The Last Protector

by Daniel C. Starr

  "Not much,” Nalia said dismissively.

  "Don't judge him by his looks. These corporate guys are sharks."

  "Who's the old guy?” Scrornuck pointed to a frail-looking black man seated at the head of the table.

  As if answering his question, another label appeared: CORNELL JACKSON III, UNIFLAG CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER. “Must be a really important meeting,” Jape said. A final label appeared under the fourth participant, a short-haired man wearing a goatee and a snappy business suit: FRANZ J. NIEDEMEYER, LEGAL AND ETHICS DIVISION. “The legal advisor? This gets more and more interesting..."

  "Looks like they pulled an all-nighter,” Scrornuck said. The CEO needed a shave, the woman's hair was snarled as though she'd spent the night winding her fingers through it, and McGinn's suit was rumpled, his tie loose. Only the lawyer looked like someone who hadn't spent the night wrestling with major problems.

  "Let's get down to business,” Jackson began abruptly. “What the hell happened yesterday?"

  After an awkward silence, McGinn spoke in a weary voice. “We had a technical problem with the groundbreaking."

  "A technical problem?" The CEO's voice was surprisingly strong for such a frail-looking man. “That's what you call this?” The scene abruptly shifted to a surveillance-camera view of a small village, a cluster of conical tents around a fire. People of various ages, dressed in beaded and fringed leather, went about their business. A digital timer counted down in one corner of the picture. When it reached zero, the image froze and returned to the conference room. “This is when you pushed the button, correct?"

  McGinn nodded nervously. “Ten in the morning, exactly. I issued a command to the pyroviruses, to activate at ten a.m. plus fifteen seconds.” He looked pointedly at Georgette, who seemed to be melting into her chair. “They were supposed to activate synchronously at that time."

  "Let's see what actually happened,” Jackson said. The scene returned to the village, and the timer now counted up—five seconds, ten seconds, thirty seconds, a minute. Nothing visible happened.

  Pyrovirus? Scrornuck puzzled over the strange word. Pyro—fire. And virus—"Oh, shit!"

  When the timer read two minutes, one of the villagers screamed. His left arm smoked, then his sleeve burst into flames, seemingly heated from within—the man's own body appeared to be on fire. As he rolled on the ground, struggling to extinguish the blaze, another villager shrieked and collapsed, his legs blistering and smoking as though something burned inside them. Nalia's jaw dropped. Her mouth moved, unable to form words, as she watched her recurring nightmare come to hideous life.

  "Softscroll, halt!" Jape shouted. The scroll went black. Trembling, sweating, he turned to face Nalia. She stared into his eyes, a cold, unblinking, angry stare. Her eyes seemed to glow with a purplish-white light. Jape's hands shook uncontrollably. He dropped his coffee-cup. It landed with a dull thud. “Help me,” he croaked.

  Scrornuck put a hand on Nalia's shoulder and shook her, hard. She ignored him. “Let him go, Nalia,” he said. She ignored this, too. Against his will, instinct guided his hand to Ol’ Red. Let him go, Nalia, he thought. Please, let him go! The sword's blade leaped out, short and deadly. “Let him go!” he shouted, and still Nalia kept her eyes unblinkingly fixed on Jape's. The edge of the sword's blade squirmed as it touched Nalia's throat, and a tiny trickle of blood appeared. “Nalia, let him go,” he screamed, knowing what must happen next. "Please!"

  She blinked, and the spell shattered. Jape collapsed. Nalia looked up at Scrornuck, her brown eyes wide with terror. His sword fell to the dirt with a soft thunk, and he wrapped his arms around Jape, trying to control the Ranger's shivering. Nalia slowly backed away, turned and ran.

  Scrornuck draped his plaid over Jape's shoulders and poured a fresh cup of coffee. Jape took it greedily, spilling much as he attempted to drink with trembling hands. By the time he'd emptied the cup, he could speak again. “I think you just saved my life. She's stronger—she could have ripped my mind apart.” He turned his hand over and looked at his rings. The blue one now glowed steadily. “She's the one,” he said, his voice ragged. “You've got to bring her back."

  "After what she almost did?” Scrornuck refilled the cup.

  Jape promptly drained it. “We have to take that risk."

  "I'm here.” Nalia stood ten feet away—just out of Ol’ Red's range, Scrornuck realized. Tears streaked her face, and there was a dribble of drying blood on her throat. “I didn't have anywhere else to go."

  "You heard what I said about you?” Jape asked.

  She nodded and spoke in a dull voice. “I have a great power, and I can't control it. I didn't want to hurt you, but when you stopped the scroll, I had to know...” She paused, her lips trembling. “I wasn't dreaming, was I?"

  "I think your dreams are a memory, passed down from your ancestors."

  She sat on the log and stared at the blank scroll. “Why did those people burn up?"

  "McGinn used the word ‘pyrovirus,'” Scrornuck said. “I think it's a made-up word for an infection that makes a lot of heat."

  Jape took a deep breath. “And it appears Mister McGinn deliberately infected these people.” He looked at Nalia's nervous eyes. “We have to watch the rest of this. Do you think you can?"

  "I need to know."

  "Then let's do it. Scroll, resume!"

  The gruesome scene continued for another seven minutes, the villagers falling to the ground, screaming in pain as parts of their bodies steamed, smoked, and burned. The few survivors, all children, wandered around in shock, staring at the charred lumps that had been their parents and siblings.

  The view returned to the conference room. Jackson's icy stare seemed to nail McGinn to his seat. “You said this would be quick, clean, painless. What the hell went wrong?"

  "Georgette,” McGinn said softly, “could you explain the nature of the problem?"

  During the gruesome show, the software manager had slid down in her seat until she nearly disappeared behind her stack of papers. She straightened up slightly as she spoke. “It was, uh, a timing glitch. The pyrovirus software was designed to activate in perfect synchronization. To prevent loss of synch due to transmission delays over a thousand-mile range, the activation process was a forward-referenced command rather than an instantaneous order—the viruses were commanded to activate at a specific time, and their internal clocks were synchronized to the picosecond.” She seemed to draw confidence from the jargon. “To meet Mister McGinn's needs, we made changes to the underlying platform software—here."

  An elaborate chart filled the screen, lines and nodes linked in an impossibly complex pattern. Most were white, a few blood-red. “The changes introduced a memory-leak problem; after about seventy-six hours of waiting for an activation command, the software would experience a buffer overrun, here." A red circle appeared around a knot in the graph. “This was a new error-handling leg, and it failed to reclaim all the lost memory. As a result, the buffer overrun recurred after another six hours, then one hour, then seventeen minutes, and so on.” Another chart appeared, a line with spikes that grew increasingly close together. “By the end, some viruses encountered buffer overruns every four minutes. Each overrun introduced several seconds of delay into clock-servicing.” Yet another chart appeared, this one showing a red wedge labeled SYNC ERROR that steadily widened from left to right. “As a result, viruses that had been deployed for five days had up to nine minutes of clock error, randomly distributed."

  McGinn's face replaced the chart. “Take away the buzzwords and it boils down to this,” he said. “Instead of firing at the same instant as they were supposed to, the pyroviruses ignited over a nine-minute period."

  Jackson focused his cold gaze on Georgette. “Why wasn't this found in testing?"

  She shifted uneasily in her chair and inspected her papers. “The plan called for activation within forty-eight hours of deployment. Therefore, our standard test runs were seventy-two hours—a fifty percent margin. In practice, some
of the viruses were deployed five full days before they were activated."

  "And why was that?"

  It was McGinn's turn to squirm. “Weather problems—we were releasing the viruses from low-flying aircraft, and a persistent front kept raising severe storms."

  Georgette jumped on the chance to drop the blame on somebody else. “Five days instead of two—you went far beyond the shelf-life you'd asked us to guarantee..."

  "I didn't expect your software to forget what time it was!"

  "We told you that your requirements meant platform changes, and we asked for a six-week slip. You insisted on using the pre-release version to hold to your schedule—"

  "Enough!” Jackson silenced the two. “We're not here to assign blame—in the end it's my responsibility, anyway.” He paused in thought. “Perhaps this is a sign. I am half-inclined to abandon the Grand Taupeaquaah project, have this world sealed up and let it be forgotten..."

  McGinn bristled at the suggestion. “That's not an option. Shareholders would demand to know why we abandoned a major development immediately after the groundbreaking, especially given the amount invested in the supply world."

  "Yes, yes, you're right. There would be an investigation. And it would be a public relations nightmare if these recordings got out."

  For the first time, the lawyer spoke. “It could be far worse than that. Depending on one's interpretation of the law, this company may be guilty of murder."

  McGinn and Georgette stiffened. Jackson simply sighed. “I was concerned about that possibility when we first approved the mass-termination groundbreaking plan."

  Niedemeyer shook his head emphatically. “Mister McGinn's plan was legally and ethically sound. It is well established that terminations involved in a grandfather paradox are not legally or ethically murders, as the ancestor being terminated continues to live in the past of our time stream and never exists in the newly created one. As I explained at our previous meeting, as long as the terminations are simultaneous and instantaneous, a mass termination is legally and ethically equivalent to a single termination. Further, the plan eliminated the ethically questionable need for UniFlag to forcibly relocate the aboriginal population.

  "The problem is strictly in the timing—the two million terminations occurred across a period of nine minutes. We believe that the actual groundbreaking took place around the two-minute mark, when the first of Mister McGinn's direct ancestors died. At that point, at least a million aboriginals came into existence in the new stream, only to die—rather unpleasantly, I fear—over the next five minutes.” He folded his hands neatly. “There is a good chance that a jury would find this to be murder."

  Jackson let his face drop into his hands. “We're not just murderers. We're mass murderers, on a scale the world hasn't seen in centuries.” After a moment, he straightened up, again all business. “Understand this, everybody—we are dealing with the survival of the company, and very possibly our own freedom. We must keep this incident quiet. Paul, how many employees witnessed the groundbreaking?"

  "Fewer than fifty."

  "That's manageable. Turn their names over to Security, and keep them incommunicado until it has been made clear to them that they are to keep quiet."

  "Done."

  "Miss Clinton, I want an immediate end to all pyrovirus work. Destroy all records, particularly those involving this incident."

  "I've already had them triple-encrypted..."

  "I want them destroyed. This development never happened, do I make myself clear? Give Security the names of those who participated. I know how people get when projects are cancelled by executive order, and I don't want any pyrovirus developer reunions."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good. Miss Clinton, you may go.” Relieved, she scooped up her papers and quickly left the room. “As for you, Paul, get back to the site, get things cleaned up, dispose of the evidence.” He looked at the ceiling, seemingly trying to see the sky beyond. “We have the blood of a million people on our hands."

  "Perhaps,” McGinn retorted, “but we also have our new world, on schedule and within budget.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “And as it turns out, we have a unique opportunity."

  Jackson frowned. “The last opportunity you presented is the cause of this meeting."

  If the comment disturbed McGinn, he did not show it. “The pyrovirus did not kill everyone. Approximately fifteen thousand children between the ages of eight and thirteen survived unharmed."

  "I noticed that,” Niedemeyer said, “and I am concerned that we are legally responsible for them—especially their mental health. Yesterday's events must have been traumatic."

  "And that provides our opportunity.” McGinn gestured as he spoke, as if words alone could not convey his enthusiasm. “I spent much of the night in consultation with the Anthrapps department."

  "Anthrapps?” Jackson asked.

  "Anthropological applications,” McGinn said, and his smile made it clear that he had enjoyed one-upping the boss. “The children need memory-replacement therapy to suppress the trauma, and help in re-establishing a self-sufficient society. UniFlag must assume the role of their parents. This is an opportunity—we can train them as the Cast members of the Grand Taupeaquaah themeworld, and train them far beyond what anyone in the business has done before.” He paused for effect. “Rather than performing their roles as Cast, they will be living them. Let me offer a simple example: everybody knows that the Cast members are just acting when they get into fights, when they duel—but what if they did it for real?"

  Jackson's eyes went wide in disbelief. “You want them to kill each other in the streets?"

  "Not at all—that would be bad for business. But suppose we established a culture in which differences were settled by dueling, and the duels stopped well short of serious injury—say, at the first drop of blood drawn? The Anthrapps department can do this, and it will give Taupeaquaahn society an authenticity found in no other themeworld. They'll duel—harmlessly—in the streets, because it's how they settle their differences. They'll serve the Guests because it's their purpose in life. And they'll respect the corporate symbols out of true reverence.” McGinn pointed to a framed Spafu cartoon on the wall. “They'll need a religion—a deity to worship, purpose and meaning for their lives. I propose that we give them a faith that fits our needs—one rooted in our corporate values, filled with exotic and entertaining rituals, free of inconvenient dogma like ‘money is the root of all evil.’”

  Jackson gasped. “You want them to worship Spafu? He's a mascot, a cartoon!"

  "And to the Cast of Grand Taupeaquaah, he will be a god."

  "Employees worshiping the corporate symbols?” Jackson folded his hands in a manner that looked almost prayerful. “In a way, it's every executive's dream.” He unfolded his hands. “Franz, is this legal?"

  Niedemeyer thought silently for what seemed like an eternity before nodding. “Yes, it's legal. The surviving aboriginals are not of legal age, so we can establish the corporation as their legal guardian. That will make memory-replacement therapy legal. We will provide for their physical and emotional needs, give them a proper education, all according to the law. By the time they are old enough to refuse to work for us, they'll know no other way. In that respect, it's rather elegant. However, I see a potential issue around workforce diversity, given that the population is entirely Native North American. Do you have a plan for dealing with that?"

  "Diversity,” McGinn said slowly, and for an instant his expression of supreme self-confidence wavered. Then his expression suddenly brightened. “Yes, I have a plan. The absolute present of the Grand Taupeaquaah stream is currently in the eighth century. All around the world there are wars, natural disasters and other tragedies, no doubt leaving many young people orphaned. We shall simply rescue some of these unfortunates and bring them to Taupeaquaah to join the Cast."

  "That will work,” the lawyer said, after a minute's consideration. “Fully legal, and it furthers UniFlag's image as a h
umanitarian company."

  "A humanitarian company,” Jackson repeated, though there was little enthusiasm in his voice. “Good. Are there any other issues we need to consider?"

  The attorney riffled through his papers. “I see a possible problem with the ‘Church of Spafu’ concept,” he said. “In the unlikely event we lose the Schultz suit—"

  "This possibility is already covered,” McGinn said with a smirk. “Although, Franz, I am quite certain that with your department in charge of the defense, we will be victorious."

  "Thank you for the vote of confidence.” Niedemeyer turned toward the CEO. “Then I see no legal or ethical problems with Mister McGinn's plan."

  Jackson leaned back in his chair, looking like the meeting had aged him ten years. “Thank you, Franz. You may go now. I'm sure you have much to do.” As the lawyer picked up his papers and departed, the CEO turned to face McGinn. “I have a bad feeling, Paul. Something tells me I'm going to regret this decision someday."

  McGinn leaned over the table, his face just inches from Jackson's. “This is our chance, Cornell, our big chance to get UniFlag back on top. Remember those days, when we owned the entertainment market? The biggest showplexes, the number-one park—and then the Dizzers came along with that damned Safari themeworld—"

  "Must you use that term? DisWarner is simply a competitor."

  "No. Not just a competitor.” McGinn stood, towering above Jackson, pointing his finger straight into the chairman's face. “You know your problem, Cornell? You're not hungry anymore. You've made it to the top, and you've become soft. Well, I'm still hungry. Business is war, and the Dizzers are the enemy. They damn near ran us out of business with their palm trees and striped horses. If I hadn't pulled the Olympus Experience project together in record time, this company would be history and we'd both be selling hotdogs for the rat."

  Jackson sighed. “I'm well aware of that, and it's why I stood by you when the technolepathy project blew up. You're too valuable to lose over an unfortunate accident. But you've got to be careful, Paul, you've got to be careful. This pyrovirus thing could have landed us all in jail..."