*Dammit, Doc, I told you this back on the Vendetta when we didn't have to worry about snoopin'. They launched a Gateship towards Earth already. It's my fault; they tortured me; thanks for bringin' that up again. I've been ordered to Boranai, so that leaves YOU as the only person who can do anything about it. Find the codes to that Gateship - JGH-361 - and take it the fuck out. That IS your escape, Doc. Get to that ship, use its Gate, and if you blow it up real good the Gate you left from'll be vaporized behind you.*
*Right. Thanks, I guess. Good luck with that.* remarks Max before killing the transmission.
I suppose this is the part where I start looking for sharper weapons...
Max doesn't have a lot of access from his Keeper-based terminal. He's got the run of the Smithsonian, but he needs the Pentagon. One thing he does notice in his favor is that a lot of the Turai are on the move - and they're not moving towards him. In the Keepers' area, Max spots six of the Imperial soldiers heading up on lifts. The armories, barracks, hangars, and Gateway all lie in that direction. The security nexus that no doubt accesses the entire fortress' internal defenses and has access to classified information is 2 miles above Max.
Finally, while there are precious few weapons catalogued here by the Keepers, they do have a high-security level dedicated to forging, molecule by molecule, the high-level ancient technology like the frisbees and the coffin-sized reactors. Active "Turai kegs", to use a more familiar term. Perhaps even dormant kegs. The main problem there is that the one keg Max saw back on Earth was man-portable, but not Max-portable, at least not while attempting anything like sneaking.
Max steps out of the lift and into a whirlwind of activity. The barracks level with the closest armory is full of Turai grouping up, getting hasty briefings over vox, and - just Max's luck - there's a line at the armory.
He can't help but overhear some interesting information. The Imperial Palace has been attacked by terrorists. So has Boranai, apparently; a mix of Homeworlders and local insurgents, to be exact. Access to Boranai is blocked, so the reinforcements Max is caught up in are headed to Napai's space elevator, and from there, down to the Palace. Others are headed to hangar bays for a drop-ship ride to the surface.
The fact that Max is wearing only a Turai undersuit and armed with only a sword doesn't escape an eagle-eyed Samal.
"You there! Yes, you! The half-dressed one! Where's your unit? Why aren't you in armor?"
The fact that Max is wearing only a Turai undersuit and armed with only a sword doesn't escape an eagle-eyed Samal.
"You there! Yes, you! The half-dressed one! Where's your unit? Why aren't you in armor?"
"Sir. My apologies. My armor was undergoing some maintenance but I still wanted to answer the call to battle. Just suit me up and I'll be on my way, Sir!"
Maybe it's not the first time the officer's heard that in the last few minutes. Maybe it's the whirlwind of all the Imperials running around on alert. Maybe the Samal's too busy to care. Whatever the reason, the officer waves Max on through to the armory with a "Use B-84, rack 3. Get your gear and go!"
Not wanting to tempt fate by asking for directions, Max just falls in line and within a few minutes is the proud owner of some appropriated Turai carapace armor, a shiny new beam rifle, a stinger, and two spear-bombs. He snags a vox handheld widget while he's in there too, just in case.
Max leaves the bustling armory and finds a quieter side corridor, still on the barracks level. Max's new widget happily spells out the location of the fortress' classified security nexus. It's 87 levels above him, and no, his bog-standard Turai gear doesn't have access. That level of data is encrypted fairly well. Max could try to hack in, just like everywhere else, but failure would leave him right in the middle of an armory full of Turai suddenly very interested in where he is. Physically getting to the computers and waiting for some poor bastard to login FOR Max might be easier, but getting out of there if his mischief is discovered might be a problem.
Ventilation is important in space. Max finds the orbital fortress' air ducts sturdy, well-maintained, and spacious (as far as ventilation shafts go). Unfortunately, after several double-checks, Max finds that the security nexus is 87 levels above his position, not below. Cursing silently inside his helmet, Max crawls, climbs, and shimmies his way towards his goal.
Max has never climbed much of anything, let alone slippery vent shafts. He makes it two stories and starts looking for a ladder. The lift tubes are the answer, and Max maneuvers carefully into the dark, windy space. A lift-car slams past him, a hurricane following in its wake. Max grits his teeth, grasps the emergency ladder, and continues his ascent.
He stops to rest about... Max checks his handheld. Christ. Thirty levels below the security nexus. His undersuit is slick with sweat; the armor's environmental controls are unable to keep up. Lying in a vent shaft just off the lifts, Max pants and flexes his painful fingers. At least they don't seem to know he's there. Vox broadcasts seem to indicate that there's a significant problem on Boranai, that the Gates into the system are blocked. There's some sort of security clusterfuck on the surface of Napai as well. Maybe Max has time to rest; after all, the Imperials seem pretty preoccupied with other things right now.
Max removes his armor and reboots the atmo scrubbers. The passing lift-cars blast welcome breezes through the shafts as he fiddles with the suit. Max determines that he can't really overclock the environmental controls - he'd run into diminishing returns too quickly and probably end up cooking in the suit. With further ascent a dangerous proposition, Max sets a soft alarm on his handheld and takes a nap.
A few hours later, Max is sore but rested. He stretches as best he can in a ventilation shaft, wrestles back into the Turai armor, and painfully continues his climb.
Much later
Max Kilgore, Action Scientist, currently so very tired of action, carefully and ponderously traverses the lift shaft to the ventilation feeding the security nexus. Another 20 minutes' rest, and Max is weary but ready to make his move. He's got little to no information on the nexus' layout or protection. He's chosen a plan that, like most good plans, is simple in theory; find a command console, wait for some poor bastard to log in, then take him out and gain access to the already-authorized nexus computers and get those codes for the Gateship and whatever else Max needs to escape.
The Turai light duty uniform consists of the undersuit with a white tunic edged in purple. Max spots one of these Imperials at a security console from his vantage point just inside one of the ventilation hatches. He realizes that maybe he doesn't have to jump out and Die Hard this guy - maybe he can just strip the access he needs from the nexus' network traffic. Max powers up his handheld, keeping his bulk between the handheld's light and the ventilation grating.
A little while later, Max isn't making much headway with the encryption on the traffic. He's managed to get to a point, virtually, where he can see the datastream but he can't read any of it. His best guess is that the authorization to decrypt the information Max needs might be tied to the terminal that's reading it - some sort of local identifier above and beyond the user's own codes. At least he has another choice now; go Die Hard on this Imperial and use his logged in status, or wait until the poor sucker leaves and try to hack in through the terminal he was using.
Max opts for the Die Hard approach. Max carefully crawls back down the vent shaft and opens a hatch in a nearby corridor. After that, he checks his gear and strides towards the Imperial manning the security console. The Turai looks up at Max's armored self with a passing interest, then turns back to his controls.
Max brings his beamer up and cracks the guy in the face with a meaty buttstroke. Blood spatters the terminal desk and the Imperial falls over backwards. Max moves in, raising the rifle and slamming the stock down but the soldier rolls aside. He grabs for his chair and half-slides, half-throws it at Max as he backpedals, trying to get up. Max dodges the furniture missile and kicks the man right where his short-cropped hair meets his forehead. He sprawls out on the deck.
A brief check of the console shows the Turai's login still active, and a pending possible security matter regarding a blockage in the local ventilation.
