Xn

by Clint Townsend

  Chloe closed her eyes and began breathing deeply through her nose. She grimaced as her unborn son wrestled in her womb.

  “I’ll be right back, baby. We finished off the jar of pickles so I need to go to the kitchen.”

  “Okay. I’ll be … AUGH!”

  Chloe clutched at the sheets, raised her head off the pillow, and slightly bent her knees as another jolt of pain ripped through her.

  “Now?” Armada loudly called out, looking up at the ceiling. “You’re joking, right? You’re gonna make her go through this now?”

  “It’s okay, baby. He’s not coming now. Go get my pickles.”

  ***

  “Are you outta your mind?” Armada exclaimed, nearly choking on a mouthful of pickle chips. “What good would that do?”

  “It’ll interfere with Cain’s schedule,” Chloe curtly answered.

  “So what? That won’t stop a missile launch.”

  “Look,” she stated, placing her bowl on the nightstand, “Cain needs his missile silos to remain secret. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay. So, point number one: when it’s made publicly known that Engenechem has been constructing, and is currently stocking, ten orbital nuclear missile silos, Cain will be forced to comply with an investigation. Two: while Wycz and White are entangled with meetings, press conferences, and inspections, that’s a prime opportunity to bring down Euclid. You’ll have more time to figure out how to stop the missile launch.”

  Armada chewed his pickles and washed it down with several gulps of Shiraz.

  “All right. Let me see if I understand your logic. You want me to locate the deleted video footage of the missiles being loaded in the SUBOS cargo elevators, and then send the video files to the network news organizations, newspapers, and governmental agencies. Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you believe that by making the world aware of a thousand nuclear missiles floating above everybody’s head, that will be enough of a distraction and hindrance to Cain’s itinerary that he’ll be significantly delayed in completing his Clouds. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “Wrong!” Armada grunted, pouring himself another glass of wine.

  “What a video clip making its way to the media WILL do is make Wyczthack mad, first, and then he’ll speed up his schedule. Cain’s a genius, but he’s a nut! He’s a sociopath, guaranteed! He won’t be stopped by a few questions coming from reporters and agency heads. He laughs at that stuff. Mark my words. If we expose Cain and Engenechem we’ll lose days, maybe even weeks, of precious time. Remember, there’s six-and-a-half billion people depending on us.”

  ***

  As he lay next to his sleeping wife, Armada repeatedly reviewed Chloe’s reasons for supporting the proposed ‘first strike.’ He mentally played out the ‘If we … then Cain will …’ chess game over and over again, until he eventually agreed to Chloe’s battle plans.

  ‘If I find recorded video showing nuclear missiles arriving at the Aerie,’ he quietly theorized, ‘and I create a mass dispatch … that will be enough reason for the UN and IAEA to send in their inspectors.’

  A smile appeared on his lips while contemplating the potential results of their endeavor.

  ‘They’re not aware of Cain’s EC program, so he’ll have to move everyone from the Arenas to the Nurseries. Without them, Wyczthack can’t get Cloud Ten assembled for pressurization certification, which means he won’t be able to hide his remaining rockets.’

  “This could actually work,” he whispered.

  With a sudden surge of optimism, Armada sat up, retrieved his tablet, and began investigating the video files in the CYCLOPS program. After an hour of examining the folder history with nothing to show for his efforts, a thought occurred to him: Does CYCLOPS record transaction content?

  “Microsoft does it with their programs, why not Engenechem?” he muttered.

  The stored Cloud video clips occupied a massive amount of space on the Master Server, with individual files numbering in the hundreds of thousands. Just as he predicted, Armada identified and opened a special tracking aspect of the CYCLOPS surveillance system. This little-known capability of the program kept a running record of not only when the original video clips were generated and file size, but if and when they were edited. In addition, the history displayed who did the editing, from what terminal and when, and, much to his surprise, an exact display of how much data was removed … and where it saved.

  “YES!” he shouted, thrusting his fists high above his head.

  Chloe hummed disapprovingly and rolled away from him.

  Armada highlighted the most recently edited video file, opened its properties, and read the location for a separate storage folder on the Master Server.

  “Visitors? It’s in an Engenechem visitor’s registration log?” he asked himself with a chuckle while accessing the folder.

  It took all but maybe two seconds for CYCLOPS to list out the entries in its humongous digital library. Armada couldn’t contain his excitement as hundreds upon hundreds of secret video files populated his computer screen. With a creation date not more than five minutes old, the very last entry in the library was an eleven-minute video recording of a quadracle of nuclear missiles. The snippet clearly showed them being unloaded from a SUBOS elevator, rolled across the Aerie deck and onto the platform of CARBEL Three. He watched it again and again and again; he and Chloe were vindicated.

  His brain and heart raced with exuberant joy, but at the same time had reservations about who to send the videos to, how many, and what content should be disseminated. Thousands of edited video files required viewing, but in his mind, Armada knew they had little time to spare. He would have to choose video clips at random and do so quickly.

  First, he hacked the Engenechem personal e-mail account for Dr. White and typed the words ‘Very Interesting’ in the subject bar of a new e-mail. Secondly, after much self-deliberation, Armada selected and previewed ten video files to accompany his message. Third, he scoured through thousands of personal and professional e-mail addresses and phone numbers in both Dr. White’s contact list and address book. Fox News, CNN, the Huffington Post, the US Senate Oversight Committee, MI5, the Department of Defense, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Secretary of State, the UN Security Council, the IAEA, and hundreds more were included in his diabolical e-mail blast.

  “I highly recommend you give close scrutiny to the enclosed attachments,” Armada proudly typed.

  He checked and rechecked the video files, made sure the recipient addresses were complete and correct, and gazed lovingly at his slumbering wife.

  “Please, let this work,” he whispered.

  Armada dragged the cursor across the screen to the bottom corner of his open letter, drew in a deep breath, and lightly tapped ‘send.’

  CHAPTER 38

  SACRIFICE

  “How can it be that the most heavily fortified and powerful corporation on the planet gets hacked?” a reporter shouted and quickly stood, raising his hand.

  “This is the work of a foreign government, no doubt about it!” Dr. White boldly proclaimed. “Iran, Russia, China, North Korea … one of them is behind this.”

  “But the e-mail blast was generated from your personal address!” a woman declared.

  “You’re correct, but it wasn’t from me. Ladies and gentlemen, I know you have many questions that need answering, just as we do. But given that this mass e-mail was sent only a few hours ago, there’s been very little investigation into the security breach. Rest assured that we here at Engenechem are doing everything we can to identify the culprits and are being most cooperative with federal investigators. Please be patient and we’ll keep you apprised of our progress.”

  The throng of aggressive journalists rose to their feet while trying to outshout one another.

  “What about the videos?” a man squealed from in front of the podium. “Was the content of the ten video files genuine?”

  “You’re being whipped
into a frenzied mob of conspiracy theorists. As I stated before, this is the work of a dangerous, rogue, foreign government, probably in conjunction with a terrorist organization to….”

  “Are the videos real?” a woman angrily shouted, interrupting Dr. White.

  “Digital animation, blue screens, layering and rendering, a bunch of CGI hacks have successfully broken into our system and made it appear that we….”

  “C’mon! Is Engenechem deploying nuclear missiles?” she again rudely interrupted.

  “I believe I’ve already explained our situation,” Dr. White snarkily replied.

  “Doctor White! Doctor White!” a man enthusiastically yelled. “Where are Dr. Wyczthack and Bianca Doyle? It’s been nearly four weeks since Miss Doyle’s last appearance at a press conference. Why aren’t they here?”

  “Dr. Wyczthack isn’t feeling well, and Miss Doyle has been … shall we say, relocated.”

  “Isn’t it odd,” the man continued, “that Cain’s personal, professional assistant of more than ten years hasn’t made contact with the outside world in twenty-seven days, and hasn’t been seen?”

  “No comment,” Dr. White smugly stated.

  The SUBOS atrium erupted as hundreds of suspicious reporters, bloggers, and journalists sprung from their seats. They shouted and screamed at Dr. White, hungry for information.

  “Thank you all,” he insincerely offered. “Now, if you’ll please excuse me.”

  Armed security guards had to rush the stage to protect Dr. White as he exited from behind the podium. The rabid horde yelled obscenities and hurled insults at him for ending the public inquiry so abruptly.

  Dr. White briskly walked to the elevators with his staff and bodyguards following close behind. As he stood waiting for the doors to open, he felt his phone vibrate in his coat’s left breast pocket.

  “White,” he flatly answered.

  The elevator doors separated and Dr. White quickly entered the spacious, empty cab. He held his palm out to the armed security detail and assistants and shook his head.

  “Not well,” he remarked. “I don’t know how long we can keep ‘em pacified without divulging any substantial information.”

  “Don’t let them bother you,” Cain casually stated. “We did the right thing by me not attending today. Keep deflecting. Keep distracting. Give them information they don’t need and can’t use. You’ll have them chasing shadows instead of catching rabbits. Remember what Hillary Clinton said in 2009: ‘Don’t let a good crisis go to waste.’ We can capitalize on our current state of affairs.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Riggs and his aquatic EVA trainers are with me on the Aerie deck. They’re going with me to finish stocking the Clouds and will conduct their sessions after Cloud population.”

  “After? I’m assuming then you want me to make the call right away?”

  “Yes. Afterwards, send CARBEL transfer authorization codes to the Arenas, Arks, and Eden. The IAEA will want to look at those first, and the last thing we need now is a UN human rights violation investigation. So I want the Arenas, Arks, and Eden emptied, now. Get ‘em back to the Nurseries.”

  “What’s your deadline for our inhabitants?”

  “Give them a five-day window to be on the SUBOS—no, make it four days.”

  “Cain, don’t you think ninety-six hours is cutting it a tad too close?” Dr. White delicately inquired.

  Dr. Wyczthack calmly answered, “No. We have a most opportune situation. Make an announcement that Engenechem will schedule more open press conferences and that a special crisis response team is being assembled to address our predicament, but don’t go. Don’t give interviews and don’t answer questions. You stay out of the spotlight and send someone different each time. Change up the team members, alter their positions and authority, and switch their titles around. If we can keep ‘em at bay for four days, that’s enough time to bring in the clones, raise the quadracles, and prepare the Clouds.”

  Dr. White was hesitant to interrupt.

  “Light told us he can deliver all quads in eighteen hours, and the clones can make their descent to the Nurseries at the same time. Once the twins are safe in their Nurseries, and after the missiles have been deployed to the Island, then we can begin boarding the Clouds. It’s perfect! An additional thirty thousand people coming up to the Aerie will be a magnificent disruption to any inspection team. They’ll interfere with the elevators and registration center, clog the Aerie, and interrupt the load outs on the CARBEL. There’ll be so much confusion with everyone coming and going; this is going to work to our advantage.”

  The elevator came to a stop and bounced slightly before the doors parted. Dr. White exited and listened intensely to Cain’s directions while walking to his office.

  “Give the media everything we have. Elevator schedules, SUBOS surveillance camera videos, container manifests, packing slips, landings and departures, anything to keep them from conducting ‘hands on’ inspections. After we’ve populated the Clouds and reconfigured their orbital patterns, then we’ll graciously grant open access to the Aerie, the CARBELs and Halos, and all remaining Engenechem facilities.”

  “And you’re positive ninety-six hours will be enough time.”

  “Oh, yes. Ample.”

  As Dr. White entered his office, he stated, “Okay. Let me consolidate this conversation. You, Riggs, and the entire EVA team are making the lift to Cloud Nine. They will complete the load-in and stocking of the Clouds.”

  “Yes.”

  “Pantex will be here tomorrow to install tubes and missiles on Cloud Ten, and you want Huddleston to deploy all quadracles to the Aerie. A task he estimates can be accomplished in eighteen hours.”

  “Yes.”

  “You want to summon our inhabitants now and set a ninety-six hour deadline for their arrival.”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re to empty the Arenas, Arks, and Eden, of all clone test subjects and return them to the Nurseries.”

  “Yes.”

  “And I’m to arrange for additional press conferences while assembling a crisis response team, but you don’t want me to attend the meetings.”

  “Yes. Perfect!”

  “And once I’ve set these wheels in motion, I’ll back out all programs for PIN CUSHION and….”

  “No!” Cain suddenly interjected. “Bring the Pantex hard drives with you but do not, under any circumstance, remove, relocate, delete, or alter one program. If the IAEA sends in an investigation team and they catch us suppressing or withholding information or changing the structure of programming support for our Master Server, it’s bound to create suspicion. Bring all of the hard drives for the missiles and we’ll do a remote install from Ten once we’ve colonized the Clouds. After the successful download of PIN CUSHION to our new server, then we can back it out from the Master Server. Retrieve your computer, grab the faraday case with the drives, and head to the Aerie. You’ll join Riggs and me on Cloud Nine whenever a POG-equipped platform becomes available.”

  “This is happening, isn’t it? Everything we’ve talked about and planned for … it’s really happening.”

  “We’re almost there, Alan. In one week … we’ll recreate the world.”

  ***

  “Well, something’s going on,” Chloe commented out of frustration. “There’s no reason for the Master Server to be taking so much time to confirm my access.”

  “Have you looked at what’s running in the background?” Armada countered as he sipped his coffee.

  Rather than answer his question, she opened the hard drive monitor to find a handful of familiar programs occupying a sizeable amount of bandwidth space.

  “Baby, look at this,” she suggested, scooting her tablet toward him.

  Armada scrolled through the program names, announcing them one by one: “EGGS, CYCLOPS, ARENAS, CARBEL….”

  His voice faded away as he started recognizing each program’s content and interactive properties.

  “He’s doi
ng it!” Armada blurted. “Cain’s initiated the call to the Cloud inhabitants!”

  Chloe sat back in her chair, slack-jawed, and stared at her husband in shocked disbelief.

  “What? Are you sure?”

  Armada’s head hung low.

  “I don’t believe it,” she confessed. “This isn’t … I mean, he can’t just…. Now?”

  Emotions suddenly stole her ability to speak. She folded her hands on her belly and firmly grasped at her flesh and wept.

  Armada turned to his wife, slid out of the chair onto his knees, and laid his head on her lap.

  How can I tell her we’ll be okay and everything will be all right? he thought. This can’t possibly be how it ends!

  For reasons unknown to him at that moment, Armada wasn’t upset at all.

  “Hey,” he said, erecting himself, “we’re gonna be just fine. You’ll see.”

  Chloe shook her head vigorously and cried all the more.

  “No we’re not! We’re gonna die!”

  “Sshh, we aren’t dying. At least not soon, and definitely not this way.”

  He leaned over, removed a tissue from a box on the table, and proceeded to wipe her eyes and nose. Knowing Chloe was somewhat easily distracted, emotionally, Armada made the decision to ask her questions about what she found on the Master Server hard drive monitor.

  “Baby, I know it’s an awkward moment to be asking this, but do you remember ever hearing of a program called PIN CUSHION?”

  Amazingly, Chloe immediately stopped crying and opened her eyes. Although short on breath and slightly congested, she spoke clearly while answering, “No, I don’t believe so. It doesn’t sound familiar at all. What’s its activation date?”

  “I don’t know; will you check on that for me? I just noticed it’s on that list.”

  Through suppressed tears she managed to crack a tiny grin and nod.

  Armada smiled lovingly at his wife, wiped her eyes once again, and took his seat.

  Within seconds, Chloe retrieved the information he requested.

  Armada suddenly rose from his chair, stepped in front of the panel of tablet monitors, and hurriedly scanned the transitioning images.