Shadows Beneath: The Writing Excuses Anthology

by Brandon Sanderson, Mary Robinette Kowal, Dan Wells, Howard Tayler

  #

  ​ ​ ​ ​Wollreich’s office is big, but. Even with nine of us it’s starting toin here it doesn’t really feel crowded. Tense, yes, but not crowded. Three members of that special “marketingthe genius team” have arrived, and one of them has video tools oin hand. Two senior members of R&D are here as well, and they’re both scientist -types, complete with the lab coats. Wollreich, Mo, Barry, and I are the only ones in suits.

  ​ ​ ​ ​We’ve all watched the video.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“This is spaghetti-monster stuff,” says Kurtzman, one of the labcoat guys. “It’s non-falsifiable. We can’t test any of what he told us. Sure, it sounds convincing because he used words like waveform and transducing, but there’s no science in here for us to help withcheck.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Sure there is,” says Michel. He’s the marketing guy with the black hardcaseopens his case of video tools. “I need to see the camera, though.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​Mo pulls it down from the corner of the room and passes it to Michel. It’s about the size of a pencil eraser.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Michel turns it over in his hands and squints at it.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Yup! We have science. This camera sees in broad-spectrum. The transmitted video is standard HD, but the raw file has some goodies in it.” He takes the transmitter from the table, jacks a cable into it, and bends over his equipment. “This’ll take a few minutes.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​Wollreich turns to Kurtzman.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“The statements Death made are non-falsifiable, yes. We have no way to prove or disprove any of what we were told. Due diligence suggests that we at least consider the information, and that’s why you’re here.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Can we not refer tocall him asomething besides Death, please?” says Kurtzman. “That costume he was wearing was part of the message, and if we accept it at face value, we’re undermining our ability to evaluate any of this. Oh, and for the record, I think it’s a crank, and what we should be doing is grilling the hired guns.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​When the boss is in a meeting I only speak when spoken to. My job is to be invisible. Under the current circumstances, that’s not going to work well.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Grill away, Mister. Kurtzman,” I say.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“DOCTORDoctor Kurtzman.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“My apologies, Ddoctor. But please, grill us. Ask us anything. From your perspective, my team and I are your prime suspects. From our perspective, we need to get cleared as quickly as possible so that we’re free to continue doing our jobs.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“I’ve already got an independent agency running deep checks on you, Cole,” says Wollreich. “Your whole team, in fact. They’ve been doing it since Monday, when I brought you into the fold.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Outstanding, sir.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​Kurtzman looks stymied.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“And Doctor. Kurtzman,” Wollreich continues, “I think you’re absolutely right. We don’t call our intruder ‘Death’ anymore. He is Tthe Intruder.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“I’m not quite sure how this video plays into any corporate espionage scenario,” says Lee, a stout woman in khakis and a Hawaiian print shirt. “I haven’t plugged any of this into our X-form, but I shouldn’t have to. The payoffs and strategies, the incentive matrix . . . those don’t change. This event, this monologue, it should align itself with existing player strategies, and it does not.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Doctor. Lee is a game theorist,” says Wollreich. “Without the jargon now, Ddoctor?”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“The X-form assumes rational and informed agents in the access tier. An irrational, uninformed agent might adopt the dress-like-death tactic in hopes of a payoff, but . . .”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“I said without the jargon.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“She means,” says Michel, “that we’re either dealing with an irrational, uninformed person with a stupid agenda, but who has access to our plans, or there are payoffs missing from the matrix.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“There aren’t any payoffs missing,” says Lee.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Let’s come back to that,” says Michel. “I have more video for you to watch.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​He gestures at the screen. “This is the original image, with an overlay of neon-green representing UV frequencies all the way to the edge of the camera’s range.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​On the wall-screen the video begins again, muted. It looks exactly the same as before, except a green shimmer appears in the middle of the room. It brightens, and then flashes as Tthe Intruder appears. It then fades to a low shimmer again, surrounding his form as he speaks. The flash occurs again when he vanishes.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Michel, what does that mean?”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“It means that Tthe Intruder’s appearance and disappearance were accompanied by UV emissions.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Michel,” says Lee, “those speakers in your office, the ones that build the audible cone out of interference patterns? Could somebody make a hologram by doing that with light? Like, ultraviolet lasers bouncing off each other just right to make a picture?”

  ​ ​ ​ ​The hologram thing. That was Mo’s theory. I look at Mo, and he smirks.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Maybe,” says Michel, “but did you notice how there wasn’t any green in the sky outside the window, or in the sunrise reflections on the buildings across the street? These windows filter UV. Any laser that tried to beam UV through them would have to cut the glass to do so.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Then how did the UV get into the room?”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Obviously it came with Tthe Intruder,” Michel answers. “But what you really want to see is the infrared. Watch this. No UV this time. I’m only going to play the infrared channel.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​The picture returns, and now it’s a monochromatic green.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Several of us gasp when the intruder appears. Including me.

  ​ ​ ​ ​I’ve seen infrared video of people before, and most folks have at least seen it simulated in movies. This is not that.

  ​ ​ ​ ​The form under the cloak is clearly outlined, and asymmetrical. The torso is short, and high. The legs are too long, and appear to bend the wrong way. If there’s a left arm, it’s not showing up. The right arm reaches all the way to the floor, then up to head-height, where it ends in the scythe blade.

  ​ ​ ​ ​But the cloak itself is the freakiest part. Lacy networks of veins are visible throughout it, and they all connect to the torso, the scythe -limb, and the legs. It’s not clothing. It’s a layer of skin, like a bat -wing, wrapped around Tthe Intruder and hooding his face.

  ​ ​ ​ ​His? I see no male genitalia, andbut this thing is alien enough that I’m not ready to suggest that means it’s female either.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Kurtzman speaks first.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Michel, how hard would it be to fake that?”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Not very hard. If the whole thing was computer animated and hacked into the camera feed, the infrared and ultraviolet elements would simply be another part of the model. It’s the work of a real artist, though.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Okay, good,” says Kurtzman, blowing out a sigh of relief. “I’m going to choose to believe that this wasis a brilliant computer animation modeled by someone with an outstanding attention to anatomical detail.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“What would motivate that?” Lee asks. “Where is the payoff?”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“I’m going to let you figure that out, bBecause I refuse to believe that an alien teleported into this office.”

  #

  ​ ​ ​ ​I tune out a little bit as Wollreich’sThe brain trust begins working that angleyammering in jargon again.

  ​ ​ ​ ​It’s esoteric jargon, but the gist of things is that somebody is looking at a different set of payoffs than we are, and without more information we have no way to deduce motivations. Lee has graphs that prove this. But even without
this information nobody is seriously considering taking the Intruder’s message about the afterlife at face value, and nobody seems willing to believe that the Intruder is an alien, or an angel, or anything other than a very complicated hoax.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Somebody needs to take the not-a-hoax angle. It’s hard to think with all the noise, and technically I’m being paid to pay attention, not close my eyes and concentrate, but I close my eyes anyway.

  ​ ​ ​ ​If I were responsible for shepherding human souls into the afterlife, and I could teleport anywhere in the world, I’d go talk to the pope, or maybe the president. I’d offer evidence, and be as helpful as I could. Of course, appearing in those halls of power would be like begging to get shot. So I’d do what heads of state do, and find a way to make an appointment.

  ​ ​ ​ ​The Intruder is definitely not acting like I would. Maybe it can’t teleport just anywhere. Maybe teleporting is difficult, dangerous, or expensive. Maybe the Intruder’s brain is so different from mine that I can’t figure out how it thinks. Except that line of thought is the same as giving up, so I’ll throw that out, and keep assuming that if I knew more I could understand its motives.

  ​ ​ ​ ​I can spot a lie from somebody I know, but the Intruder is, frankly, alien. I can’t tell if it’s lying. Or at least I can’t trust myself to spot the lie the easy way. But if I think this through, if I assume that the Intruder is a rational creature, then the way it delivered its message just reeks of subterfuge.

  ​ ​ ​ ​So if I assume that it’s rational, I’m now assuming it’s dishonest. If it’s dishonest, what is it hiding? What does the lying accomplish?

  ​ ​ ​ ​If we believe the Intruder, then it will cost our company a lot of money, and it’ll keep human lifespans from getting longer. From that perspective it’s a lot like killing people. The Intruder is asking us to kill people. That’s something I’ve got some experience with. Every day I remind myself that I might need to kill people who are trying to kill my people.

  ​ ​ ​ ​When I roll out of bed tomorrow morning and remind myself that I might have to kill someone, I should also consider where to aim if a one-armed, scythe-handed alien teleported into the room and tried to kill my boss.

  ​ ​ ​ ​That’s actually something I can work on.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Hey, Michel,” I say, snapping out of my chair. “May I review the infrared again?”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“I’m busy trying to reverse-engineer the auto-tune effect on the voice, Mr. Cole.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“I’ll do it,” says Wollreich. “The play button is this one, right?”

  ​ ​ ​ ​Michel sighs in exasperation and fiddles with his kit. “There.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​I look up at the screen, and there is the infrared image of the Intruder, the eerie vein pattern wrapped around it, with other green patches showing the limbs and the head. The intensity varies, steadily pulsing in some places, gradually shifting around in others. Human forms do the same thing in infrared, only without the vein-riddled cloak.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Like a human, the Intruder’s head stays fairly bright. The distribution of heat is a little different, but it still looks like a head.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Then, just before the Intruder vanishes, a bulbous shape near its second elbow brightens and then fades quickly to black.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“That spot there!” I say, pointing. “What was that?”

  ​ ​ ​ ​Michel rewinds and pauses. “The cold patch?”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Yeah. It was hot a few frames back.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​Michel rewinds further. “Oh. So it is.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“I’ve never seen that happen before in infrared. Usually when something cools off you can see the heat migrating to surrounding tissues.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Obviously,” says Kurtzman, “the heat went into hyperspace where we can’t see it. Now can you please go stand guard in your corner? Or maybe outside. You’re making me nervous.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Mo, I’ve got this,” I say, stepping back into my corner. “Go put some coffee into Barry.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​Mo nods, and he and Barry slip out.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Despite his sarcasm, Kurtzman made a good point. The elbow hot spot dumped heat someplace, and then the Intruder disappeared. “Hyperspace” is as good an answer as any. More importantly, I have the answer I was looking for. The Intruder’s head emits steadily the same way a human head does. If I shoot the way I’ve practiced, a double-tap to the center of mass, and then a single shot to the head, that should work.

  ​ ​ ​ ​ Michel has begun lecturing Kurtzman and Lee on what can and cannot be hacked in the camera and the transmitterseems to think that it’s possible for the camera’s tiny transmitter to have been hacked, so that the images arriving at the larger wall transceiver were different than what actually happened in this office., and what kind of supporting hardware would be required in the various scenarios.

  ​ ​ ​ ​It’s interesting, but I’m and I can actually follow most of it, but what I should be doing is a threat assessment, and it’s distracting. I do threat assessments all the time, they’re part of my job, but right now I’m assessing the threat to Mo, Barry, and I, and our jobs. I know that we didn’t fake anything, or take part in any fakery, but I can’t expect the scientists and game theorists regarding a teleporting alien. Just in case.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Not that anyone else in here to take our word for that. It’s only going to be is likely to think that’s a good use of my time. The brain trust still thinks this is a hoax of some sort, and I suspect I’ve only got a few minutes before they determine that a hack on the camera’s feed is only likely or manageable if thecome back around to grilling—

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Mister. Cole,” says Michel. “Where did you acquire your spy gear?”

  ​ ​ ​ ​Grilling Mo’s team. How was the camera hacked? Get a forensic computing expert in here to look at the file. Account for Mo and Cole’s movements during the last two weeks. Mo, Barry, and Cole surrender their weapons. (How paranoid is paranoid enough?)

  ​ ​ ​ ​The alien plan— Once personal security is disarmed, the aliens are free to attack, and everybody is in the same room. If security is NOT disarmed it’s probably because the message is being taken seriously. Win. Actually, the most likely scenario is that the message is disregarded. What would the aliens do then? Plan B is harvest humans directly.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Okay, then. Less time than I thought.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Handbrains & Hi-Def, it’s an electronics boutique uptown. Mostly they sell smartphones and surround-sound systems, but the owner is ex-CIA, and he’s a friend of mine. He sells custom equipment like this out of his apartment upstairs.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“And you just happened to have this equipment on you on Monday?”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“No. I bought it thirteen months ago when I started feeling uneasy about the fact that this office was unmonitored. Then I felt guilty for buying it, so I told Mo to carry it. Then Mr. Wollreich lied to us about why he pushed the panic button, and I had Barry distract Mr. Wollreich while Mo planted the camera in the corner.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Thirteen months? You’ve been planning to bug my office for over a year?” Wollreich is turning red.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Oh. If I had that bug for a year I can see how the hacking story would start to look good.

  ​ ​ ​ ​This is difficult to explain, but it’s not the first time I’ve had this kind of conversation.

  ​ ​ ​ ​It’s never pleasant.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“I plan a lot of things, sir. Every morning I get out of bed and I plan to shoot someone. I don’t know who that someone is, but in my mind’s eye they’re trying to assault you, or perhaps shove you into a van. My life revolves around planning to do things I would really rather not have to do, but which I will do, without hesitation, to keep you safe. I carry a loaded weapon, as does every member of my team. I’m fifteen pounds lighter than
I look because some of my upper-body bulk is a twelve-hundred-dollar undershirt that will allow me to intercept a bullet on your behalf and still come in to work the following week. So yes, I planned to bug your office, but I didn’t plant the bug until it seemed important.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​Wollreich stares at me, and I stare back.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Lee speaks first, and she sounds shaken. “You have a gun in here? In this office?”

  ​ ​ ​ ​I don’t look away from Wollreich when I answer her. “I do, Dr. Lee. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​And then it occurs to me that as a game theorist, she’s been doing a threat assessment, same as me, only with math, and the numbers are telling her that the biggest threat in the room right now is me.

  ​ ​ ​ ​I look away from Wollreich, losing that staring contest on purpose. I slump my shoulders just a little bit, a trick a bouncer friend showed me for those times when you want to look less dangerous than you really are. I pull a chair away from the wall and sit down. Everybody is looking at me nervously.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Yes, you can explain the video by pinning it on me and Mo, but there’s no good reason for us to have done that, and that still doesn’t account for what your CEO saw.” I look up at Wollreich.

  ​ ​ ​ ​He’s still red-faced. Angry about the bug, and probably angry at his colleagues for not believing he saw what he said he saw. He might have started doubting it himself.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Cole,” he says. “Humor them and wait outside, please.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​I nod, and slip through the door. Wollreich clears his throat, a sure sign that he’s about to start in on somebody, but the soundproof door shuts and I miss the show.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Wollreich knows my team and I didn’t do this, doesn’t he? I’m not out here because he doesn’t trust me, though that trust did take a beating when I bugged the office. No, I’m out here because I look dangerous, even slouching, and Wollreich needs his geniuses to relax.

  ​ ​ ​ ​I understand. Armed people make everybody nervous. Hell, even the Intruder was careful not to be there when Mo and I arrived. It timed the whole speech perfectly. Smart.