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“And finally, we came across a worker by the name Jannika Hallikonnoen who struck us as a rather interesting individual, Skipper.” Rolf Painter called up an image of her on the primary display.
“She’s a team boss, which means this is not her first tour in Tyrell, yet no one can remember her previous tours. Or if they do, they’re holding back. Either way, that’s mighty strange. Hallikonnoen knew Terry Evans, but people who saw them together didn’t think they were exactly friends, not in the way Evans was friendly with Movane if we can believe Ed Limix. One witness thought Evans behaved in a subservient attitude toward Hallikonnoen as if she worked for her in some capacity. As a personal observation, most people here seem hesitant to talk about Hallikonnoen, and we got the impression a few consider her dangerous. Other than that, apparently, she doesn’t speak much about anything beyond work.”
“Perhaps she’s someone we should watch,” Testo suggested.
Painter shrugged. “Might be a little difficult. She frequents the Reach when off-duty and not in her cubicle, where she usually occupies one of the rear booths from which you can see without being seen. However, we noted that sometimes, she’s neither in the bar nor her quarters when she's off-duty. None of the others in her module are aware of her movements or aren’t saying.”
“Try to find out, will you, Rolf?”
“Already on it, Skipper.”
As Painter left, Hak glanced at the time.
“Ready, sir?”
Delgado nodded and stood.
“As ready as I’ll ever be. You have the watch, Top.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper. Sergeant Singh and One-Two-Charlie are waiting for you in the locker room.”
Something on his workstation screen attracted Testo’s attention. “It seems the hacker in Engstrom’s office has nearly broken through the second level of protection.”
“Persistent bugger, ain’t he or she?” Delgado sketched a salute and left.
**
Curtis Delgado, wearing an armored pressure suit and combat harness like the Marines of Singh’s section and carrying a plasma carbine loosely slung over his shoulder, stood where the fake wall once was and studied the emitters.
“Hologram on top of a force field. Interesting.”
“It was pretty realistic, sir.”
“I can’t imagine moving the power pack that’ll feed it, though,” Delgado replied, eyes tracing the black cord nestled at the foot of the tunnel wall. “Let’s take a look at that door you found.”
When they reached it, Singh checked the tiny tell-tales he’d left on his last visit.
“Seems like no one opened it since we were here last.” He gestured at Raldy. “Time you used your skills for good rather than evil.”
Sergeant Testo had spent most of the night shift looking for evidence the door lock in front of them was plugged into the station’s network, but without success, meaning it was most likely a standalone, which suited Delgado.
He stepped aside, leaving Raldy to squat in front of the lock and scan it. After a few moments, he stood again.
“No need for my subtlety, Sarge. Although it may not seem so to the untrained eye, that there is a Hopkins-Payne model one-three-five-zee beneath the skin.” The designation meant nothing to the other Marines, and Delgado made a come-on signal, encouraging Raldy to elaborate. “Sorry, sir. This model is a standalone lock. It won’t be connected to any network. If we blow it off, no one will find out unless they come down here and see for themselves.”
“I’d rather we didn’t use high explosives, Corporal. It’s best if we leave no traces of our passage.”
“No sweat, sir. I’ll pop this for you in a moment with no one being the wiser.”
Raldy crouched again, stuck his sensor against the lock, and ran through what looked like an esoteric search sequence, but the Erinyes were confident he would find the proper release code. After all, Raldy was Bravo Troop’s designated lock pick, a skill he’d developed in his younger days before joining the Corps.
Less than two minutes later, a green light blinked, and Raldy stepped back.
“Done.”
Singh reached for the small wheel in the middle of the door and turned it counter clockwise. When the wheel stopped, he pushed the slab of steel inward, and it swung back easily, revealing a well-lit scene beyond the threshold.
“What the hell is going on here?” Singh asked no one in particular as he moved aside and allowed the troopers designated as point into the chamber, one of them scanning with his battlefield sensor, the other one covering him with his carbine.
**
Harry Zbotnicky felt his heart catch as he passed through the airlock leading to the miner’s change room. Joey, hard on Zbotnicky’s heels, cursed under his breath. Without bothering to hide their presence, several Marines were installing automatic sensors in the room itself. Both men were carrying their remaining inventory in satchels so they could give it to Lyle Fournier, who’d found a good hiding place underground.
Talk among the miners and smelter operators had acquired an indignant edge, fed by warnings of a Marine crackdown and stirred up by militants within the unionized ranks. Rumors that Engstrom and Movane ordered the action made no impression on the workers, and they almost immediately shunned off-duty Marines in the Reach, cafeteria, and other public spaces.
The emerging consensus viewed the automated sensors as a violation of civil rights in the form of unwarranted searches. Who knew what else those infernal machines could detect without the miners knowing? While the hardy and mainly honest men and women did not want smugglers within their ranks, they refused to live in police state conditions.
Ed Limix promised to discuss the matter with Engstrom, but the other team bosses sensed his reluctance. Most put it off to Limix’s experiences with drug dealers on Hesperia III. Still, within a few shifts, the opposition coalesced around Limix’s primary opponent, and there were mutterings of recalling him as shop steward because his cozy relationship with management suddenly seemed like a sellout.
However, a few workers appeared untouched by the growing controversy, but no one noticed, something for which Jannika Hallikonnoen was thankful.
It was shift change time, and the air in the locker room buzzed with animated discussions. In a corner, Hallikonnoen was waiting for Lyle Fournier. The seeds of distraction she’d sown were sprouting healthy little offshoots, and she was pleased — the Marines now faced growing hostility from the workers.
As she had hoped, underestimating the military mind for once, they embraced their policing powers with gusto. A few more touches, something that would really set the pot roiling, and she would be free to act. Soon. Very soon. And that fool Engstrom was playing right into her hands. Because of her informant, she knew everything he uncovered in the Marines’ files. Once she had their defense plan...
Sudden movement nearby jerked her back to reality. Lyle Fournier nervously smiled at her above his pressure suit collar. He carried a full satchel under his arm.
“I’ve got it, Jannika. Just as you said. I owe you big for this.”
Hallikonnoen grunted as she stared at him. Wordlessly, she held out a bag, and Fournier dropped his satchel into it. She squeezed the bag until it was emptied of air, sealed it, and shoved it into her own satchel.
With a swift motion that caught Fournier off-guard, she grabbed the smaller man by his suit’s carrying handle, just below the collar, and lifted him single-handed against the bulkhead until his feet dangled a few centimeters above the metal-mesh floor.
“You tell anyone about this, and you’re taking an elevator ride into the mine without a suit.” Her tone, soft as it was, conveyed a menace like none Fournier ever faced before.
“Sure thing, Jannika,” he croaked. “Even Harry and Joey don’t know what I’m doing with the stuff.”
“Make sure it stays that way.” She let him drop, and his boots hit the deck with a metallic clang. The few miners who saw the incident couldn’t hear what was said but were aware enough about Hallikonnoen’s habits to ignore her doings.