“We need the physical drive first,” Hayes said. “To prove it was them.”

“If we don’t get the physical drive, the digital trace won’t hold up in a court-martial,” I said. “They’ll claim it was a software mirror.”

We reached the end of the corridor.

A heavy steel door marked *UTILITY SUB-STATION 4* stood closed.

A small glass window in the door showed a dark room inside.

Hayes reached for the brass handle, then stopped.

“The lock is scraped,” he said.

I looked closer.

The grey paint around the key cylinder was scratched away, revealing shiny bare metal underneath.

“Someone was here recently,” I said.

Hayes nodded once.

He stepped to the side of the door, his back against the concrete wall.

He turned the handle slowly with his left hand.

It was unlocked.

He pushed the door inward.

It swung open on silent hinges.

The room inside was dark, lit only by the green and amber status lights of the electrical distribution panels.

The hum of the transformers was a low vibration in my teeth.

“Clear,” Hayes muttered, stepping inside.