Walking on the Sun(Tek)

Game date: 3/4/2021

 It is not my fault that I was raised with classist blind spots.  In fact, my entire plan was based upon one of them.

We entered the building dressed in the uniforms of the cleaning crew.  The young ones drove their anthrodrones in, on the assumption that children in the crew might raise questions, and a few of us brought additional drones along.  This was the first time I felt safe enough to actually do so, with the new self-destructs installed.

I had gone to considerable trouble to research the cleaning schedules, and the locations of supply closets, so that we would appear to know what we were doing.  I knew where our target was: the R&D servers, which were kept way up on the executive level.  This might give you some idea of the pull that this department has within SunTek - many corps relegate their server rooms to a sub-basement, not next door to the CEO's suite.

As expected, no one paid us much notice during our trek through the building.  Not until we reached the top floor, and my fake IDs were insufficient to buzz us through, did we encounter anyone at all.  Class blindness.

Once there, we were faced with a locked door that my fake IDs were not likely to open.  Before making the attempt, we raided the supply closet.  While the rest of us pulled spare air filters for our cover story, Vamir perused the industrial cleaners, selecting a few that he assured me would create quite a vile stench once mixed.

The door did not open.  When I swiped my forged ID, the lock responded with the very distinctive "access denied" buzz.  A receptionist, still on duty at this late hour, spoke:  "We're not scheduled for cleaning today, think you've got the wrong floor."

Everyone left the talking to me, and I was feeling the pressure.  I tried to not let it show.  Clearing my throat, and deepening my voice, I said, "Got a work order for air filter replacement. Some kind of chemical spill."

A brief pause.   "I don't see anything in the system about that."

Well, frack.  Did I forget to insert it?  Silently, I asked Vamir to mix up some of his odor next to the door, while I corrected my oversight.  How to respond?  Way too many things to think about at once.  Ummm...  "It make no difference to me. I tell boss, they change tomorrow. Not my lungs."

One second...two...three...   "Oh, huh... There it is. Strange. Let me buzz you in, then..."

Once inside, she asked where the spill was.  I may have over-played the dumb routine, acting as if I couldn't pronounce "server room," but the receptionist didn't react to that so much as to the idea that there could be a hazardous spill in there.  Vamir's noxious mixture probably tipped the scales in our favor; she didn't argue when it hit her nose; just pointed the way.

Of course, I knew the way: right next to Daddy Dearest's offices.  The badge reader worked for us - probably a local override from the secretary's desk.  Vamir provided a fresh waft of decidedly un-fresh scent as we opened the door, and then we were in.  

Now, here's where I explain my remark about classist blindness.

See, I had intended to make this cover story work down to the last detail.  I had intended to get away clean, with our theft undiscovered until, at the earliest, the start of business.  So, even though the data chips were easily available, and no one was watching at this point, I had the drones start changing air filters anyway.  

But I've never actually changed an air filter in a secure data area.  I had no idea that removing a filter would set off an environmental alarm.  

At least, that's what I think what happened.  A brief alarm sounded as we were just getting started with everything.  It quickly stopped, and we heard the receptionist's voice speaking to ... someone.  What few words anyone could pick up sounded as if she was speaking about the filters, but for all I know, something else we did might have triggered it.  

What I knew at the time was this: Any alarm meant that we had limited time to finish up.  Scanning the roomful of drawers jam-packed with data chips, we quickly learned that they were sorted primarily by the dev's name, then by projects completed, in progress, and pending.  So we grabbed everything headed up by Lilian Day, and by Hugh Taylor, and I just hoped that would cover it.

Katrya wanted to skedaddle immediately.  I kind of wanted to try to get into Dad's private systems, and flirted with the temptation to extend our visit under the pretext of changing all the filters on the floor.  I gave in to pragmatism when the exec-sec took a second call inquiring about the alarm, staying just long enough to give a convincing-sounding explanation.

"Sorry about alarm," I said, dropping the articles in a poor approximation of street-talk.  "Happened when filters were pulled."  Then, as an "us-against-the-elites" comment:  "I think some coder spilled a drink and tried to clean it up himself."

You could almost see the LED light up over her her head.  "Oh, that'd do it, sure. Smartest people in the world, on a terminal, but ask them to clean up a spill..."

I nodded in solidarity  "Got a lot to do. You call if you need anything, okay?"  I gave her a number which looked real enough, but to the best of my knowledge wouldn't connect with anything.  At least, I sure hope it doesn't.  I also hope that she doesn't lose her job, but that's a rather bleak thought -- I know how things go around here.  

Then we rushed to the elevators, without looking like we were rushing to the elevators.  Cleaning cart and all.

Not one person wanted to take this ride all the way down.  We were all spooked by the alarms, and with good reason.  We figured that we would stop about halfway down and then make other plans.  Those other plans never saw fruition, because we hadn't descended much more than 40 floors before the elevator jerked to a stop.

I should have hijacked the security cameras, I thought.  Seems like I always forget something, and I resolved for the thousandth time to cut back on the caffeine and get more rest.  

Ryatt found two escape hatches while I attempted to regain control of the elevator.  I got far enough into the system to learn that I needed more time than we had to fight for that control, because Security was already at the doors 1/2 floor above us, forcing them open.  

Vamir surprised me with one of the spells he'd been working on.  He cast a mass invisibility, encompassing our entire group.  That granted a bit of relief.  I had Ryatt open the floor hatch, thinking that we could possibly use gravity hooks to lower ourselves to a different floor.  If we had enough gravity hooks to accommodate everyone.

The doors emitted a sorrowful groan as they were forced apart with a prybar.  Everyone pressed against the nearest lift wall.  Someone tossed a canister through the narrow opening.  We had just enough time to wonder what kind of grenade this was -- gas?  flash bang? -- as it arced gracefully from the doors above us, straight to the hatch on the floor, to the shaft below.

Scant moments later, we saw a scope peek through the doors.  It swiveled around, pulled back hastily, and a frantic voice wafted from above.  "They've gone out the lower hatch! Repeat, they have gone down! Check lower floors, keep teams on all exit levels!"  Footsteps hurried away.

Stifled giggles from the elevator.

With the exit levels under close surveillance, I made a slight alteration to our escape plan.  

First, I asked Vamir to extend his invisibility, which he had no trouble doing now that the heat was off.

Next, we peeked out of the open doors.  Two security drones had been left to stand sentry.  It was the work of a moment to override their protocols just enough to force them to look away long enough for the lot of us to climb out of the elevator and move to the stairway, where we proceeded to climb.  Not down, but up.  

Yes, we were headed back upward.  More than 40 floors upward, all the way to the rooftop.  I intended to estimate our chances of spanning the gap to another building, and call for the Crystal Pilot to swing by and pick us up.  Yes, that's just a tad conspicuous, but I really didn't like our chances of rappelling down the side of the building, and none of us had grav boots.  

Katrya just said, "Either way, I will likely go with Frank."

You suit yourself, I thought, but kept it to myself.  As I may have noted before, I cannot make that foxkin do anything she doesn't want to do.

This part of the story is one of those tedious things which never get shown in exciting holovids.  Climbing eight-six flights of stairs is not easy, not by a long shot, but except for a few brushes with the occasional lone security guard or night-shift worker taking a shortcut, it was tedious and uneventful.  I was glad to see it come to an end, and I hope to never have to repeat it.

Once we reached the roof, it was obvious that we were not going to easily get to another rooftop.  A tribute to my father's ego: it's one of the highest buildings in the city.  Only the Core and a couple of others top it, and none of the surrounding structures come close enough to safely jump across.  I'd resigned myself to calling for Ms. Blackthorn to risk picking us up where we stood, when one of the air conditioning units...revved.

Now, as I have said, I am not really a working class man.  Still even I know that this is not the kind of sound that an AC compressor normally produces.  I narrowed my eyes.  

"Good Frank," Katrya said, and the side of the compressor opened up, revealing the interior of a luxury-designed van-like vehicle.  With enough room for everyone.  

The entire group, drones included, piled into Katrya's tactical van, newly upgraded with chameleon coating and mag-grav lifters.  

We still made reservations at the Pilot though.  After a successful (and bloodless) mission like that, I thought we deserved it.

..::Kai::..