Drake leads us through a maze of corridors, taking turns that seem random but clearly aren’t. He knows this place inside and out.
My shoulder and back throb in time with my heartbeat, and my leg feels like someone’s driving a hot spike through it. In other words, I’m starting to feel much better…thankfully.
Finally, Drake stops at an unmarked door near the end of a hallway. He tries the handle, but it’s locked. Then he knocks.
“It’s me,” he says in a gruff voice.
The door opens a crack, and a face peers out. This must be Vulcan. He’s about my age, with dark hair and sharp, intelligent eyes that take in our injuries in a single glance.
“Drake…buddy.” The male’s expression shifts from cautious to concerned. “You look like shit, bro. Becca here says you’ve been through the wringer.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
The male steps back, pulling the door open. “Come in, come in…all of you.”
We file inside, and Vulcan locks the door behind us.
“Damn.” Vulcan whistles low as he looks us over more carefully. “The two of you look like you went ten rounds with a thresher.”
His office is extra-large, easily three times the size of a normal executive office. Every available surface is covered with computer equipment. Multiple monitors line one wall, displaying various data streams and code I don’t understand. Cables snake across the floor like some kind of technological jungle. The windows are completely blacked out. The air hums with the sound of cooling fans and hard drives.
In the corner, Becca sits perched on a desk chair, still in her leather flight gear.
She looks up as we enter and smiles. “Glad you finally made it to the party. Jake, Mist, and Shimmer had to go. It’s just Vulcan and me.”
“It took a little longer than expected. We had to take a couple of interesting side roads to avoid checkpoints,” Drake says.
“Hi, again.” Wren waves at Becca. “Thanks for helping us out.”
“No problem.” Becca smiles again.
“Hi, Becca.” I nod at her.
“Hi, Grim,” she replies. “You look a little better.”
“This is better?” Vulcan laughs. “Holy shit! I’m glad I’m a keyboard warrior and not an actual warrior.” He pulls out chairs for us. “Sit, sit. Before you fall over.”
“I’ll live.” Drake lowers himself into a chair with a grimace. “Did you get the phone from Becca?”
Wren sits next to Drake, her eyes on Vulcan.
I do the same, sitting on the edge of my chair.
“I did.” Vulcan moves to one of his workstations, where the cracked phone sits connected to a series of cables and adapters. “I’m in the final stages now. Extracting data from damaged hardware is always a crapshoot, especially with this level of physical trauma. I’m afraid I’m seeing signs of internal component separation.”
“In English,” I say.
Vulcan glances over his shoulder, grinning. “It’s fifty-fifty whether I can get anything off this thing.”
“Fifty-fifty,” Wren repeats. “I don’t like those odds.”
“Fingers crossed,” Vulcan says, turning back to his screens. He types on one of the many keyboards on his desk. “If the NAND flash memory isn’t physically destroyed, I should be able to pull the data. But if the memory controller is fried or if there’s damage to the actual storage chips…” He trails off with a shrug.
Drake leans forward despite the obvious pain it causes him. “How much longer?”
“Hard to say. Could be minutes…could be an hour or two.” Vulcan doesn’t look away from his screen. “You know you’re wanted, right? That the Mainland issued a warrant for your arrest not ten minutes ago?”
Drake’s head snaps up. “What? Although I suppose it makes sense.”
