Two weeks settling into his newly arranged job as a security guard at CST’s Anshun starship complex. Two boring weeks staying in character while he learned the layout, the schedules, the hardware that CST used. Getting on nodding terms with the technical teams putting the starship together. Sharing a laugh with his new colleagues about the hundreds of overeager hopefuls who arrived every day for their final stage crew interviews and assessments. Actually catching a glimpse of Nigel Sheldon himself, surrounded by his entourage of aides.

Two weeks and he still had no idea why he was here. He couldn’t work out who was opposed to CST, unless it was some kind of Earth Grand Family conflict—who knew what those rich weirdos would do to each other to gain an advantage.

Then this morning just before breakfast he received an encrypted message from his agent. Rob used the key he’d been given, and slim green text opened up across his virtual vision. His mug of breakfast coffee grew cold as he read and reread the briefing with its precise instructions and timings. Finally, he looked up at the apartment’s ceiling and groaned, “Oh, bloody hell.” That was it, he really wasn’t likely to survive the day, despite the last text section that detailed extraction routes.

He stuck to the routine he’d established, and took a city metro out to the CST planetary station. From there he caught one of the staff buses that spent the day trundling back and forth over the wasteland of the station yard to the starship complex. Along with the other security guards he arrived at the locker room twenty minutes before shift started so he could change into his uniform. This time, he took longer than usual, waiting until the room was nearly empty. When there were only two others left, he went over to the locker specified in the briefing. The code pattern in his thumb OCtattoo opened it. A simple utility belt was inside, identical to the one he was wearing. He swapped the pair of them around, and closed the locker before leaving.

His shift began at eight-thirty, and he was at the main gatehouse on time, one of three guards to be stationed there. The first person through was Wilson Kime. Rob saluted as the gate opened for the captain’s car. It was about the most physical part of his duty. The three guards in the gatehouse were responsible for monitoring the perimeter with its six-meter fence and patrolling guardbots. Hundreds of sensors were strung out along the fence, along with dozens more scattered across the surrounding land. Nothing could get close without security knowing. All the guards had to do was run random second-level verification scans on personnel and check visitor vehicles.

At ten-thirty, Rob said, “I’m going for a break, back in twenty.” He left the gatehouse, and walked back to the main complex buildings over the newly mowed grass. The air was as humid as ever, making him wipe perspiration from his brow.

Once he was inside, he made straight for the gateway section. The control room was on the lower of the building’s three sublevels. Another security guard and a building maintenance tech were waiting in the lift. His e-butler swapped IFF codes with them, confirming they were all part of the mission. They gave each other tense looks, judging what they saw, wondering if one of them didn’t have what it took.

A timer in Rob’s virtual vision counted down the seconds until ten forty-seven. “Right,” he said, and touched the button for the lower level. “Anyone want out, you’re too late.” The lift doors slid shut, and they began their descent to sublevel three. Rob opened his holster and took out the ion pistol, checking its charge level. It looked the same as the one he’d been issued with, the difference was that the security network couldn’t disable it as it could all the others, a precaution in case a guard ever went “rogue.”

“Put it away,” the maintenance tech said, he gave his eyes a warning flick toward the lift’s sensor.

Rob showed him a disdainful glance, just to prove he wasn’t taking orders, and slipped the weapon back. “You got the door?”

“Door and gateway network hold-down,” the tech said. “You?”

“We make sure you don’t get interrupted.” Rob and the other guard exchanged a glance.

“Okay then.”

The lift opened onto a short corridor. There were two doors on either side, and one at the far end.

The tech took a small array out of his tool kit, and placed it over the lift controls. “Neutralized,” he confirmed.

Rob slipped the first remote charge from a pouch on his utility belt. The little unit was a simple square of black plastic, the size of his palm, a centimeter deep. He pushed it against the ceiling, and instructed his e-butler to load the activation code. The e-butler acknowledged the charge switching to armed status, and Rob pulled his hand down. The remote charge stayed in place. Its casing slowly changed color, matching the lift’s ceiling tiles.

The maintenance tech led the way down the corridor to the big door at the end, struggling to carry his heavy tool kit bag. He held another array over the lock panel. Rob took his ion pistol out again, slipping the safety off. His timer showed him they were perfectly on schedule. The door slid open. They hurried inside.

The gateway control room was nothing like the center used for interstellar exploratory work. This was a simple box ten meters on each side, full of consoles, with glass-walled management offices along one side, all of them currently dark and unoccupied. Eight people were working the shift, sitting behind the consoles to monitor the huge assemblage of machinery that was buried in its own cavern beyond the control room. Three giant high-rez portals on the wall opposite the offices revealed the gateway’s status with dense three-dimensional graphic displays.

Heads came up to frown at the intruders. Right on schedule Rob’s e-butler reported that its interface with the cybersphere had just dropped out; kaos software was infiltrating all the local nodes.

“Everybody be quiet and stay calm,” the other guard said. “Keep your hands where we can see them, and please don’t do anything stupid.”

One of the console operators stood up, giving Rob an incredulous stare. “What the hell is going on? Is something wrong?”

Rob shot the ceiling above him, with the pistol on minimum charge. The manager got out a short animal screech as sharp splinters of the polyphoto strip came crashing down around him, trailing thin wisps of smoke. An alarm started to shrill loudly.

“You were told to shut up,” Rob shouted above the noise. Frightened faces stared at him. Hands were being held high in the air.

“Shit, man!” The tech was staring at the fallen manager, who was still crouched down on the floor, arms over his head, shaking badly.

“Do your job,” Rob snapped back at him.

He nodded with a fast jerk, and pressed the button to close the door.

“What?” The other guard shot the alarm, killing the sound.

“Thank you,” Rob said.

“You lot,” the tech shouted at the managers. “Get away from the consoles.”

Rob and the other guard waved their pistols meaningfully, shepherding the managers over to the glass wall. They were made to crouch down. “Joanne Bilheimer,” Rob called. “Front and center, now.”

One of the women looked up fearfully. “I’m Joanne. What do you want?”

“Up.” Rob beckoned with all four fingers. He pointed to the console marked Chief of Operations. “Secure this room, activate level three isolation.”

“I…” She gave his pistol a frightened glance. “I’m not…”

“Please,” he said. “Don’t give me any bullshit about not having the authority. And you really don’t want to make me start issuing threats, because I’ll carry them out. Now, level three?”

“I can’t interface. Something’s contaminating the console nodes.”

Rob smiled pleasantly. “That’s why CST provided you with a backup manual system as well.”