Chapter 9 - No One Left BehindThe oxygen level dropped faster than I expected.
It rarely is.
Usually, you choose between terrible and worse.
If I authenticated Janus, Apex could access the system’s full predictive capabilities.
If I refused, patients might die in minutes.
Children.
People already fighting for their lives.
The countdown continued.
04:51.
Cross studied the hardware.
“There has to be a bypass.”
Voss laughed through the screen.
“There isn’t.”
Cole signed rapidly.
Give me key.
“What are you doing?”
He pointed at the port.
Partial authentication.
Cross understood.
“If Bishop authenticates without Maya, the system may pause while waiting for remaining credentials.”
Voss’s smile faded slightly.
That told me it might work.
“Do it.”
Cole inserted the drive.
The console scanned.
AUTHORIZATION ONE OF THREE ACCEPTED.
Countdown froze.
02:39.
Everyone exhaled.
Then:
SECONDARY AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED WITHIN 120 SECONDS.
New countdown.
01:59.
“Better,” Cross said.
“Not much.”
Voss leaned toward camera.
“You’re delaying the inevitable.”
Cross ignored him.
“What counts as secondary?”
Console requested:
TACTICAL ADMINISTRATOR — E. CROSS
Cross placed his hand on the scanner.
I grabbed his wrist.
“No.”
“Maya.”
“If you authenticate, that puts us one step from full activation.”
“And gives us another window.”
“Or gives Voss more access.”
Cross looked at me.
“I built the security architecture.”
“You also built Janus.”
The words landed.
Cole watched us.
Countdown:
01:21.
Cross said quietly, “You don’t trust me.”
“No.”
“Good.”
That surprised me.
He placed his hand on scanner.
“Never trust someone because they taught you to.”
Authentication.
TWO OF THREE ACCEPTED.
The system changed.
Countdown stopped again.
Then:
FINAL AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED: SPARROW.
Time limit:
10:00.
Ten minutes.
Cross pulled me aside.
“Listen. Once two administrators authenticate, diagnostic tools become available.”
He opened a hidden menu.
System architecture appeared.
A massive network map.
Thousands of nodes.
One line glowed.
EXTERNAL COMMAND ROUTE.
Voss’s connection.
“We can trace him.”
Briggs began working.
Another agent transmitted the data to federal cyber teams.
Voss’s face vanished from screen.
Good.
He knew.
“Location?” I asked.
Briggs waited.
“Maryland.”
“Specific?”
“Give me a minute.”
We didn’t have many.
Cole pointed toward another menu.
TARGET EXECUTION COMMANDS.
Someone had uploaded dozens.
Medication changes.
Device failures.
Alarms.
Everything scheduled.
I tried deleting them.
Access denied.
“Need final authorization.”
Of course.
Cross looked at me.
“If you authenticate, we can cancel them.”
“And activate Janus.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“The system will enter predictive mode, but if we sever Voss’s command connection first—”
“Can we?”
“Yes.”
“Without releasing data?”
Cross hesitated.
“Probably.”
I laughed bitterly.
“That’s reassuring.”
Cole touched my arm.
He signed:
Patients first.
I knew.
I hated that I knew.
Briggs announced, “We have Voss.”
“Where?”
“Private Apex data center outside Annapolis.”
“Raid?”
“Team moving.”
“How long?”
“Twenty minutes.”
We had eight.
Cross said, “Maya.”
I stepped to scanner.
The machine prompted:
PLACE RIGHT HAND.
I did.
Fingerprint recognized.
LOOK INTO SENSOR.
Retina.
Recognized.
Then final.
STRESS RESPONSE VALIDATION.
The system displayed a sequence of images.
Combat.
Medical trauma.
Old photographs from Sundown Valley.
My heart started pounding.
“What the hell?”
Cross looked sick.
“It needs to verify identity through autonomic response.”
“You used trauma as a password?”
“I didn’t design this part.”
Images changed.
My old team.
Dead men.
Burning vehicles.
Then a photograph of Ethan carrying me after an explosion.
I remembered.
Smoke.
Blood.
His voice telling me not to close my eyes.
The machine measured everything.
Pulse.
Pupil dilation.
Breathing.
I forced myself not to look away.
Then:
IDENTITY CONFIRMED. SPARROW.
The room lights changed from red to white.
Every screen activated.
JANUS FULL PREDICTIVE MODE ONLINE.
For one second, nothing happened.
Then names filled screens.
Thousands.
Profiles.
Probability assessments.
Vulnerability scores.
I felt physically sick.
“Cancel hospital commands.”
Cross did.
EXECUTION TERMINATED.
Radios erupted with reports.
Devices returning to normal.
Patients stabilizing.
I nearly collapsed from relief.
But Cole grabbed my shoulder.
He pointed.
New text appeared.
EXTERNAL EXTRACTION STARTED.
Voss.
He had been waiting for full activation.
Data began flowing outward.
Cross typed commands.
“Blocking.”
Transfer continued.
“Why isn’t it stopping?”
Cross stared.
“Because he has administrator privileges.”
“From where?”
Then we saw it.
A fourth credential.
M. KELLER.
I stared.
“Keller?”
Briggs radioed upstairs.
No response.
“Keller!”
Static.
Then Tasha answered.
“Dr. Keller is gone.”
My chest tightened.
“He was injured.”
“He left.”
Cross looked furious.
“He played us.”
Cole signed:
Or someone stole his credentials.
Possible.
Then the screen changed again.
A live camera appeared.
Keller.
Sitting in a car.
Not hostage.
Driving.
He looked directly at dash camera.
“Forgive me.”
Then he entered a code.
DATA RELEASE AUTHORIZED.
Cross slammed his fist on table.
“No!”
Transfer accelerated.
I stared at Keller’s face.
The man who recruited me.
The man who claimed to oppose Janus.
He had lied to everyone.
Voss appeared again on screen.
Smiling.
“Thank you, Sparrow.”
Briggs shouted into radio.
I watched transfer percentage.
12%.
16%.
21%.
Cole typed something.
Cross looked.
Then shook his head.
“No.”
“What?”
Cole pointed at the core cooling controls.
“He wants to physically destroy the archive.”
“But Keller said that releases everything.”
Cole shook his head.
Then signed:
Not if external route remains open.
I understood.
If we overloaded the system while it was actively transferring to one destination, fail-safe might dump into that route rather than worldwide.
Cross looked uncertain.
“It might.”
“Might?”
“Fifty-fifty.”
Transfer:
38%.
Voss smiled.
“You won’t risk it.”
I looked at him.
That was the thing people like Voss never understood.
They thought risk belonged to them because they had money.
They thought fear made everyone obedient.
But I had spent years making decisions where every option hurt.
I turned to Cole.
“Do it.”
Cross grabbed my arm.
“Maya.”
“Patients are safe.”
“What about the identities?”
“If Apex gets them, they’re exposed anyway.”
Transfer:
49%.
I hit emergency cooling shutdown.
Warnings screamed.
Temperature rose.
Voss stood.
“What are you doing?”
“Making a nursing decision.”
60%.
Server fans accelerated.
70%.
Smoke appeared.
Cross yelled, “We need to leave!”
85%.
Voss screamed now.
“Stop!”
I smiled at screen.
“Funny. You seemed so calm earlier.”
95%.
Core temperature critical.
Then transfer stopped.
CONNECTION FAILURE.
Voss vanished.
A second message appeared.
EMERGENCY DATA PURGE INITIATED.
Cross stared.
“Data purge?”
Not release.
Purge.
Keller had lied about that too.
One by one, server lights died.
Years of Janus data disappeared.
Cole looked at me.
Cross looked stunned.
Then alarms screamed louder.
The door locked.
Smoke filled chamber.
Briggs tried controls.
Nothing.
A mechanical voice announced:
FACILITY CONTAINMENT PROTOCOL.
Cross’s face changed.
“What?”
He knew.
“What is containment?”
He looked at us.
“Fire suppression.”
“That’s good.”
“No.”
Cross grabbed the door.
“It evacuates oxygen.”
The vents opened.
Air rushed out.
May you like
We had destroyed Janus.
Now Janus was going to bury us with it.
