The hardware was encrypted, of course, and the files, too; but Lux knew a workaround he could exploit to extract the data until he had the time to decrypt it. He navigated the splinter’s operating system in his HUD via the chip’s primitive interface. He searched for a clunky antivirus application typical of splinters 20 years ago, when Moreno would have received his.
Then, backtracking through the static channels of the hardware’s architecture, Lux found himself in a vault of backup files the splinter generated for cases like this: when the device was no longer transmitting it created backups of everything, in case it went into full shutdown.
Lux copied the cache, rendered as little leaves of paper, into one of the deepest encrypted repositories in the hardware of his arm.
He unplugged and made his way from the room, wiping down whichever surfaces he remembered touching and turning off lights behind him. The code to enter the room worked to exit as well. He let himself out, turned right in the hallway, and went in search of a rear exit; a utility or emergency egress that would circumvent his original route into the clinic.
An unmarked door along the corridor led into a maintenance room; in the back, a small hatch out into a stairwell. Before exiting, it occurred to him to fire up a decryption program for Moreno’s files to run.
Artemis chimed back as Lux returned to the street outside Seven Corners. Morris McDonald was a doctor and a businessman, a former executive at NeuroSys, which Artemis described as a “prominent brain science firm.” His was a common enough name, but Artemis had added parameters for location, and then for criminal record.