Giliran Anda

The virtual space was filled with blaring alarms, the rising pitch of observer protocols coming online, and the spooling up of every last one of NBN’s latest and greatest intrusion countermeasures electronics. Connection time so far: 0.00012 seconds. They were fast. But not fast enough.

The construct loomed, rapidly approaching as MuslihaT sped towards the server’s root. Seven orange bodies winked into existence around her, and each of the Seraph’s seven blue limbs smashed one of them – but not her.

“Licin!” The digital construct named Zara laughed as MuslihaT darted past Seraph’s reaching grasp. Exactly as she predicted, the river was next. She allowed herself a smirk – the server intel she’d fished was worth every credit. The Piranhas were frothing the water, and this sysop had added some local flavor.

The crocodiles snapped and writhed. MuslihaT gestured, and her digital avatar transformed into a tiny little kancil. Small and nimble, she pranced over the heads of the snarling reptiles, the fish desperately jumping for her, but she was too quick. The construct named Rin blew a raspberry at them as MuslihaT flew skywards, slicing through the middle of the Tollbooth’s circular gate right before it slammed shut.

Pure silence. White light. A million, million, million file cabinets, flashing bright yellow NBN logos, surrounded her in all directions, an infinite array of data.

She was in. She was IN.

Her constructs were cheering in her head. Whoo! Yeah! Omg girl!!! Ya tuhan we did it!!!

MuslihaT grabbed the nearest cabinet. This was the one. She’d landed right on top of her target. Seven months of prep. Thousands of credits of groundwork. Dozens of contacts, assets, friends, and she landed the moonshot first try. Every part of her was tingling.

The transfer light blinked green. Connection time: 0.00079 seconds.

MuslihaT jacked out.

The world returned. Chatter all around her. The bright sunlight streaming in through the cafe windows through her sunglasses, reflected off the stark shining white of the Menara. The feel of the chair she was in. Her headscarf on her hair. Every part of her was tingling.

Less than a millisecond. Musliha closed the device in her palm, then crushed it, slipping the remains into her pocket. At the table behind her a datin she recognized from the newscasts laughed at a joke her friend just told her. The baristas in their pressed gold uniforms busied themselves behind the counter. The air was filled with the heady aroma of tea.

And victory.

“Cik sedia pesan?”

Musliha looked at the smiling waiter.

“Maaf,” she said, standing up. “My friend suddenly couldn’t make it.”

The blast of air conditioning faded as the cafe door closed, the Menara rising into the sky with the sea glittering beyond it. 113 stories of mall, office, residential (and miscellaneous NBN) before it gave way to the spire of the in-construction space elevator above. It was almost lunchtime, and the plaza was busying with the usual clientele – corpies, risties, and the influencers making their little videos. Musliha passed a girl recording herself in front of the Menara with her PAD and seven additional dronecams, and pushed the remains of her console into a garbage bin. Gone, said the voice in her head. They’ll never find it, said another.

The train station was packed with alighting passengers. Perfect time to get lost in a crowd. A tour group leader waved her little Malaysian flag at the Menara, and dozens of Korean tourists followed. Musliha made for the stairs, her shoes clacking on the marble as she descended to the bus level, where the gilded floors gave way to red and grey interlocking cement stones. Dozens of human laborers in their hazard vests and hard hats stepped off a bus, heading towards the service elevator where they would be shuttled off to one of the dozens of active construction areas.

Out of sight, out of mind. Just like Musliha, whispered a voice. She thought maybe that one was Nur.

A hundred steps and the brick gave way to asphalt, the sky filled with hoppers skipping over the wooden houses and thatched roofs of Kampung Bukan Lama. The ironic name still made her smile every time she entered. Chickens ran over the corrugated dirt roads next to children playing congkak and skipping rope. If you craned your head, you could still see the Menara over the massive dividing wall between here and there. Musliha was pretty sure one of her contacts for this heist was the individual responsible for getting the eminent domain case dropped, stopping NBN from seizing this land for its pretty little plaza. They had responded in typical corp fashion, sealing the people off with concrete.

Kopi Andik was halfway down Jalan Bunga, and Musliha slipped in. Andik smiled at her and placed the teh tarik down on her usual table. She smiled back.

“I’ll put out the transceiver,” he whispered. She almost laughed. Andik was never this theatrical. 

“36.30, by the way.” she said. Andik’s eyes goggled.

“Serious?”

“Yep,” she held up the teh. “That’s what they’re charging for teh tarik up there.”

Andik shook his head in disbelief. “Thirty times as much…” his voice trailed off as he threw his towel over his shoulder and muscled his way through the back door. Forty years and it was still sticking.

Muslihat slipped the sunglasses off her headscarf as she sipped the teh. It was the best she’d ever had. Tasted like revenge, whispered Sofia.

The transfer was barely started when Haq slipped in, sitting at the table. He was wearing a Kuching Tigers jersey and matching cap. He saw the sunglasses on the table, the PAD transferring the files from it, and sighed with relief.

“You look ridiculous,” Musliha laughed.

“It was the best disguise I could get on short notice,” he sighed, running his fingers through his curly hair before jamming the cap back on. “So? Which access node?”

She looked at him. Just tell him, said Zara.

“The Menara.”

“The Mena-!?” Haq shouted before remembering himself. “The Menara?!” He hissed. “Li! It’s not safe up there!”

He’s about to say it’s crawling with corpies, said Rin.

“It’s crawling with corpies!”

“I’m fine,” she smirked. “Don’t worry.”

“What if someone saw you?”

“No one saw me. And don’t worry. It’s not like I’m about to start carrying a revolver.”

Haq returned his gaze to the transfer, his face still looking as if two dropships full of prisec might burst through the roof of the kopi. The PAD beeped. Seventy eight remote uploads, each set to self replicate to six other backup servers if anyone tried to delete them. An enormous expense, but only needed for a few days while the information circulated. Musliha made a note to ask Haq who his mysterious benefactor was.

“Okay,” She sighed, a huge weight coming off her. “It’s done. All the back channels and rumor mills. Every local council, independent contractor, B2B vendor, greymarket trader, and bit player in Borneo’s about to have that dirt in their inboxes.”

Haq looked at the PAD, then back up to her. His fingers slid the credit chip across the table. Andik returned, placing another teh tarik in front of Haq.

“Baik?” said the old man.

“Oh we’re so baik.” Muslihat couldn’t stop herself from smiling. Everyone from here to the Peninsular had everything they needed to choke NBN. 

By end of business this might even be breaking news. Bangkai nuan nya!

She wanted to stand up and scream. This is who you could have had. This is the caliber of applicant you turned down. Candidate does not display relevant skills? Hah!

Musliha stared down at the documents, at the NBN logo. You guys love your surveillance, right? All your cameras, all your satellites.

Tengok betul-betul. Giliran anda untuk diperhatikan.

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