Desert Bound

2: Piran

2: Piran

Piran

Piran shuddered. What was wrong with this place? How could it be scorching during the day then freezing at night? At least the forest had been constant. Wet and miserable, but constant.

He rested a hand against the cold stone of the holding compound, and turned to look at the fence. It was only a wire job, hadn’t taken more than a few moments with a cutter to get through. No vibration alerts, no watching sensors, just a bored enforcer walking past every fifteen minutes. And this place was supposed to be secure?

Some animal barked, and a voice yelled out, telling the mutt to shut up. A distant rumble of a vehicle, a few muffled voices. But nothing close. And the enforcers were inside the building. Next patrol wouldn’t be for another ten minutes.

He brushed his clothing. It spread dust around, left his hands dirty. He wiped them down his thighs, cleaned them as best he could. His palm terminal wasn’t a bad bit of kit, but this dust got everywhere. Piran didn’t want to fix the thing again.

It would be so much easier with his lattice back on-line. But the bloody company had shut it down, hadn’t they? So he had no access to his old routines and code, couldn’t pull from the node at the base of his neck. Anything he used now had to be from a blank slate, or mutations of whatever he could pull through physical connections.

Had to do everything the hard way‌—‌palm terminals and com-links.

He tapped the device in his ear. “Keelin? I’m through the fence.”

“Any problems?”

“This whole mission’s a problem. She should never have got herself caught.”

“Wasn’t her fault. We’ve been through this.”

“Not blaming her.”

“It wasn’t Brice either.”

How the hell did she know what was on his mind? “Sure. Just happened. One of those things.”

Piran didn’t believe that for a moment, though. Martell had played them.

Keelin sighed, and for a moment Piran thought she was going to argue. But then she said, “Give me a shout when you’re ready,” and muted her end.

Piran swore‌—‌under his breath, because she was still monitoring, wasn’t she?‌—‌then he crouched down and got to work.

The junction box was at the base of the wall, half-hidden by one of those prickly plants that grew wild out here. He should’ve worn gloves. But he teased the spikes aside, hard-connected his palmie, then tapped to set the routines free. Data flowed, and Piran monitored‌—‌let his eyes seek out patterns, let his mind absorb the changes. He smiled when the routines cracked the first layer of security‌—‌wasn’t much more than the digital equivalent of cutting a few wires in a fence‌—‌and then he was through to the building’s system core.

An icon flashed. Piran tapped his ear-piece again. “I’m in. Waiting for Deva’s signal.”

“Good. You know what she’s up to?”

“Nope. Assuming she does, though. Ryann?”

“Primed.”

“How’s she doing?”

“Same as ever.”

Yeah, wasn’t as if Keelin would tell him any different, was it? Too tight, those two. Always shutting themselves away on the bridge, or sussing in private. Even if he had his lattice working, they’d make that communication tight, shut him out.

“See you in a bit,” Keelin said, then cut to mute.

He leaned against the cold stone, conscious of that damn spiky plant to his left. He’d done his part. Now all he had to do was wait, for whatever Deva had in mind.