The Heist of Hollow London, page 17
Nadi continued to hold Sharon’s wrist for a moment. Then she said, “Leave me alone, please, Sharon,” and opened her hand.
Sharon fell to the floor and whimpered. Nadi turned back to the ledge where she’d left the plastic strips she was working on. She needed to check her messages—in the midst of all that she could easily have missed an alert. She turned her wrist to look at her backhand—
And felt a searing pain slash across her forearm.
Nadi turned to see Sharon back on her feet and wielding a shard of glass. Not for the first time, Nadi wondered what the fuck was wrong with this woman. Sharon’s next move was predictable—she came at Nadi again with the shard of glass, emboldened by her success with the initial strike. But Nadi had been caught unawares the first time, and she easily dodged the overconfident follow-up. As Sharon’s arm arced across empty space Nadi reached out and grabbed it around the elbow. She slammed Sharon’s arm down on the ledge and kept pressure on it, trying to make Sharon drop the glass. Sharon stubbornly held on, which was both futile and stupid, because the glass was now cutting into her own hand, blood seeping between her fingers.
Sharon gasped in pain and rage and aimed a kick at Nadi’s knee, which connected well, and with her free hand (presumably her nondominant hand) she punched Nadi in the head. This was too weak to cause any real damage but it was enough to make Nadi lose patience with the situation. She reached out and grabbed a belt loop on Sharon’s trousers, then made a swift jerking motion and hoisted Sharon off the floor, over the barrier, and into the plastics bay. Sharon tumbled down the funnel and through the hole at the bottom, which turned out to be just large enough to accommodate her.
Nadi turned to see Mitch’s startled face.
“I didn’t want it to go that far, okay?” she assured him.
23
AN ON-BRAND CARPET
Arlo found it a pleasure to see his squadron of drones again. They radiated such respect and eagerness. They’d been designed this way to make the user feel enthused about working with them, and it was very effective. Henrik leaned against a wall in a storage unit, watching him work, and Arlo reminded himself not to look too delighted by the little drones obeying his commands: this should all appear thoroughly mundane to him.
The aim was for the theft to remain undiscovered until the plant was sold. At that point the new owners would inventory it in full and as long as it matched up with what they thought they’d paid for, they’d be happy. No one knew the Coyne was there, and if you don’t know you’ve got something you’re not going to notice if it’s stolen—unless you see signs of a break-in. It was therefore important that no suspicion should arise during the operation or after it. If the staff at Kentish Cyc felt dissatisfied with the work Arlo and Drienne had done, that might lead to a complaint being lodged with RookDivest, who would then look up who had done the work, and discover two people had posed as their employees to gain access to the plant. (Mia had illustrated this on a flowchart that they all called the Flowchart of Fuckups.) Whereas if everything was carried out satisfactorily, then hopefully no one would ever give it another thought. Loren would access RookDivest’s systems and log the job as done, and RookDivest’s current workload was so enormous, no one would ever think to check who had done it.
Arlo and Drienne had therefore agreed with Mia they should do a good and thorough job of debranding the plant. It might be tempting to cut corners, minimize the time they spent in here, but they would do the thing properly, to the expected standard.
Arlo walked into the staff meal room and one of his squadron immediately alerted him to the carpet. It didn’t have any branding on it, but it was a green-and-white design of interlocking leaves that was produced for, and only ever found in, Oakseed properties. When the drone brought this to Arlo’s attention he only just managed to stop himself saying “Oh yeah” in a tone of amusement. He’d seen carpet like this in some room or other pretty much every single day of his life: the corridors in the nursery had it, so did the strategy hub in his tenement block in Shanghai. It was so familiar, it had never struck him as specifically Oakseed before. But this was exactly the type of thing a debranding specialist would know, and not be remotely surprised by.
“Pull it up?” the drone asked. “Leave as is? Or repattern?”
“Repattern.” This was the most labor-intensive option, and involved the squadron using a laser-printing process to change the color of certain strands of carpet. But neither of the other two options were satisfactory: it would look shoddy if there was no carpet and it would look bad if there was a distinctively Oakseed carpet.
“Gosh,” said Henrik as the squadron got to work, sweeping methodically across the floor, retoning every white strand, leaving an unpatterned green carpet in their wake. “Will you be doing the same with all the carpet?”
“How much carpet is there?” said Arlo, trying not to let on that his heart was sinking at the potential workload.
“Oh, not much—the workfloor is all tiles and concrete. But there’s a carpet like this up on the top floor.”
“The top floor?”
“Yes. Just the corridor, not inside the offices. In fact, it’s two corridors that cross over in the middle. I think that’s the only one, but it’s a long one.”
“Yes. Yes, we’ll be doing that one too.” Suddenly it wasn’t a problem, it was ideal: a lengthy task that required him to be on the corridor where the lockers were. The only stumbling block was Henrik. Arlo had to get rid of him somehow. Drienne had told Kline, who had said he was working on it. Maybe he could work faster.
“Would you like a drink?” Henrik asked. He was standing by one of the vending machines; even as he spoke and pointed to the machine, one of the drones was removing the M:Pyre logo and the cheerful woodpecker mascot from the viewing window.
“Oh, no thank you,” Arlo replied.
“Sure? My treat.”
“Mr. Paul?” said a voice from the doorway, and both Arlo and Henrik turned to see a pale young woman step across the carpet and apologize to the two drones she’d just kicked when she hurried in.
“What is it?” said Henrik irritably.
“We’ve got a situation on the workfloor.”
“What sort of situation?”
The pale young woman glanced at Arlo. “I think it’s best if you come and see.”
Henrik tutted, apologized to Arlo, and strode out of the room, and Arlo inwardly apologized to Kline for having done him a disservice.
* * *
Kline hadn’t done anything, not yet. At that moment he was logged in to the disciplinary system. His first thought had been to repeat his earlier trick of lodging a complaint of misconduct, but he didn’t like using the same method twice—it seemed risky, likely to attract attention. He was sure he could think of something cleverer. And he had, and was very pleased with it. It fitted the circumstances perfectly. He went to close the window for the disciplinary records—and just then, a sub-window flashed up alerting him that Nadi’s record (under her assumed name of Pris) had been updated, and Henrik was on his way to deal with the situation.
Kline accessed the report for full details and couldn’t believe what he was reading. This was the problem with securits. He’d thought Nadi was different, but like all of them she was too quick to violence. And now the whole job might unravel because of it.
24
NEW TRICKS
Drienne was frantically spamming Arlo with NOT YET NOT YET as she tried to establish where Nadi was now. Arlo had told Drienne to meet him on the top-floor corridor, but it wasn’t clear from the message whether he was already on his way there. She’d told him she was going to collect the Lost Weekend from Nadi and stash it in her case, in the space where the squadron usually went. But Drienne couldn’t find Nadi anywhere on the workfloor.
She didn’t get a response from Arlo. Where are you? she sent in a follow-up.
Still in the lunchroom, came the reply. What’s happening? I HAVE to move upstairs before Henrik comes back
Drienne was about to tell him she couldn’t find Nadi when Kline sent a message round, explaining Nadi was in the security office on the underfloor, and Henrik was on his way to question her.
Fuck, said Arlo. We need to pull out
How are we supposed to get back in? asked Drienne.
We have a plan for that, the backup plan, remember?
And how are we supposed to smuggle the device in without Nadi?
We could pull the same trick again, sent Arlo, only this time Kline could be the employee on the floor. They don’t know him
I’m not doing that, Kline said—a characteristically irritating response from him, but one Drienne happened to agree with. She didn’t like the backup plan—no one liked the backup plan—and they couldn’t afford to throw away all the work they’d done at the slightest bit of trouble.
Yeah, said Drienne, fuck that. We’ll find a way.
* * *
A securit ushered Nadi into a small concrete room on the underfloor and told her to sit on one of two benches positioned either side of a small table, the surface of which was scattered with unwashed coffee mugs. The securit tutted at the mugs, hovered by the table as if considering clearing them away, then muttered, “No, why should I?” and sat on the sofa. Nadi had spent a lot of time in security offices, she knew the dynamics. Usually she’d been the one who ended up clearing the mugs away.
The securit had made Nadi hand over her slate and backhand but hadn’t searched her. The Lost Weekend was still stowed in her overalls and she was very aware of the pressure of the device against her body. If it was discovered, she intended to say she had found it while harvesting, was unsure what it was, and had put it aside until she could ask someone. This was a stretch—who puts things “aside” in a large overalls pocket?—but she’d just have to play dumb and hope for the best.
Nadi was impatient for someone to show up so she could explain what had happened between her and Sharon. This was not just because she needed to get out there and play her part in the operation. She had done nothing wrong and she wanted to explain herself. It was unfair she was being blamed for the altercation.
The door opened and Henrik entered. He nodded to Nadi in recognition, then told the securit to wait outside. Henrik sat on the other bench, across the table from Nadi, and gave her a tight, but pained, smile. “So what happened?”
“What did they tell you?”
“It doesn’t matter what they told me, you tell me.”
“A crazy woman came up to me saying she heard a rumor the company collapsed.”
“Where’d she hear that?”
“Not from me,” Nadi said quickly.
“But where?”
“I don’t know. She just said she’d heard things and thought I knew what was going on.”
“And what did you say?”
“That I didn’t.”
“You told her the company was fine?”
“Yeah. Pretty much. I told her I didn’t really know.”
“And then what happened?”
“I didn’t start the fight. She attacked me.”
“And you fought back.”
“In self-defense.”
“You threw her down the plastics funnel in self-defense.”
“I mean, if security had come and helped out a little quicker—”
Henrik sighed. “All right, yes.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yes, people take a tumble into those funnels from time to time, we have safety procedures and so on.”
“Look,” Nadi said earnestly, “I’m really happy to have this position, Mr. Paul. It’s good work, I feel like I can do it well—”
Henrik held up his hands. “You’re not in trouble. We’ve had disciplinary issues with Sharon Harris before, I’m sure what you’re telling me is true. I just need to know where she heard it.”
“I don’t know that, sorry.”
“It’s a good thing we got her off the floor before she could spread this any further, I think.”
“Right, yeah. So did I do the right thing?” Nadi asked. She knew that, from Henrik’s point of view, she absolutely had—but getting him to say it would make him feel like he was in charge of the situation. She was trained to understand basic psychology and how her actions could influence it, but she’d only ever exercised this control on the company’s behalf, not her own. This was different, and it gave her a strange feeling: Henrik was a nat, a xec, in a position of authority over her, and she was manipulating him.
“Oh yes,” said Henrik, nodding vigorously. “Do you think she believed you? Sharon, I mean?”
“I don’t know. No, I don’t think so. She seemed convinced, I don’t think anything I said would have made a difference.”
“No.” Henrik looked off to one side, thinking. “I suppose this was bound to happen eventually—after all, it’s the biggest thing ever to have happened in human history.”
It was strange how Henrik was talking to her like a confidante, like they were equals.
“It’s a very weird situation,” said Nadi. “Which is why I’m so glad to have been reassigned here, with a solid job.”
“We’re glad to have you, Pris. But for your own safety, we shan’t have you up on the workfloor for the rest of this shift.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll have someone else deposit your salvage and you’ll still get the commission for it. I just think it might cause consternation and whatnot if you were to return to the floor tonight, and you won’t have to deal with any more questions.”
And there was also no risk Nadi might let anything slip, no danger she might make some offhand remark. It was easier for him. But she’d lucked out so far; she couldn’t protest this point.
“In fact,” Henrik said, checking her record, “I see you were originally brought here to work on the underfloor … on the plastics pipeline, yes. So we’ll put you back on there for the rest of the shift. It’s quite light duties, it just smells terrible in there. And we’ll get you back on harvesting tomorrow.”
“That’s fine,” Nadi said pleasantly. “Can I have my slate back?”
“At the end of the shift, yes. I’ll make sure it’s on the front desk for you to collect.”
Henrik escorted Nadi down to the plastics pipeline. He didn’t speak to her as they walked; he seemed distracted. When they arrived, he muttered something about hoping she got on all right, then turned and walked urgently in the other direction.
* * *
Drienne watched her squadron remove the faded holographic logos from the housing of a conveyor while she thought about what to do. A plan was coming together in her mind. She would claim to have received a message from her boss saying that, as Nadi was retained by RookDivest, Drienne and Arlo were going to be the ones to deal with her, and they’d been directed to bring her back with them to Boston. If Arlo used all his charm on Henrik, the xec might accept this. It was mad, audacious, but Drienne felt sure it would work—
Then she got a message from Kline. Nadi hadn’t been reprimanded, her cover appeared secure, she’d just been placed on other duties on the underfloor. Aw. Drienne wasn’t going to get to do her mad, audacious plan. But it all seemed to be going their way.
I’m heading upstairs before Henrik comes back, Arlo said.
I’ll be there as quick as I can, Drienne replied. I’ve got a good feeling about this. It’s all going our way.
Don’t say that, said Arlo.
* * *
“It wasn’t my fault,” were Nadi’s first words when Drienne entered the plastics pipeline room.
“Jesus fucking Christ it stinks in here,” were Drienne’s first words. She was quite right, and what’s more it wasn’t the smell Nadi had expected. She’d thought it’d be like the smell of burning basematter, like when you left a spoon on the hob by accident. But the smell didn’t come from the plastic, it came from the vats of enzymes used to break the plastics down. The enzymes emitted gas as part of the process, and it smelled like decay. All of this was explained on a poster on the wall by the door that was headed Why Does It Smell?
The room was large and filled with an industrial hum. They were the only ones in here, but there was a doorway with no door in it that led to metal processing, so it was possible they might be seen or heard. They kept their voices down and focused on their respective tasks while they spoke, as if they were strangers making small talk.
“This woman called Sharon attacked me,” Nadi continued while she used a long implement like a spade to turn over the thick, pale yellow slop in the vat, “and I just defended myself—”
“It’s fine. It’s all good,” said Drienne, who was directing her squadron to resurface the health and safety notices—keeping the information intact, but changing the Oakseed-copyright font to opensource. “It’s worked out perfectly.”
“Has it?”
“You’ve still got the Lost Weekend, right?”
Nadi turned to the wall and pretended to check a readout that she did not understand and that had not been explained to her. She reached into her overalls, ran a finger down the edge of the stash pouch to open it, and pulled out the device. Then she casually placed it on the nearest convenient surface, as if just setting it down for a moment.
Drienne took her time. Rushing would only draw attention. Drienne left the Lost Weekend there for thirty seconds or so, to give any watching eyes a little time to move on. She instructed her squadron to obliterate two motivational posters, which carried conspicuous branding but more importantly were patronizing. The squadron fired and the posters disintegrated. Drienne smiled and said, “I enjoyed that,” then she calmly picked up the device, put it in her case, and left the room.
25
