ShadowTech

2: Deva

2: Deva

Deva

Deva slid the door closed behind her. It sealed with a soft click, and she turned, only now activating her shoulder-torch.

The light played over a small room. Stains ran down the concrete walls from green-hued piping. There were piles of rubble in the corner. The air was musty and warm. The old atmos control system dominated the room, all rusted metal plating and twisted tubing.

She activated her comms. “Wrench? I’m in.”

His voice came back on a soft bed of static. “Any problems?”

“Why would there be?”

“Don’t know. Just‌…‌good to hear your voice, is all.”

She rolled her eyes. “Haven’t been away from you that long.”

Ten minutes, by her reckoning. She’d left their truck when Wrench got the signal from their guy on the roof, and Deva had ducked down the side of the building, through the service door. Roof-guy‌—‌she’d never caught his name‌—‌had done his job, and no alerts sounded as she followed the map, climbed down the service stairs, reached the atmos control.

In those ten minutes she hadn’t seen a soul, hadn’t heard anything except the creaks and groans of the old four-storey building.

Which still struck her as odd. Sure, this place was listed as offices, but Chiron said there was a narco plant on the top floor, one with company links. Something like that, Deva reckoned there should be some kind of security around.

But when she’d mentioned her concerns, Chiron said the plant owners trusted automatics, said a physical presence after-hours would lead to too many questions.

Deva sighed. There were always questions. And the answers never cleared things up, did they?

She cast her torch over the control system. “Must’ve got this thing second-hand,” she said. “Fifty years old, I reckon. That going to be a problem for your hacks?”

“Intel says they’ve updated software. You ready? Need to wake the terminal.”

Deva tapped the terminal that was fixed to the right of the ancient thing, under some faded and unintelligible sign. The screen flickered, and an icon appeared in the top right, some kind of spinning eye. Deva rubbed her neck, where the gadget sat by her useless lattice node. What if the system didn’t accept her fake ident? What if it called for assistance?

The terminal died, and Deva’s heart stopped. But it was only a soft-reset‌—‌a new screen-set appeared, with many of the options Wrench had told her about.

“Got it,” she told him. “Pressing for temperature. Got the over-ride to the right.” She paused, her finger hovering over the slider. “You sure this is going to work?”

“No reason why it shouldn’t. Push the over-ride up, let the temperature rise. Don’t need critical levels, just enough to mess up their production.”

“And you’re sure they haven’t got their stuff on a separate system?”

“Still relies on externals. Would show up on the building’s system log otherwise.”

Which was the answer she’d been given when she asked the same thing of Chiron.

He’d told her to stop worrying, that their intel was sound. Lise had a contact‌—‌which was why she couldn’t be on the ground for this operation. According to the plan, she was with the contact now, providing an alibi. Just in case.

In case of what, Chiron hadn’t said. And Deva hadn’t asked.

“Okay,” she said. “Doing it.”

She let her finger rest on the over-ride and pushed, lifting the level.

A flash on the terminal caught her attention.

“Got a red icon,” she said. “Directly beneath the over-ride. Looks like a cross in a circle.”

“You pushed the level up yet?”

“Yeah.”

“How high?”

“Twenty percent above base. Like you said.”

“You haven’t gone higher?”

She read the level display again. “Course not. Brainiacs worked it all out, right? I’ve only gone twenty over. So why the hell am I getting a warning?”

Wrench didn’t respond straight away. Deva squeaked her finger down, reduced the level to nineteen over. The icon continued to flash. It didn’t change when she brought the level down to eighteen.

“Might not be connected. Cross over a circle, yeah?”

“Cross in a circle. Like an X inside an O. Arms of the cross don’t go over the circle.” She shook her head. “Is this important?”

There was a click, which might’ve been static, or it might’ve been Wrench clicking his tongue. “If it was a cross over a circle, it could be an input-output fault. But that’s definitely a bigger cross than circle. You sure about the icon?”

“I’m staring right at it!”

“Okay, okay. Just checking. Vara’s pulling a remote connection. Bear with us.”

“I need to keep my finger on the slider?”

“Bear with us.”

Deva shuffled her feet. “Not standing like this for hours. Can I take my finger off? Arm’s aching. You know, where that Eve thing broke it.”

There was only static in her comms.

“Wrench?”

Nothing.

She tapped the comms, flicking through settings. The static grew louder. She toggled the volume down.

Something behind the closest rusty hatch clunked.

“You there? Wrench?”

Another clunk, then a whirring. Like a fan starting up. When she leaned her knee against the metalwork of the system, it vibrated.

She checked the terminal. The icon still flashed, and to the side, the temperature reading had risen. Only a degree or so, but it was definitely going up.

“Thought this didn’t affect actual temperature?” she said.

More static, then, “…again?”

“The temperature’s rising,” she said slowly.

“Going up?”

“That’s what rising means.”

“…‌hear you. Repeat…”

“Yes! Going up!”

“Shouldn’t be. Only changing‌…. Try‌…”

“Try what? You’re breaking up.”

“…interference. Too much bandwidth. Changing…”

The static swirled. The fan sped up. Deva loosened her collar.

Something rumbled overhead. The temperature reading rose another degree.

“This doesn’t feel good,” she said‌—‌more to herself, but her comms was still on.

“…‌what‌…‌problem‌…”

“What kind of problem.”

“…‌out‌…”

“You want me to get out?”

The fan whirred. The rumbling overhead grew deeper, became a roar.

Deva took her hand off the terminal and wiped her arm across her forehead.

“I’m getting out,” she said. “Something’s wrong with this thing.”

She turned, back through the door. Ran along the corridor as the building groaned. The air was heavy with an acrid stink, reminded her of burning rubber.

“Always said it would be better to destroy the place,” she muttered as she pulled open the final door and raced into the alley.

“Deva? You still there?”

Wrench’s voice came through clearly, now that she was away from the building.

“I’m out,” she told him. “Reckon that control panel’s still increasing temperature.”

“Yeah. You need to stop it.”

“You want me to go back in?”

“Think we’ve got a way to sort it.”

There was a crash. Deva looked up at the smoke drifting overhead.

“Too late now.”

The smoke was black and heavy, fell, smothered her. Voices echoed off the surrounding buildings as Deva ran, doubled over, coughing.

Another crash. A yell. When Deva glanced back a gout of flame burst from a top-floor window.

Then she was down another alley, away from the fumes. She pulled in air. Wasn’t fresh‌—‌stunk of the rubbish piled against one wall, had an after-taste of human waste, made her want to gag‌—‌but she could breathe it.

“Never b****y goes to plan,” she muttered as she walked past the rubbish, out into a wider street. A few windows showed lights‌—‌residents woken by the fire, she reckoned. She kept to the darkness at the edges of the street, hurried along.

There were side-streets and alleys, and Deva darted across them. Don’t show interest, she told herself. Make it look like you know where you’re going, like you’re supposed to be here.

Then she stopped. Frowned. Turned.

In the last alley, she’d caught sight of two people. It had only been a fleeting glimpse, in her peripheral vision. But there had been a sense of familiarity.

“Probably nothing,” she told herself.

Deva walked back to the alley, though. She flattened herself against the wall and peered around the corner.

The pair stood talking, their heads leaning in. They didn’t seem bothered by the shouts and crashes that came from the burning building. The shorter one‌—‌female, Deva reckoned‌—‌reached into a pocket and pulled something out, something small enough to conceal in her fist. The other person‌—‌tall and thin, stood like a man‌—‌held out his hand, palm up, and the woman dropped the object into it. His fingers closed and he slid his hand into his jacket pocket.

Light oozed from a window above them, and when the woman turned, for a split second, Deva caught sight of her features. Only for a fleeting moment, not long enough to be sure.

The woman‌—‌the woman Deva told herself she didn’t recognise, even though she did‌—‌nodded to the man. They shook hands. Then the woman walked away, further into the shadows of the alley.

The woman couldn’t be Lise, because she was with her contact somewhere else, right?

Then why did the woman look exactly like Lise? Why did the woman walk like Lise?

What the hell was going on here?

The man turned, walked along the alley. Towards Deva.

She spun. She ran to the nearest doorway and ducked behind a pillar.

The tall man pulled his collar up, casting his face in shadow. Wasn’t enough to hide his beard, though‌—‌short, neatly trimmed. His jacket hung open, and there was a bulge on his hip.

Deva knew enough about guns now to recognise the Preben.

Didn’t mean anything, of course. Wasn’t legal, but people around here protected themselves.

Yet there was something about the man. The way he walked tall, like he belonged here, even though his boots were too shiny, his trousers too smart. The way he wore that g*n with so much confidence.

The way he turned his back on the shouts, didn’t once look up to the red glow that spread over the buildings. Didn’t brush the ash that fell on him.

The way he looked like a company agent.

And Lise had been talking to him. Passing him something.

What the hell was the woman playing at?