This morning my senior supervising officer called the university and informed them that instead of reporting to work, I was to report to him. Whatever fog remained in my mind burned off instantly. My sentence was about to change.

  When I dragged myself once more into the Bear’s lair at the police department, he informed me that I had been assigned a new duty within the framework of my suspended sentence. Despite his unwaveringly even tone, I felt as though I were being led out onto very thin ice - ice just waiting for the right moment to crack.

  I was granted the day free, and in the evening a car would arrive for me. The Bear courteously provided the license plate number. At the appointed hour, I went downstairs and discovered my ankle bracelet deactivated. A taxi was waiting. It delivered me to a building the color of Spanish chocolate.

  The Bear met me on the steps. Standing above me, he seemed an outright giant looming in the dusk.

  “Se?or Boonie.”

  His English limped badly; I became Boonie instead of Boone. But since he had deigned to conduct a civilized conversation, I decided not to bristle.

  “Officer Mendes.”

  To conceal my trembling jaw, I pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

  “How may I assist justice - and myself - on this warm evening?”

  One of the wardrobes in the expensive suits murmured that smoking inside was prohibited. I made them wait while I finished and flicked away the butt.

  Heavy doors led into a vestibule a few meters deep, sealed by identical doors on the other side. Beneath a dim lamp, the Bear condescended to explain the matter.

  “In this building is located one of the computing centers… of the local municipality, one of SaBra’s districts. The building is equipped with information storage systems, management and cooling systems, as is standard in data centers. It is connected to other… similar institutions by fiber-optic network. The data stored here are the property of the municipality, the government of SaBra, and certain… contractors.”

  I did not like those pauses. I doubted he was searching for English vocabulary.

  “Approximately twenty-four hours ago, an unknown perpetrator - possibly more than one - entered the building and removed several hard drives containing data.”

  Another long pause.

  “We need to determine what data were taken. We hope the perpetrator did not have time to prepare and was limited in his time inside the building. We assume he removed empty drives or ones containing insignificant information. That is what you must determine.”

  The white threads in Officer Jean Paulo Rodrigues Mendes’s stitching were sticking out in every direction.

  After steadying myself, I spoke.

  “I have a few questions.”

  “And what are they?” He wrinkled his nose.

  “In a building like this, there should be an employee with appropriate clearance and qualifications. Why didn’t you call him?”

  He jutted out his chin.

  “The municipality has a shortage of such employees. Each services several buildings. During the incident, the on-duty technician was at another facility.”

  Your princess is in another castle, Mario.

  He had dodged the question - again. He still hadn’t explained why they hadn’t summoned that technician now instead of me. I hoped they weren’t planning to snap my neck and toss me into the Amazon after I’d done their work.

  “And access to the systems?” I asked. “That would make it easier for me to help you.”

  “Service terminals are unlocked. You have all the access we can provide within the framework of this matter.”

  I nodded, trying to look braver than I felt.

  Behind the inner double doors lay an entire Emerald City.

  At the entrance stood a long counter - presumably the technician’s workstation - and beyond it the vast hall, dimly lit by economical lamps, was lined with desks and terminals.

  In that moment I understood what a sailor feels in a brothel.

  I hadn’t been online in nearly six months.

  The Bear and his wooden soldiers remained at the entrance while I moved through the hall, inspecting terminal after terminal. Someone competent had already launched diagnostics on each. All was in order - except Projects 331 and 335, which signaled storage unavailability. I reported this.

  A spiral staircase in the center of the hall led to the second floor. I climbed it and found myself among server racks, partially filled with hard drives.

  For me, it was like coming home.

  Green lights blinked on network switches. Wandering between the racks, brushing my fingers along their grated sides, I felt my spirits rise. My troubles now seemed trivial. I would easily find what was missing, render this underground favor to the officer - and in exchange request a reduction of my sentence or permission to access the network occasionally. That would grant me more freedom. More opportunities…

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  Lost in such thoughts, I did indeed find the gutted racks.

  Hard drives had been removed and lay scattered on the floor. Contact ribbons neatly detached. I counted them.

  Nothing was missing.

  The ice cracked again beneath my feet.

  What game was Mendes - or those behind him - playing?

  Glancing around nervously, I noticed a patch of yellow light from above. Another small spiral staircase.

  Careful not to disturb anything, I climbed to a third level.

  There was a small room there - almost residential, though poorly lit. A table with jars and bottles. A water cooler. A wardrobe. Even a jute rug on the floor.

  Turning slightly, I saw a desk.

  Behind it sat… a Gray.

  I had never paid much attention to information about them. But, truthfully, I had never seen a Gray sitting before. And instead of the ridiculous spandex - tight suits, he wore a cotton shirt and shorts clearly tailored for him.

  On the desk stood a strange laptop encased in bulky metal housing. Bundles of fiber-optic cables ran from it into the floor. The Gray was typing, awkwardly prodding the keys with long, thin fingers.

  He turned his alien face toward me. His small mouth twisted.

  My eyes bulged.

  “Excuse me!” I croaked -

  - and tumbled back down the spiral staircase.

  The situation had become far too tangled. I wanted to be as far away as possible, as soon as possible. Let them keep their “preferences.” I’d even go back to Fish-Eye and haul her folders for the rest of the year - or scrub sidewalks with shampoo.

  With that in mind, I hurried to the first floor.

  No one.

  Empty.

  To hell with it. My bracelet was still deactivated. I could walk out calmly and dissolve into the dark. Underground specialists would remove the electronic shackles. Smugglers would get me across a border…

  I strode toward the exit.

  The doors burst open.

  Officer Mendes stormed in, drawing the pistol from his shoulder holster. I opened my mouth to shout and demand what the hell was happening. He opened his, turning sideways toward the door - apparently to issue an order and fire simultaneously.

  Then everything went to pieces.

  The doors slammed open again.

  Something flew in - something that, in the cold diffused light of the ceiling lamps, I saw only as a blurred smear. It shot past my supervisor, vaulted over the entrance counter, and barreled toward me, dragging a curved arc of blood through the air.

  The blood came from the policeman’s side. A faint smell of wet, sticky copper and iron filled the air.

  A black-red gash stretched from his right armpit to mid-chest. His gun arm folded, limp as cloth. His mouth, still open to shout, twisted grotesquely. He collapsed behind the counter.

  My attention was already on the blur racing toward me.

  When it had only a couple of desks left to clear, I dove sideways and rolled across the floor. Something struck my legs, leaving me temporarily lame.

  Warmth spread down my pants.

  I scrambled up and limped toward the spiral staircase as fast as I could. Climbing like a monkey, clutching with all limbs, wheezing, glancing back, I reached the second floor.

  Hiding in a labyrinth from something that kills without hesitation is madness.

  I sprinted for the stair to the third floor - the Gray’s room. Maybe he had a laser blaster. A death ray. Maybe we could hold off the killer together.

  Using the last of my strength, I crawled up the narrow stairs, slammed the hatch closed, and shoved the wardrobe over it. Leaning against it, gasping, vision swimming blue...

  The Gray had leapt from behind his desk.

  His mouth contorted. His thin chest heaved. Four-fingered hands stretched toward me.

  Was he about to strangle me? Claw my eyes out?

  I tried a placating gesture but couldn’t catch my breath.

  Then came a heavy blow against the hatch from below. It shook me and the wardrobe, but the hatch held.

  Hope the damn thing breaks all its bones, I thought.

  If it has bones.

  That absurd thought steadied me.

  “Listen, se?or… friend…” I rasped. “Do you understand any of our languages?”

  The alien took another couple of steps toward me, arms still extended, emitting a guttural, grinding sound.

  He was furious.

  Then - he collapsed backward.

  Gasping. Foam at his mouth. Scratching at his chest.

  I froze.

  The convulsions subsided. The thin gray body went still.

  Shock washed over me. I didn’t know whether to help him or run. I didn’t even know what helping meant.

  Too much stress for one evening.

  After a moment, I realized the Gray was not moving. No one battered the hatch below.

  It didn’t even occur to me that the blurred attacker might be lying in ambush.

  I stood.

  My leg ached.

  Looking down, I saw my ankle bracelet shattered.

  The shackles that had kept me under relentless control for half a year - destroyed.

  My leg, by some miracle, was intact.

  A foolish, irrational joy seized me.

  I’m free.

  I have to run.

  Since the bracelet had been deactivated by the officer, I had a window before anyone came looking. I just had to ensure I could exit the building unhindered.

  They’ll never see me again.

  The strange laptop drew my eye.

  I shook the Gray’s thin shoulder. No response.

  Circling the body, I glanced at the screen. Split in two - one half filled with unfamiliar symbols, the other with scientific gibberish that might have been English or Latin.

  Decisively, I disconnected the cables, closed the laptop, snapped its latches shut, and headed out.

  Carefully, I descended to the first floor.

  Whatever awaited, lingering was more dangerous.

  I stepped around the counter and looked at the fallen officer. Cold already.

  Careful, Archie. Don’t step in the blood. Don’t leave prints.

  Goodbye, Bear. You caused me no small amount of suffering.

  Outside on the steps lay the two heavyset men - one with his face and neck split open, the other with his chest pierced. Blood pooled around them. They too had tried to draw their guns.

  Whoever killed them - I don’t want to meet him. Not even behind bulletproof glass and a squad of Marines.

  No. Move.

  But where?

  The laptop dragged at my arm.

  Who can help me?

  Then it struck me.

  Diana.

  She’s the only one I trust enough - and we have our private panic protocol. We both occasionally worked in dangerous environments. We both might need a place to lie low for a few days. We invested in that system. Once a year, it proved useful.

  Now I’m saved.

  But I needed a phone.

  Hoping the nearly fallen night would conceal me - or that people would prefer not to notice - I searched the pockets of the heavyset men.

  Empty.

  No wallets. No phones. Only IDs.

  “SaBra Municipal Courier Service.”

  Inventive.

  Desperate, I returned to the Bear.

  Careful not to smear myself, I checked the intact side of his jacket.

  Luck.

  His phone was off. In a hidden pocket - fifty dollars in cash. A stash from his wife?

  His bank cards were smeared with blood. Using them would be like waving a flashlight and shouting, *I’m here!*

  I didn’t dare use his phone.

  Making sure I wasn’t bloodstained, I grabbed the laptop, limped to the nearest intersection, bought a disposable phone for ten bucks, and flagged a taxi.

  While riding, I dialed the exchange number, then the short emergency code, said “SaBra,” and - after forty seconds of dread - heard an address recited in a mechanical voice.

  Part of Diana’s and my agreement.

  I gave the address to the driver, tossed the phone out the window, and exhaled.

  When we arrived, I paid with what money remained, climbed to the apartment, and locked the door.

  My knees trembled.

  I need a shower. Fresh clothes. And to contact Diana.

  This laptop will interest her too.

  Whatever this was, it was worth killing for. And I had just stolen it.

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