping back to the ground, her eyes instantly sliding shut. Morgan looked up, struggling to climb to her feet, but hands pulled her back, pinning her to the floor.
“You aren't going to get away with this,” she said. “If you kill us, the Captain will show you no mercy, and if you take us prisoner, our friends will rescue us. You'd be better off surrendering.”
“Feel better for that?” one of the attackers said with a smile. “Next you'll be rattling off your name, rank and serial number. We've got a lot of questions for you, Ensign, and we're going to keep you in excellent condition to answer them, I assure you.”
“I won't tell you a damned thing.”
“Maybe, but it doesn't hurt us to ask, does it?” She felt restraints locking into position on her arms, one of them sending another burst of pain running down her side, and the guards started to carry her towards the airlock that had been their intended refuge. “We've got a shuttle waiting for us already, a nice safe escort all the way to our base.”
“Damn you,” she said, biting through the pain. “Damn you to Hell.”
“Knock her out,” the man replied. “We'd better get her back to our doctor in reasonable condition.”
“No,” Morgan said, struggling against the restraints. “No.” She felt a pinprick in her arm, and the world started to blur, fading away as she fought against the unconsciousness that was overwhelming her, struggling for breath, but it was no use, and she finally settled back, letting the darkness take her.
Chapter 8
“What the hell did you think you were doing?” Conway yelled, while Mallory looked at him with an implacable smile. “That damn-fool stunt of yours damn near cost you and Bennett your lives, and wrote off one of our shuttles. You ought to see the damage report Cruz filed.” Shaking his head, he said, “If I were you, I'd stay away from her for a while, or you might be making a personal inspection of the medical facilities.”
Her arms folded, she asked, “Are you finished?”
“I'm only just beginning,” he began, but added, “Go on.”
“To answer your question, I was doing my job. We needed to get close-range information on the enemy base, and I could only see one way of getting it. I knew that our friends down there would respond in kind, and I decided to use it as an opportunity to wear them down a little. Which worked. We got all the intelligence we needed, and they're down to eight fighters.”
Sh
aking his head, he replied, “Do you realize just how lucky you were to pull that off? If they'd launched more fighters, committed their whole squadron...”
“Highly unlikely.”
“Then not only would you have been killed, but you'd have thrown away the interceptors as well. I'd have had no choice but to withdraw. I won't start on your unorthodox use of the shuttle engine as a defensive weapon. Do you realize what the risk of that particular tactic is?” He paused, sighed, and added, “Not to mention that you left everyone in the dark.”
“You, you mean.”
“Well, frankly, yes. We made an agreement that I would command the squadron and you would command the ship, and I expect to be informed if there is any change to that.”
“I had to take them by surprise. They knew that you led the squadron, and you were down on the surface. I gave them a chance to know that Bennett and I were on the shuttle, and Sullivan on the bridge. That would have lulled them into a false sense of security, and I was able to exploit it to the full.” She smiled, and replied, “Frankly, I was taking a page out of your book. If you'd thought of it, you'd have done it yourself. Admit it.”
“You couldn't be sure they had any idea who we were.”
“They must do.” Glancing out of the viewport at the planet, she added, “Four ships have been out here since they started operating, and all of them will have carried the warrant for our arrest, to be transmitted to local authority. Even if Knight hasn't contacted them directly, it wouldn't take much of a genius to work out that who we are, and that we represent a potential threat. I'm more worried that they might decide to launch an attack on us, catch us by surprise.”
“Not a chance,” he said. “Unless, of course, someone was to throw away our defensive fighter cover in a useless battle. More to the point, you only took out two of their fighters, and we're not going to be able to use that trick against them a second time. By now, all of their targeting computers will have been set for envelopment, and they'll have all of their pilots on alert, ready for an attack.”
Interceptor (Strike Commander Book 2) Page 7
