"The automated transport sled just cleared the secondary decompression lock," Eniola said, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper as she stepped over a bundle of yellow high-voltage conduits. She stood watch at the intersection of the primary cooling gallery, her rifle held in a low-ready position, her eyes tracking the rhythmic sweep of the ceiling-mounted security pods. "Lyra, the port's automated logistics system is running a diagnostic check on our fake manifest right now. You have less than three minutes before the automated system realizes the container Delta-Seven-Nine-Alpha isn't supposed to be in the core server vault."Lyra was already on her knees in front of the central routing distribution frame labeled SG-CORE-02. Her fingers, stiff from the intense chill of the server room, were flying across the Keys of her primary terminal. She had spliced her connection directly into the primary dark-fiber backbone that linked the Singapore hub to the trans-Indian Ocean undersea cab
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