by Joseph Lallo
Back in Fisk’s office, the search was far from over, but it had turned up as near to a hit as Lex was likely to get, a protected directory labeled “Bypass Gemini.” He issued a few commands intended to alter permissions and give him access, but it was locked by the Chief of Security himself. If he wanted to read the contents, he would need to do it with Trent’s credentials. Since he didn’t have Trent’s credentials, the only outside chance he had was if Fisk’s prints would work on Trent’s door, and his console. Ma had indicated that permissions could be associated with certain machines, so logging in on Trent’s machine might be enough to read the file.
He opened the door and tiptoed to the edge of the hall. From the sound of it, the elevator doors were just shutting, moving swiftly downward. He hazarded a peek and found that the secretary had left. Quickly he rushed to the door lock for Trent’s office and tried the finger. The panel buzzed a harsh denial. A moment later its display turned red, black letters scrolling the message “Administrator Level Lockout Engaged.” He turned desperately around to see each other door flick to red and display the same message. The finger wasn’t doing any good now, not even unlocking Fisk’s own door.
“No! No, no, no,” Lex gibbered mindlessly, fumbling the finger’s control box in his hands, “Need a new fingerprint. Need Trent’s fingerprint.”
Karter had included the ability to scan new fingerprints when he whipped up the control box, but it wasn’t as though Lex was going to run into a labeled example of the security chief’s thumbprint. He flipped through the menu and put it in scan mode. A violet band of light erupted from the end, the screen reading “Sweep over surface.” He swept over the lock panel, the light painting a three inch wide, laser thin line like a supermarket scanner. A streaked print lit up fluorescent yellow under the beam, but it was too smudged to read. No other nearby surface seemed able to hold a print either, except the floor, but Trent hadn’t had the decency to do any hand stands lately, it seems. He glanced back to the elevator. It was on its way up.
Running out of options, Lex’s eyes snapped to a trash can near the door. He kicked it over and rummaged through. Napkins, ketchup packets, candy wrappers, and half eaten fast food went splattering across the hallway as he rummaged through. Finally he turned up a plastic coffee cup.
“Please please please please,” he muttered, awkwardly twisting the piece of garbage beneath the scanner. It registered four clear prints.
Once they were accepted, he selected one and loaded it onto the fingertip.
“Come on, come on, come on!” He pleaded, as he swiped it.
Access Granted scrolled across the panel. He triumphantly slipped inside. There was nothing surprising about this office. It wasn’t one room, but a suite. Doors led to a small conference room, a private bath, and a study. First was a small waiting room, followed by another secured door that led to his primary office, bearing a desk equipped with an even higher end computer and its assorted peripherals, including a high resolution, positionable camera and a personal fabricator. Shelves and counters proudly displayed the ugly, angular acrylic or chrome trophies that business types give each other for doing a good job. Beside the door was a fully stocked golf bag with clubs composed of exotic polymers and alloys. The walls were completely hidden. Much of the obscuring material was in the form of press clippings. Every conceivable format, from full motion video-paper displays with looping footage to old fashioned dead tree newspaper clippings, showed him receiving medals, making announcements, and shaking hands with big wigs. There were doors that led to a small conference room, a private bath, and a study. The rest of the wall space was devoted to display screens. Many showed the CEO’s speech as it was being covered through various media outlets, the volume low but audible. The rest showed random silent security feeds... including one showing himself, in real time.
His head whipped up to the source of the footage with near whiplash inducing speed to see a red light flashing.
“I turned those off!” he objected, as though reality had made a mistake and would straighten itself out after he revealed he’d caught on.
When the cosmos refused to oblige, his eyes jumped across the remaining monitors and spotted a feed from inside the elevator, showing the boss and a contingent of guards crammed inside. He heard the doors ding as he saw them open on the video. In a panicked frenzy he grabbed a handful of the golf clubs and rammed them through the handles of the door, then dove for the computer and got to work.
There’s nothing like the fear of impending incarceration and/or demise to motivate you to improve your typing skills in a hurry. The programmed finger jabbed out the file location and opened it in a viewer. It was gigs of data. Images, videos, simulations, schematics. There were timetables and cost benefit analyses. Evidence that they knew exactly what they were doing, exactly the damage they would cause and the lives they would take, and they were going through with it anyway. He hooked his slidepad to the computer and quickly downloaded the data as he watched them burst into Fisk’s office on the cameras. A half second later, the outer office door was hurled open and the inner one rattled against the makeshift brace.
“How the HELL did he get into my office?” growled a voice from outside the door, “You. You. Take this door down.”
The office door began to rock with well coordinated kicks, making Lex glad that Trent had sprung for the solid wood door and titanium shaft clubs. Since there was no sense sneaking around anymore, he flipped on the data connection when the files had transferred and tried to send the info to Michella. It wouldn’t connect. He poked the finger at the input panel, attempting to open an external channel, but received an error. The door was creaking more with each blow.
“God dammit! COME ON!” he growled, pounding at the machine.
Finally the door flew open and the security men rushed in. He tapped in a few last commands before the guards grabbed him, and even then he refused to give up, grabbing at the desk while they hauled him away.
“You two, hold him. You four, guard the door. Everyone away from the computer. No telling what sort of records he has open,” Trent barked, his troops quickly complying.
With one guard holding each arm and standing him in front of the desk, Trent sized him up. In one hand was the slidepad. In the other was the programmable finger, its control box dangling. The security chief had a grin on his face.
“Well, well, well. You certainly have made it further than anyone else, I can tell you that,” he had a smug, victorious grin on his face, “Let’s see just how far you got.”
He snatched the slidepad from Lex’s hand and glanced at the unsent message. The smile slid to a sneer. His eyes narrowed in fury as he looked back to his prisoner.
“Gun,” he ordered simply, holding out his free hand. One of the guards handed him a sidearm, a standard issue, ballistic pistol with an extended magazine.
For a moment, Lex was certain that Trent was going to execute him where he stood. Instead, he spoke again.
“I want you to listen to me carefully. I am fully trained in the use of this weapon, not that I would need to be at this range. I don’t care how fast you fancy your reflexes to be, but there is nothing you could possibly do to me that could keep me from pulling the trigger. So if you try anything, ANYTHING, the contents of your head will be decorating the wall behind you. Do you understand?”
Lex nodded.
“Good. In a moment I am going to dismiss my men to the door, and you are going to answer some questions. After that, we’ll go over what you used to get this far, and after that... well, after that it doesn’t really matter what happens. When they release your arms, I want you to keep them raised and hold perfectly still. Do you understand that?”
He nodded again.
“Good. Men, go join the others, in the hall. There are classified matters to discuss. I’ll call you when I need you.”
The guards obeyed, closing the still intact outer door.
“How did you find out about Bypass Gemini? Are you
the courier?”
“Maybe.”
Trent pulled the trigger. With a soft, silenced chirp a bullet shattered the finger Karter had given him. Half an inch lower and it would have cost him one of the ones his mother had given him instead.
“At what point did I indicate I was willing to play games?”
“Yes, I’m the courier.”
“I’d ask you what you know, but from the looks of that pad, the answer is ‘everything.’ That is unacceptable. Fortunately I don’t have to ask who else knows, because if you came here, you didn’t have any proof before, and you certainly didn’t get any data out of here.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it isn’t possible. This is the security wing of the largest company in the galaxy, courier. What did you think you could accomplish? Did you think you could just email classified files? It doesn’t work that way. Information does not leave these offices. Wireless connections must be whitelisted, like mine. The data network is physically isolated from the wide area network. None of the hard line communication devices are hooked up to outside lines. Once you step into our complex, you can’t even check the weather without code word clearance. This is nothing short of a vault. If you didn’t leave, neither did any data. What made you think you could do anything about Bypass Gemini?”
Lex shuffled a half step to the right.
“I didn’t think I could, but I had to try. The second you activate those arrays, you doom three hundred thousand people.”
“Three hundred thousand,” he scoffed, “Our estimates are closer to a half million. Believe me. We ran the numbers. There were other candidate stars. Only two sets fit the time frame we were looking for. One would have taken out six billion, the other half a million.”
“Oh, so you’re a regular philanthropist. I bet from your point of view you saved billions of lives rather than taking thousands of them,” Lex jabbed. He probably should have been groveling for his life, but why delude himself? It was over now. There was no coming out of this alive. It was oddly liberating, in a way.
“Half a million people is nothing, courier. This is business. We are the reason society exists at ALL. You realize that, don’t you? Good God, how many people on the outskirts of the galaxy would die of disease, or hunger, or thirst if we didn’t keep trade lines open. How many would have even MADE it to the outskirts? Without VectorCorp, humanity would be a frightened, fragile bundle of tribes squatting in a handful of star systems, fighting overcrowding and without a whisper of contact with each other. VectorCorp exists because it has to, and if a few hundred thousand generic nobodies have to give their lives to make this corporation stronger, then that is a small price to pay. What makes us stronger makes humanity stronger. Look at the big picture. When we collapse those stars, we lose a few backwater planets, but we gain a thoroughfare that will change the shape of business, science, and exploration for centuries. Faster communication. Faster commerce. Faster troop movement... and if you knew half of what I know, you’d understand why getting troops across the galaxy is going to be very important, very soon.”
“You could have at least evacuated the planets.”
“Have you ever organized a wide scale evacuation? It takes years. They say that time is money, but that isn’t the case. Time is so much more valuable than money. We needed faster motion, and an evacuation would have closed our window for at least 33 years. Unacceptable. But enough. I want to know everything. How did you get past my men? How did you access my systems?”
“Maybe I don’t feel like telling you.”
“What did I say about playing games, courier?”
“Buddy, if this is a game, you just lost,” Lex said, looking over the man’s shoulder.
“You think I’m stupid enough to...” Trent began, but he stopped as he heard a strange sound, like an echo.
The sound was enough to make him turn. Lex took the moment’s distraction to tackle Trent to the ground. Rather than continuing to struggle and risk getting shot, he tore the slidepad away from him and bolted for the conference room, slamming the door and throwing himself to the ground as a few angry shots perforated the wall.
Outside, Trent struggled to his feet and stared, eyes wide, at the wall. One by one the pictures were cutting away from the CEO, and switching instead to a slightly distorted image of himself, from behind. He turned to his computer. The camera was facing him. He sprinted to the screen to find that a video call had been opened to an intercom number, 100212. Mashing the touch pad to end the call, he turned back to the screens. A camera pulled away from the now black screen and focused instead on a shaken but steadfast woman.
“What you’ve just seen was a live feed from within the office of VectorCorp Security Chief William Trent. While the details are not yet clear, he appears to have admitted to a plan by this massive firm to knowingly endanger the lives of as many as half a million people. The identity of the other man in the office with him is not yet known, but authorities are at this moment being summoned to end what appears to be a deadly stand-off. One can only hope that this man, whoever he is, remains safe, because if the allegations are true, he may well be responsible for saving literally thousands of lives. A true hero,” she said, her voice wavering slightly, the concern showing through her professional persona for just an instant,“For GolanaNet News, I’m Michella Modane. Stay with us for continuing coverage as this story develops.”
With a roar of fury, Trent emptied the weapon into the wall of the conference room. Lex was flat against the floor, the bullets peppering and eventually shattering the highrise window over him.
“In here, now!” Trent barked into his communicator.
The main door burst open and all six guards rushed in.
“He’s in there. If he’s still alive, drag him out. I want him to see this,” he ordered, working at something on his own slidepad.
In seconds they had broken the door, seized the unarmed courier and were hauling him back into the office.
“This guy weighs a ton,” one of them grunted, struggling with Lex’s lanky frame despite the fact that he seemed to be actively resisting only with his legs.
“Congratulations,” Trent raved, insanity in his eyes, “You won the battle, I suppose. That broadcast is out. Nothing I can do about it. I could cut it off, but every nearby planet is getting it as we speak. A sudden cut or communication blackout would only make it seem more deliberate. But mass media is medium priority on our transmission lines, standard FTL forwarding schedule. It won’t get to Operlo or ADC-29R45 for at least three minutes. Security protocol is maximum priority. Near zero delay.”
He traced a gesture on his pad and the screens in the office changed to a status screen. One by one, lines completed.
Array Activation command transmission... Successful.
“No!” cried Lex.
“Yes, courier. Command sent. Non-retrievable. There is nothing that you or anyone else can do. I may go down. My company may get a black eye, but you can’t. Stop. Progress.”
ADC-29R45 Array Activation... Successful.
Operlo Array Activation... Pending.
All eyes remained locked on the final word, blinking slowly, text written in yellow. The fate of two stars and all of the life they supported hung upon one little yellow word. An insane smile stretched Trent’s face. A look of horror grasped Lex. Finally, the word blinked away one last time, and the line updated.
Operlo Array Activation... Refused.
“What!?” he cried, clawing at his slidepad.
A security line was opened to Operlo, where it was answered by a familiar voice.
“Patel Construction. Miss Misra speaking,” she said professionally.
“You have received a command to activate Project Gemini. Activate it now,” he hissed.
“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Trent. We are regrettably going to have to delay that request for approximately one hour. You see, we weren’t anticipating the activation notice for several days, and we recently have been give
n cause to believe there may be a safety issue.”
“You listen to me. You will activate that array NOW, or any contracts you have made with VC are void! Do you understand me!?”
“Mr. Trent, I’m sure you know that a contract is a rather binding document. Even asking me to activate ahead of schedule was intended to be a negotiated alteration. We are willing to forgo that formality, but safety must come first. We managed to complete the full array ahead of schedule, as requested. An hour of time should be of little concern. Please call back at that time.”
Trent turned to Lex, now struggling madly with his whole body, a guard’s hand over his mouth.
“You! You did this somehow! Kill him!” Trent ordered.
Before he could finish the command, Lex clenched his fist and struggled against one of his captors with all of his might. That would usually have had little effect on the massive guard who was restraining him. Then again, Lex wasn’t usually wearing a pair of Karter’s gloves. He’d activated them just before the guards had grabbed him, and their struggles to drag him out of his hiding place had managed to give them plenty of charge. His right fist continued forward, pivoting his body into an awkward, thrusting pirouette. The sudden and intense surge of motion nearly ripped his arm out of its socket, but managed to shake both of the men restraining him. One was launched against a wall, his weapons clattering to the ground. The other was sent flying toward Trent and the other guards, colliding and sending the entire group crumbling into a pile, save for a pair who managed to dive aside.
Now would have been an excellent time to escape, but unfortunately the incomplete prototype needed to recharge. Any attempts to deactivate it produced an error tone, and the now rigid cloth would not release his hand. If Lex survived this, he was going to have to remember to tell Karter to fix that. He was left struggling with a hand that moved slowly though the air despite his best effort, as though he was dragging an invisible dumpster. The two guards who had escaped their ballistic colleague were getting to their feet, guns having slid to an unknown corner of the room. Lex scrambled his feet against the floor, reaching for the stun rod of the fallen agent. The slowly charging glove slid through the air a bit faster, his other hand’s grasping fingers creeping closer to the rod. Finally he snatched it from the ground and swung wildly, connecting with the knee of the first guard. He convulsed briefly and fell to the ground. Lex swung around, as though his immobilized hand was clutching a pole, and delivered a jolt to the second guard, prompting the same response.