Free Regeneration by Stephanie Saulter

and said, “But it’s not only us and the authorities who know the security setup. There’ve been a few outside specialists, including the consultant who identified the sabotage. She also helped design the system—a fact which is noted in the submission. So maybe she was hacked—she probably doesn’t have the same level of protection . . .”
    Oh yes she does, Sharon thought. If only you knew.
    “No,” Pilan said. “We constructed it based on Gaela’s recommendations, but she doesn’t have the final layout. And we’ve already had our own servers checked—by Herran.” His tone was heavy with the significance of that fact.
    He turned back to Sharon. “My money’s on it being someone in one of those departments Qiyem mentioned: some disgruntled civil servant, taking a kickback from Bankside.”
    Sharon sighed. “Be careful, Pilan. I can’t completely rule it out, but so far there’s no sign of any unauthorized access or hack. And Bankside might be heavily involved with the Estuary Preservation Society, but that doesn’t automatically make them suspects. You don’t want to go throwing around accusations that you can’t back up.”
    “They’ve been hell-bent on stopping us from joining the grid tonight. Both Bankside and the EPS. And we know they requested the technical specs.”
    “So did a great many other interested parties. Having the information and a motive doesn’t mean they had the intent, or the means.” She swiped at her tablet in irritation. “I can tell you that the key players all have rock-solid alibis for the night of the sabotage.”
    “Suspiciously solid?”
    “We’re looking into it.” Sharon tucked the tablet away. “In the meantime, we need to consider every other possibility, even if it’s just to rule it out. That includes internal access to security information.I want to know who looked at what, from installation to the date of the sabotage.”
    Pilan looked baleful, but he didn’t argue. “I’ll tell the security director to run an analysis.”
    “No. I know you trust her completely, but it can’t be anyone who has responsibility in that area.”
    “I can do it,” said Qiyem.
    “You have access? Good. Send it via the secure link you used before.” She stood up. “The answer is here somewhere, Pilan. We just have to find it.”
    Gabriel caught a glimpse of Sharon hurrying along the quayside, wrapped in a wind-whipped raincoat. He doubted it was giving her much protection from the deluge, which was washing down the transparent biopolymer membrane in rippling sheets. The interior of the Thames Tidal project office felt watery, cool and slightly gray; everything outside was refracted and distorted, as if seen in some strangely warped mirror. The first true storm of autumn appeared to be trying to submerge them entirely, drenching the topside levels of the amphibious building as thoroughly as those below the waterline. Standing at the window with a steaming cup of tea in his hands, Gabriel thought that perhaps this was what it was like to see and move and breathe and live underwater.
    He glanced around, past colleagues clustered at workstations in intense, quiet discussion or working with heads bent and webbed fingers flying, to where Agwé was sitting. It was the kind of notion that she, with her eye for composition and documentarian’s feeling for perspective, would appreciate—but she too was concentrating, earbuds in, hands dancing across screens, the activity light on her band pulsing softly. As he was the one who’d requested the last-minute edits, he could hardly interrupt her.
    Qiyem walked by, head turning to watch Agwé as he did so. As always, his tablet was in hand, although his band was in place; as always, its light was a steady standby blue. Gabriel sighed inwardly and told himself not to mind. Qiyem was not the only person who used the band to guard against the risk of having his mind read, and he couldguess at least one of the things the