“Hey, I bet you ten credits the other two officers who are going to volunteer are Niall and Elese,” he calls as I reach the door.
“Sorry, but Ara Lawrence has no credits.” I checked.
“Payday is every thirty days. It won’t be long until you have credits.”
“I get paid?”
“Why are you surprised? Didn’t your mom pay you when you helped reconstruct broken Warriors?”
“Yeah, but— Wait.” I turn back. “Did you get paid? If Jarren’s been blocking us for the last…” I do a quick calculation. “Fifty-four days, then wouldn’t DES stop paying you? Especially since they think we’re all dead.”
“They won’t stop payments until our deaths are confirmed. I’m sure everyone who worked on Xinji is still earning credits. Once DES proves their deaths beyond a doubt, the payments will stop and all their income will be distributed to their next of kin.” Beau’s gaze grows distant and little crinkles spread on his forehead—his thinking face. “I didn’t notice a missed payment.”
Interesting. “If Jarren is allowing the payment notices through his blockade, then maybe we can use that point of entry to get a message to DES when the next deposit is made.”
“The timing would have to be exact. It’d be difficult to do.”
“For us, but not for the Q-net. When is the next payment?”
“Day two hundred and ten. That gives us seventeen days to find another way through, but, if we’re desperate, getting one message out will be better than none.” He grins. “Until then, I can spot you ten credits for that bet about who’s going to volunteer for the Pit 21 mission.”
“No deal.”
“Aww. You’re no fun.”
“We might be fighting shadow-blobs in 21. That’s fun.”
“No,” Beau says, rubbing his stomach. “That’s revenge.”
It’s nineteen hundred by the time I arrive back at Radcliff’s unit. Niall’s sound asleep on the couch. I pause next to him, drinking in his peaceful expression—a rare sight. The desire to stroke his cheek and smooth his hair propels me to reach out. But I stop. Poor guy’s exhausted. I tiptoe past and join Radcliff in the kitchen.
He’s rummaging in the fridge, removing containers. “Leftovers tonight.”
I sort through them, pick out chicken pot pie and heat it up. Radcliff does the same and soon we’re sitting at the table in companionable silence.
When we finish, Radcliff leans back and asks, “Can you really alter the satellite feeds so Jarren doesn’t see the team in the desert?”
“Yes, and I have an idea about how you can save time.”
“I’m listening.”
I tell him about using the Q-net instead of his officers to monitor the base. “I can set it up. It won’t take long.”
He taps his fingers on the table as he considers my idea. “It’s a big risk. Jarren’s people could modify the camera feeds at any time. I’m not sure we’d survive another surprise attack.”
“We’re already taking the risk. Jarren’s people are good enough that even with an officer watching the feeds, he or she won’t even see the change. Think about it, that’s what happened before.”
Radcliff stills. Not a good sign.
I continue. “It’s a dilemma, I know. We can’t rely on the Q-net because of Jarren, but we have to rely on it because you don’t have enough people to secure the base. Now we know he’s blocking us, but he thinks we’re still clueless. The advantage is ours. We can be super subtle and set up a series of alarms that he won’t be searching for. If he tampers with the feeds, we’ll know.”
“And you and Dorey can do this on his terminals?”
“Yes.”
“How? That’s deep level programming.”
I start to explain about weaving the programming into the existing protocols.
“That’s not what I meant. When I asked you to search for the missing Xinji files, you needed to use the terminal in the Control Center.”
“I’m…” Terrible at lying. So for the second time, I explain about my new worming abilities. His stony expression and rigid posture mean one thing.
“I already got a lecture from Beau.” Then I add about my promise to alert my parents about any troubling symptoms. Still no response. “At least let me tweak the cameras before you tell my parents. You know they’ll freak and forbid me to use the Q-net until I have my brain scanned.” Again. Which will find nothing wrong. Again. I sigh. It’s my brain, it should be my decision.
“You’ll lose a valuable resource,” Niall says from the doorway.