The lock itself appeared to be physically no more than a small red light on the smooth surface of the door. Its voice came from the link speakers by Tal’s desk. Adrian found himself turning to the speakers when he talked, which irritated him. He turned to them again now. “Are there any circumstances under which it can be overridden?”
“I’m very sorree! I am only a minor technical device,” said the lock. “Questions may be addressed to my governing security program, named Center.”
“Center!” called Adrian.
“May I assist you?” said a deeper, more confident voice. “My framework is Empire-designed, by Katroe Venderhof of Deal. My subprograms are completely flexible, and may be redesigned and customized by any intelligent user skilled up to Level 23 in security technicals.”
“Thank you,” said Adrian politely. “Perhaps we’ll create something at a later time. Right now, we’d like to do something about the lock on the vault in this room. Can we reset the time for it to open?”
“Allow me to investigate. —No. My subprogram, named ‘Morgue,’ informs me that it is not authorized to i allow any such thing, and will resist it most severely.” Adrian had started pacing again. “Mmm. Well, I suppose there’s no reason we can’t bypass the lock and go in with brute force and metal cutters.”
Keylinn said, “… Maybe.”
He pursed his lips. “Center, could you rephrase my last remark as a question and give a reply?”
“A scenario as you describe would have a point oh-oh-oh-one chance of success. Highest probability would result in three explosive devices going off, killing all life outside the vault within a fifty-meter area.”
Adrian rubbed his forehead with the heel of one hand, closing his eyes. “He always has to be so bloody efficient,” she heard him mutter.
Iolanthe had been sitting in Tal’s desk chair. She got up now and put her hand on her husband’s. “Perhaps,” she said forcefully, “it’s time that we found a little help.”
“Yes,” agreed Adrian. He turned to Keylinn. “Tech Gray, this is your project: Call Baret Station and have them send over an expert in technical security.”
“Yes, sir.”
Adrian headed for the door. “My reputation will be in ragged strips if Pearl declares my crown a forgery. Let me point out that if my hopes and dreams go down the recycler, so do the lives of those less comfortably placed on the Diamond. Like Outsider techs and nonhumans.”
“Yes, sir, I had already made the connection.”
He paused and said more gently, “Yes, of course you had. Please continue, Miss Gray, and any ideas you may have on this subject, I’ll be happy to listen to.” He turned at the door to let Iolanthe precede him. “And keep trying to get through to Tal. When you do, tell our demon that he’d better retrieve this fiasco, or I’ll send him straight back to hell.”
Chapter 45
In the interests of “containment,” it was Spider and Keylinn who met the security freelancer coming over from Baret Station. Adrian didn’t want any more people involved in this than could possibly be helped.
“Jesus,” said Spider, when he saw their expert.
She was perhaps sixteen years old, with very long blonde hair tied back in a knot and a pony tail. She didn’t just have a station tattoo, she had dozens of them—all over her body. Which you could see. Because, as Spider noted, she wasn’t wearing anything. She stepped across the Transport deck with the grace of an athlete. That was an augmented body, or Keylinn was a two-headed bonz dancer.
“Freelancers,” muttered Keylinn. Augmented body, tattoos of rank and achievement—clearly their expert had every intention of trailing her skin, like a professional calling card, past all potential customers.
“Urp,” said Spider, staring. Then he pulled himself together and said, “We can’t take her through the city like that.”
Keylinn stepped forward. “Cirrus?” she asked.
The girl turned and walked toward them. “Cyr Gray, Cyr Hastings?”
Keylinn was peeling off her jacket. “Here, they won’t let you into the city otherwise.” She handed it to Cirrus, who looked at it unhappily.
“I don’t like clothes.”
“I hope you don’t like money either, because the clothes go with the job.”
Cirrus made a face and put the jacket on awkwardly. It just covered her torso, but left her legs almost totally visible.
“They’ll have a stroke,” said Spider. “We’ll all get arrested.”
“Wait,” said Keylinn. She found an off-duty worker who was wearing a cape and brought it back to Cirrus. “Put it around like a skirt and I’ll pin it.”
Cirrus said, “Are you people joking with me?”
“You knew you were coming to a strange place when you took the commission.”
Their expert grumbled, “I thought I’d be working with the relatively normal part of the population.” She draped the cape over her hips and Keylinn pulled it straight and pinned it closed.
Keylinn said, “This is the Diamond. There is no normal part of the population.”
They brought her to Tal’s office and stood her in front of the vault. She looked at it blankly. “What’s this?”
“It’s the door you’re supposed to open,” said Spider, who was getting the hang of her accent now.
She stared another minute, then started to laugh. “Children, children,” she said. “Take me to your computer. It’s the program I have to talk to, not the door.”
Freelancers, thought Keylinn.
Obnoxious twit, thought Spider.
They sat her down at Tal’s link. “Is this one okay,” asked Keylinn, “or do you need another one? This is the access point the program was probably customized through.”
“Ummm. I may want a different one later. We’ll stay here for now. What’s my time limit?”
“Nine hours. We can stretch it to twelve, but we’ll all feel better with nine.” Keylinn sat on the couch.
Cirrus scratched her nose unhappily. “Uh, you’re not going to stay here, are you? I can’t work with other people in the room.”
Keylinn sighed. She said, “Come on, Spider,” and they went into the back office.
Three hours and twenty-seven minutes later Cirrus came in to see
