Eight muffins later, I follow Mika down the tenth-floor hallway to the main security office. We’re surrounded by dark gray walls interrupted every five meters by inset glowing lights on the bulkheads. It’s cold, and our boots clomping against the duraplast disrupts the silence.
Mika, shorter than me by at least ten centimeters, wears a focused gaze I wouldn’t expect from someone who plays a clown in the Phenomena. He’s also bulkier in the arms, chest, and thighs—a body more suited to a militia man than an entertainer.
Then again, as most cast members seem to do, he works two jobs aboard the Midway. He’s the sec-liaison, working in connection with the hired security team to bridge the gap between sec-units and cast members. Perhaps there’s something in his past that recommends him to this job more than that of a clown.
It is odd though. The security on the Midway is far above what I would have expected. I gained entrance through my job as royal security on the guise of scoping out safe passage for my charge, but I still had to do some technical masking of my blast pistol in order to slip it past security.
Now I have to do some fancy talking, or things could go very badly for me in the next few minutes. It’s a shame the liaison wasn’t Pon, who would have been much easier to distract. Instead, I’m left with a scowling, grouch-face of a man.
It’s time to do what I do best. Find a weakness and exploit it.
“I appreciate you helping me out.” We turn yet another corner in the massive ship.
Grunt.
“Do you enjoy being a clown?”
Grunt.
“Have you been with Phenomena long?”
Grunt. Shrug.
Okay, so not motivated by his job. Family, perhaps?
“Traveling like this…do you get to see your family much?”
Grunt. Deeper scowl.
Nope. That was a step in the wrong direction. I cast an in-depth, sideways glance at the man, looking for clues. Brown hair with streaks of gray, wearing the same onesuit we all are.
Wait. There it is!
“You’re a Wraxian Wrestle Mania fan?”
“What?” He turns toward me, skepticism written in every line.
“Your tattoo.” I point to the black WWM on the inside of his wrist.
“Oh.” He huffs a breath, but there’s the hint of a smile in it. “Yeah. I’m a bit of a fan.”
“I got to meet a few of them at my last job.”
His head snaps to me. I got to meet all of them at private parties, but that would create too many questions regarding what I did before joining the circus.
“Who did you meet?”
I gauge him. The top three fighters are Manic, CharChar, and Jaws. They’re the most well-known and often the issue of debate between fans. But ‘fans’ is too small of a word for what the lovers of Wraxian Wrestling are. More like fanatics. If I say the wrong one, my chances could be shot.
Mika doesn’t have the look of a CharChar fan with the fighter’s expensive taste, excessive preening, and flowy Margaux fighting style. I’d assume he was a Manic fan, but something tells me that would be wrong. Then it comes to me—his hair!
“Buzz.”
His mouth drops open. Got him.
“You met the Buzz? What was it like? Was she as impressive in person as she seems on the vids?” His eyes are the size of Zera’s moons.
I have to squelch my grin because he’s so earnest. B, as she prefers to be called, is the only female in the higher Wraxian levels. I wouldn’t have considered Mika a fan, but his hair is styled exactly like hers, long on the top and in the back, buzzed on the sides. That’s commitment.
“She was amazing. And really nice in person,” I add because it’s true.
“I’ve heard reports of that.” Mika’s animated in a way I wouldn’t have expected and, when we reach the security office, he’s more than happy to get the door for me.
I slide past, beaming. Now for the next part of my plan. I share as much about B as I think is right, and Mika listens like a starving man at a feast. She was the nicest of the four at the party, and we found we had a lot in common, both growing up poor and making something of ourselves.
Mika adds his own trivia as he works, entering me into the ship’s security, and then pauses. “You know what? I got a signed poster.” He shakes his head. “I nearly fainted dead away when it arrived.”
“Wait, it’s signed?” I feign shock. I’ve got to time this perfectly.
“Yeah.” He drops his gaze, and I can see heat creep up his neck.
“I’d love to see it.”
“You would?” His head snaps up.
“Totally.”
“Hold on,” he looks over at the control system, and I know to watch. “I could bring it here. Then we can finish your input.”
“That would be great. I’ll wait here.” All alone with the sec-system.
His fingers blur over the board, but I’m used to observing every detail.
“I’ll be right back. Don’t touch anything.” He winks and taps the last key before heading for the door, looking as giddy as Scar was for his morning meal—which, thankfully, was not me.
The second he’s gone my hands fly to the keys and repeat what I saw. I estimate I have less than five minutes, but that should be plenty of time. I’ve hacked many security systems before and have a feeling this one isn’t going to be—
<<SECURITY ALERT>>
I take that back. This is higher level security than I would have guessed. Though maybe I should have, considering what I’ve seen so far.
Tapping a few more keys, I regret not having my datapad with me. That’s part of why I’m doing what I am. I was in such a hurry to find a place to hide onboard, I didn’t think through the fact that Talie’s room is worlds away from mine, in both security and distance. I can’t be seen—or heard—on her floor, especially not carrying armor to the basement.
But…
I press a few more keys.
<<ACCESS GRANTED>>
And that, folks, is how it’s done.
I did my research, so I know every cast member is chipped. The sec-bracelets are their outward connection to the security team, but inwardly, each crew and cast member has a small microchip that alerts the sec-team to their whereabouts. It’s an over-the-top precaution in my opinion, but perhaps it has something to do with the contract each member signs.
If an active chip is implanted in me two things will happen. One, it will make me visible to everyone on board. That’s not so bad, but I prefer anonymity. And two, it will attempt to overwrite my existing chip. If an overwrite is initiated, an alert will be sent to the Drawxian guard station. Instead of my guard chip being hidden, it’ll act like a beacon to my exact location.
Bottom line: I can’t be injected with an active chip.
By now, I’m typing so fast my fingers barely touch the keys. I need to initiate a new protocol for the chip Mika’s going to implant. When I’m done with it, the chip will go dormant unless I activate it, and even then, it will be modified to appear normal without interfering with my guard chip.
When the activation key is reformatted, I pause to pop my knuckles and then create a subroutine that will supplant the other security protocols Mika has set up. I’ll be given the highest security clearance and any external search for my name will come up blank.
When I’m done, I quickly cover my tracks and spin away from the console. I feel a twinge of regret knowing that, if this comes to light, his job will be questioned, but a soldier’s gotta do what he’s gotta to do.
The door whispers open seconds after I move. Whew.
“Here it is.” Mika grins as he unfurls a poster as tall as he is.
B is decked out in her wrestling gear, all shiny metal and white duraplast plates sparkling along her arms and legs, her torso wrapped in beetle-black armor. Her devilish smirk makes her impression even more impressive. And terrifying.
Mika allows me to admire the poster—I don’t have the heart to tell him the signature is faked—while he puts the finishing touches on his work and then turns to me with a chip injector. “Ready?”
“Hit me,” I say, extending my forearm.
The implantation stings, but I’ve had my fair share of chips through my previous job, this is no different. I make sure to thank him for the chance to see the poster and talk to a real fan and then bow out for him to finish his work. His smile and firm handshake let me know I’m in his good graces—for now.
I head to the trav-tube to go back to the stalls. The door opens, and I step into silence. I’ve secured passage off of Drawx, and now the second part of my mission is in place—I’m invisible.
Good work, Ren, but eyes forward. They’re counting on us.
I hear the praise in her voice, and a note of sadness washes over my satisfaction. She’s always been like that—focused on the next step, never feeling accomplished or able to rest, always pushing forward. It’s been a full-time job just to keep up with her the last two cycles.
I miss that. And I miss her. The reality of my situation is tenuous, but we both agreed it was the only way. Information like what I’ve been tasked to deliver cannot be transmitted—it must be couriered in person, or we’d risk tampering or—worse, deletion.
I reach for the space above my left wrist, rubbing at the smooth skin there. The stakes are higher than I can imagine, but I also trust her instincts.
Besides, I’ve never gone back on my word, and I don’t plan to now.