Stella drove into Silicon Canyon, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. She'd timed her arrival for an hour after her mother's departure.
I want nothing to do with that murderer.
She moved through the Telecommunications sector with purpose, entering the vast hall of the Camera and Location sub-sector. Dozens of workers and over a hundred proxy bots hummed with activity.
"Everyone, out," she announced, her voice cutting through the noise. "You're closed for the day."
"Ma'am, the night shift isn't for another five hours," a supervisor protested.
"I said now."
The authority in her tone brooked no argument. The workers scattered, leaving the bots behind.
Stella eyed the automated workforce. A mental command opened a channel to their central operator.
"Switch all bots to standby. Immediate execution."
"I… I need to confirm with Director Vex," a nervous voice replied.
"Do you recognize my authority?" Stella's voice was ice. "Carry out the order or you are fired."
A defeated sigh echoed in her ears. Across the hall, the bots powered down in unison.
I wish Gabriel were here. He was a paradox—fiercely loyal to her mother, yet always willing to help Stella with her clandestine projects. He would have done this without a word to Elara.
She didn't have time to dwell. She sprinted between the towering server racks, her fingers flying as she patched signals into a central hologram. The system had a five-minute initialization window. If she missed it, she'd have to start over.
She slammed the final connection into place with a second to spare, gasping for breath.
I need to get a Homo Deus system.
She collapsed into a chair and activated the switch in her hand.
A massive holographic projection flickered to life on the far wall.
The feed showed a young man with fiery red hair holding a detection wand, systematically sweeping a group of militants. In the background, a bizarre, pulsating vehicle stood against a haze of red fog.
Who is that? What the heck are they doing in the Red Zones?
She tried his B-Wax. No response. Again. Nothing.
Then the camera panned. Costain was there, stepping forward for his turn.
The cameras in the uniforms. A cold dread washed over her. I need to activate stealth mode. Now.
She was at the front of the hall. The stealth mode operator—a single, large sensitive pressure plate on a long square console—was at the very back. It was a sixty-meter dash; she'd never reach it in time.
On the screen, the wand passed over Costain's feet moving relentlessly toward his knee—where a tiny camera lens was embedded in the fabric.
She was too far away.
Stella's eyes locked on a diagnostic tool on a nearby table. She grabbed it, and hurled it end-over-end toward the distant console.
It was a desperate, hopeless shot.
On the hologram, the wand touched Costain's knee.
A deafening, blaring alarm shattered the silence of the hall.