[GP + 2 years]
Cordis City on a fine sunny afternoon was a very pleasant place,
decided Vila, lounging on the balcony of the luxury apartment the
company had acquired for its operations. He and Margit were occupying
the place as wealthy aunt and hopeful nephew, frequently entertaining
friends and family and sallying out on lavish shopping expeditions.
Comfortable though it was, the apartment's greatest asset was its
clear field of vision across to the Federation Bank building on the
other side of the small park. Discreet surveillance equipment
monitored the comings and goings and a miniature radar probe mapped
the interior, including the three levels of basement.
"It's clever," he commented as he examined the results. "Everybody
assumes the high security vaults will be deep underground, not right
under the roof. I'll bet hardly any of the staff know that floor even
exists. It's only two meters deep and you've got no clue from the
building's exterior. Internally, it's camouflaged by the water tanks
and air conditioning plant."
"Well, the roof is bristling with security cameras." Margit was
poring over her printout. "Mostly concealed in the airstrip landing
lights. You can count on plenty of infra-red and sound sensors, too.
You'd be picked up instantly if you teleported into that lot."
"It looks to me as if security is lightest on the ninth floor canteen
area," she continued after a long pause. "Now the concealed lift
shaft runs behind this wall in the waste disposal area, partly
disguised by the rubbish chute, and that," she said, indicating with
her pen, "looks like a ventilator to me. I estimate its grille is
large enough to pass a spider through."
Avon had recently added a wall-climbing capability to the ratcatcher,
which now resembled a large spider. Vila regarded them with some
revulsion, but Margit handled them blithely enough.
"This building was designed a hundred and eighty years ago, when they
never considered the possibility of teleportation. Ground attack,
tunnelling and landing on the roof were envisaged, but it didn't occur
to them to shield the upper half in any way, not even from probing.
Foolish not to realize that security systems need updating."
"Gambit could teleport us into that restaurant area easily enough,"
said Vila cautiously, "but we need to know customer patterns. Do we
try for an empty period or a crowded one?"
"We need better surveillance to work that one out. We'd better get
Avon over here, see what he thinks."
Avon and Jenna were established in another apartment a kilometre away,
registered as man and wife, a circumstance Vila found deeply amusing
given their current thorny relationship. They were probably not
unacquainted, though, since he suspected there had been a short
`affaire' once when Jenna had been annoyed with Blake.
A second apartment in the same building housed Brig and a workshop
full of equipment. Residents never observed the conspirators entering
the other premises, as movement was always by teleport and
communications were sent via Orac and Gambit, deeply encoded.
"OK, we've scanned that restaurant for five days and we have
established that no living creature visits it between midnight and
dawn." Margit indicated her screen display to Jenna. "There is
occasional movement by machinery, however. Gambit has deduced the
presence of robot waiters in this section," she tapped the screen.
"Apparently, the night security staff have their meals collected from
the dispensers and delivered to them by these robots."
"Why would they do that?" wondered Jenna. "Wouldn't it be much more
efficient to have a dispenser on every level?"
"Well, this building is old, but it originally had a lot of luxury
features, designed to impress customers and also meant to last. Gambit
has found evidence of continued maintenance, but very little
replacement. In fact, the large number of employees indicates that
their whole operation is rather inefficient. But then, this whole
planet is pretty lacksadaisical about such things. Floors Three to
Eight are let to other businesses, but there is a heavy security scan
on their personnel, according to Gambit. We did a check for vacant
offices, but they're all full."
"What about that area there?"
"That's waste disposal. Two robots park there during the night, once
they've collected the garbage from the restaurant and the floors
above. That looks like a disposal chute to the disintegrator at ground
level. The lower floors are serviced by two other robots which park by
the disintegrator itself.
Margit paused a moment.
"Now, my question for Avon is `can we utilise these machines?'
Remember, they have the ability to open almost every door in the
building. Gambit has picked up signals and discovered each robot's
call sign, maybe we could install a micro-camera in one and see if it
goes anywhere interesting."
"You mean, teleport in and do some modifications? I daresay it's
possible." Jenna pondered for a moment. "The thing is, you would
have to remove them and wipe the robot's memory afterwards. Well, I'll
see what the expert has to say. He'll probably have to do the
installation anyway."
"I'd like to see him in action at last," said Margit somewhat tartly.
"I'll go with him."
Jenna grinned. "I take it Vila has no ambitions to participate at
this stage?"
"Oh no, His Lordship's instructions are for us to deliver him to the
strongroom door, having first taken care of security. He further
maintains that sampling the flesh-pots of this city is perfectly in
keeping with his role as worthless nephew battening on rich aunt."
Margit's smile was at once sarcastic and indulgent.
Jenna frowned. "He might drink too much and start to babble. Can you
trust him to go out on his own?"
"Well, he regards this whole operation as his own, so I don't see him
doing anything to jeopardise it. Also, he knows I'll nail him to the
floor if he does anything stupid. Actually, the company he has found
for himself seems more feeble-minded than predatory, so I'm not
worried about him."
"Right," said Avon, pulling on surgical gloves, "you know what to do?"
"I teleport into the galley," Margit's terminology still retained an
astronautical flavour, "I check for any surveillance devices we haven't
detected so far and look for the best spot for the transfer marker. If
everything's all right, I give the signal and you transfer Orac and
the equipment and come across yourself."
"From now on, all communication must be silent," Avon insisted.
Teach your grandmother to suck eggs, thought Margit irreverently. He
caught the thought escaping from her eyes and permitted himself a
faint smile.
She pulled a hood over her face, transforming in an instant from a
friendly-faced woman to a sinister predator.
"OK, let's get going," she said, and vanished as Jenna operated the
teleport.
There was a suspenseful pause of several minutes, until Orac spoke.
"The all-clear signal has been received."
Quickly Avon wheeled a small trolley onto the transfer marker. It was
constructed of non-metallic materials, all his tools fitted into
padded recesses with Orac on the middle shelf. It was also equipped
with robot arms and was designed to move with extreme stealth under
it's own power.
"Teleport," he said, pulling his hood down over his face.
Silently Avon knelt beside the garbage robot, dimly illuminated by the light mounted on his tool caddy. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Margit standing guard in the doorway, weapon in hand. Holding his breath, he eased off the casing around the drive mechanism. The interior held no surprises, an antiquated design, built for durability with plenty of room to reach inside or to insert new circuit boards. The task of installing the micro-camera and miniature control device was not difficult and he finished it rapidly. Then he turned to its companion.
"It went well, then?" said Jenna as they returned.
Avon nodded, pulling off his hood. "No sign of anything unusual, Vila?"
"Not a thing," said Vila, bent over his scanners.
"Right, let's try a few manoeuvres. Orac, send Number One up to the
eleventh floor and along the main corridor. Relay the visual signal to
the wall screen."
The relay was undramatic. The robot rode up two floors, rolled along
the corridor then returned to its normal station. The camera and the
control circuits functioned perfectly.
"Well, nobody seems to have notice anything," said Vila after a
pause. "Can we switch over to auto-recording now?"
"Very well. Orac, set the controls for automatic recording." Avon's
tone betrayed a slight satisfaction.
"Gambit can take over now." Margit peeled off her black gloves.
"I'm going to bed."
"Right," said Jenna. "Vila, keep watch and call us if anything
unusual happens."
Trust Muggins to get stuck with the boring bit, thought Vila, as
he watched them depart. Several days confined to the apartment!
Well, he would make himself comfortable.
"Gambit, put up that new games menu on the auxiliary screen."
"There you are, take a look at that." Vila's eyes were red-rimmed
but sparkling with satisfaction. "The careless idiot."
They were monitoring a video relay from the garbage robot, which had
been parked close by one of the points where the concealed lift entrance
was thought to be. The security man on screen ignored the familiar
presence of the robot as he operated the door.
Avon leaned forward in concentration. "Go back half a minute and
replay frame by frame," he commanded. "Stop there. Now, Gambit,
focus on his left hand. Yes... Enhance it as well as you can. Mm, just
a magnetic card. The detector is invisible so it must be under that
fancy wall covering."
"There he goes, into the wall. Very neat."
"Well, that's just the camera angle. Later on we'll send the robot to
take a closer look, but I expect the door will be very well hidden.
Did you track the lift car?"
"Yes, easy. They never bothered to shield it properly against
electronic scanning. You know, it's quite probable that we can read
the code setting if we put our own detector within a metre or so, and pick
up the signal next time someone activates the lock." Vila pulled up,
slightly dismayed at the implications of what he had just said.
Doubtless the person who accomplished that task would be himself.
Avon intercepted his anxious look with a malicious smile. "Tonight,"
he said, "we'll take a good look at that wall."
Gotcha! thought Vila, as his questing fingers detected a slight bump. He passed his hand scanner over it and read the results. Not a familiar model, but nothing really complex by the look of it. He looked around for a suitable place to conceal his miniature detector. Not the light fitting, too much metal. He slipped it onto the top of the door frame and stood back to see if it was visible. Satisfied, he turned to Avon, who nodded agreement and pressed his wrist communication unit keys in the teleport recall code. Vila relaxed with a sigh of relief as the teleport whisked them away.
"Here it is," Margit swung away from her console, "the frequency,
the code, the pulse rhythm. You should have no difficulty imitating
that. We can go tonight."
"Good," said Vila sourly. "I'm getting sick to death of the night
shift." He had been strictly forbidden to meet his friends or leave
the apartment for the next few days, and was feeling thoroughly
jaundiced. He adjusted his electronic key and activated it. The
parameters on the screen matched perfectly. "I'm going to get some
sleep."
"Gambit," said Margit, "put me through to Avon." When he answered
she told him the news.
"Right, we go tonight. Tell Vila."
"He's ahead of you - gone to get some sleep."
"Good. Make sure he checks his equipment properly. Out."
Now that he confronted the strong-room door, Vila's nerves quieted, to
be replaced by the pleasurable anticipation of a battle of wits,
better than chess, better than code-breaking - the battle for which
he was equipped. With Avon and Margit standing guard over him
and previous undetected visits behind him, he felt secure. He could
concentrate on the job in hand.
Unlike most of the equipment in this building, this was right
up-to-date security ware, presenting a real challenge. He turned to
his toolbox and picked out a detector.
Avon checked his portable scanner for the umpteenth time. He had
improved the design of the surveillance neutralizer since their raid
on the Space Princess, but the memory of its near-disastrous failure
kept him on edge. It had been a long two hours. Vila, probing away,
was oblivious to his surroundings, Margit stood imperturbably by the
lift door. He wondered if Jenna, waiting back in the apartment, felt
as strained as he did. It had been agreed that he and Jenna would
never go on a raid together, to reduce the risk of the leadership
being lost or captured if things went wrong.
A faint scraping sound distracted him. He scowled at Vila, who
signalled a less than penitent "Sorry" with his eyebrows, before
returning to his task.
In the comfort of the newly refurbished Freya, Vila soon recovered his good humour. A sympathetic Margit had supplied him with good wine and a stock of confectionery, and there was no denying that he felt a lot safer in space. Although he had often enjoyed his masquerade as a wealthy woman's sponging nephew, it was a relief to relax among friends, to be able to put one's feet up and watch the interplay of personalities. Yes, very entertaining.
"Margit, I have a project for you." Jenna eyed her cousin across the
table. They had retired to the captain's cabin after dinner and were
sampling a fine old brandy in private. "You remember Folkas?"
"I do indeed. What do you want with that dodgy character?" Margit
grinned reminiscently. "He's probably sold both his grandmothers by now."
Jenna laughed. "Maybe he can sell something for us. Whatever his faults,
he's a very competent engineer, just the man for what I've got in mind."
"Which is?"
"The Federation's military research units, the ones we didn't manage to
penetrate before. I want you to use Orac or
Gambit to extract their designs from the computers and pass them on to
the independents - spacecraft, weapons, communications hardware -
anything."
"What, all of it?"
"You and Brig are good enough engineers to decide which is the good
stuff. Avon can help you. Use Folkas as the middleman."
"The Feds are bound to realize there's a leak," said Margit with a
slight frown.
"Quite so." Jenna's answering smile was worthy of Avon at his most
cynical. "That should increase the legendary paranoia of the President.
With luck it should start a witch hunt as well as benefitting potential
allies and ourselves. Make sure you cover your tracks well."
"You've never been tempted to rebuild the Liberator, have you?" Margit
asked after a pause. "Vila reckons that Orac has enough data to make
it possible."
"No," said Jenna, somewhat regretfully. "We're playing a different game now.
Even if it were possible to program a Sardoan matter transformer to reproduce
it, we cannot afford to attract everybody's attention with a ship like that."
"What about its builders - The System - have you kept an eye on them?"
"Orac keeps a watch. They made a partial recovery but the two subject
planets formed an alliance and broke away. Orac's orders are to foul up
any military development."
Margit helped herself to another brandy and sipped it thoughtfully.
"It sometimes worries me that we have become so dependent on Orac,"
she said. "I can foresee the time when we will need a chain of copies
to carry out all these projects. That will increase the danger of the
Feds capturing one of them."
"That must never happen," said Jenna soberly.
© Copyright Vega (Frances Teagle), 1999.