"I still say you should have just let me blow the lock," Teresa grumbled, glaring at the offending door through the steady dripping of the summer rain.
"And I still say that the whole point of tonight is being stealthy," Betsy replied for the sixteenth time, rolling her eyes. "If we're going to let you cut loose with the sonic lance, I might as well have brought Neal along too. But I don't much fancy the idea of having the walls blasted down, so we'll do it my way, and we'll get in and out of here without anyone noticing."
Here was the Biocheminstry and Molecular Biology wing of the new Centre of Innovation at Oxford. And according to Moira and Betsy, it was also the site of Francis Carson's laboratories, and, more importantly, his files and notes on his research. It was for that reason that Betsy, Teresa and Rahne had flown into the old university town, landing the jet on the protected ground of Christchurch Meadow under cover of darkness and Betsy's telepathy. The historic herd of cattle had scattered as the high-tech plane touched down before returning to their placid chewing, mostly unconcerned by the strange activities of humans in their pasture. Trying for as much nonchalance as is possible while wearing tight black leather, the three girls had then hurried through the lanes and streets, past the old stone colleges whose gargoyles seemed to be watching them impassively as they walked beneath. The Centre for Innovation was on the other side of the city centre, nestled in beside the old Clarendon labs – a fifteen minute walk, but Oxford was rather short on places to land a state-of-the-art aircraft.
"Doesn't your father work here, Betsy?" Teresa asked again as they waited in the darkness beside the Centre's back door. "Couldn't he just let us in?" Rahne nodded her agreement – the rain wasn't precisely annoying, especially compared to the typical weather at Muir Island, but it would have been nice to have been able to simply walk inside and not wait out here for half an hour.
"Nope, unfortunately," the telepath answered. "His office and everything's back at St John's College – he doesn't have access to this place outside normal hours. Like I said, we're going to have to do this my way." She shrugged, and smiled at something in the darkness. "And here it comes now…"
Sure enough, a figure appeared from around the corner of the building, stepping into the lighted area in front of the doorway. The security guard on the night shift, making his half hourly perimeter check. Flattening herself against the wall as far as she could, Rahne drew in her breath, trying not to make a sound. It was unnecessary, since Betsy was psychically preventing the man from perceiving them, but it made her feel safer.
Limbs moving mechanically, under outside direction that he probably wasn't even aware of, the guard searched through his pockets, eventually coming out with a keycard. He slid it through the pad beside the door, punching in his combination automatically. And then after giving the corridor inside a cursory inspection, the man straightened up with a shrug, and turned back toward the night, continuing his walk around the building without so much as a glance at the three girls in black leather who were standing against the wall.
Betsy darted forward and grabbed the door, preventing it from swinging shut and giving the hallway inside a quick, expert glance. "We're clear for the moment," she reported. "No cameras – looks like they were relying on Mr Blinky back there to keep out any intruders… Still, that works to our benefit." She motioned the other two girls forward. "Right, codenames only from here on in, girls."
Rahne followed Psylocke and Siryn through the corridors, trusting that they knew where they were going. It seemed to work – eventually they came to a door bearing a plate which read: G17 - Dr Francis Carson. It was locked, which they'd expected. There had been some debate about what to do about the locks on the inner rooms – destroying them would be quicker than waiting until Betsy could steal the keys from Carson using her telepathy, but it would also leave no doubt that the facility had been broken into. Considering the limits on time that Jono's fast approaching sentencing imposed, in the end the interests of speed had won out. A short burst of noise from Siryn neatly blew out the bolt, and the door swung open with a barely audible swish.
Rahne had had very limited experience with the décor choices of research scientists, but Francis Carson's office was far from Moira's immaculately sleek system of computers and colour-coded files, and not even that close to Dr McCoy's lab back at the Institute, which was normally strewn with everything from left-over test-tubes from his latest chemistry experiment to half-finished translations of old Hebrew or even the deflated remains of whatever kind of ball Ray and Roberto had been fighting over most recently. This office was simply filled with… paper. From stacks of journals in the bookcases which reached from floor to ceiling on two of the walls to the sheets of scribbled diagrams stuck to the whiteboard and the piles and piles of notes spreading over both floor and desk and filing cabinet, the room was a mess of paper. The only sign of personality in this office was a single photo of two men pinned up above the computer. With a flash of loathing, Rahne noticed that one of them was Edward Carson.
Once inside, the other two girls immediately got to work. Rahne hovered by the door, not sure of whether she should try to help, or if she'd only be in the way. Betsy had told her before they left that she was to be their eyes and ears, and simply play lookout. It was a task that the telepath would usually carry out herself, keeping up a psychic scan of the surrounding area, but tonight Psylocke was going to be communicating with Moira, who was waiting back with the jet, allowing the scientist to see the office and guide them to the data that she needed. Doing both was well within Betsy's capabilities, but they'd decided that it would be safest to have Rahne take some of the pressure. Personally, Rahne wasn't sure that their faith in her was justified, especially considering what had happened in Liverpool, but there had been something in her that was just a little thrilled that they'd include her in their missions.
Rahne took up a place beside the door, peering out into the hallway outside. It was empty, and she couldn't hear any sounds of movement coming this way. So far, at least. She crossed her fingers, hoping that it would continue that way, and that no one would come to investigate the odd shrieks that were the necessary partner of Teresa's powers.
She chanced a glimpse back into the room to see what the others were doing. Psylocke had started up the computer, and was staring fixedly at the screen as she relayed information from Moira on what she needed to call up. Siryn – Siryn was standing with her ear pressed up against the metal filing cabinet and was humming softly into it. "What are you doing?" Rahne asked, curious at her foster sister's odd behaviour.
"I'm just testing the resonances of the metals in this, so I can blow out the lock without damaging the rest of it, or what's inside," Siryn explained in a whisper, her face screwed up in concentration. "I just need to find the right pitch." After a couple more seconds of humming, she took a step back and opened her mouth, precisely and efficiently blasting out the upper lock on the cabinet.
Rahne let the other two girls work in silence after that. Siryn worked methodically through the filing cabinet, occasionally showing Psylocke a particular sheet of scrawled notes or data. Most were rejected, but for some the telepath nodded, and Siryn made took a copy of them using the small digital camera which they had brought. Psylocke meanwhile was printing off the data Moira needed for the computer and had started on the piles of notes sprawled across the rest of the desk.
Rahne turned back to the corridor outside, blocking out the sound of shuffling paper and the soft whirring of the printer as she tried to concentrate on the sounds in the other corridors. Was there anything disturbing the silence of the sleeping building apart from the buzz of the air conditioning and the hum of the incubators in the labs? Was that a light tapping noise coming from the direction of the stairs? She concentrated, slipping into a half-wolf form to sharpen her hearing further. It was, she decided – a slow rhythmic patter which was steadily growing louder. Footsteps.
Wolfsbane paused for a moment, making certain that the person was indeed heading toward the corridor on which the office was situated, and then turned back to warn the other two. "Psylocke," she hissed.
There was no response from the telepath, who was still locked up in a mental conversation with Moira. "Psylocke," Wolfsbane hissed again, louder this time. The older girl remained oblivious, but Siryn looked up.
"What is it?" she asked.
Wolfsbane jerked a hand back to the door. "Someone's out there," she whispered. Cocking an ear, she paused for a second to track the walker's progress. They were still coming closer, rounding the corner as she listened and starting down the corridor toward them. "They're almost here."
Quickly and silently, the Irish girl stole across the floor and grabbed her friend around the shoulders, shaking her back into the real world. "Come on, Psylocke," she hissed. "We've got to get out of here."
Too late – as the telepath blinked and shook her head, the walker reached the door and turned in to the office. Wolfsbane could smell the sudden blossoming of surprise and fear in the man's scent as he took in the situation. Mouth dropping open in shock, his gaze shifted from the wolf-thing to the two other girls sitting in the midst of his papers and then back again. Wolfsbane bared her teeth and gave a low growl, and the man jumped, starting to back out of the office with some haste.
Stop him! Psylocke called in her head. Wolfsbane lunged forward, closing one paw around the man's wrist before he could turn and run. He struggled, pulling back and trying to dislodge her grip, but in this form Wolfsbane was more than strong enough to hold him. Twisting one arm behind his back, she grabbed the other as he attempted to swing an ineffective punch. What now, Betsy? she asked, keeping the scientist's arms pinned carefully.
I'll handle it, the telepath replied, rising effortlessly to her feet and crossing the floor with swift, deadly grace. As she closed the distance, the purple-haired telepath raised one fist. From her knuckles a glowing purple knife flashed into existence, eight inches long and seemingly composed of some kind of psychic energy. In one smooth efficient movement, she stepped in and plunged the knife into the scientist's head. A simple twist, and he sagged in Wolfsbane's arms, completely unconscious. She let him slump to the floor, and then looked at the older girl questioningly. What were they supposed to do now?
"It's alright," Psylocke answered, not even bothering to look at the sleeping man now lying on the floor. "He's out to it, and I've wiped his memory of us. He won't remember a thing."
"Yeah, except that he'll wake up and find himself on the floor of his office, which has obviously been broken into," Siryn replied. "Hardly an ideal situation, is it?"
"No, but nothing we can do about that now, luv." Psylocke paused, gathering up the sheets of paper from the printer and tucking them into her uniform before continuing. "Come on – we've pretty much got everything we came for – let's get out of here before the esteemed Dr Carson wakes up again…"
NB: I couldn't resist the chance to write a bit about Oxford, since I used to live there… yeah, I love that place. That's all I have to say.