2.30pm SST Sunday 13 January 2085
Zak logged in using the key.
He was already familiar with the crew interface from watching Ragboy’s demonstration. He worked his way through the pages and found that he had full access for snooping on Krushkov’s men. But he didn’t want to let Geremi down, so resisted the temptation to watch anyone else.
He brought up the passenger roster, and found the cabin numbers for the men he and Ragboy had previously identified.
He cycled through CCTV footage of each cabin. The first two were empty, but the third contained a group of men, sitting around on the chairs and beds. Zak recognised most of them.
‘Krushkov, Fang, Ubogu, O’Neill, Khan,’ said Zak quietly, checking each one’s identity on the computer, and putting names to faces.
He listened to their chat. To his surprise it was trivial, and not at all suspicious. They were debating the merits of having a car within the confines of a small Martian city.
At first, Zak found it intriguing. But as the conversation dragged on, and the argument went round in circles, his attention wandered. He realised he could be in for a long day. As time went on his eyelids started to droop. Then, in a split-second, he hit the jackpot.
O’Neill, a big American who had argued it was unnecessary to have a car, stood up and reached to his waist. He pulled out a blaster and waved it around.
‘Having one of these is more important than a car,’ he declared.
They all laughed, except Krushkov.
‘Put it away O’Neill,’ he said with irritation. ‘Now let’s get back to our rethink, we haven’t got forever.’
As O’Neill sat back down, Zak realised he must act immediately.
He called Geremi.
‘Yes Zak?’
‘I’ve found them already. They’re sitting in a cabin, and they’ve got a gun.’
