The elevator chime sounded, and the doors opened on the fourth floor. Jamison’s personal assistant rose from his desk at the strange sight. “Mrs. Clarke? What… what’s going on? He’s not here, you know.”
“I know,” Sheila replied. “He asked me to oversee this delivery and ensure no one but him opens the box.”
“But—” The man saw the determined look on Sheila’s face and threw up his hands. “Fine, fine.”
“Call him and check out my story, Marty,” Sheila said, grunting with the effort of marching slowly down the hall to Jamison’s open office.
She kicked the door open wider, groaned as it bounced off the wall and slammed into her shoulder, and wriggled through the doorway. They moved the box inside, then situated it against the outer wall.
Murphy exhaled. “Well, that was fun.” He glanced at Sheila and raised his voice. “Will that be all, ma’am?”
Sheila nodded. “That will be all, gentlemen. Have a good day.”
Murphy didn’t move. Sheila realized that tipping in this scenario would be expected. But… “My wallet is in my office. One moment.” She leaned in. “Don’t let Marty in here, okay? The less he sees, the better it will be for him.”
She ran to the opposite end of the building, streaking past a startled Marty at his desk, and returned a moment later with her portable office computer and her wallet. She handed each man an equal cash tip. All three nodded and murmured their thanks at her generosity before leaving. They’d return the truck, replace their temporary uniforms with their more permanent attire, and return with far less fanfare later.
Sheila’s glare made it clear she expected them to repay their tips at their earliest convenience.
She shut and locked the door to Jamison’s office before opening the computer. Though the accounting job was a mere cover, she still had to spend an hour a day doing enough work to maintain the illusion, and the down time before Jamison’s arrival would prove the perfect time to catch up and get ahead on that work. After an hour, she paused to send her husband a text, letting him know she’d be late and to not wait up. Stephen wouldn’t be happy, and he’d been stewing about something of late. Another late night at the office wouldn’t help his mood.
There was nothing she could do about that now.
She replayed the events and conversation of the early morning in her mind. Something had been gnawing at her, but she’d been unable to articulate the concern. The solitude, the silence save for the tapping of the keys on her keyboard, and the lack of anything to do as the early evening hours passed gave her mind the perfect chance to better identify and define her concern. She glanced at the coffin-sized box, remembered Jamison’s fear, and quickly surmised the obvious.
Whatever had destroyed the building was stored in that box.
Her eyes widened in terror. Now she knew the fear she’d been unable to articulate. She grabbed her phone and sent a text message to Jamison.
What if there are more weapons like this out there?
five
Deirdre Silver-Light
CORPORATE MAGNATES… Silver, Oswald… chairman of Diasteel… business interests and holdings in the fields of production, agriculture, and transportation… widower… one child… Silver features prominently in various conspiracy theories about human civilization’s origins and current control structures due to his overwhelming influence in six cityplexes…
The History of the Western Alliance, page 2219
The hand-carved wooden clock featured a pendulum, an unusual sight in a civilization focused on digital technology. The pendulum moved back and forth in perfect rhythm, each pass taking precisely one second. A clicking sound emerged as the pendulum completed each movement.
The ticking sound of that pendulum pierced the otherwise silent room.
The man sat behind a massive mahogany desk, the surface cleared of everything but a tablet computer. The machine was pushed off to the side. He leaned forward, his chin resting in his left hand, fingers stroking the brown, graying beard. His right hand rested heavily upon the desk’s surface, largely useless after suffering a wound years earlier. His fierce brown eyes stared without blinking, a clear effort to intimidate the young woman seated across from him. He finally spoke, his anger unmuted by the whisper-like volume. “What did you say?”
She met his gaze briefly before pushing a golden lock behind her right ear, hoping he wouldn’t notice the slight tremor in her arm. His presence never failed to unnerve her. “I said I’m having doubts. I’m no longer certain I believe in our plan.”
The brown eyes narrowed. “The time for doubt has long since passed, Deirdre.”
She swallowed. “Has the time for everything passed?”
He slammed his hand down on his desk. “Dismissed.” He broke his eye contact and turned his attention to the tablet computer.
He didn’t want to have this conversation and sought to scare her away. She knew better than to follow the order. Her blue eyes went on the offensive, burning into him, as he spent a full minute pretending to work.
He finally looked up at her, trying to express surprise with his facial expression that she remained in her seat. “Yes, it has. We’re past the point of no return, Deirdre. Final activation happens in mere hours.”
“If activation hasn’t started, then it can’t be too late to stop it. It’s not too late to stop everything.”
He pounded his right fist into the desk this time, generating a far louder cracking sound than before. “Dammit, Deirdre! There are pieces of this you know nothing about, and those have been activated. Failure to commence your portion will only make things worse for the masses.”
Her eyes moved to the ground as her breath caught in her throat. “Worse?”
He drummed his fingers on the desk, studying her. “You’ve been having conscience pangs for quite some time, haven’t you? You’re planning something, something you think will stop the entire plan, aren’t you?”
She wouldn’t meet his gaze.
“Don’t deviate from the plan, little girl. I don’t know who or what you think you’ll save, but—”
“Go to hell, Dad,” she snapped, eyes blazing. She rose from the chair and overturned it as she stormed toward the door with heavy footsteps and opened it.
“Don’t you dare slam the—”
She slammed the door with as much force as she could muster.
Deirdre Silver-Light leaned against the abused door, breathing heavily. Why had she been so stupid to think he’d listen to her concerns? She knew there must be a way to stop everything, or at least enough to accomplish her goal. He’d guessed she had some new motivation to drive her pangs of conscience at this late date, though that had been rather transparent. Despite his claims, she suspected she could still save him.
Audrey glanced up at her from behind the reception desk. Audrey was a pretty and generally vapid young girl who had in Deirdre’s mind the easiest job in the world. She alerted Oswald Silver that appointed guests were available. Given Oswald allowed perhaps one soul per week into his presence, she had little to do. Deirdre glanced at Audrey’s tight, revealing clothing and shuddered. Perhaps she had more to do than Deirdre cared to consider.
Deirdre scowled at the woman. “I’m leaving.”
Audrey nodded, her dimples crushing any effort at a professional appearance as Deirdre continued stomping past the reception desk toward the elevator. “Very well, Mrs. Light. Do you need to book another appointment with Mr. Silver?”
Deirdre pressed the elevator call button. “No, Audrey. At the moment, I’d prefer being shot over spending more time with the man.”
Audrey’s perfect features paled briefly. “Oh, okay. Have a pleasant day, Mrs. Light.”
The elevator signal chimed. Deirdre entered as the doors parted, and tapped repeatedly on the button for the seventh floor. Her office. Her sanctuary.
Yet it was still Oswald’s kingdom.
Her mother would know what to do. She’d listen to Deirdre, underst
and her growing concerns about the propriety of the plans set in motion years earlier, and would offer sound advice for halting the upcoming calamity. But her mother was long dead, unable to offer Deirdre the advice so desperately needed, or to perhaps dissuade her husband from a dalliance with a woman half his age. The doors closed, and Deirdre watched the excitement grow on Audrey’s face as her face vanished. She felt revulsion, not at Audrey, but at her father. He’d take advantage of the naive young woman despite knowing exactly what Audrey would experience in the near future, and he’d do it without a pang of remorse.
He’d shown no remorse about the plan. Not once. And while Deirdre felt pangs of conscience now, she noted with glum sobriety that she’d been a true believer, once fully committed to the purported noble goals, honored to play her part in activating those events designed to bring about fulfillment of the plan. Oswald was, in his own way, right to chide her. If she’d suffered conscience pangs back then, then… She shook her head as the elevator car slowed to a halt.
If she’d displayed signs of a conscience back then, she’d be as oblivious to the coming chaos as Audrey.
She slid out of the elevator car onto the seventh floor, where she managed the Diasteel research and development team, and moved toward her office at the far end. Her office was spacious, full of memories, memories that could exist only inside her mind after the events of the coming days unfolded. She walked around the seventh floor, looked at all of the people congregating, gesturing, pointing at diagrams and data printed on reams of paper. She could feel the energy of this place, the creativity that had brought to life so many key innovations in the world of the thirty-sixth century. Perhaps they’d invented things the mythical beings of the Golden Ages of the past hadn’t managed to derive before they’d vanished into the dusty annals of legend.
She felt a tear form in her eyes, and ran a hand across her face, careful not to smudge the carefully applied makeup. It was difficult to accept that all of this would be gone in such short order. Years earlier, she’d been accepting of that fact, that reality, that cost. Why?
She turned around, walked into her office, shut the door, and sat at her desk.
Then she burst into tears, dry heaving into the wastebasket near her desk.
six
Micah Jamison
…formation of the two great military Alliances re-instituted military structures described in the Time Capsule… Citing concerns that personal desires for advancement might limit the honesty of feedback and analysis given senior military officers, the Western Alliance created the role of Civilian Adviser…
The History of the Western Alliance, page 655
Micah Jamison had remained behind at the site of the incident long after the departures of Sheila Clarke and the rest of the team. He’d ensured they’d gotten the large box loaded onto the truck, had made the calls necessary to set them up with delivery service vehicles and credentials, and had made certain Sheila knew that her sole job that day was ensuring no Jamison & Associates employees attempted to open the box.
It was literally a matter of life and death.
Once they’d left, he’d conducted his own investigation of the site, without fear that he’d be seen by his team and reveal his own deep knowledge of the threat through his more assured actions.
With the sun up and the fog burned away, the site no longer looked like something out of a basic horror movie. He could see things with greater clarity now than through the beams of the spotlights.
None of what he saw eased his concerns.
He ran his hand along the near-frictionless sides of the crater, marveling at the precision of the substance responsible for the smooth walls. It was as it had been before, pure destruction unleashed upon a defined space. They’d erected the building not as a base for foot soldiers for an eventual invasion, but to test their ability to destroy the structure.
Mission accomplished.
The memories were there with crystal clarity, and when he squinted his eyes shut due to the bright light of the rising sun, the images were there. Weapons of incredible ferocity able to operate in defined regions without risking a single soldier. Dreams of that single enhancement that would turn a weapon capable of ravaging a building with ease into something far more powerful. He’d doubted they’d succeed with their development goals.
The sight before him suggested such doubts were no longer pragmatic.
The more immediate concern: had the enemy taken the weapon away? Had they packed it inside the box he’d sent with Sheila and the others?
Or were remnants still around?
He glanced at the crater before him.
There was only one way to know with certainty.
He circled the perimeter, looking, until he found a sizable rock. It wouldn’t classify as a boulder, but he required both hands and considerable strain to lift it from the ground. He spun once, twice, three times, gathering momentum, and released the rock. His momentum caused him to get too near the edge, and he windmilled his arms to restore balance, watching as loose dirt skittered down the smooth sides into the crater below, listening as the soft collisions of pebbles on the embedded rock below echoed loudly in the quiet of the early morning.
He found the falling rock and watched as it landed, feeling the thud deep within, as if the reverberations shattered him.
Jamison tensed, waiting, feeling his pulse race in anticipation of… what, exactly? He realized that he had no idea what the activated weapon might look like. Would he notice it in time to attempt escape? Or would he simply die in an instant?
He waited. Thirty seconds. One minute. Three minutes. Five minutes.
He exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
Nothing remained outside that box.
The memory of those few moments of waiting for his imminent death rooted deeply in his mind the rest of the day. He canceled meetings and returned to his home, spending the time to activate contingency plans of his own. Micah Jamison hadn’t risen to the level of General by allowing events to happen to him. He anticipated, prepared, and ensured that he wasn’t surprised. Ever. Much as he’d hoped this day would never come, he’d planned for it. And now he activated his own efforts against those who’d use that weapon. He couldn’t stop it if they’d already set things in motion, especially since he knew who had set things in motion.
But he could have his own say in the final outcome.
That was something they could never anticipate.
As night fell, he drove his ground car to the now-empty office building. He’d gotten texts from Sheila, letting him know that they’d moved the box to his personal office on the top floor without “significant” interest. Her other text piqued his interest. She’d long shown a keen intuition, unraveling the complex from limited clues, and the fact that she’d ascertained that some part of whatever had caused the unusual evaporation of a large building might remain behind at the site was further evidence of that skill.
His footsteps clattered on the marble flooring. He’d exchanged the heavy boots worn to the site of the incident for a more casual shoe, and each step echoed like the sound of a far-off gunshot. He could smell the chemicals hanging in the air. The cleaning crews had already gone, but not before leaving their mark—or rather, removing them—from the office tower.
He rode up the elevator. He’d need to get the box to the holding tank, because—
He froze as he opened the door to his office.
Sheila Clarke was there, head resting upon the table in the corner of his space. The deep breathing told him she’d fallen asleep, waiting there for him. After a moment’s pause to get over the surprise, he adjusted his plans. Sheila woke slowly at his gentle prodding, then bolted to her feet as she realized where she was… and who had woken her.
“General!” She snapped a sharp salute. “Sorry, sir, I… I guess I was tired.”
He frowned at her. “Why aren’t you at home, Sheila?”
“Each time I tried to leave I notic
ed people looking at your office and… well, I guess it became obvious that people thought the warning to stay away was some form of reverse psychology, sir.” She offered a sheepish grin. “They love you, sir, and each of them wanted to be the one to stage the new piece of artwork in your office.”
He tilted his head. “Artwork?”
She nodded. “That was our cover. You’d bought a new piece of art, a sculpture, and would be opening, unpacking, and displaying it in a manner of your choosing. You’d insisted on being the one to open the box for the official unveiling.”
“So you decided to stay and guard the box? Even though I told you it was dangerous?”
“I…” She frowned. “I guess I thought it best I keep others away. At least I knew it was dangerous. The others? They’d unknowingly unleash some catastrophe if I walked away. So I stayed.”
He considered both the loyalty and courage demonstrated by her actions, and decided to trust her. “I need your help, then, Sheila. We need to move the box.”
“I’d gathered that, sir. I just don’t know where. I know we could move it… below. That doesn’t secure the box any more than it is here, though.”
He nodded. “There are secrets you’ve not yet learned about what lies below. There is a place where I know we can store the box and sleep soundly, knowing that we’re safe from what’s inside.”
“Well, that’s good to hear, sir, because—”
“And once it’s in that storage space, we’ll open the box to be certain we know what’s inside.”
She paused. “Wait. You want to open a box with contents that could… kill us all?”
He offered her a grim smile. “Precisely.”
Activate The Ravagers Ep1v2 Page 3