Tyle’s smile was confident. “I’ve been thinking about that. There have been so few traces, and the G8Turing up here isn’t that slouchy. It was like the project networks were being accessed directly, physically—which is contrary to all the illegal file cracks I know; they’re always remote. I-heads access from as far away as possible with multiple random routing, so it takes time to trace and intercept. But up here, remote access would be risky; the G8Turing can monitor all the links back to Akitha. There are five portal doors that carry all the habitat’s digital traffic.”
“They’re doing this from inside the research lab?” Kandara said. “How did they get in there?”
“They didn’t.” Tyle’s smile was growing broader. The others in the office had all stopped working to look at hir from inside the cages of glowing hologram icons. “We don’t have a huge amount of security up here, but the critical areas are all covered with restricted systems the Bureau maintains. Someone cleared the standard coverage around the lab, but they didn’t know about the additional Bureau systems.” Sie pointed as a projection formed beside hir desk.
It was a standard digital services crypt, filled with row after row of equipment stacks—geometric galaxies of twinkling electronics encased in dark glass, altars devoid of worship. Except for the man walking along the narrow aisles, his stern features illuminated by diffuse blue lighting, a silver-white insulated coverall providing him with a little protection against the icy air.
Everyone watched him slide a glass panel open, exposing the tight-packed racks inside. He ran a hand down them, eyes shut as if he was communing with the systems. Kandara realized that in a way he was; his fingers must contain scanner peripherals, analyzing the racks. He stopped and slid one out, exposing the bundled optical cables along the side. What looked like a bar-code label was applied to the top of the electronics, then the rack was pushed back into place. He stood there for a minute, watching whatever graphics were being splashed across his tarsus lenses, before closing the glass cover.
Kandara pursed her lips. “Physical intrusion,” she said, almost admiringly. “That’s real old-school. You need a lot of balls to attempt that.”
“We’ve all got ’em,” Oistad said, grinning at Tyle, who groaned in dismay.
“Onysko’s vulnerable to that kind of operation,” Jessika said. “It was a smart move.”
“They analyzed your systems and found the weak spot,” Kandara said. “That’s a professional team. I don’t think they’ll be the fanatics; all they’re interested in is the money.”
“Here you go,” Jessika said. A projector above her desk was showing the man’s face, this time with a lazy smile. “Baylis Arntsen, a botanist from the University of Phoenix, on a two-year research exchange scheme; his specialty is developing the synthetic biology of desert flora. We have two habitats under construction scheduled for arid-climate biospheres.”
“Go back through all the restricted security files,” Kruse demanded. “Find out what else he’s done to our networks.”
“The Bureau’s G8Turings are running it now,” Tyle said.
They had to wait another ten minutes before the next sensor recording materialized; another man in a different services crypt. Identified as Nagato Fasan, immigrated to Akitha seventeen months earlier, an enthusiastic convert to the Utopial ethos. Then a woman, Niomi Mårtensson. According to her file she had a physics doctorate from München University—knowledge she was applying to build synthesizers to create organosilicon life. She was on secondment from a North African open-source research institute.
Jessika took one look at her thin face and nerdy pale hair. “Son of a bitch!”
“What?” Kruse asked.
“That’s Cancer!”
Kandara focused on Niomi Mårtensson’s bland image, ignoring the way her skin temperature seemed to have suddenly dropped a couple of degrees. “Are you sure?”
“Goddamn right I am. I spent a year working on a case when I was with Connexion, trying to track her. She’s changed her hair, and the eyes are a different color, but I know her.”
“Everyone, stop right now,” Kandara said abruptly. “Nobody is to ask any Turing for a check on Niomi Mårtensson. No file to be accessed, understand? Cancer will have loaded monitors into the network that’ll spot any reference to her.” She glanced around the office, half expecting to catch someone in the act of making a warning call.
“So what now?” Oistad asked cautiously.
Kandara turned to Kruse. “First, shut down all Onysko’s portal doors.”
“All?”
“Yes. Not just the pedestrian hubs back to Akitha and the other habitats; I want the cargo portals, too. Everything. We need to isolate her up here.”
“I’ll…ask.”
“No. That’s not good enough. Talk to someone—Jaru, or Emilja. Shit, both of them if you have to; whatever it takes, but get the authority without making a big deal of it. No committees, no standard procedures.”
Kruse gave a determined nod. “Okay. I’ll get it done.”