The Lady is a Thief

The lights were out in the hall of the Ice Princess and therein lurked a thief. She crept along the arched outer-wall, passing a window full of star-shine set in thick, fused-silica glass. The Kronian moon, Enceladus, rolled through, sweeping panels of pale light along the opposing wall. When Enceladus cleared the view, there was star-specked darkness again.

And then, with a flash, sunrise.

The thief turned away from the glare as a photochromic layer in the glass tinted the view. The sun swooped by as a flare across the amber-colored filter, casting the hall in a golden dusk as bright as the Enceladan shine.

The sun set into starlight again.

Light shifted over the thief as she moved.

Moon.

Starlight.

Sun.

Starlight.

Moon.

This was daytime on a spinning ring—a sixty-second cycle that filled the hall with fire and ice like an inverted lighthouse. As the thief maneuvered in silence, pale light blazed across her gamine form, and her silhouette skittered down the hall like an agitated insect.

Her boots crushed the piled carpet; her dark hooded jacket rustled—subtle sounds made loud in the quiet.

She approached a bureau at the end of the hall. Made of redwood burl, it shaded black in the shadows and rose-colored in the flickering light. The prize the thief sought lay concealed inside. And there she hesitated–glancing left; checking over her shoulder.

She shouldn't be doing this. She should go back. There had to be another way.
But there wasn't. If the thief didn't get caught, then she would never know.

Easy in. Easy out. No harm. No foul.

One breath in; one breath out: she kneeled.

Gently, she lifted the latch on the main cabinet door. Opened it. Creak! She stopped. Looked around the room again. The thief stared over her shoulder at the double doors on the other end of the hall, where the Ice Princess slept. Not a sound—just the humming of the air handlers and the hammer of her own heart.

She turned back. Slower now, she eased the door open.

Inside sat a small gray box measuring fifty centimeters on each side–right where Mason said it would be. An access panel glowed on the front, casting a pale blue pall over the thief's round face.

She didn't have a mule unit on which to practice. So, the thief was working with little more than theory and luck. But she also had an advantage.

As she leaned in close, her right eye glowed bright purple, smothering the safe in ultraviolet light. The ocular implant had replaced the eye she lost long ago, and now she used it to scan the magnetic tumbler on the door. It churned through the raw sensor data, merged it with pre-loaded schematics and fed the imagery directly into the thief's visual cortex as an active vector overlay of white lines and numbers.

A steady finger traced the glowing lines of electromagnetic force.

There: a wrinkle in the tumbler's magnetic domain–a linchpin to release the locking bolts without engaging the failsafe meltdown protocol.

With her other hand, she raised a small, makeshift device—all wires and silver tape.

Click. Fizz! Hum. Thunk.

A tiny electromagnetic pulse let loose the bolts; the panel turned green; the door popped open.

Lying flat inside the safe was a single blue keycard—notched at one end but otherwise unmarked. Swiftly, the thief swapped it with a replica from the satchel at her hip and shut the safe with a gentle snick. A second EMP re-engaged the locking bolts.

She breathed. It actually worked. She had the keycard. Everything was going according to plan.

Easy in. Easy out. No harm. No foul. She thought, and a smirk broke across her face; her green organic eye twinkled.

"Like a ninja." She whispered—but, out of the corner of her eye, a reflection in the window shifted.

Her stomach flipped—cold in the pit. Someone was watching. Had been for several minutes. Gooseflesh bloomed down her neck and over her arms as she stood slowly, legs shaking.

She'd missed the shift in the air when the double doors opened; the approach of a warm body; the musk of sweat over sweet jasmine. She gasped, inhaling the familiar scent deeply.

The Ice Princess wasn't asleep.

The thief spun and gaped at the pale woman in front of her, clutching the keycard in her hand like a forbidden cookie fresh from the jar.

"Oh. Hi. I—I was just—"

The woman's hand flung forward, palm out. “Don't. I knew something was wrong with you tonight. You never offer to pour me a drink.” Her voice cracked. “I felt like such a bitch not trusting you, Simonee. But here you are. Did you really try to drug me?”

"Dalia... no." Simonee shook her head, then nodded. "I mean, maybe a little diphenhydramine. To make you sleepy, that's all!"

Dalia Ledas glared. "Oh, just a little? What were you thinking?"

The passing moon-glow of Enceladus splashed milky light across Dalia’s nude body. Her lips stretched thin over bared teeth, and tears trailed diamonds down flushed cheeks; falling, splashing over her breasts where Simonee lay her head an hour before, listening to the beat of Dalia's heart—musk over sweet jasmine.

But all Simonee could do was stand there: gawking, head shaking, no words, no breath.

Dalia hissed and smacked the tears from her cheeks as she spun towards the door.

“Podozhdi... wait.” Simonee stumbled from Russian back into English— hesitant with the truth, yet desperate to say something. “This isn’t— It's not what you think!”

Dalia stopped. Subtle starlight swept a sinuous gray line across her slender back and sparkled coldly in sapphire eyes as they glared over her pale shoulder. When the sun blazed in, it lit them on fire. "Alright then. Explain."

Simonee's jaw dropped open. Snapped shut. "I... I can't. Just, please—"

Dalia shook her head, her pale hair whipping; cascading over her shoulders and pouring down the small of her back.

“I don’t want to hear it. I knew. I knew what you were. Shame on me for thinking I wouldn’t be just another mark. Take what you came for and leave. I hope it’s worth it." She sniffed, her eyes crinkled. "I won’t call security until I’m dressed."

Dalia tossed aside her platinum locks and stormed back into her room. Slammed the door.

Simonee's short black hair feathered back from the pressure. She stared at the keycard in her hand. Let her hand fall. Nearly dropped the card and ran after her.

But she couldn't. There were consequences.

She wanted to tell Dalia everything. She always could... before this. But that wasn’t the bargain. Mason had been clear; Dalia would die if Simonee didn't deliver. She wiped away a gliding tear, slid the card into the satchel at her hip and made for the door. Muffled sobs from the bedroom stalled her again, but she swallowed her guilt dry and burst out the door. If Dalia called security, they'd lock down this section.

And Simonee Saran had a delivery to make.