I pulled out my make-up case and opened the mirror, carefully allowing the device to scan the room. Several areas were encased in laser wire trips, which would mean they probably had pressure sensors nearby. A few seconds later the entire space visible to me had been scanned. I lowered the make-up case and watched the mirror, waiting for the blinking light to indicate it had located the main security server for the office.

  It didn’t happen. I frowned, then followed the most obvious path, devoid of laser trip wires, to the part of the room I couldn’t see. Behind heavy hanging fabric in rich reds and beep bronzes was a bedroom, complete with dresser, king-sized bed with canopy overhead, and an extravagant bathroom off to the side. A plush armchair sat by the window, an opened book on a stand to its side.

  This was where Harjeet had been living. This was why we’d not seen nor heard of him on the streets. He’d barricaded himself in here. If we escaped, and no one knew we’d been here, we’d have access to the cameras and could watch what he did.

  But first we had to escape. And before that, I needed to find out where Shiloh was.

  Clearly she wasn’t here. But Harjeet would know. And somewhere in this place he called home he would have referenced it.

  I scanned the bedroom and found the main security interface. Carefully crossing the ornate carpet, avoiding the more than six lasers that criss-crossed the floor, I pulled my lipstick from my pocket and twisted off one end. It took three minutes to pry the interface case off without triggering the multiple trips the system had, and only thirty seconds to attach the lipstick device to its wires. Five seconds later the green light blinked three times.

  Simon had control of the room. I turned back around and rescanned with the make-up case. I had to do it twice before Simon managed to disable them all.

  Then I was sorting through Harjeet’s drawers, swiping my finger along the underside of the desk trying to find hidden openings, and flicking through what little he had in paper correspondence. It took me two minutes to know there was nothing on the desk that would help. I needed to hack into his computer and doing that carried its own set of hazards.

  I sat down in his chair and looked around the room. Viewed it from Harjeet’s perspective. Hacking the computer was the last resort. If I could find something useful elsewhere first I’d take that route. I leaned back and enjoyed the comfort of the leather chair, the soft rock of it on its silent base, the way it moulded to my body. Harjeet could spend hours here and never feel the need to get up.

  But then, the entire room was an invitation to relax and recline. And enjoy.

  My gaze landed on a small figurine across the way, placed at direct line of sight to where Harjeet would have been should he have sat in the chair right then and not me. I narrowed my eyes and tried to determine what it was. Clearly beautifully made, in a bone of some description. Sculptured intricately, but so very small. The elephant’s head gave it away.

  “Ganesha,” I whispered and pushed up from the chair and rounded the desk.

  I’m not sure why it called to me, but the fact Ganesha was widely revered as the remover of all obstacles might have played a part. It certainly would have for Harjeet. But then, the deity was also the patron of arts and sciences, in a place where the art of decorating and the science of robotics reigned supreme. And he was also the deva of intellect and wisdom, something The Snake prided himself as being.

  I wondered if Harjeet kept a statuette of Ganesha as a reminder to himself. Of where he’d been and where he was going.

  I reached out to pick the statuette up but found it locked in place on the shelf. I tested a few other items on display, but they all lifted freely without hindrance. I returned my attention to the statuette, leaning forward to see more clearly, finding a small scrape on the surface of the shelf where the figurine had moved sideways before.

  Not upwards, but across. I pushed Ganesha following the path already laid out in the barely there grooves and watched it click into place several centimetres to the right.

  I stepped back. Waited. Then when nothing happened tried moving the figurine again. This time it twisted to the left, but stayed in position, turning Ganesha towards the back of the shelf.

  A whirring started up in the wall itself, a small door clicking open behind a bundle of incense one shelf up. I moved the bundle and pulled the door open wide, peering inside.

  Stacks of credits, a laser gun, and a small remote control lay visible. That was it. No memos, no vid-screen, no flash-drives with information I could smuggle outside.

  I picked the laser gun up and instinctively tested it. Harjeet’s backup protection when the drones failed to do their jobs. I was sure he had several more dotted about the place. I automatically slipped it into the waistband of my trousers, pulling my blouse out over the top. Then I lifted up the remote.

  There was no obvious television visible in the room for it to activate, but with time running out I decided I had to try. I pressed the on button. Held my breath. And then the leather inset in the desk sank down, rolling out of the way, to reveal a large vid-screen instead.

  I crossed back to the chair and sat down, staring at a combination prompter on the screen and nothing else.

  It could have been anything, and decoding it would take too long. And trying to outguess Harjeet Kandiyar was also a waste of time. I bit my bottom lip and searched around the room for more inspiration. My gaze landing on the remote control unit I’d placed on the desk’s surface to the side. It had more than just an on/off button. I leaned out and pressed play.

  The vid-screen flickered. The code prompter disappeared and Shiloh’s High-Anglisc voice announced from somewhere, “Welcome, Citizen Isha Kandiyar. Would you like to hear today’s requests?”

  I sucked in a breath and stared at the yes icon on the screen, my mind turning over the possibility Isha had survived the confrontation with the rebels at Park Road. And, also, the fact she went by Harjeet’s name. Was she his daughter? Sister? Long lost niece?

  I blinked myself out of the frozen moment and reached forward and hit yes.

  A picture of Harjeet materialised on the screen, resplendent in the same p'ta r'aru he was wearing downstairs in the cafeteria. He smiled at the camera, a devastatingly handsome image, and started talking in D'maru.

  “Good morning, Isha,” he said, as I scrambled to activate the recording device set into my make-up case. “The Merrikans require an updated manifest of our last shipment. Please see to that. As for the container ship to Urip, it is proving rather difficult, but needs to be re-floated and sent within the next week. Otherwise we’ll have to sweeten the pot with more wiped. As it is, those on-board have disappeared. Plus, we lost over fifty drones in the confrontation. Increase of productivity is expected across the board by the end of the week. But we need more.

  “I’d like you to concentrate on speed of production. Any worker not meeting quota will be threatened with wiping.” He smiled, it was calculating and everything I had come to expect of Harjeet. “Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak” he added. “I should think double the quota will do it. Make the announcement this evening. Say, eight o’clock? We’ll give them one more day of Hail Harjeet and then contain them on the premises. There will be no coming and going until we make up what those blasted rebels have cost us.”

  His face darkened on the words “blasted rebels.” Anger and something much more visceral shone in his amber coloured eyes.

  “I’ll be with Shiloh most of the day,” he continued in a much more pleasant tone. A simple flick of a switch inside. “But should return in time to witness the announcement. We’re close, my little one. So very close. Everything we have worked for, schemed for, planned for, negotiated or simply taken, is coming to a head. Soon we’ll not only control Wánměi, but so much more.

  He laughed, a full bodied, throaty sound. Attractive in any other man, I was sure.

  And then ice invaded my bones on his next softly spoken words.

  “I wonder if she has any idea of what she gave me. Of what she has doomed all of humanity to.”

  The message ended, the image of an eerily smiling Harjeet fading on the vid-screen. I sat in his overstuffed office chair, staring at the code prompter again, not seeing a thing.

  Of what she has doomed all of humanity to.

  One breath in. One breath out. Repeat.

  No mention of where Shiloh was.

  No mention of what the drones were being exported for.

  No mention of anything that really helped us at all.

  Just doom.

  I glanced at my watch. Time was up. The factory wide compulsory iRec was due in two more minutes. Just enough time to get back down to the cafeteria.

  I looked around the now - at least to my eyes - garishly decorated room and felt panicked. So much effort, so much risk, and we had nothing.

  I’d have to steal another identity, but then, eight o’clock, the time Harjeet was locking the factory’s doors, was less than an hour away.

  I had never felt so pressured to complete a job as I did right then.

  Standing up from behind the desk, I pressed the off button on what had to be Isha’s remote; a remote that allowed her access to Harjeet’s system without having to use his code. And returned it to the slot in the wall behind Ganesha. If I left everything how I’d found it, at least we had a chance of observing Harjeet through the transponder placed down in the kitchen and the hacker I’d hidden behind the security interface up here.

  I hesitated when I pulled out the laser gun, wanting to hold onto it, feeling the familiar comfort of its presence like a soothing balm, right when I needed it the most. But if Isha returned she’d see it missing. It would be a sure-fire give-away.

  I placed the gun back in the hole, closing the door and returning Ganesha to its original place.

  The room was as it was, and once I left, Si would release the laser trip wires and pressure sensors, and only observe everything that transpired here from now on.

  I sucked in a deep breath, smoothed down my blouse and trousers, and crossed to the main door.

  Opening it up, I stared into the haughty, almond shaped eyes of Isha Kandiyar.

  Chapter 26

  And I Needed Lena

  Trent

  Eight minutes had passed since Tan had walked back in the room, face set in hard lines, fists ready to punch the first Citizen who was stupid enough to get in his way. I’d intercepted his progress, cutting off any avenue of conflict before it began. Herding him back to the kitchen, out of sight and earshot of anyone. In particular Harjeet Kandiyar.

  The ensuing conversation had not been good.

  We couldn’t try for another identity, because Lena had all the contact lenses stored in her undetectable blusher case. We couldn’t improvise, because there was simply nowhere our current identities would let us go other than here. We couldn’t do a thing.

  We’d been forced to wait for Lena’s return. A return that was meant to happen within the next few minutes. A return that I was beginning to think was never going to happen at all. My mind wouldn’t stop replaying her in the back of the van, the blood that coated her forehead, the dazed look in her eyes. The fucking trembling in her hands.

  Everything was hanging on Lena and Lena was operating well below par.

  But it was Lena. I had faith in the woman. More faith than I’d ever had in anyone else. If anyone could get into the CEO’s - I was thinking probably Harjeet Kandiyar’s - office, then Lena could. And make it out again alive.

  But time was running out. And Harjeet was finishing up his meal, and no matter what Wang Jie tried, the D'awan had tired of his conversation. It was time for a distraction. One that would possibly ruin our cover, but if we played it just right, we could all still get out of this alive.

  I crossed to Alan, who was serving the next lot of employees to arrive for their meal. My eyes met his intelligent gaze, saw the worry and strain that he rarely let show. Saw the moment he knew we were out of time.

  What to do? What would cause enough of a distraction to delay all of the employees who were set to go back to work, but not give us away?

  Or at least, not give the rebels away.

  I turned and caught Tan watching me. Alan, Tan and myself the only ones behind the counter, Wang Jie still out on the floor. I knew what had to be done. And I hated that it had to go this way.

  Tan approached me as I started toward him. He’d already guessed what I was going to say.

  “It has to be Wang Jie,” I said softly, under my breath. “He’s not officially connected to the rebels, and therefore they wouldn’t look too closely at the rest of us. You, me, Alan - we would all set off alarm bells we can’t afford to risk.”

  Tan stood stoically still, eyes narrowed, forehead furrowed, wide mouth in a thin line slashing across his face.

  “OK,” he finally replied, spinning on his heel and walking out onto the floor of the cafeteria, to where Wang Jie could see him, but Harjeet could not.

  I noticed Harjeet had paused for a telephone call, his cellphone to his ear and his back to me. At least it gave us a little more time.

  Alan bent his head to Wang Jie, whispering quietly. I saw the moment the instructions set in. The moment Wang Jie realised he’d be risking his life for the cause. Risking his life for Lena, for the rest of us. Playing the role of sacrificial lamb.

  But what Lena may have discovered was worth it, even as my stomach revolted at the directive I’d forced Tan to give.

  Wang Jie’s eyes lifted to mine. I would have liked to have offered a sympathetic smile. Instead I held his steady gaze, let him know through my look alone that I understood what I was asking, I understood the risks involved, and then turned away.

  I couldn’t be watching when it happened. I couldn’t be connected to him, or this would fail.

  Tan rounded the end of the counter in my peripheral vision, I met his gaze, saw the heavy load that settled itself there. And turned to serve an employee who was calling for me, seeing Wang Jie pick up a tray of food off the serving trolley, weigh it in his hand, look toward the back of Harjeet’s head, and then ready himself to swing it.

  I ducked my face down at the last minute, making it look like I was focusing on serving up macaroni cheese onto the employee’s plate, and waited to hear the crash of metal on bone.

  It didn’t happen.

  But the whoop, whoop of an internal alarm did.

  My head shot up, along with every other single person in the cafeteria; fear and dread crossing each of their faces as though they’d been here before and they knew what happened next.

  Wang Jie dropped his tray before it connected with the back of Harjeet’s head, cakes and pastries falling to the floor in a jumbled mess at his feet.

  “Third floor!” Harjeet yelled at the nearest drone, ignorant of his close call. “Shut down the entire complex,” he added, and red lights started to flash from previously hidden strobes.

  He started running towards the door, two drones falling in behind him. And within seconds he was gone; the door to the cafeteria closing. A lone drone stood in front of it, laser gun out, the whir of it warming up competing with the screech of alarms.

  I glanced around the room, saw the staff were just as anxious as us, but forcing themselves to sit and assume complacent stances; eyes to the floor or table, legs together, hands clasped loosely - but visibly - in their laps.

  I looked to Alan. He nodded toward the kitchen door. And we all slowly made our way through it, letting it swing closed at our backs.

  “Fucking hell,” Tan said, loud enough to hear over the sirens, but not carry through to the cafeteria itself. “Where the hell is she?”

  Lena.

  “Third floor,” Alan provided, repeating Harjeet’s harshly flung words of before.

  Lena.

  “She might still make it out,” Tan insisted. “This is Lena,” he added.

  Ah, fuck.

  “We have to assume she’s still there,” Alan offered.

  “Can we get there too, back her up?” Wang Jie offered, surprising me, after we’d just condemned him to the hangman’s noose moments before.

  “There’s no point remaining here for her,” Alan said in way of agreement. “Best case scenario,” he added, “is Lena escaping via another route.”

  “Trent?” Tan asked, and I realised he was giving me the chance to play leader. To take control.

  I’m not sure when Tan had started to trust me, and hell, maybe if I said the wrong thing he’d ignore my directions anyway. But his support now was enough to snap me out of my frozen panic.

  Our cover was blown. If not by us soon, then by Lena already.

  There was no other choice. We needed what she might have uncovered.

  And I needed Lena.

  “We go after her,” I said, and saw the relief on every man’s face but Tan’s.

  On his I saw only satisfaction.

  Chapter 27

  See?

  Lena

  The fist connecting with my cheek shouldn’t have been unexpected. Harjeet’s little shadow had always been quick to rile. But the fact she’d manage to connect at all had me stumbling back, seeing white dots before my eyes, and trying to shake the mists of confusion from my mind.

  My reflexes were too slow; Isha managed to get in a solid kick to my mid-section, making me double over and pant through gritted teeth, desperate for air. I took another couple of staggering steps backwards, trying to place furniture between us.

  “I should have guessed you’d attempt to infiltrate here,” she spat, her words in suddenly difficult to comprehend D'maru.

  I shook my head, tried to clear the fuzziness. The punch was to my cheek, but it had rattled my already bruised and battered brain. The kick was just throwing salt on the wound. And by the look of her - narrowed amber coloured eyes, just like Harjeet’s, flushed tanned skin, model appropriate hair flying out in shiny black waves over her shoulders - she was ready to do the same all over again.

  “You should have left when you had the chance, Honourable,” she sneered. “There’ll be no getting out of here for you now.”