Chapter 6: The wormhole not taken

<<Alright, Graham, put on your finery and meet me over here.>> Elan comms.

//They would expect a call in advance// Graham points out. //Office etiquette dictates scheduling an appointment.//

<<I don't want to give them the opportunity to say no>> Elan responds. <<If they have something that someone wants to steal then they might be security-conscious, or they might be shady themselves. We need the element of surprise.>>

Graham shows up with a suit and whatever accoutrements a businessperson could be expected to carry.

"Looking for a bookkeeper for STEGO," Elan says to get their story straight. "You do the talking; I'll do the looking. Who knows? Maybe we get lucky and actually find a bookkeeper, eh? One stone, two birds."

And with that they try the door of Peshkov, Yamazaki, and Partners.

Graham and Elan enter. The office is rather small, a desk to the left and one ahead, each equipped with a terminal and a chair on both sides. An open door behind the left desk leads to another room, from what is visible, similarly equipped as the main office. In the far right corner of the main office is a menacingly looking ficus and next to it another closed door.
Behind the desk ahead a young man lifts up his head from his terminal and looks at the duo with slight confusion and curiosity. "Hello, erm, can I help you?"

"Yes, I certainly hope so!" Graham practically bellows, twisting and tugging his mustache with such an exaggerated movement that he might be a matador throwing his cape over his shoulder.

"My name is Graham Middleton, President and CEO of STEGO Corporation!"

Elan silently notes that Graham has promoted himself without a vote of the shareholders.

"And this is my junior apprentice, Mr., uh, Elan!"

Elan suppresses rolling his eyes, but barely. "How do you do," he says stiffly.

"Our business is in a phase of rapid growth and we find ourselves needing to scale up our operations accordingly. As such we are interviewing bookkeepers who can assist with our records management, financial statements, reconciliations, payroll, things of that nature. We have just recently arrived in Gor and are due to depart again soon so time is of the essence. We are interviewing potential firms and would like to consider yours. Is there someone with whom we might speak about these matters?"

While Graham is being loud and drawing all the attention, Elan tries to play the role of the bored protégé. He looks around the office in a distracted manner, trying to spot unusual security or things that seem out-of-place for a business office. He also looks for any other entrances or exits, not only to restrooms or the service tunnels but also vents in the ceilings or walls that might be large enough for a small adult such as himself. He makes a note to check the hallway door on the way out to see what sort of lock or security it might have.

If he has an angle, Elan will also eye the room to the left to see if there are any small, delicate boxes that might match the description of their employer.

Samara follows the planning process in silence, unsure whether or how she could contribute. No cooking was required as far as she could tell, and no one was injured as of yet and hopefully not at all!

By the time that Graham and Elan leave for the building together, she is on her second French Roll, slowly savouring the warmth of the cinnamon and the overall sweetness of the treat. If she had known earlier about this café, she would have cajoled Graham into stocking up on these yummy treats, but then again, this was the best kind of surprise, a yummy one!"  Buoyed by sugar and optimism, Samara types out a message, foregoing her usual highly visual style.

<<i can help a little!>>

<<even if no one gets hurt>> She wrinkles her nose, realising that she ought to clarify.

<<not that i want anyone to get hurt just so that I can feel helpful!>>

<<that would not be very nice!!>>

<<or helpful!!!>> and she really does just want to help.

Samara bites at her lip, remembering past admonishments from Mother J regarding what she was about to offer, and continues to rattles off messages before she can lose her nerve.

<<i can look forward a bit>>

<<i know that it's cheating>>

<<and it's rude>>

<<so i almost never do it>>

<<almost only emergencies>>

<<honest!>>

Her message(s) sent, Samara becomes curiously focused on tearing the French Roll into little pieces and organizing those pieces into neat rows. That the activity allowed her to avoid Lola's gaze for a time was pure coincedence. Eventually, Samara looks up from the shredded pastry, giving Lola a small, sheepish smile, and begins to nibble at a piece of her disassembled treat.

The young man seems confused and surprised that someone would just walk into their office of all. It seems clear that this does not happen often. But Graham leaves him little to no room to react and occupies all of his attention, giving Elan the time to look around.
The door on the right has a id card reader and a camera pointing at it, which strikes Elan as unusual for the given type of business.
The office to the left seems currently unoccupied, as far as Elan can tell, but contains nothing unusual.
The two large men and the women who entered earlier are nowhere to be seen.
The room is climatised by the stations air conditioning system, its vents being large enough for someone of Elan's build and agility, but too tight for anybody bigger or slightly claustrophobic.
There are two more cameras surveying the two offices.

Elan has seen what he has come to see. Now he needs to pay attention again so that anyone reviewing the camera footage later might actually think that he's a prospective customer rather than a no-good low-life looking to rip the place off.

"...and we need bookkeepers who how to handle records involving salvage operations. I cannot stress this enough; the amount of grief that my accountants give me on this matter..." Graham trails off sadly with a shake of his head.

"And goodwill!" Mr. Elan interjects, hoping that the topic has not been covered already. "Especially as it relates to the net fair value of all the assets salvaged."

This sorta/kinda makes sense. Either Elan is speaking gibberish or he's pinpointed a highly esoteric question only dealt with in the fringes of accountancy.

"Yes, quite right!" Graham agrees wholeheartedly, backing Elan's play. "So is there anyone with whom we might meet about these matters?"

Another AKA wrote:

"The Revolution?" Samara pauses dramatically. "It is first and foremost a rejection of the conditions of an inhumane world. Cruelty, avarice, bigotry… They prevent us from keeping a shining light in our hearts.  Too many are those who spend their whole life suffering from poverty; facing disappointments and pain.  The Revolution calls for all people to give as they can and to receive as they have need.[/i]

Sitting in the café for their stakeout Lola took a long look toward the office and back along the corridor before returning her gaze to the woman before her. It was wise not to spend her entire time staring forward, obviously outing herself as a watcher. In anycase it wasn't as if anyone could enter or exit the office without attracting her attention, even if her eyes were elsewhere. Her partner for this task in the process of disassembling the dessert she'd chosen. Her first reaction was to assume the other was nervous. She'd seen similar among new recruits, especially packed into a transport heading along to an assault. Some would be rigid tight, almost statuesque, their eyes boring a hole into the wall. Some would be awash with nervous energy, jiggling their knees, talking nineteen to the dozen. Some would be desperately repeating prayers to themselves, eyes closed and jaw tight. And some would be worrying away at their uniform, picking and pulling at the thread. Sometimes she'd had to step in and stop them if they started doing real damage.

However when she really looked at Samara, she wasn't displaying any of the other symptoms of nervousness. She looked like she was enjoying her activity. When she looked up, Lola nodded at the disassembled roll.
"Are you thinking of making one yourself? I don't think I'd have any idea how to start."

After whatever reply Samara gives, she moves on to another comment which had attracted her interest.
"Your ability to look into the future, can I ask, how accurate is it? I've no practical experience with that. Sometimes there would be talk in the trenches that'd there were people up in the base who could predict exactly what the enemy would do next. That our attack would take their defences apart like you've done to that roll. But it never quite worked like that."

Her tone was regular, without any particular emotion but her eyes betrayed a little more emotion.

<If there's a need we'll step in but so far it looks quiet.>

After taking a sip of her herbal tea, she asked another question. The shining light Samara had mentioned was something she was especially wary of, but there were elements of this church or group which could have good effect.
"You said that The Revolution calls for people to give as much as they can to fight against poverty, disappointments and pain. Does the Revolution take any actions to take apart the structures that enforce these?"

Nitafrong wrote:

"Are you thinking of making one yourself? I don't think I'd have any idea how to start."

"As far as I can tell, it is a yeast based dough that uses…" She pauses, trying unsuccessfully to recall the word lamination. "layers of fat and dough to be flaky.  So everything'd've to be kept cold. Can't say that I was thinking of making them, so much as buying some"

When Lola asks about her Precognition, Samara lowers her head and begins to fiddle with pieces of pastry. At Mother J's insistence, she usually tried to downplay her abilities, and Lola's directness flustered her. "It… tends to be… Accurate that is. It's kinda like juggling. The more items there are, the higher the chance that you might drop one. In combat, there's gonna be a lot of items, compared to, let's say, knowing how someone would respond to being asked out for a date." She clears her throat and raises her cup to her lips despite it being basically empty, recalling a moment from her not to distant adolescence. "Okay, not a great example. Forget I said anything!" She says with an airy, self deprecating laugh.

Nitafrong wrote:

"You said that The Revolution calls for people to give as much as they can to fight against poverty, disappointments and pain. Does the Revolution take any actions to take apart the structures that enforce these?"

With the same bombastic delivery that she uses whenever quoting Mother J, Samara begins, " 'I knew that they would never allow us to dismantle their system. In your heart of hearts, you know that too. that is why we built our own'... That's what Mother J used to say.  But, as for taking any action," Samara's face crumples a bit, and she swipes at the tears that are just beginning to make their descent. "I don't know. We were kind to each other. Can't that be enough?"

She could not bring herself to say aloud that it would have to be enough; there was no one left to do anything more.

While Elan and Graham execute plan 1, Taelor gets started on part 2. She starts by looking for the station's maintenance page. Corpos love putting pictures of happy workers slaving away, smiling at the camera in their clean uniforms, so she reasons she might be able to find out what the maintenance crews dress like.

Taelor then shifts to direct reconnaissance. What appeared on the corpo or state page could be a poor representation of things on the ground. She finds the maintenance office or depots on the station schematics, as well as nearby bars, and heads out. She spends the next few hours scouting these locations, looking for actual maintenance crews to get a more accurate picture of their attire and demeanor.

Visibly overwhelmed (it is obvious this clerk is little more than a help around the office), the young man answers "Right, yes, let me take your contacts and I will have my supervisor call you as soon as he is back in. He should come back later this cycle. Your account seems large and complex enough to be handled by our most experienced colleagues. For the time being, I can assure you that you came to the right place. We are experts in all aspects of sector regulations and are happy to help with any endeavour you have ahead of you. " He smiles a rehearsed, a little lopsided.

++++++++

It is easy to find out the looks of the uniforms of the local maintenance crew. Dark grey overalls with the station logo sewn on the right side of the chest.
Unfortunately they are not sold, but provided to workers. The station also prides itself with collecting the clothes back from the workers to handle all cleaning and fixing for them.

Another AKA wrote:

""It… tends to be… Accurate that is. It's kinda like juggling. The more items there are, the higher the chance that you might drop one. In combat, there's gonna be a lot of items, compared to, let's say, knowing how someone would respond to being asked out for a date."

As Samara replied about the pastry Lola gave her a rueful smile, and shrugged her shoulders.
"With you being a cook I thought you were taking it apart with a mind to its construction, rather than simply someone enjoying their food. I've been told before that I can sometimes have a simplistic way of how the world works, viewing everything in terms of cause and effect. And while everything has causality you can be a bit blinded viewing the world that way. I've still not got beyond viewing food as fuel."

For the first time, she looked curiously at Samara's disassembled snack. She'd got herself nothing but the herbal tea, choosing it as something she could take her time drinking while on stakeout. Getting the calorie dense and nutritionally negative as a pastry hadn't even occurred to her. Maybe next time?

She listened carefully while the other woman explained her powers, her mind immediately considering the various tactical considerations.
"I can see why something like that might be hard in combat, there's no much going on but..."
When Samara mentioned about dating, Lola's right eyebrow raised in honest surprise. Asking someone out on a date? Why would you use your power on something like that? All you had to do was ask the other and they would respond either way. Samara though appeared a little embarrassed by it but in any case, she had no interest in pressing her on that. However she wanted to spend her energy on, was her own choice.

"Is there a limit on how often you can use your power? Does it cost you much? Also if my questions make you uncomfortable, you don't need to answer. I'm just trying to get an idea, if we were to ask you to use your powers for something important, to what extent we could."

Lola gave Samara an awkward smile after this. Even to her it sounded like she was talking to an armorer about a new weapons specs rather than about an actual person. She might be in casuals, but the fact that she still thought of them as that was illustrative that she wasn't that far from the military.

Another AKA wrote:

" 'I knew that they would never allow us to dismantle their system. In your heart of hearts, you know that too. that is why we built our own'... That's what Mother J used to say.  But, as for taking any action," Samara's face crumples a bit, and she swipes at the tears that are just beginning to make their descent. "I don't know. We were kind to each other. Can't that be enough?"

"They might not allow it, but that doesn't mean its not going to happen. Everything crumbles in the end, and is replaced by something else. Your own individual efforts may seem insignificant but the mightiest prison can be taken apart with your hands if you have enough. Sometimes it can be about being in the right place at the right time. And sometimes, it can just be to provide that feeling of hope or belief, to help the impossible fight. Because yes, at its heart its about creating the space so you can build your own, where you can be kind. Because we need both. The people like me to fight for it, and the people like you to live it."

Unless of course, she was another who might want to fight for it? That of course would be for her to say, and not Lola's to suggest. Her road had already been hard enough.

Her scouting done, Taelor heads back to the ship. //found some new threads i think i'd look good in. think you can pick em up for me on your way home?// Taelor texts to Elan, including a pic of a maintenance tech.

//there s a shop that stocks em in section c, division 4// she adds, giving him the location of maintenance's supply closets in a less frequented part of the station. //get some for you too. wed look good in matching outfits//

She puts her slab away, feeling content as she strolls down the busy hallway. The press of bodies, the smell of recycled air, the hum of the systems hard at work keeping this floating metal can livable for its denizens... there was a familiarity to it all that was comforting.

Taelor steps back onto the ship and is greeted by its empty silence. She hesitates on the doorstep. She pulls out her slab and types a text for Sam and Lola: //you gals still out?//

"Yes, please do so!" Graham says with too much bureaucratic enthusiasm. "The sooner the better, as our business will not keep us here long."

Graham and Elan depart and then pick up Samara and Lola at the café just out the door. Elan only catches the tail end of the conversation but he quickly figures out what it's about.

"Let's continue this elsewhere," he suggests somewhat under his breath, his eyes darting side to side. "Such gifts are not always welcomed and we don't know the temperament of the locals."

Taelor comms with her request from 'the store'.

<<Let me come back and change into my civvies>> Elan responds. <<I'm in my big boy suit and I'll look out of place in maintenance shop or locker room.>>

He's a bit sullen on the walk back to the ship. He wouldn't want to admit it, but Samara's gifts churn up a buried sense of longing. He's always felt limited by his own wild psychic talent, which never bloomed into a full flower. Sometimes it makes him envious of those whose talents are not so constrained.

"I don't think it's cheating," he tells Samara. "And even if it is, what of it? Why should the race always be to the swift, or the puzzle to the quick-witted? Should they be allowed to win simply because of the gifts their mother gave them? Well I say that cheating is the gift that Man gives himself."

Elan returns to the ship to drop off Graham, check in with Taelor, change his clothes, and then visit Turtle before going off on his pilfering run. He grabs his metatool and an empty duffel bag that he stuff the uniforms into.

"Can you give me a thirty-second window?" he asks Samara. "I don't need but half a minute."

Lola had just been about to reply to Taelor when she saw the door opening, and her two companions exiting.
<We are all heading back to the ship now. See you there.>

She send the message quickly while getting to her feet. It was unfortunate that there conversation was brought to a swift end, but she was well used to it. While life on base often was very regular you never were quite sure when someone would be needed elsewhere immediately. And while she had learned to pick up the threads at the next available date, sometimes she never got the chance.

On the walk back, she remained at the tail, keeping an eye out for any tails they might have picked up. They hadn't done anything suspicious yet, but offices of interest could often be buzzing with different operatives, and one might have just decided to tail them just to see.
She did hear Elans comment though and she smiled.
"Cheating assumes that there is some kind of natural laws of fairness out there, lines which shouldn't be stepped over. Most of these come from the donkey sucklers up top as a way of maintaining control. There only a very few which the majority agree are the right way to treat others."

Once back at the ship, she asked Elan.
"Do you want backup for this? I can be at any distance you require."

Elan nods along with Lola's description of the donkey sucklers. "Yes, yes, quite right," he agrees, perhaps surprised to find someone who mirrors his thinking so whole-heartedly.

To her offer of backup, he says, "Sure. Two people walking together are less suspicious than one, especially when they are of similar age and opposite sex. People assume that you're a couple and their threat response drops accordingly."

This is a slight reach. Lola is 29 and Elan is 22. Rena is 27 but she was last seen injecting something into her eyeballs so she's out for this one. Samara is 20 and could work, but Elan doesn't know her as well.

"Walk me there. Stay within shouting distance but I'll go in alone. If you spot any heat or see anything suspicious, hold my hand."

The supply closet is right ahead, just as Samara had described it. A maintenance crew just left and if Samara is right, no other crew will come for another fifteen minutes.
Elan edges around the corner behind which he hid, to avoid the camera facing this part of the corridor and slides right under it towards the door.
Opening it is trivially easy for Elan, as no particularly high grade locking mechanism are in place. In a fluent motion, he slides into the supply room and closes the door behind him.

Before him lies a small room, with plain metal flooring and neon fluorescent lighting. The walls are covered with shelves and closets. Elan opens the closets one by one and on the third, he finds the overalls. Grabbing them and stuffing them into his duffel bag, he looks around what else is there.
The shelves are full of cleaning materials, supplies for fixing smaller and larger damages, bulbs and so on.
In the middle of the room a cleaning cart is parked.

Elan's metatool makes short work of the door lock.

Then he's inside and has his run of the place. Here his natural instinct is to steal everything in sight, but he's a disciplined thief: he know that the less he steals, the fewer waves he makes. A couple missing items are more likely to be attributed to confusion or oversight, but a massive quantity of things going missing is clearly theft. Similarly, law enforcement is a finite resource. They won't pursue one or two things of modest value, but wholesale larceny might grab their attention.

Elan leaves the cleaning cart and the tools, knowing that Taelor has plenty of her own. He doesn't want to masquerade as a cleaning crew, knowing those usually come on a defined schedule. He'd rather pretend to be an ad hoc repair team sent for a specific task. Taelor can make up something convincing, he reasons. She could always break something then fix it herself to justify her presence, ha.

He does look around to see if there are schedules or work orders or any other paperwork that might be a clue about what sort of administrative support a (pretend) task like this might require. He'll snag that if it's available.

He snatches two pairs of overalls, trying to find sizes appropriate to Taelor's frame and his own. After pushing them into the duffel bag he slips out of the supply closet the way he came in.

"Got them," he tells Lola when he joins back up with her. He takes them back to the ship and shows the pilfered goods to Taelor.

"Worked like a charm," he reports to Samara.

"Can you do it again for the office?" he asks her. "How does it actually work? Do you get a vision of what happens inside? Like, can you see me arriving and then walking around? Or do you just get a sense of the outcome, like a gut feeling?"

It turns out that Samara can not do a vision of the office unless she's there in person. Elan thinks that will be more of a liability than it's worth and so defaults to his natural training.

"On the surface, this is a straightforward B&E," he tells the crew while back at the privacy of the ship. "We'll see if Graham and I get a call-back from the bookkeepers this afternoon. If not, I would say that we should act tonight. Intel like this doesn't always age well; you don't want the package move. In fact, it would be smart to keep the office under surveillance this afternoon to make sure the package doesn't walk out the door.

"The basic premise is to go in through the service corridor, if possible. Taelor and I pose as a maintenance crew. Taelor serves as a lookout while I slip into the office from the back. I'll use the ventilation system if necessary but it's not my preference. The office had above-average security for a white-collar environment so I'll expect the same from the service side too. I'll go incrementally, evaluating things step-by-step before proceeding. My panspectral optics will let me work in the dark and will also give me a clue where the sensors might be. My gecko anchors also let me approach things three-dimensionally. Cameras usually don't cover the ceilings, but I'll need to be careful because Graham and I were on their camera feeds earlier in the day. I should wear a hat. Wait, do people wear hats on space stations since there's no weather?"

An interesting question. Perhaps it is funny to hear Elan talk like a seasoned criminal. He's, what, 22? How many times has he done this?

"Taelor can give me the all-clear. Lola should be within earshot in case things go sideways. Samara..."

He drifts off, uncertain of what Samara can actually do.

"Stay with Lola to give Lola some cover for her loitering. Weapons are forbidden so try to talk your way out of trouble first before resorting to fisticuffs. Yeah? Yeah. Alright, that's my plan. Revisions?"

Taelor listens intently as Elan lays out the plan, leaning forward and trying very hard not to grin. This was her first heist and it was all terribly exciting.

She laughs when Elan asks about hats. It wasn't that funny a question, but the tension that had been building up inside her needed the outlet. "Of course people wear hats in stations. It keeps the rain off their head," she says, punctuating it with a chuckle. "Really though, they do. Some for the look, but most 'cause, you know, pipes leak. So, maintenance crews especially would tend to wear caps or hard hats, depending on the work they had to do. Caps should be fine for what we'll be pretending we're doing."

"Plan sounds good." She turns to Lola. "You can borrow my stun baton, if you want. It'd look suspicious on me anyway. If things go tits up, I'll just hit 'em with a wrench."

As she waited outside for Elan to complete his burglary, Lola did her best to not look suspicious, which was as hard as attempting to clear your mind when someone asked you to stop thinking of roasting meat. Once said, it was very hard to get the idea out of your head. And that was the main issue about this job. She could do half of it very competently. From her many years acting as a lookout she knew exactly what a threat looked like, and had excellent twitch fibre reactions. She could identify the difference between an innocent and and undercover agent to a more than reasonable degree. But all that experience had been in a snipers nest, hidden from sight, gun at the ready. Here out in the open, trying to act casual she knew exactly how easily she could be identified.

But it was a skill she was going to have to develop. In the normal world she obviously wasn't going to get the benefit of a high building with excellent sight lines and an evac standing by. Instead she had to act like a civilian with an excellent reason to be in this corridor.

And so she'd decided, that instead of finding an excellent reason to be here, she should instead give an excuse. Attaching her earpiece she gave it a tap and after waiting the appropriate amount of time, started to mime a conversation.
"H? No look, before you start, this is my time to speak. You've had your time and its my turn."
She paused again, as her eyes quickly scanned the corridor, trying to keep them looking as blank as possible. The awkward heat that was creeping up her neck right now, that embarrassment of trying to act in public, would actually be to her aid. She wanted to seem emotional.

"We both agreed in the beginning that we wanted to keep it casual, but splitting wheel, that all changed after the night in the bartizan. You brought me back, and I did the same for you down by the river. Debts all tallied, you said but there was more to it than that and you know it. I can understand choosing no, but not how you did it."

This was a conversation she'd played out a couple of times in her head, and again she thought through Harry's response.
"Too painful otherwise? Pain is necessary. Short and sharp and don't let it fester. No, you just wanted the easy way out. And you didn't care who you left behind. Or what kind of situation we had to get through on our own. Wolves at the door, the walls falling to pieces around us, our only way out taken. You had.."

There was movement, Elan was coming back.
"You know what? You're not worth it. Go enjoy your jewels and fancy shoes. I'm better off forgetting the insect you became."

She fell into stride beside him, as they made their way back.

Back at the ship, she'd nodded along as the plan was formulated.
"Thanks Taelor. I'd prefer my gun of course but its not worth the risk. It will have to be enough."

After sliding it into the inside of her jacket she looked across at Samara and nodded.
"Two people always look less suspicious than one hanging about. You can charm them with you smile while I boot them between the legs."

Like Taelor, Samara listens intently as Elan lays out the plan. Unlike the plucky pilot, the young cook is mainly concerned with doing well. She REALLY wants to live up to the welcome that she has received, and is essentially staring at Elan as if looking away from him might lead to her missing some vital detail.

Tecumseh wrote:

"Taelor can give me the all-clear. Lola should be within earshot in case things go sideways. Samara..."

He drifts off, uncertain of what Samara can actually do.

She snaps her gaze away from Elan, a hot flush racing across her cheeks and a familiar sting at her eyes. What was she thinking? Is she even supposed to be at this briefing? As if these incredible people would want her around. She could practically hear Mother J. They are only humouring you my dear.  People don't like over-emotional girls who can cheat. But I'll always love you just the way you are.

Samara blinks back her tears, and clings for dear life to the reply that she had never found the courage to give Mother J: people wouldn't bother with humouring her if they didn't care... Right?

nitafrong wrote:

After sliding it into the inside of her jacket she looked across at Samara and nodded.
"Two people always look less suspicious than one hanging about. You can charm them with you smile while I boot them between the legs."

"Here's hoping that it doesn't come to that!  I would feel terrible for whoever ended up being on the receiving end of one of your kicks!" She mimes kicking into the air a bit for emphasis, and grins at Lola.

The afternoon equivalent comes and noone has gotten in touch. In accordance with the plan, Elan and Taelor make their way towards the office and enter the service tunnel network at a quiet moment.
The tunnels are even more functional than the main ones. Cables and pipes run on the walls and the ceiling without much concealment. The floor are plain metal grates under which more pipes and cables show.

They find the service door for the office in question without problems. Another camera covers the entrance and parts of the hallway leading up to it, but there is no security guard.
When they get closer they see the door offering a card or chip reader instead of a handle. Otherwise it is a plain metal door.

Elan gets to work.

He scans the hallway with his panspectral optics. He's not expecting laser beams or dangerous radiation but he might as well look now that he can see them. He also scans for radio transmissions or anything else that might suggest a remote sensor.

Elan takes a moment to judge the cables and pipes along the ceiling, as well as those under the plain metal grates on the floor. Is there enough space to conceal himself in either of those should he need to? Alternatively, he'll look for the ventilation duct leading into the office in case the door stymies him.

He looks for an angle of attack on the camera over the entrance to the office in question. Is there a way to approach it from the wall or ceiling that would be outside its cone of coverage? If so, he'll take advantage of his gecko anchors and use his metatool to disable the camera. If not, he'll tug his cap low and make sure that his face isn't visible.

"Sometimes these electronic locks pop open if you cut the power," he mutters under his breath to Taelor. "Local regulations often require it in the event of an emergency. You know, so the office dwellers don't get cooked like kippers in a can if there's a fire that takes out the electricity.

"If you see an easy way to cut the power, which might nuke the camera feed too, let me know."

To Elan's relief and basically his expectation, there are no laser trip wires or unusual transmission visible.
The pipes along the walls, ceiling and floor are all too narrow to host Elan inside, but given his slim and small build he would surely find crevices and gaps to hide inside, should need arise.
The camera faces down from the door in a fairly steep angle, likely in order not catch too much irrelevant motion and thus minimising false alarms. Therefore Elan is confident he could reach it from above without ever showing on its feed.

From her current position, Taelor cannot see whether there is a convenient cable to fail in order for the camera or door lock to refuse service. But she is confident she could handle the pad and the camera from up close.

Taelor has tied her hair up and tucked it into her cap. She looks down the hallway, trying to estimate what the camera can see based on its angle. She winces. "I won't be able to get close without being spotted. You're going to deal the cam so I can reach the panel."

She follows Elan's eyes up to the ceiling, looking at the mess of pipes and cables. "If you can crawl up there with your fancy new chrome, maybe you can take a pic from just above the cam and put your screen in front of it. Angle won't be perfect, but unless someone's staring at it, they probably won't notice. I got some stuff in here you can use to secure it in place," she says, tapping her toolkit. "Then I can deal with the panel and get you in."

Elan acts decisively. Back on Astyoc he had told Taelor that his approach was, "Be bold, be bold!" (Although there is a tiny whisper at the back of his brain that adds _{"but not too bold"}.)

He takes to the walls and ceiling to get an hidden angle on the camera. He doesn't hesitate, knowing that someone could come along at any moment. When he gets to the camera an idea occurs to him: instead of cutting the feed, he tries to reposition it so that the camera points a different direction, either down the opposite hallway or angled too high to see the door below. That will be less suspicious if someone is monitoring the feeds, he thinks. A blank screen needs to be investigated, but if they're like most security rooms with a panel of screens, or a rotating cycle of camera feeds, then they probably won't notice a new camera angle. It's also possible that the feed isn't monitored at all and is just there for retroactive investigations, but it's best not to depend on that.

If that doesn't work then he'll take his metatool to the camera to disable it. He doesn't want to try to fool it with a picture from his compad, which is just a temporary solution.

Taelor watches Elan crawl up the wall and onto the ceiling, feeling a pinch of jealousy. Regret wrestles with her distaste of surgery in her mind as she considers the possibilities. On Haliant, she had chosen to keep her credits and save them to eventually get her own ship, but did it make sense? The Undertow, while technically a STEGO asset, kind of was her ship. She and her comrades could go where they pleased. Was that good enough?

The unchromed pilot notices the very chromed infiltrator trying to get her attention. The camera was dealt with. It was her turn. Tealor makes her way to the door and examines the panel. She activates her metatool and carefully deactivates the tampering sensor. She opens the casing, disconnects a couple of wires and connects some new ones. A click can be heard from the door. The lock is released.

Taelor grins at Elan and motions to the door. "You're cleared to enter."

Elan doesn't exactly get down from the ceiling while Taelor does his work.

First, he wants the element of surprise in case the situation evolves sudden. (He reasons that a man clinging to the ceiling is a surprise.)

Second, he wants to see how Taelor goes about the pad. He knows how he would do it, but he wants to see if she has a different approach. A top-down view gives him a good vantage point.

Third, Elan is secretly pleased about how enthusiastic Taelor is about this process and he wants to feed that. Not everyone is so accepting of Elan's extralegal acquisitions and he's pleased to have a (literal) partner-in-crime.

He does the play-by-play commentary silently in his head. Good, go in through the top of the pad. Twist the metatool to pop that open. Yes, good, better to disconnect the wires than cut them. Oo, but before you do that ... I would have... Wait, did that work?

A click can be heard from the door. The lock is released.

Guess it worked!

Elan - still on the ceiling - tips his cap toward Taelor, then pulls the door open a crack. He peeks inside with his panspectral optics. He's expecting it to be dark and empty. If it's not, he'll have to adapt. Right now he's on the lookout for cameras and other sensors that he needs to avoid or defeat. Once he has a sense of what's on the other side of the door, he'll proceed.

The hallway behind the door is indeed dark and short. On the left is a switchboard and a small closet, on the right is a door. Straight ahead is another door, which, if visualising the layout, is likely the one to the front office.
Unlike the maintenance hallway, the small hallway in the unit is clad on aluminum plating.
There are no unusual transmissions or rays to be seen.

Elan descends from the ceiling and makes a last-second decision to pull Taelor in. His initial plan had been to leave her in the hallway as a lookout, but he suddenly thinks it would be better to have her inside behind a closed door rather than exposed to passersby in the outer corridor.

"See what you can make of that," he whispers to her, indicating the switchboard. Elan knows that Taelor is clever and good with electricity, electronics, and computers. "If there's more security, maybe we can neutralize it here."

He quickly checks out the small closet to the left to see if there's anything of interest, or to see if it's small enough to hide inside in case of emergency.

Then he turns his attention to the door on the right. First he presses his ear to the door to try and listen to any sounds that might be on the other side. If it seems safe to proceed, he will try to open the door. Same approach as before: slowly at first to determine lighting levels and to peek through the gap at potential security hazards. He'll try to get the lay of the land before proceeding.

Taelor starts looking around the service corridor, looking for something she could be plausibly working on, when she's suddenly pulled into the office hallway by Elan. "Hey!" she says indignantly. She could have planted her feet and resisted if she'd wanted, the young thief wasn't very strong. Taelor had invited him to work out early on in their travels together and he'd looked at her like she spoke an alien language. However, the pull came completely by surprise and before she knows it, the service door has closed behind her.

"I thought I was supposed to be the lookout," she whispers. She looks around the hallway, her confidence slipping.

Tecumseh wrote:

"See what you can make of that," he whispers to her, indicating the switchboard. "If there's more security, maybe we can neutralize it here."

"Oh! Okay," she says, understanding finally dawning on her. She inches closer to the switchboard, looking at its buttons and switches, reading labels and trying to make sense of it.

The switchboard contains gauges, sliders, buttons, screens managing and displaying the status of most electric devices in the unit. Air conditioning, lighting, speaker volumes and the like seem to be monitored and regulated from here. Unfortunately, cameras or other possible security measures seem to be handled elsewhere.

The closet is a very small unit supply closet stocking day to day materials that need to be resupplied adhoc, such as toilet paper, coffee pads and kitchen paper. The maintenance crew apparently restocks the closet and the occupants of the unit grab what they need from there.

Elan presses his ear to the door and concentrates on sounds behind. The door seems thick, as he can hear voices on the other side, but cannot make out what they say or how many speakers there may be. He can only tell that it is not an argument on the other side.

Elan scowls.

"We have voices," he whispers to Taelor, indicating the other side of the door.

Elan contemplates killing the lights and using his panspectral optics to navigate in the dark, but this is a bolder move. He doesn't know how many people are beyond the door, nor how big the space might be to maneuver.

"We may need a distraction, or a way to clear them out. What can we control from an environmental perspective? Can we boost the heat, or freeze them out with air conditioning? Or are there any sort of alarms we can trigger than would prompt them to evacuate?"

Taelor quickly figures out the switchboard. She grins at Elan. "Some discomfort for the suits, coming right up."

She turns up the heat and humidity. She then removes the slider handle and pockets it, making sure no one can just come out and readjust it.

She tilts her head towards the supply closet. "Hide in there until they leave?"

Elan nods when Taelor asks about the supply closet.

Elan isn't used to having this level of control over the systems. It's clear that his mind is racing with the unfamiliar possibilities.

"How high does the thermometer go?" he whispers. "And how long will it take? I'm conscious of the fact that we'll be cooking ourselves at the same time. Hiding in a supply closet and breathing each other's exhaust will only make it worse.

"What if we just cut the power? Nobody wants to hang around in the dark. But leave it on in the front office, so maybe they just migrate over there, leaving the office untended. What do you think?"

Taelor smiles smugly. "Oh, no, Master Thief. I've already only affected that room," she says, motioning to the closed door behind which the voices came. "We'll be more than comfortable in that closet. Well, temperature-wise, at least."

She steps into the tight cleaning closet. "Should be pretty fast. No time to waste."

Taelors prognosis is not far off. Only a few minutes pass until the duo can hear the door open and a voice commenting about the heat. "I'll check it out... Hmmm, hard to tell, who is gonna understand all these knobs and dials. I'll call maintenance." The person seems to walk away towards the front office. Shortly after a different voice can be heard passing the closet from across the hall, walking towards the front office, mumbling discontent sounds. Then it is silent.

When he hears that they will be calling maintenance, Elan whispers, "We're on the clock" to Taelor.

"Stay here," he suggests. "I'll knock softly three times when it's time to go. Keep your compad handy. I might need you to cut the power."

He cracks open the door of the supply closet, listening for a moment before proceeding. He repeats the process at the other door, pressing his ear to it before opening it slowly to see what's on the other side. If he thinks that the coast is clear, he will proceed.

Both, the hallway and the mystery room are empty. For now. Elan peeks into the room. It is mostly empty, with just a small table in the middle and two chairs. Only on the far end of the room is a safe door. Elan is almost ready to slip into the room, when he notices a camera in the corner of the room facing the far side of the wall. It likely does not cover the door, but definitely most of the room.

Elan's mind spins for about three seconds while he considers all the factors:

- A call is being put into maintenance: he's on the clock;
- Cameras in environments like this (which is to say indoors, where lighting isn't constant) often have low-light or thermographic optics to see when the lights are off;
- The camera feeds are probably not actively monitored; and,
- If the package is in the safe, its disappearance might not be immediately noticed.

All that suggests that a smash-and-grab approach might not be as effective as a lighter touch. Elan decides on efforts that are easily reversible.

First, he sneaks into the room. He'll crawl up the wall and reposition the camera toward the wall, or at an angle where it can't see the safe.

Then he'll try to crack the safe, preferably in a manner that will allow it to be closed again.

He intends to reverse the process on the way out, leaving as little trace of his presence as he can manage.

He slips on a pair of thin gloves and gets to work.

Old instincts let Elan operate almost in autopilot mode. He crawls up the wall just outside of the cameras view point, gently and slowly rotates the camera to point into an irrelevant direction. Next he drops down to the floor, lands on his feet, breaking the fall in his knees. Crouched (more out of habit than real necessity) he closes the gap between himself and the safe in a few long strides.
The safe is fairly modern, most would consider it very secure, but Elan had faced this particular model before. The last time it took him critically long, almost too long, to open. But then he had found the weak spot.
Now, he just had to wedge in a flat contact of his metatool into a specific place at the bottom of the door, then press the cancel button on the control pad and while holding the button connect an A cell to the top right corner of the door.
For a moment nothing happens and doubt creeps up Elan's spine. Did they fix this weak spot? Then with a faint click, the door unlocks and swings quietly open.
Inside the safe is a thumb drive and a metal box, about the size the mysterious patron of theirs described.

Outside, Taelor stands half in the supply closet, half in the hallway, when she hears voices approaching the door to the front office.

Elan grabs both the thumb drive and the metal box. He tucks the thumb drive up his sleeve like a magician hiding a card, and cradles the metal box gently. Then he closes the safe and reengages the lock. Then it's back to the camera to correct its positioning, then to the doorway to listen for voices.

If he doesn't hear any, he'll proceed. If he does, he'll tuck the metal box into his coveralls and then pretend to be a maintenance person, trusting in his roguish charm to talk his way out of things. Luckily he actually knows what's wrong with the switchboard and so he might be able to fast talk his way through an encounter.

"Shit!" Taelor hisses as she hears the voices approaching. She knocks softly on the back office's door to warn Elan.

She has a quick look at the front office door to see if there would be a quick way to disable it. She tries if she does. If she doesn't, she steps in front of the switchboard and pretends to be examining it.

In last second Taelor manages to lock the door to the front office, just before the handle is pushed down and with a thump someone runs into the unexpectedly unopening door. A colorful curse followed by an argument about who locked the door can be heard. Precious seconds are bought, but it is unlikely this is the only place to unlock the door from.

Elan freezes when he hears the knocks.

Wait, what does it mean when Taelor knocks? he wonders. I was supposed to knock to tell her that it was safe. Is she knocking to tell me that it's safe? Or to warn me, because why would she be out of the closet at all?

He listens at the door but doesn't hear voices. Elan is a fairly decisive creature, not prone to waffling, so he stands up straight and pushes his way out the door, trying to act like a technician that belongs there.

It is obvious that Samara is trying not to pace, and failing on occasion. When not pacing, she ends up either rocking from heel to toe (almost falling a few times that she leaned too far back on her heels), or bouncing on the tips of her toes.  It is not suspicious per se, she looks more like someone who is hyperactive and distracted, rather than a potential future distraction.

Once her calf muscles indicate that enough was enough, she sits and considers whether to get another french roll; she still loves them, but does not want them to lose their appeal Who knows how many more times they will have to sit out here?.  While mulling the decision, she mimes chopping food, tapping out a quick staccato.  Upon looking at the imaginary food stuffs that she has prepared, she decides that she can dice more finely, and faster, until almost knocking over her beverage.

All in all, she does an excellent job of drawing people's eye to her: an unbelievably fidgety girl wearing a bulky, brightly colored coat and ugly oversized glasses.  The outfit would be easy to ditch if need be, and - most importantly - Lola was practically invisible by comparison.

The waiter slowly approaches Sam, looking at her with reluctant hesitation. When he closes in the last steps, with desperate determination he takes the half empty cup of coffee and shuffles off quickly only to return with a steaming fresh cup. Camomile, Sam notices.

After a short commotion on the other side of the door, the lock clicks open and through the door comes a large man, followed by a just as muscular woman. "Who the hell are you?" with startled surprise, but obviously well trained reflexes the man pulls out a gun and points it at Taelor and Elan. The woman in the back pulls one as well and pushes into the hallway next to the man.

"WOAH!" Elan bellows, throwing his hands up in the air at the guns. "No, NO!" he admonishes them sternly. "NOT OKAY!" he says to the guns. He finds that a loud voice often conveys authority or, failing that, confidence. Because what thief would want to be so loud?

He spins up the story that he had prepared in advance for this.

"My name is Jaime and this is my associate, Jamie - no relation - and we were sent down here by Central to investigate a series of malfunctions that have been affecting this whole stack. Power surges, brown outs, maglocks activating and deactivating, haywire heating and cooling. We've traced the issue to this switchboard here" - he indicates it helpfully with one of his raised hands - "and my colleague here is in the process of implementing the necessary repairs." He gestures to Taelor.

Elan gets ready with the acronyms to verbally browbeat them into submission.

"Now the station's SLA - that's the Service Level Agreement - allows us access to this panel in order to meet the resolution timelines dictated by the SLA. The SLA also states that we are to be free of harassment and misconduct in the course of our duties, including unwanted personal comments, insulting language, sexual gestures, aggressive staring, or any other behavior intended to humiliate and intimidate people. Pointing guns at us certainly qualifies and is a gross violation of OHSA policy. Unless you want to be the subject of a formal complaint to the DOL, encasing you in the darkest tomb of bureaucrats and lawyers, then I recommend that you kindly sheathe those weapons immediately! We'll finish our work and be on our way!"

He points to Taelor, hoping that she'll spin some technical explanation for what needs to be done. In case the speech doesn't work, Elan snaps his telekinetic defenses into place.