Chapter 9

Going Solo

SALT HAD BEEN right to worry. Tea-Leaf had indeed left the Academy. After slipping away from the mission briefing, she had made her way quickly through the Old School to the secret tunnel by which she always entered the complex. It led to the Academy garage, where she was now skulking in the shadow of one of the docked shuttlecraft.

She was already beginning to regret storming off. It served no real purpose. But the anger and frustration that Rake’s continued criticism had stirred up had been overwhelming. She had just had to get away.

What’s his problem? thought Tea-Leaf bitterly. Why can’t he accept me as one of the team?

She wondered what Salt would make of her going off in a huff. He wasn’t likely to be impressed. After a childhood of fending for herself on Nu-Topia’s streets, the chance that the old armourer had offered Tea-Leaf to be part of the Armouron team, to belong somewhere, meant more to her than she liked to admit. And now, thanks to Rake, she might have spoiled everything.

If only he’d give me a break. The others don’t treat me like I’m an idiot.

She tried to pull herself together. The damage was done. She needed to get her head straight and move on. She must find a way to win back Salt’s good opinion and gain Rake’s respect.

Maybe if I could pull off something really challenging . . . something that helps the mission . . . That would prove to them that I’m worth having around.

A daring scheme was beginning to take shape in her mind.

If Rake thought she wasn’t ready to be part of this mission, she would show him how wrong he was.

With a new sense of purpose, Tea-Leaf made her way swiftly and silently to the garage exit. She slipped out into the street and hurried along it towards the stadium’s main public entrance.

On a fight day, like yesterday, the area outside the entrance was a noisy chaos of jostling Gladiator fans. Today, it was deserted. The taxi rank on the opposite side of the street was quiet. Only three of its twenty drop-docks were occupied.

Of the three vehicles that stood silently charging their power cells, two were standard cabs, designed to carry up to four passengers. The third was a single-seater – a tiny egg-shaped pod.

Tea-Leaf slunk across to the smaller vehicle and hit its door release. The clear canopy that formed the cab’s upper half slid back. She quickly slipped into its snug interior. The canopy closed smoothly and an eager, artificial voice filled the cab.

‘Hello there! I’m FabCab 482 and I’ll be your ride today! And remember – with PerfectCorp transport systems, every ride is a perfect ride!’

Tea-Leaf had already taken a small pair of wire-cutters from a compartment in her suit’s breastplate. She used them to prise open a panel in the cab’s left side. It had been a while since Nip – a fellow street-child – had first shown her how to hotwire a cab. She had done it twice since, but not recently. But as the panel came free, to reveal the circuitry within, she felt a flood of relief. Layout looks more or less the same – shouldn’t be too difficult to find the right wires . . .

She had no intention of stealing the cab, she told herself. She was just borrowing it. For a worthy cause.

As she studied the muddle of electronics, the cab’s chirpy voice prattled on.

‘For your safety, all FabCab journeys must be authorized by Transport Control . . .’

Tea-Leaf located the lead she was after.

‘. . . Please state your destination, followed by your Citizen PIN.’

The aim was to cut the power to the cab’s main processor. This would immediately register back at the city’s Transport Control Centre as a unit failure – a breakdown. The cab would be logged as out of order and a technician would be sent out to fix it.

In the meantime, if she could reconnect the power to the motor systems only, she should be able to gain manual control. With luck, she could have the cab underway, with its tracking signal disabled, long before ‘assistance’ arrived.

She gingerly moved her snippers over the thin red power cable. They slipped from her nervous grasp.

‘Stupid clacking things!’

She scrabbled frantically about for them.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that! Did you say two hundred and thir—’

The voice cut off and the soft purr of the cab’s systems died. Tea-Leaf had salvaged the snippers and cut the cable. First stage completed.

Two minutes more and the rewiring was finished. As Tea-Leaf reconnected the power, the thrum of the tiny pod’s maglev motors kicked in again. But no more irritating voice.

Tea-Leaf yanked open part of the cab’s interior trim to reveal a small red-knobbed joystick. This was the manual control. It was usually only used by garage technicians to move the vehicle around when its systems were offline, during manufacture or repair.

Tea-Leaf clutched the joystick and tweaked it up and to the right. The cab disengaged from its drop-dock, rose half a metre above the ground and swung out into the street. She had control.

Almost an hour later, Tea-Leaf was crouching in the shadow of the looming rear wall of the West One Peace Keep. She had ditched the FabCab a few miles back. Her journey through the city’s west quarter had passed without mishap. But driving right up to the doorstep of a Corporation fortress wouldn’t have been very smart. She had covered the last two miles on foot, making full use of her suit’s amazing properties of camouflage and stealth.

Now that she was up close to the Keep, her great idea didn’t seem so great. Her aim was to get inside somehow, hack into the main computer control systems and find a way to override the containment field. Salt’s plan to sabotage the field generator was sound, but infiltrating the very heart of Decimal’s control centre was more direct – and more bold. Surely Salt and Rake would have to be impressed if she took out the field single-handedly.

But first she had to get in.

There was no entrance at ground level in this face of the Keep. But about ten metres above Tea-Leaf’s head, a small docking platform jutted out from the building’s sheer black wall. A narrow corridor led from it into the Keep.

Tea-Leaf peeled back the sleeves of thin film that covered each of her gauntlets’ fingertips. This exposed the high-grip pads beneath. She reached high with her right hand and pressed it against the wall. As she let her arm take her weight, the micro-pores in the fingertip pads held fast to the smooth surface.

She pulled herself up until her right shoulder was level with her gripping hand, then stretched even higher with the other. Again, it gripped powerfully. As she transferred her weight to this arm and relaxed the other, her right gauntlet’s fingertips released their hold.

Hand over hand, half a metre at a time, Tea-Leaf hauled herself up the sheer, glassy wall. She reached the platform and peered cautiously over its edge.

There was nobody in sight. Tea-Leaf was about to haul herself onto the platform when she felt a sudden rush of energy pulse through her chest. It was the Flow, coming from her medallion. It was warning her of something.

She took another peek over the balcony’s edge. This time she spotted it. A small silver dome was mounted in the ceiling of the corridor. It housed a set of tiny surveillance cameras. They were tirelessly scanning the corridor’s entrance.

Tea-Leaf clung to the platform with one hand. With the other, she swung her crossbow around from her back to her front. She snapped open one of its ammunition chambers and plucked something from inside. It was a tiny ball of sticky green gel, with an even tinier black dot at its very centre.

Tea-Leaf primed the bow then loaded the gel ball in place of its usual bolt. She raised the weapon awkwardly, with one hand, over the platform edge. She took aim and fired.

The missile hit the silver camera dome and stuck fast. Success. While the ball clung in place, its tiny magnetized core – the dark dot – would create enough interference to turn the camera’s output signal into meaningless fuzz. But the gel coating was designed to stick only temporarily. The pull of gravity would cause it to slowly peel away. When it finally released its grip, the ball would fall to the floor – at which point normal camera service would resume.

Security would hopefully dismiss the brief signal failure as a technical hiccup. Even if they did investigate, the tiny gel ball was likely to remain unnoticed, or even be squished underfoot, leaving no evidence of foul play.

Already, the sticky goo was beginning to peel away. Tea-Leaf had about a minute to get clear.

She swung herself up onto the platform and hurried into the corridor. There were bound to be more security cameras further along. She needed to get out of their field of view somehow – and quickly.

Looking up, she found what she was looking for. A cover panel in the ceiling. Using her high-grip gauntlets once more, she quickly scaled the corridor’s smooth wall and rattled the ceiling panel loose.

She pulled herself up and across into the cavity above the panel, then slid it back into place – only a split second before her goo-ball hit the floor.

Curled in the cramped, dark ceiling cavity, Tea-Leaf let out a long breath. She slipped her visor’s night-vision overlay into place – and felt an immediate rush of excitement. Things were working out better than she could have hoped. The cavity carried bundle upon bundle of computer cables. There was a good chance that one of them would let her connect to the Keep’s main network. She might be able to finish the job from here . . .

Tea-Leaf hurriedly slipped her roll-up keyboard from her suit’s leg compartment. She pulled out its magnetic hack-patch, wrapped it around the nearest cable bundle and set to work.