Adaptation

October 17, 2055 | 7:25 AM | Nova Cascade, Canada

The data surge from the synchronization event faded, leaving the tunnel's systems struggling to recover. Through his enhanced lenses, Maxon watched the security teams adjust their positions. The Matsuda woman was speaking rapidly into her comm, her analysis device still pointed in his direction despite being fried. The maintenance worker had moved to a new position, covering one of the exits.

"Lilith, status report."

"All systems returning to normal parameters. The fragment appears to have returned to its dormant state following the synchronization event."

Maxon kept the fragment secure in his pack. Whatever had just happened between it and its counterpart above, he wasn't about to trust or use something he barely understood. Right now, it was cargo - valuable, dangerous cargo that needed to be studied under controlled conditions.

"Map our exit options," he subvocalized to Lilith. "Factor in current security deployments."

"Three potential routes detected. Analyzing security team movements and patrol patterns. Maintenance shaft C-7 shows lowest security presence."

Maxon moved silently through the tunnel, years of infiltration experience guiding each step. The maintenance shaft was narrow - barely wide enough for one person. Perfect for limiting security team movements, but also a potential trap.

"Multiple teams converging," Lilith warned. "Detecting coordinated search patterns through the sublevel networks."

The shaft descended at a steep angle, maintenance rungs set into the wall at regular intervals. Maxon grabbed the first rung and began his descent, moving quickly but quietly. Above, he heard the security teams breaching the service tunnel.

Three levels down, a door burst open two sections over - boots on metal grating, tactical gear clinking. His lenses mapped their approach while Lilith analyzed their movement patterns. They were following standard Pacific Collective search protocols.

Maxon paused, hanging silently in the darkness. Five seconds later, a security team passed directly beneath him, heading toward his last known position. Their tactical gear was top-line Pacific Collective issue, but their formation was too precise, too rehearsed. Like the surveillance team above, something about their movements felt staged.

"Lilith, analyze their comm patterns."

"Multiple encrypted channels detected. Each team appears to be operating on need-to-know protocols. Communications are coordinated but compartmentalized."

A professional operation, then. Not just hub security responding to a breach, but something more organized. The question was: organized by whom?

The security team passed, and Maxon continued his descent. Lilith's analysis showed two more teams converging on the lower levels - standard response patterns, easy to anticipate. What concerned him more was the complete absence of the surveillance team's signals. They'd gone dark, but he doubted they'd lost track of him.

Five levels down, the shaft opened into a wider maintenance area. His lenses adjusted to the dim emergency lighting, mapping multiple exit routes. This deep under the transit hub, the tunnels connected to Nova Cascade's older infrastructure - maintenance passages and service corridors from before the city's quantum upgrade.

"Movement detected," Lilith reported. "Two teams entering from the east junction. Analyzing search patterns - they'll implement standard grid formation."

Four officers in tactical gear emerged, their movements precise and coordinated. The first officer spotted him and raised his weapon. Maxon was already moving, pushing off the maintenance rungs into a tight flip that carried him over their heads. He landed behind them, years of uploaded martial arts knowledge flowing through his muscles.

The closest officer spun, throwing a practiced combination - jab, cross, kick. Maxon slipped past the punches, caught the kick, and used the officer's momentum to send him crashing into his colleague. The third officer came in low, trying to grapple. Maxon stepped into his space, one hand directing the officer's shoulder while his knuckles struck precisely at the junction of the neck and shoulder; the brachial plexus origin. The officer dropped, his arm going limp as the nerve bundle temporarily overloaded.

The fourth officer was better trained, his stance suggesting advanced combat augmentations. He moved with artificial precision, each strike calculated by combat algorithms. But Maxon's uploaded knowledge included counters to standard augmented fighting styles. He flowed around the attacks, caught the officer's kick, stepped past his guard, and executed a precise throw that sent him sprawling down the maintenance shaft.

"Additional teams approaching," Lilith warned. "Detecting pincer movement formation."

The narrow space worked both ways, limiting his opponents but also his movement options. Maxon heard boots on metal above and below. Lilith's analysis suggested they would try to box him in, force him toward their stronger positions.

Two more officers appeared below, their stun batons crackling with energy. Above, heavy footsteps indicated a containment team in full tactical gear. Maxon's eyes caught a detail his lenses had missed, an old maintenance duct, its access panel nearly invisible behind years of grime.

The first officer came in aggressive, stun baton sweeping in a wide arc. Maxon dropped low, his palm striking the grating beneath them. Using the metal surface as leverage, he launched into a spinning kick that caught the officer in the chest. Without pausing, he rolled backward, avoiding the second officer's baton strike by millimeters.

Lilith's analysis showed the containment team above was six seconds from optimal firing position. Maxon grabbed the stunned officer's tactical vest and spun, using him as a shield while delivering a precise elbow strike to the second officer's temple. Both women went down hard.

He reached for the maintenance duct's access panel, but the containment team was faster than anticipated. Energy bolts sizzled through the air, forcing him to dive into a roll. His enhanced lenses caught movement, three more officers emerging from a side passage, all carrying advanced containment gear.

Maxon's response was pure fluid motion. He pushed off the wall into a tight flip, landing between two officers. Before they could react, he struck; a rapid sequence of hits that overloaded their augmented nervous systems. The third officer managed to fire his weapon, but Maxon was already moving, flowing past the energy burst like it was in slow motion.

He closed the distance, deflected the officer's desperate counter-strike, and executed a perfect throw. The officer crashed into the containment team just as they reached the optimal firing position, disrupting their formation.

Lilith highlighted his window of opportunity. 2.3 seconds before they could regroup. Maxon ripped open the maintenance duct's panel and slipped inside just as another barrage of energy bolts filled the space he'd occupied.

The duct led to one of Nova Cascade's original transit tunnels. His lenses adjusted to the darkness, mapping multiple routes through the pre-quantum infrastructure. Lilith quickly analyzed likely security coverage of known exits.

"Warning," she announced. "Detecting coordinated movement above. Security teams are sealing off sections of the modern transit network."

Maxon moved swiftly through the abandoned tunnel system, his steps silent on the dusty maintenance walkway. After fifteen minutes of careful navigation, he reached the Thompson Street hub, a massive forgotten space from Nova Cascade's early days.

"Final security sweep complete," Lilith reported. "No active pursuit detected. They've shifted to perimeter containment of the modern networks."

Which meant they'd either lost him, or more likely, had seen exactly what they wanted to see. The surveillance team's behavior, the security teams' coordinated yet restrained response, the way they'd monitored the fragment during the synchronization. All of it felt like a carefully orchestrated test.

Ten minutes later, Maxon emerged into Nova Cascade's morning air through a maintenance access point behind an old recycling facility. The fragment's weight in his pack felt different now, a part of something larger. Something that someone very organized, very professional, and very well-prepared wanted him to find.

The real question was: why?