Page 103 of Coldwire
“In any case, we’ll certainly make sure this threat is sorted out for you,” I assure. “May we?”
The receptionist returns to her desk and gestures for us to proceed. The light on one of the lobby turnstiles switches from red to green, and I push through. Kieren follows suit.
He makes a show out of looking at the white walls when the corridor starts, and we proceed past the receptionist. Exposed wires run around the entryways and atop the carpeting.
“If Chung had a workstation here,” he murmurs under his breath, “it’s either on the ground floor or the sixth.”
As though triggered by his words, my display suddenly shifts, activating augmented help that Kam set up. I already gave it permission from Upsie’s facility, so this time there’s no warning before a bright pink arrow bleeds along the flooring and points to the door at the end. Another fainter arrow splits off from it, leading up the stairwell. The two server rooms under Chung’s supervision.
“You know how we lied about a sound blocker?” I ask slowly.
Kieren gives me a sharp look, instantly knowing where my thoughts are going. “Forget it.”
“Mr. Elite Cyber Division,” I say. “I know you know how to apply it.”
“I’m not our hypothetical terrorist—I don’t know how to plant one somewhere,” he hisses. “The only thing I can do is give it to myself on my own avatar panel, and it would probably extend a six-foot radius. No one is going to buy it.”
“They will. Meanwhile you open this door”—I point to the one closest to us—“and have a look. I’ll use the distraction to check the sixth floor.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?”
Each of the server doors has a badge scan and then a passcode to activate the lock. Double-layered security.
“Excuse me, ma’am!” I call, getting the receptionist’s attention.
“Lia.”
Her chair rustles loudly at the front. Seconds later, the turnstile chimes when she pushes through and appears within view. “Yes?”
“We’ve found a blocker, unfortunately. It appears to be in here,” I say casually, pointing at the server room door. “Any chance you can let us through?”
“You can’t shut it off from out here?”
“We’ll need to get a good look at its installation point,” I say, completely making it up on the fly. “You see—”
My voice cuts out. I’m genuinely surprised when my mouth keeps moving without volume, all of my words muted in range of an active sound blocker. The receptionist’s eyes widen, concerned. As she strolls toward us, her mouth moving and clearly venting her annoyances, I mime that I need to see what exactly is going on overhead and dash into the stairwell before she can say anything.
If Kieren can convince the receptionist to open the server room down here, it should distract her for a few minutes. Long enough to allow my snooping on the sixth floor.
I clatter up the stairs, putting all my vigor into my steps before sound snaps back on the fourth floor. I grimace, then quiet my footfall, hurrying up the next two flights of stairs.
Sixth floor. It seems no employees are around. Upcountry is usually only for appearance’s sake when it comes to this line of work.
The arrow takes me to the first door within view, plain black with a numeric keypad lock. Out of sheer delusion, I try the handle. It doesn’t budge. That was a long shot.
Still, with the action, a small notification has appeared at the corner of my display. I hurry to enlarge it, remembering the mysterious banners that appeared when I touched the smart key. This one is only a generic pop-up.
Error#z27LxQAwx4jDEw: Access denied. Please enter your personalized code.
I step away from the door, not wanting to trigger any suspicion in the system. My hands flex. I’m scrambling to think. I don’t have much longer up here.
Wait a second. I touch the door again, letting the banner appear in warning once more.Error#z27LxQAwx4jDEw.Wasn’t that the exact sequence that appeared on Upsie’s door too? There, the third option to open the door had been left behind on a user level, offering it as a choice that only I could access. So if this is the very same error, and it requires a personalized code…
I start to type: 2040-07-01.
The lock beeps. And the door opens.
I step into the servers’ choral hum, shutting the door behind me quickly. My heart is hammering against my ribs. I need to control myself or my display is going to wonder if we need help. Mybirthdaygot me through the door into Chung’s workspace. I might have written off Upsie’s lock as a glitch in the system, some identification protocol that required its virtual options to display the user ID of anyone who tried to get in.
