“Your recommendation?”
“That she be detained in the security brig until a thorough interrogation can be undertaken.”
At this, Spartan turned toward Korolis, eyebrows rising. “Isn’t that rather precipitous?”
“The safety of the entire Facility hangs in the balance.”
Spartan’s lips twitched in a small and bitter smile. “What about her right to habeas corpus?”
Korolis stared back in surprise. “Under the circumstances, sir, that’s not a consideration.”
When Spartan didn’t answer, Korolis spoke again. “There’s something else. Remember Asher’s last word, the one he repeated to Crane?”
Spartan nodded. “‘Whip.’”
“What if he wasn’t saying ‘whip’ at all? What if he was trying to say Hui Ping?”
Looking at Korolis, Spartan’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s right, sir. ‘Hui P…Hui P…’ It sounds exactly the same—‘wee P.’”
At last, Spartan roused himself. “Very well. But there’s no need for the brig. Just have her confined to quarters until the matter can be resolved.”
“Sir, with all due respect, I think the brig would be—”
“Just follow orders, Commander.”
There was a flicker of movement over Korolis’s shoulder. Spartan glanced up to see Peter Crane standing in the open doorway.
“Dr. Crane,” he said, raising his voice a trifle. “Don’t stand on ceremony. Come join us.”
Korolis turned quickly, sucking in his breath with a hiss of surprise.
Crane came forward, his short dark hair and dark eyes in sharp contrast to the white of his medical coat. Spartan wondered how long he’d been standing there, and how much he had heard.
“What can we do for you, Doctor?” he asked.
Crane’s gray eyes moved from Spartan, to Korolis, to what was left of the Marble, before returning to the admiral. “I was looking for Commander Korolis, actually.”
“You seem to have found him.”
Crane turned to Korolis. “Those characters you have guarding the hyperbaric therapy suite told me to speak with you. I want Asher’s laptop.”
Korolis frowned. “Why?”
“I think he discovered something just before the accident happened. Perhaps the meaning of the signals the sentinels are transmitting.”
“The laptop was severely damaged in the fire,” Korolis said.
“It’s worth a shot,” Crane replied quickly. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Spartan watched the exchange with curiosity. Clearly, these were two men who had very little use for each other.
Now Korolis lifted his gaze to Spartan, who nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Very well,” the commander said. “Come with me. It’s being held in an evidence locker.”
“Thanks.” Crane glanced at Spartan, nodded, then turned to follow Korolis out of the locker.
“Dr. Crane?” Spartan said.
Crane glanced back.
“If you find anything, report it to me immediately, please.”
“Very well.”
Korolis saluted and the two men stepped out of the locker. But Spartan stood there in the chill air, looking thoughtfully after them, for a long time.
39
Crane found Hui Ping in her lab, scrutinizing an absorption line printout and making notations on the pale green datasheet with a felt marker. She looked up as he entered, smiled.
“Oh, good,” she said. “You got the laptop.”
The smile faltered as she caught the expression on his face. “Peter. Something wrong?”
Crane stepped forward. He glanced up at the security camera mounted in the ceiling, stayed carefully out of its field of view. “I have to ask you something. Have you ever been to Outer Hull Receiving?”
“You mean, the place where the Tub docks with fresh supplies?” She shook her head. “Never.”
“Where were you around the time Asher died?”
“Here, in my lab. I was studying these absorption lines, remember? I told you that.”
“So you were nowhere near the hyperbaric chamber.”
“No.” Ping frowned. “Why? What are you getting at?”
Crane hesitated. He was about to take a calculated risk—and, very probably, break every rule in the lengthy agreements he’d signed when he came here. It was true he could think of no reason why Korolis would lie about Ping’s involvement. And aiding a suspected saboteur was a treasonable offense. But his gut told him she was trustworthy.
Besides, she was the only person who could help him learn what Asher had discovered.
He licked his lips. “Listen carefully. Korolis claims you’re the saboteur.”
Ping’s eyes widened. “Me? But—”
“Just listen. He’s convinced Spartan to put you under house arrest. A detail will be down here to escort you to your quarters at any moment.”
“That can’t be.” Her breathing grew fast and shallow. “That’s not right.”
He gestured her toward him, out of camera range. “Calm down, it’s okay. I’m getting you out of here.”
“But where?”
“Just relax. I need you to think. Is there a lab or some other place where you can work on the laptop? Somewhere isolated, out of the way, without security cameras?”
Hui didn’t answer.
“Look, I’m not going to let them take you. But we have to get out of here. Now do you know of a place like that?”
She nodded, making an effort to calm herself. “On deck six. The Maritime Applied Physics Lab.”
“Okay. But there’s something I need to do first. Step over here, out of the camera’s view.” And—reaching into the pocket of his lab coat—he pulled out a sterile wrapper. As Hui drew close, he tore away the wrapper, exposing a number 12 scalpel that gleamed in the artificial light.
When she saw the scalpel, Hui stopped. “What’s that for?”
“I need to remove the RFID tags they inserted in us,” Crane said, pulling out additional medical equipment and laying it on the table. “Otherwise, they’ll find us anywhere.”
He pulled up the sleeve of his lab coat, swabbed the dimpled area on his forearm with disinfectant. He let the scalpel hover over his skin a moment as he held his breath.
The first incision sliced through the epidermis. The second penetrated the dermis and exposed the RFID tag, embedded amid yellow subcutaneous fat. Hui looked away as he plucked out the radio tag with tissue forceps, then let it drop to the floor of the lab and crushed it underfoot.
“There,” he said. “Now I can’t be tracked like some migrating fowl.”
He dressed and sterilized the wound, applied a butterfly closure, and tossed the scalpel in the wastebasket. Then—pulling another sterile scalpel from his pocket—he turned toward her.
She took an involuntary step backward.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve got an anesthetic pad to numb your skin. The only reason I didn’t use one on myself was because I accidentally grabbed just one from the dispensary in the temporary infirmary.”
Still, she hesitated.
“Hui,” he said. “You’ve got to trust me.”
She sighed, nodded. Then she stepped forward again, pushing up her own sleeve as she did so.
40
“Ready?” Crane said, disposing of the medical instruments. “Then take what you need and let’s go.”
Hui hesitated a moment. Then she walked to her desk, pulled open a drawer, and removed a bulky tool kit. Next, she disconnected her laptop from the network, unplugged it, and tucked it beneath her arm.
“What’s that for?” Crane asked, nodding at her laptop.
“Spare parts.” She straightened. “Ready.”
“Lead the way, then. Avoid marines and security cameras.”
They left the radiology lab and made their way down the narrow corridors of deck 3. At the first intersection, Hui stopped, then chose the right-hand path to avoid a
security camera. They followed the corridor to the end, where it doglegged left.
Crane turned the corner, then stopped. Ahead of them, to one side of the hallway, two marines stood on guard outside a closed, redpainted door.
He thought quickly. The marines had radios clipped to their belts. But chances were very good there hadn’t been any general announcement made about a search for Hui. If they were to back up it would look far more suspicious.
He reached for Hui’s hand, gave it a brief, inconspicuous tug. Then he started forward, swinging Asher’s laptop case with what he hoped was the right degree of indifference. After a moment, he saw—from the corner of his eye—Hui begin to follow him.
Crane passed the marines, who eyed him but said nothing.
They passed a half dozen closed doors, then arrived at another intersection. To the left, more marines were stationed.
“I can’t do this,” Hui whispered to Crane.
“You’ve got to.”
She paused for a moment, clearly trying to think. “There’s a maintenance stairway behind Bottom we can take to deck six. This way.” She turned and started down the right-hand corridor.
The cafeteria was relatively quiet, a dozen people sitting in small clusters at the white-topped tables. Hui led the way along one wall to the swinging doors that opened onto the cramped kitchen. It was as crowded as the cafeteria was empty. In one corner, Crane saw Renault, the executive chef, but the man was busily plating a meal and did not look up.
Hui walked across the tiny kitchen, past the cold storage unit, and pulled open a metal hatch in the rear wall. A narrow metal stairway lay beyond. Ducking through and closing the hatch behind them, they made their way quickly up three flights of stairs to deck 6. The stairway ended here—no doubt, Crane realized, because directly above lay the Barrier, the no-man’s-land between the classified and non-classified areas.
On the landing, Hui paused to collect herself. She reached for the handle, took a deep breath. Then she opened the hatch.
An empty corridor lay beyond.
She gave a sigh of relief. “The lab’s just down this hallway.”
She led Crane past a maintenance room and an unoccupied office, then stopped outside a door labeled MARITIME APPLIED PHYSICS and opened it briskly. Crane made a final scan of the hall, making doubly sure there were no witnesses or security cameras. Then he followed her into the darkened lab, closing the door quietly behind him.
Hui snapped on the lights, revealing a large, well-appointed space. There was a central table on which sat a stereozoom microscope and an autoclave. A couple of lab stools were snugged up to one side. An open door in the rear wall led to an equipment locker; to either side stood racks of oscilloscopes, galvanometers, and other gear Crane couldn’t identify. A large drop cloth of some unusual material hung from a hook beside one of the equipment racks. It gave off a silvery sheen under the fluorescent light.
Crane walked over to the drop cloth, rubbed it between his fingers. “What’s this?” he asked.
“Fire suppressant cloth. Just in case an experiment goes awry.”
He nodded. “And why isn’t this lab being used?”
“Dr. Asher had planned to take this opportunity—being on the Facility, I mean—to run some deep-water tests. Capillary-gravity wave analysis, current sedimentology, that sort of thing. After all, having a resource like this is the chance of a lifetime.”
“What happened?”
“He was overruled by Spartan. Needed extra manpower for the excavation, it seemed. Lost bunk space for half a dozen of the scientists he’d been counting on.” She walked over to the lab table, placed her laptop and tool kit on it. “You can set Asher’s laptop here,” she said. “As gently as possible, please. This kind of work should really be done in a class one hundred clean room: if we raise any dust, or if dirt gets on the exposed media, our chances of retrieving any data will become that much slimmer.”
Crane set the laptop case carefully on the table. Hui rubbed her hands together for a moment, orienting herself. Then she began rummaging through various drawers, assembling a small arsenal of equipment: latex gloves, surgical masks, scalpels; a high-intensity work lamp; a magnifying lens in a tabletop stand; cans of compressed air. She opened her tool kit and spread the contents out on the table. Then she slipped a grounding strap over her wrist and glanced at him.
“What are we looking for, exactly?” she asked.
“I don’t know for sure. Somehow, we have to reconstruct Asher’s final journey of discovery.”
Hui nodded. As Crane watched, she slowly unzipped the case and pulled out the damaged laptop. One end was badly burned, the plastic housing partially melted. Scorch marks and smoke covered its surface. Crane’s heart sank.
Hui pulled on the pair of gloves, fixed the surgical mask over her face. She handed another mask to Crane, gesturing for him to follow suit. Using the can of compressed air, she gave the already-spotless table a cleansing blast. Then she used a screwdriver from her tool kit to remove the laptop’s back plate. This was followed by the motherboard and the power supply. Now the hard drive itself was exposed.
“We might be lucky,” she said. “The hard drive was away from the worst of the damage.”
Moving to her own laptop, she disassembled it in turn. The work, the challenge, seemed to calm her. Watching, Crane was impressed by how quickly and skillfully she was able to break the computer down into its component parts.
Now, taking Asher’s hard drive carefully in hand, she carried it over to her own laptop and substituted it for her drive. She quickly reassembled her laptop, plugged it in, turned it on. There was a loud clicking sound, followed by several beeps. An error message appeared on the screen and the computer refused to boot.
“What’s that noise?” Crane asked.
“At the data recovery facility I interned at, they called that the Click of Death. It usually means a servo failure or something similar.”
“That’s bad, right?”
“I don’t know yet. We’ve got to open up the drive.”
She powered down her laptop, disassembled it again, and removed Asher’s hard drive. Setting it carefully on the table, she motioned Crane to step back. Using a series of tiny screwdrivers, scalpels, and some tools that to Crane looked more suitable for a dentist’s office, she coaxed off the top half of the housing. Bringing the work lamp close, she aimed it at the hard drive. The inner workings stood revealed in the glare: a series of thin, gold cylinders stacked one atop another, each sporting a tiny read/write arm, the whole surrounded by a tiny green forest of integrated circuits.
Hui leaned in with the magnifying lens, giving the drive a close inspection. “There doesn’t appear to have been a head crash,” she said. “The platters look like they’re in good condition.” A pause. “I think I see the problem. There are burned chips on the PCB.”
“PCB?”
“Primary controller board.”
“Can you repair it?”
“Probably. I’ll swap out the board with the one from my laptop.”
Crane frowned. “You can do that?”
“Every laptop on the Facility is precisely the same model. You know the government—always buy in bulk.”
Working through the magnifying lens, Hui used jeweler’s tools to remove a tiny portion of the drive mechanism. “It’s really fused,” she said, holding it up to the magnifying lens and turning it this way and that with a pair of tweezers. “We’re lucky the platters themselves weren’t melted.”
She put it aside. Opening the hard drive from her own laptop, she carefully removed the same piece, attached it to Asher’s drive, and replaced the top of the housing.
“Moment of truth,” she said, returning the damaged drive to her laptop. She quickly reassembled the computer, plugged it in, gave the interior a gentle blast of canned air, and switched it on again.
Crane drew close, staring eagerly at the screen. The same error message reappeared.
“Damn,�
� he said.
“But the Click of Death is gone,” Hui replied. “And did you notice there were no warning beeps during the POST?”
“What’s that mean?”
“The laptop sees the hard drive now, no problem. It just can’t find any data.”
Crane swore under his breath.
“We’re not done yet.” She slipped a jewel case from her tool kit, opened it, and took out a CD. “This is a bootable disc with an assortment of diagnostic tools. Let’s take a closer look at Asher’s hard drive.”
She slipped the disc into the laptop and restarted it. This time the screen came to life. The disc drive trundled for a moment, then several windows opened. Hui took a seat at the lab table and began typing. Crane peered over her shoulder.
For several minutes, Hui moused her way through a variety of windows. Long series of binary and hexadecimal numbers appeared, scrolled up the screen, then disappeared again. At last, she sat back.
“The hard drive is operable,” she said. “I can’t detect any further physical damage.”
“Then why can’t we read it?” Crane asked.
Hui looked at him. “Because it appears somebody has erased all the data on it.”
“Erased?”
She removed her face mask, shook out her hair, and nodded. “Based on the electromagnetic pattern, it seems somebody used a degausser on it.”
“And this was done after the fire?”
“Must have been. Asher wouldn’t have done it himself.”
“But why?” Crane felt stunned. “That makes no sense. For all anybody knew, the laptop was ruined.”
“I guess somebody wanted to make sure of that.”
Slowly, Crane pulled out the other lab stool and sat down. He took off his own mask and dropped it on the table. All of a sudden, he felt very old.
“That’s it, then,” he said. “Now we’ll never know what Asher found.”
He sighed. Then he glanced at Hui. What he saw surprised him. She was looking back, a small smile on her face that—at any other time—he might have termed mischievous.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I still have one or two tricks up my sleeve.”
Deep Storm Page 22
