Subtle Weapon, page 17
part #2 of ShadowTech Series
“Explosives?”
“Best way to disrupt the complex. And explosives were a part of my NeoGen training.” As Chiron would know.
His shoulders shook, and it took a moment for Keelin to realise that he was laughing. “If we’d had you along for the ride earlier, we’d have this island to ourselves by now. So what do you think? Is it a plan, or an aspiration?”
She looked at the image on the terminal again, and her mind churned.
Ryann and the boys were down there somewhere. If the power cut, it would be easier for Keelin to get inside.
How she’d find them, she didn’t know. Having Kaiahive distracted by the Nyxes would help, though.
That part of the plan still felt like a suicide mission. Sure, the Nyxes could take out the sentry points on the ridge, but the Heralds that rushed the volcano would be running across open land. They’d be sitting targets for Kaiahive’s Ions.
But they were happy to do this. Chiron had himself an army who were willing to die for the cause.
Maybe Deva was right when she called them a bunch of fanatical lunatics.
But they were Keelin’s best chance for getting Ryann, Piran and Brice out of the crater.
“It’s a plan,” she said.
Piran
Piran needed to reconsider. Maybe this thing was a weapon, just not the conventional kind. This wasn’t something you aim at an enemy, pull a trigger, and watch their internal organs become external. No, it was more subtle than that.
It was endlessly fascinating. As Piran explored, it revealed layer upon layer of beauty. It was a poem wrapped in a song wrapped in a symphony. It was like…like nothing he’d ever seen before.
Except that it was. Might be Ancient code, but that was a part of the lattice, a part of everything Kaiahive did. And it made sense that the company worked so hard to understand it. To outsmart an enemy, you had to think like them. Then you used their tools against them.
Everything could be a weapon.
Piran rubbed his face. Felt good, to be this smooth. Definitely something in all this self-pampering. Sure, be good to have someone else do it for him. But even self-administered pampering—and there was a euphemism if ever he’d heard one—left him feeling good.
The showers helped him think. Like this morning. Woke up with mind full of old crawler routines, code that shifted through protected data, and before he’d even turned off the water he’d combined those old routines with fragments of the Caduceus’ code. Ran mental tests as he dried, knew it would have faster interrupt and better cloaking.
Still didn’t know what that dead code was all about, though. He prodded it every way he could, and even though it didn’t respond he reckoned—no, he bloody knew—that there was something in its core. It was dormant, like a volcano.
He replicated his improved crawler and the dormant code, passed them into a palmie. Could do this all internal, but using an external gave him a barrier, just in case. And the lag was hardly noticeable.
But code, on its own, was nothing. To let it live he needed to feed it.
Piran connected inputs and outputs, set up feedback loops, spirals. Sent test pulses, monitored their paths, analysed the data.
It took him four hours. He refined and enhanced. He loosened his collar, unbuttoned his top, wiped sweat from his brow. He drank constantly. His body fed his lattice, fed the code. It took all he gave it.
The code was no longer dormant. Combined with the crawler it flowed, like lava. Yeah, that sounded right. Lava-crawler. As good a name as any.
And with the name came the moment of no return. So far, he’d used pulses, approximations of real-world data. The lava-crawler performed well, but he needed to know how it reacted to live, active inputs.
There was only one option.
“Gonna let it loose,” he whispered. “See how it swims in the system.”
He only had limited access—his room, the office, certain parts of the base’s system. He’d pushed, of course—they had to expect that, right? Any tech would do the same. But the system was robust, wouldn’t let him open it even a crack.
Not with his usual crawlers, that is.
He let the lava-crawler flow, followed it. When it reached a wall—one he had access to bypass anyway—analysis data swarmed across Piran’s lenses. He watched as it ran its own checks, figured out a solution.
“Interesting.” He studied the data in more detail. “What’s it up to? Should stick to the edges.” Because there was always shadow in code, places intrusions could hide. But the lava-crawler…well, Piran wasn’t exactly sure what it did.
“Goes head-first. Why the hell would it do that?”
He pulled up outputs from the wall, ping-backs that registered on his monitor routines.
“Doesn’t see it. How the hell’s that even possible? No, it registers—getting that message ping. But it’s not flagging.”
Slowly, he understood.
“It’s a bloody chameleon!”
This thing was smart! It didn’t try to become invisible, but disguised itself as part of the system. The monitors registered it, but only saw something that should be there anyway.
Piran urged it on, to another wall, one he didn’t have access to bypass. And, again, the lava-crawler became a part of the wall, slid through with ease. No, the wall let it pass, accepted it as being of itself.
And Piran was in the system.
It took him a moment to realise what that meant. And even when he sat down, mouth open, mind reeling, he still didn’t totally get it.
He could see everything. Not only the system, with all its files and pathways, but more. Where lattices touched the system, the lava-crawler could bridge the gap, let him piggy-back into individuals.
The knowledge was too much. He could skim the data for years and only parse a portion of it.
But there were always work-arounds.
“I can rake the whole bloody system!” And then he could use catalogue-algos, set up a database, call up anything he wanted.
But that was for later. For now, he swam, pulling out files that took his interest. There were maps, schematics of the internal structure of the base. There were sensor recordings. There were sensor controls, and Piran could watch (and listen to) anything that happened in the base.
He pulled up the sensor controls for his office, watched himself working. Pulled up a map of the whole island, virtual rendering, nano-detail. He pulled data on Casey’s room, read the access file for her door. Hovered over the room’s sensors, decided he’d save that for later. For now, he’d scan the rest of the base, the rest of the system. See what else he could find.
Like Macklyn’s office. Couldn’t get access to internals yet, but he had the location. And he found the gatehouse, up on ground level. Reckoned he could figure out the door’s access codes with a bit of work.
He cross-referenced, already building his database.
And when it told him exactly where Ryann and Brice were, Piran almost choked on the last mouthful of tepid water.
Deva
Deva lay on her back, working on the undercarriage of the Nyx. The metal still had that hot smell, residue of pressure from flight. There were streaks running fore to aft, scratches from low-level flying over the forest.
Hence the need for constant maintenance. Add to that salt corrosion from the island atmosphere—worse if it infiltrated through into cabling—and the dodgy entrance to this place, and it was a wonder these birds were still serviceable.
“How’s it looking?” Wrench called. Not his real name, but what everyone called him.
She focused on the cabling under the panel, but didn’t touch it. “Couple of exposed spots, but the whole sheath looks fractured. Reckon it’s been badly resined at some point.”
“Yeah. Don’t always get the proper stuff out here. What’s the verdict—patch-job?”
She laughed. This bird was nothing but patches. Sure, they held the thing together, and the crew had enough about them that they’d spot problems early, but still. The poor thing needed a new wardrobe, inside and out.
“Give us a mo.” She stuck her hand in, rummaged around. First time she’d done this, last week, she’d been twitchy, ready for the spark. But Wrench ran a tight op. He’d have these snakes powered down properly.
The sheaths were rough, nowhere near as pliable as they should be, were starting to disintegrate. When she rubbed her hand over the coax-mains, the gritty texture transferred to her fingers, rubber particles sticking under her nails.
Then she checked the duct itself, found imperfections, rough welding that was already slicing into the sheaths. Wouldn’t take much to cut through the cables themselves.
“Coming out,” she said, extracting herself. A flick of the switch by her waist lowered the gurney, and she jumped off.
“Well?” Wrench frowned, lines etched on his high, pale forehead. There was something caught in his beard, below his right ear. Deva resisted the urge to pull it out.
She shook her head. “Not good. Could patch the worst, but there’s too much risk of abrasion. Rubber-mix is close to failure pretty much everywhere.” She held up her hand, let him see the rubber-dust and the detritus under her fingernails.
“So what’s your prog?”
The guy must have medic training somewhere in his past, using terms like prognosis. Or it was something he’d picked up, thought it sounded cool. And it kind of did.
“Half-arsed leaves arse hanging out.”
He rolled his eyes. Could’ve been a reaction to the old saying, or annoyance at what it meant. “Full overhaul?” he said.
“Safer in the long run. Less work, too. If you want, I’ll make a start this evening.”
“Long shift. What time d’ya start?”
She smiled. “What else am I going to do? Wander along the beach? Go for a swim?” She turned the smile into something more meaningful. “Unless you’ve got any other ideas.”
His mouth twitched. He blinked. Deva shook her head.
“Just messing. No problem working on. Keeps me active. Might take a break first, though—have a bite, catch up, you know?”
“With your friend.”
He blinked again, and Deva knew he wanted to look away.
“Her name’s Keelin.”
“Yeah. I know. And we’re all thankful for what she did.”
He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.
Which was why Deva needed to see her friend, at least a couple of times each day. Sure, Keelin was busy with Chiron and Lise, refining the plans. But even they were wary. Deva could tell.
Chiron especially. He saw Keelin as an asset, not as a person. Saw Deva like that too.
“If you’re okay with that,” Wrench said, “then sure. Have to check stores, though.” He looked up at the craft fore to aft, and his tongue ran across his lips. “All six cables, full distance, plus subsidiaries and cross-overs, we’re talking a couple of reels minimum. More like three. Not sure how much we’ve got spare.”
If this was the deck on Metis, Wrench would be able to call up supplies, have the exact data on his lenses in a matter of seconds. But this place didn’t run like that, did it?
They still got things done, though. The equipment was all old manual stuff—when nobody had a lattice, there was no point having current tech—and while it didn’t look all shiny, it worked. And being old-school, when it did break down there were old fixes, no need to send for techs to recode stuff.
“So,” Wrench said, drawing the word out in a way that made Deva embarrassed on his behalf. “How are you finding things?”
“Things?”
“Here. With us.”
“Dunno. Friendly. Everyone mucks in.”
“Not like the deck on Metis, then?”
She laughed. “Crew all got on with the work, but the supervisors never lifted a finger. And then there were their bosses, sat in offices, never even came on the floor. Typical hierarchy. Don’t seem to get that here.”
“Yeah, the uppers are a good bunch. Helps that we’re all for the cause, right?”
“Cause?”
He frowned. “Thought you knew. Return of the Ancients.”
“Oh, right. That.” Deva waved a hand. “Yeah, suppose that helps.”
“So you’re with us?”
He smiled, far too eagerly, and the yearning in his eyes made him look like a child.
It wasn’t cute, though. Deva swallowed, wanted to turn away. No—she wanted to leave.
“Doing what I can to get through the day,” she managed to say. “Reckon I need a break, though, if I’m going to fix the snake-nest.”
His face fell, but there was still that evangelical gleam in his eyes. “Okay,” he said, then, louder, “Okay. How long do you want? An hour? Two? Tell you what, I’ll check on stores, get what I can, leave it ready for you. I’ll make sure the gurney’s still free too. Red’s been eyeing it all shift, but I guess she can use it until you come back, yeah?”
Deva nodded. “Whatever works. Can always get another one, or find something else. I’m used to improvising.”
She waved her screwdriver and smiled, and that felt oh so fake.
“Better if you have decent tools, though. Not a half-arsed job then. Not that you’d do one of them. Reckon your improvisations would be a hell of a lot more professional than most round here.”
“Do my best.” Was he coming on to her? “Thanks. Be back later.”
“Sure. Thanks…Deva.” He grinned. “However long you want. Good to have you on the team, Deva.”
“Sure.”
Deva turned, walked toward the exit, felt his eyes on her. She shuddered.
Nerves, she told herself. He wasn’t sure how to treat her, so he was messing up. Nothing more than that.
Except that she was working for them now—the Heralds. Wasn’t as bad as working for Kaiahive, but it wasn’t good either. Wasn’t like she could keep her head down as easily. Not with her notoriety. Her and Keelin.
She walked fast, desperate to see her friend.
Keelin
Keelin got Deva’s message, told Chiron she needed a break, and headed for their room. When she opened the door Deva was already there, a couple of bowls on the table, glasses filled with water. And Deva wore a painful smile.
“Hey,” Deva said. “Didn’t pull you away from anything important, did I?”
“Going through files. Glad for a bit of time away, to be honest.” Keelin looked down at the table. “What’s up with the food?”
“You got meals ready the last couple of days. Reckoned it was my turn.”
Keelin wanted to tell Deva she shouldn’t have worried, that Keelin liked preparing food. But instead she smiled. “Thanks. Looks good.”
They sat, and ate in silence. The food—some spicy fish and rice dish—wasn’t too bad.
“Needed that,” Keelin said, leaning back when she’d finished. “You have any problem with the pans and the heater?”
Deva shook her head. “Watched you. All-in-one packet, anyway.”
“Yeah? Stopped by supplies?”
“On the way back from the deck.”
“Right. So how are the Nyxes?”
Deva took a sip of water, and for a moment her eyes lit up. “Like well cared for antiques. Impressed how they’ve kept them in the air so long. Must be a nightmare to get parts out here.”
“Yeah. Interesting supply chain. Have to be careful with the submersibles on the last stretch. Kaiahive’s always watching.”
“You’ve been snooping?”
“Didn’t have to. All in the records. Well, the ones Chiron showed me.” And she’d stored everything in her lattice node, for studying later.
“He let you in on their secrets?”
“Reckon he felt he had to, if he wanted me on-side.”
“On-side?” Deva’s face fell. “So you’re serious about helping them. You’re all in, aren’t you?”
So that’s what this was about.
“Why not?”
“You have to ask?”
“It’s our best hope.”
“What, to join the Heralds?”
“Better than joining Kaiahive.” Although that wasn’t an option, was it? They’d be probed, Keelin especially. They’d be prisoners once more. Or removed permanently. “Besides, you’re working for them too.”
Deva shook her head. “Doing what I can to stay alive.”
“There’s a difference?”
“You know there is! The way you’re talking, you believe in all their crap.”
“I believe they stand a chance of taking out that crater base.”
“Really? Or is that what the wonderful Chiron’s told you? Come on, Kee! He’s using you.”
Keelin sat back, wanted to say that she’d gone through all this in her own mind. Of course he was bloody using her!
“You’re nothing but a weapon to him,” Deva continued, before Keelin had a chance to speak. “He doesn’t care. Why else has he got us this place? Not like others get their own quarters. Hell, most of them share rooms, have one shower between four. We get this…this suite.”
That was pushing it a bit far, but it was relative luxury—a rest-area with cooking facilities, separate sleeping pods, and their own shower room. And it was stuck out of the way, close to where Chiron had Keelin running through data, close to the office where they met and talked.
Avoided complications, Chiron said. He didn’t want the team distracted.
Which was a weasel way of saying he didn’t want his people to worry that they had a monster living with them.
“So what’s he got you doing?” Deva continued. “Let’s see—he’s seen how fast and agile you are, so he sends you ahead to take out a few of the guard-posts around the crater, lets his own people waltz in without having to lift a finger. Or is he letting you sit in a Nyx. Yeah, that could be it. That’s why you asked how they were, isn’t it? Get you to provide air support, do your fancy flying to keep his people safe.”
