Page 104 of Coldwire
But this was intentional, undeniably. Someone already input my birthday into Threto’s security system, prepared for my entry here after I made the connection to Upsie’s error code.
“What is going on?” I whisper aloud.
The server room doesn’t answer me. I slink forward like a robber in daylight, convinced that someone is sure to see me despite the complete absence of employees nearby. An imaginary countdown hovers over my shoulder for as long as Kieren can keep the receptionist occupied, and I move through the machines, the blinking lights, the dust-covered wires.
The aisle ends briefly to offer a cross section. I look left. Right. There’s nothing of note, so I continue, hurrying along a new row. I pay no attention to the servers themselves, at a loss for what information could be stored within them. It’s not until I reach the very back of the room that I finally find something valuable: a desk in the corner.
There’s a jacket hanging on the chair.
I pull the chair quickly, its wheels squeaking in protest. The touch of suede crinkles underneath my fingertips—it’s a nice jacket, one that doesn’t seem like it should be left behind in a dark, windowless room. Even with a workstation installed here, I can’t imagine it would be pleasant to spend long amounts of time seated with only a lamp. I flick it on. No light. It’s not plugged in.
Instead, when I drop below the desk, thereisa disk reader plugged into the sole outlet, lying haphazardly on its side.
“Jackpot,” I hiss, yanking the disk reader out. I wind the cord around itself, my motions going fast enough to create a breeze that flutters my bangs off my face. With nowhere safer to put it, I shove it right into the waistband of my trousers, knowing it’ll be more secure there than in my shallow pockets.
I clamber up from the desk, dusting off my hands.
Then the door to the server room opens.
“Hello?”
I dive into one of the farther rows, silently mouthing every curse word I know. The footsteps head toward me, and I start to combine the bad words for more variations. Did they hear me moving around? I didn’t leaveany lights on, didn’t leave any visible sign of my presence. Unless the system is telling them otherwise, they shouldn’t know I’m here.
I drop down to my knees, opting to crawl in case my shoes make noise. I’m scurrying into the cross section just as I hear a footstep squeak into the aisle I was in. Then, a long silence. Whoever has entered the room has clearly heardsomethingand is eyeing all the aisles, suspicious.
I press up against the server rack, every muscle in my body frozen. The longest few beats of my life pass. I already have my chat box prepared, poised to type a message to Kieren to pull the fire alarm so I can get out.
Then the employee in the server room starts to whistle, the sound farther than the shoe squeak before. The metal racks groan, moving one of the aisles for server access.
I breathe out slowly, reaching forward again to get on my hands and knees. I crawl the remaining length to the door while the racks are shifting and, taking advantage of how the entrance has been left temporarily ajar, I slip through and burst back into the hallway.
My entire body is trembling. Adrenaline rushes through me, sweat coating the back of my neck to my waistband, where the disk reader is hiding, and somehow I force myself to look only lightly confused when I finish descending the stairs and return to the ground floor. At that very moment, Kieren emerges with the receptionist.
Sound has returned. Kieren is saying, “… problem should be all solved, I’ve wiped the installation. Lots of troublemakers these days, huh? The StrangeLoom system really needs to be stricter. If it were up to me, I’d forbid any personal controls.”
“Ridiculous,” the receptionist agrees. “I’m just glad we caught the problem before it could erupt at an inopportune time.”
Kieren turns, spotting me. “Ah! No trouble in the stairwell?”
“Nope,” I answer smoothly. “The blocker must not have extended far.”
“Good, good.” Kieren nods at the receptionist. “We’ll be out of your way now.”
When the receptionist turns, Kieren gives me a silent questioning glance, but I don’t dare respond to him yet. For as long as we haven’t departed the facility, I’m still afraid that the employee on the sixth floor is going to chase me down.
The receptionist shows us through the main doors. We wave, make empty promises that no more sound blockers will be coming to bother them. Outside, the parade is still going at full force.
“Ward?”
“Let’s find a quiet spot,” I say, walking down the steps. I’m already shedding my costume and taking off my hard hat. “Hurry.”
Incense wafts under my nose, thick, heady. The sticks burn from open tailgates, slow-moving trucks chugging along the parade path now. Picture frames decorate the truck beds, along with plates of oranges, bananas, apples, to make a spread. At some point the spectators started to throw flower petals, and I get a handful in my hair when we push through the crowd. Firecrackers echo down the road. I smell something rich. The next truck carries a whole roasted pig surrounded by small bowls of rice.
They’re so… happy. The parade is one mass funeral, but it is the chance to gather side by side without risk to their bodies, without fear of harm. I almost want to linger, pretend that I’m a part of it.
“Where are we going?” Kieren asks.
“Anywhere.” A kite drifts up from the other side of the parade. It snags in the air, catching the breeze wrong. One of its decorative ribbons detaches. “We just need to be out of view.”
