How to Steal a Legacy

The hallway spun; ozone stung Simonee’s nose, latex and antiseptic riding under it—Services ring. Hospital. The floor pitched and she went down on one knee, retching. A dozen wormholes later, her body finally kept the score.

A hand landed on her back.

She turned her head and found Dalia hovering above her, frowning. “You should’ve closed your eyes.”

Simonee nodded. “Why… why are we in the hospital?”

Mason put a finger to his lips. The motion was soft, his eyes weren’t. “Uncle Karalius stepped up security since I was last here. Two guards on the door, and more inside I’m sure.”

Simonee pinged the wall with her implant; heat-shapes—human-ish—drifted beyond it.

Her neck went loose, a quick no. “I can make out at least five inside. How—”

“Leave that to me.” Mason peered around the corner, fiddled with his pisty’s controls, and wobbled out of existence.

Yelps ricocheted off the corridor walls from around the corner. Simonee’s shoulders tensed, and the hairs lifted off her neck.

Mason snapped back into the hall and jerked a hand—move—his sleeve torn, blood on his elbow. He didn’t flinch, so it probably wasn’t his.

“Come on then,” he said.

Around the corner, two men lay slumped beside a keypad door—Cold Storage stenciled above it.

Her legs went leaden as she snapped from the bodies to Mason and swallowed. “Do I need to hack that?”

Mason grinned. “Oh, no, I’ll handle it.” Pulling out his pisty, he wobbled away once again.

“Why am I even here?” Simonee mumbled.

A hand found her arm and squeezed. “We need you for the vault,” Dalia said, then whispered, “And I need you here.”

Dalia’s jaw clenched hard, bowing her cheeks; she held herself like she was fine for Ragana—except for the tremor in her hand. Something jittery rolled off her, tight and bright, almost buzzing. Simonee wished she knew what this was about.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

“No,” Dalia whispered dryly. “I don’t think I am.”

Shouting leaked through the door—then sharp pops, and the wall beside Simonee thumped.

Then silence and the door clicked open. Mason waved them inside.

Ragana went first and Dalia charged in after her, letting go of Simonee’s hand. Simonee shuffled in behind and shivered. Cold bit through her shirt; her teeth ground.

Behind her, something heavy scraped—boots, weight—Mason hauling the guards. The door sealed with a hard click. Her stomach climbed again; she forced it down. She hadn’t signed up for—no, she knew better. This was Mason.

They moved between rows of metal pods and canisters—holographic bar-codes flickering on steel, tags flashing: stem cells, cord blood, organs, bone marrow.

The rows opened into a wider chamber, and the Ledas trio halted. Simonee sidled up beside Dalia—then saw the bodies: three motionless on the floor, two propped against the wall.

Blood-smell slid in—metallic, thick—coating the back of her throat.

“Don’t look,” Dalia whispered.

Simonee looked at Dalia instead. Dalia’s eyes stayed locked ahead; her throat worked, swallowing and swallowing. Her cheeks pulled tight. Simonee forced her own eyes forward.

A brushed-metal door gleamed under harsh blue overhead light.

The door loomed—thick, seamless, impenetrable—and a blue crest adorned its center. Simonee recognized it immediately: the Ledas family seal.

A unicorn and a gryphon reared on either side of a shield quartered into four images—Enceladus, an iceberg, a fist in an iron gauntlet, a blue double cross on red. Ragana and Mason lifted their chins at it.

What do you even hide behind something like that? Simonee cleared her throat. “Seems a bit much.”

“Karalius built it,” Ragana said. “He was always big on excessive security theater.”

Simonee looked at Mason. “And your… interferometer. It won’t go through that?”

“It’s shielded by an exotic-matter-crystal lattice. My uncle thought of just about everything. Bits of me might make it through, but I’m not quite crazy enough to find out which.”

Ragana produced the blue keycard and pressed it into Simonee’s hand. “Time to do your thing.”

Simonee stepped to the door where a slot with no label was cut into the frame.

She slid the card in. It stopped halfway—then the slot glowed and sucked it deep into the frame. A blade of white light cut across her chest; air blew from the gap and formed a square display—then a green laser etched a numeric keypad into it.

That’s it? Simple on the surface—probably—but annoyingly smart underneath: tokens, physical barriers, no easy place to bite—no ports, no seams. Even the reader looked optical.

A feminine voice filled the room. “Primary access card accepted. Secondary numeric keycode required.”

Simonee ran her fingers up the frame, her implant overlay crawling with it. Near the bottom: a pale halo—magnet.

I wonder…

She hooked her smartcomm from her back pocket and brought it close; the pull snapped it the last inch—clang—and it stuck.

Simple enough.

She opened her test app and started pinging—protocol after protocol, frequency after frequency. Nothing answered until the last test—a prototype she’d been tinkering with. Vibration instead of EMF. Air-gap friendly.

Nothing. Nothing. Then—a response: an error, which still meant the door was listening.

She thumb moved faster. Signal. Encode Again.

The handshake held.

In.

The smartcomm buzzed against brushed metal, tickling her eardrums.

Minutes dragged. Then eight digits blinked up: 11092169.

Simonee leaned back. “That’s your birthday.” Dalia’s lips pulled in.

“Not very original,” Mason grumbled.

Simonee entered the keycode. The projected keypad vanished, replaced by a green circle; the magnet let go and her smartcomm clacked to the floor—

—but the door didn’t open.

“Now what?” Ragana growled.

“Tertiary authentication: voice print and passphrase required.”

Simonee’s fingers shredded through the air-sheet—no change, no confirmation.

“I can’t,” Simonee said, heat in her throat. “There’s nothing for me to access. I can’t bypass tertiary.”

Dalia let out a slow breath. “So… all of this—”

“Dalia Ledas voice match confirmed. Good afternoon, Ms. Ledas. Please state your passphrase?”

Simonee looked at Dalia—because of course. “This was always meant for you.”

Dalia stared at the door, blinking hard. Her fists clenched. “Father… you son of a bitch.” The words came out as a low growl.

“Incorrect passphrase. Please try again. You have two more attempts before a twenty-four-hour lockout,” the voice chirped.

Ragana’s smile pulled tight over her teeth. “Think quietly. We don’t get to do this again tomorrow.”

A tear slipped free and Dalia reached out a hand to Simonee. Simonee took it—held on.

“It’ll be something you both know,” Simonee said. “Something he’d think mattered.”

Dalia closed her eyes. “Legacy.”

“Incorrect passphrase. Please try again. You have one more attempt before a twenty-four-hour lockout,” the system chirped—sharper now.

“That would be too obvious,” Ragana said.

Simonee caught Dalia’s gaze and cupped her cheek. “Breathe. Think of something only you two talk about. A catchphrase. A name.”

Dalia’s mouth parted; her hand went to her stomach. Then her lips twitched up, something bright flickering in her eyes, and she pulled Simonee in—lips warm, firm—before she pulled away and faced the door.

“Gėlė,” she said. “He told me to remember Gėlė.”

Ragana’s head jerked toward Dalia; she scowled.

“Passphrase accepted.”

The display disappeared; the light went out. The keycard ejected halfway with a click. The door slid open.

White light poured out—too bright, all at once. Dalia entered first, followed stiffly by Ragana.

Mason leaned in close. “Well, little hacker—you wanted to know what the fuss was about.” He stepped aside, palm open to the doorway. “After you.”