“You can identify which traffic belongs there and which doesn’t.”
I drag my gaze back to the screen. “You’re keeping up.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “You sound surprised.”
“Most people need translation. System architecture isn’t exactly casual breakfast discussion. Usually I spend half my time explaining the concepts before I can explain the problem.”
The amusement deepens. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It’s an observation.”
“With you, I suspect there’s not much difference.”
I take a sip of my tea. It’s gone cold. “I need to run the traffic isolation through Percy’s analysis framework. It’ll take a few hours. If the handoff-window theory is right, I should be able to narrow the mole’s access point to a specific junction and a specific time window. After that, it’s just a matter of matching the window against your operational schedule.”
“Which is why you need the unredacted logs.” He picks up the data chip and turns it between his fingers while he thinks. I watch the movement longer than I should before catching myself and looking back at the screen.
“Run the analysis,” he says at last. “Show me what the partial data gives you. If the results support your theory, we’ll discuss expanding your access.”
I snort. “We’ll discuss it?”
His eyebrow lifts. “I’ll listen to your case.”
I point at him with my tea mug. “And then you decide whether you’ve seen enough to change your mind? That’s not a discussion.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, his massive biceps stretching the material of his jacket. “You’re very direct.”
I set my mug down. “If everyone around you tells you what you want to hear, that’s your problem.”
For a second he just looks at me. Then he sets the data chip back on the desk and unfolds to his full height. Suddenly the workstation feels smaller. Warmer, too. Heat radiates from him strongly enough that I notice the difference when he steps away, which is irritating.
“I’ll be back this afternoon for a progress report.”
He crosses toward the door with the same controlled confidence he brings into every room. Nothing rushed. Nothing wasted. Just before he reaches the threshold, he pauses. “I’ve put the atmospheric allocation on a standing reorder,” he says. “You won’t run out.”
The words land somewhere beneath my ribs, and I recognize the feeling before I can stop it. Gratitude. Again. Still unwelcome. Still there.
The door slides shut behind him, leaving only the hum of the filtration system and Percy’s processors. The problem isn’t that he’s attractive.
The problem is that he understood the handoff-gap theory almost immediately.
I’ve worked with engineers who would have needed an hour-long presentation to get there. People at Helix who helped design systems like this.
Zavin looked at the data for five minutes, and understood.
“He’s smarter than he lets on, Perce.” I pull the redacted logs into the analysis framework. “That’s not reassuring.”
Chapter Seven
MIRO
Day two, and I’m still beating my head against the redacted data.
Percy’s analysis confirms my handoff-window theory overnight. Substrate activity spikes during the monitoring gaps between processing cycles, clustered around three eastern junction nodes. Exactly where I thought they’d be. I should be pleased to have the confirmation. Instead, I keep coming back to the blank spaces where the operative names used to be.
“I can see how they did it, Perce.” Rotating the projection, I follow the timing data with my finger. “The mole slips in through a tiny access window, moves between compartmentalized cells, then gets out before monitoring catches the trace. It’s smart. Careful. Whoever did this knew exactly how far they could push without getting seen.” Sitting back, I rub at my eyes. “And I still have no idea who it is.”
Percy emits a soft confirmation tone.
