She had prepared for this for a long time. One final score, go out with a bang.


It’s what she did. She prepared, she planned, she plotted.


***


The Vault.


The Consortium’s charming name for its store of the entire world’s entertainment. Held, whored, and seeped out in small, managed packages.


Spimes gained access to this data on demand and, because of this, entry into The Vault was controlled and frequent.


To bring the wall down would take a massive endeavor, but any obvious attack on the system closed access to it, changed the passcodes, updated all links, and closed down the mirror that was under attack.


In the event of a concerted, mass attack the system would simply shut down and an emergency broadcast would play while the attackers had their systems fried through an enormous feedback loop.


The easiest way to take down the Vault would be to install a small set of code onto every machine that accessed The Vault. And then the have a partnered take down code built into every system that accessed The Vault.


***


“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, kids of all ages. This is your captain speaking.”


She was answered by a chorus of “Yaarrr”s.


“Tonight is my ultimate night. So, what say we knock it up a scoach?”


She was the Dread Pirate Roberts, taking her name from a book that she knew no one would remember. It was a good book, and no one read those anymore.


And, in a former life, she and her friends helped to design and build the systems that ran The Vault.


***


“And we’re on the Red Carpet for The Show today. Up this carpet the rich and famous will be here answering questions for you.” The presenter gave his cheesiest grin for the camera.


“Behind us is the last great river we have. The flow today has been stopped to allow for this amazing floating stage to be pushed out on it.” A dumb blonde in the tight jumper giggled.


“So, that’s happening later. Thanks alot guys, that sure looks a lot of fun.” The Anchor was the final of the triumvirate.


***


She made her final check over the jetski. The explosives were rigged, the data connections were camouflaged.


She took a deep breath and looked out into the night. 


Today. 


The Show.


“Central. I’m going to voice, on a private channel. I’ll need you to be my hands.”


“Aye aye, cap’n.”


She giggled. That never got old.


She fitted her goggles, checked her breathing unit and did a final check on the explosives before gunning her jet-ski. Once she picked up some speed, she talked into her headset again. “Central, I need you to patch a secure line through to my base unit.”


“Aye, Capt’n”


“Linus.” She waited. “Linus.” Nothing.


“Shitty computer.” She took a deep breath, slowed the ski down, trying to cut the noise. “Linus.”


There was a chime.


“Linus. Dial her.” Her voice was measured.


“At once, madam.” The perfect English butler.


A young voice answered. “I’m in place. What do you want?” Petulant.


“Just checking in. You have to be ready.”


“I know. You make it go bang, I’ll do the rest.”


Roberts thought for a moment that, perhaps, she hadn’t chosen her successor wisely enough. Still no time to worry about that now.


She rounded a bend in the river. Ahead of her, on the most exclusive harbour on the west coast, she could see the lights of the Consortium’s yearly award show.


“Central – prime the bombs.” A light on Jet ski turned from green to red.


“Mermaids – push that target into place”


Up ahead, a barge slowly got pushed out into the water. The Dread Pirate aimed towards it.


“Crew. Plan A.”