by Jen Cole
Richard forced himself to stay put and nodded again. “Good luck Jo.”
She picked up the bag, turned and left the apartment. As soon as the door closed behind her Richard turned to his laptop, created a new text file, and typed a few words. Then he left the computer on the coffee table and eased open the apartment door, peering down the hall. The lift doors were just closing.
He raced to the stairwell and leapt down the stairs, exiting at the ground floor. Through the front glass doors he saw Jo reach the footpath and turn to walk towards the shops and cafes of Lygon Street.
His Camry was angle parked in front and Richard debated whether to take it or follow Jo on foot, but he couldn’t risk the Hunter making a getaway by car, so with an eye on her progress, he hopped into the Camry and started the engine. When she reached the end of the block, he backed out and followed slowly in her wake.
…
Jo walked unseeing past the shops and restaurants and reached the cafe at 10.55. She walked in, found a table and ordered a double-shot black. She needed it. Her ebullience of the morning was gone. She was on her own again, and though it felt as though she’d been cut adrift in space, she didn’t regret her decision.
The sudden prospect of losing Richard’s support when he told her BEAM might recall him had made her realize the truth. What she felt for him went deep. If keeping Richard close got him killed, she would never be able to live with herself.
The look on his face when she’d told him they had to part ways had nearly crumbled her resolve, and she’d been grateful and relieved when he hadn’t argued. Now she could concentrate on the job of getting through the next two and a half days with a clear conscience.
~~~~
CHAPTER 43
Angela wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. All her life she’d been taught Ancestors were selfish, but Jo had just done the most unselfish thing possible. This final action above all, proved she did not deserve to die. Angela glanced around the studio Playroom and saw others surreptitiously blowing noses. No one here wanted Jo’s death. She was a hero. And she was right. This was a game of murder, not justice. It belittled them and was distracting them from solving their own problems.
Fitani wasn’t going to do anything about it. He was already being harassed by messages from employees urging that he either save or kill Jo, and the stress was showing. Instead of sending his avatar to the studio Playroom after his most recent interaction with Jo, he’d placed a ‘Do Not Disturb’ on his access code and was ignoring all calls to his tube.
The time had again come to take things into her own hands. The Company wouldn’t like it, but The Company, Angela now realized, was one of the problems the employees would have to solve. Quietly, she slipped from the studio Playroom.
…
Julian Hastmeyer was annoyed. Being Secretary to the CEO was more than a full time job. While others might envy his exalted position, he alone knew the work involved. And now his own secretary, Melvin Briggs, normally a most reliable chap, was insisting on taking up some of his time to discuss a matter of utmost importance. Utmost importance? What could be more important than ensuring the success of the biggest event of the year?
For weeks all the children, nephews, nieces and cousins on his staff had been helping to prepare for it – the CEO’s 82nd birthday party. Of course this year’s extravaganza would not compete with the absolute spectacle he’d orchestrated two years ago. Back then Directors from every Safe Place had attended for a full month of festivities. Nevertheless an eighty-second birthday was important, and deserving of all the efforts being put into it.
At this very moment Julian’s eldest son, and heir apparent, was organizing the beauty pageant winners. These lovelies were the cream of the daughters from Secretarial families in every Safe Place. Julian touched the thumbnail on his screen to view the crystal bathhouse, where they fluttered around in their scanty outfits, readying themselves to pamper the CEO when he entered for his bath. No doubt the girls were all very excited, for by the end of the day the most favored one would remain, living a life of status and luxury on the CEO’s estate and maybe if she played her cards right, even becoming his twenty-third wife.
Julian leant back in his contoured leather chair and changed the view to the preparations occurring in the pleasure gardens. Banquet tables garlanded with flowers were being set up and he could see Suzanne, his fourth daughter, instructing several dozen minor cousins already dressed in their waiter uniforms – no bots for this occasion, in their duties. Silver trays laden with wine glasses and a variety of stimulants and relaxants stood to hand, and the finest musicians among the secretarial families were tuning their instruments and engaging in last minute rehearsals. It was a great honor to be chosen to play at the CEO’s birthday party, bringing much status to one’s family.
Quickly Julian scanned the other areas of activity – the bustling kitchens, the entertainments already being enjoyed by some early rising guests, and gave a satisfied sigh. Perhaps he would be able to spare five minutes for Melvin’s matter of utmost importance.
…
Fitani finally bit the bullet and sent his avatar to the studio Playroom, glad for the first time he wasn’t visiting in person. Immediately voices bombarded him.
“What the hell, Danny?”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“Why did you make Play or Die so expensive?”
“Are you aware hundreds of thousands of viewers are now watching the show secondhand and not paying us a single Personal Point?”
Fitani’s avatar held up his hands. “I owe you all an explanation, and that’s what I’m here for.”
“We’re listening,” said an angry voice.
“What I’m about to tell you is in the strictest confidence.” He paused, and now the room grew silent. “The price hike wasn’t my idea, but I had to go along because it was what The Company wanted.”
Exclamations and questions broke out immediately, and once again Fitani raised his hands. “The Company also wanted it to appear that the increase was my idea, so we can’t tell the viewers it’s not.”
“There could only be one reason for that,” Justin said angrily. “Jo’s been telling the truth and The Company is trying to stop employees from hearing it!”
“There is another possible reason.” Fitani spoke soothingly. “Let’s not be too quick to condemn our savior and support for so many hundreds of years.”
“What’s the other reason?” said Mavis.
“That The Company is simply being over-protective. I’ve thought about it and realized they must still see the employees as children – as the naïve survivors they rescued in The Great Arising. That’s the reason they’ve never included us in their decision-making. No one wants children interfering in adult matters. They’ve forgotten it’s been hundreds of years since we were savages – that we’ve grown, become educated, and have high-level skills and knowledge to offer. All we need to do is show our worthiness, and they’ll lift the veil from their operations and welcome us into the Executive ranks.”
“How are we supposed to show our worthiness?” asked Garal.
All eyes turned to Fitani. “By passing a test, which has been here, waiting for us all along,” he said.
“Enough riddles, Danny,” Justin growled. “What test?”
“The blurred areas devoted to Sacred Company Business. Only by breaking through The Company’s programming, will we prove that we have the skills, intelligence and courage needed for inclusion into the Executive.”
The team stared at Fitani. The programmers in the room had heard Richard wonder aloud whether the employees had the skills to remove the blur, and it had rankled them. Their loss of revenue from the overpricing of Play or Die was added incentive. Some of them believed Fitani’s theory, that removing the blur was a coming-of-age test. Others simply decided that if The Company refused to become more transparent in its operations, it was time the employees forced that transparency, and found out what the blur
red areas were hiding. Either way, every member of the programming team was soon regarding it as a duty to crack the land surveillance software.
…
Sitting at the terminal, Angela laced her fingers and applied pressure until she felt a satisfying crack. Where to start? The Hunter had to die. It was the only way to stop him, but how to arrange it? Play or Die had used a professional assassin a couple of seasons back, when a Hunter had failed to bag her Prey in five days, but contacting the same assassin using Play or Die’s protocols would show Fitani he had a traitor within. She had to use someone else. Unfortunately employing a hit man wasn’t easy. The first contact was always through a referral. Her head came up. Of course, Morris Blatman. They had a record of the protocols Simon Brooks had used when he’d ordered the hit on Jo’s father. She’d use the same protocols and Blatman would think Brooks was ordering another hit.
After Angela’s distribution of the histories, Fitani had ordered his team of programmers to make the Microwave Time Viewing technology ‘hack-proof’. During the process, Angela had created her own backdoor into the pipeline. Guilt had nagged her at the time, but now she was glad she’d done it. There would be no evidence of her break-in. The only worry still left was whether her hit man would get to the Hunter, before the Hunter got to Jo.
…
Melvin Briggs found himself stammering in the face of Julian Hastmeyer’s impatient expression.
“Sir, I know it sounds incredible but the latest broadcast of Play or Die is stirring up the employees. There are rumblings of discontent. If we don’t act immediately, I fear for the consequences.”
“The consequences?” Hastmeyer imbued the word with the utmost disdain. “If you really want to talk consequences, try interrupting the CEO on the morning of his birthday as he takes his bath with a dozen of the most luscious beauties in the land. Now that would entail consequences.”
“He doesn’t have to be involved. All you’d need to do is issue an edict in the CEO’s name, that effective immediately and for the next three days, Directors of all Safe Places must tax virtual access to their blank Playrooms at a rate of 200 Personal Points per hour per person accessing.”
Hastmeyer’s forehead creased. “And this would make the employees happy?”
Melvin gulped. “No, but it would reduce their incentive for watching Play or Die. Secretary Hastmeyer, it is absolutely imperative that the employees be diverted from this dangerous game! The longer they watch it, the worse it gets. They need to be refocused onto something else as quickly as possible.”
The Secretary’s frown deepened. “Let me see if I’ve got this right. You want me, in the CEO’s name, without having consulted him, to issue an edict which will irritate the other Directors and anger the employees, because you have failed in your job of keeping them happy.”
Melvin paled and drew breath.
“Think, before you answer that,” Hastmeyer warned.
Melvin thought. If he insisted that Hastmeyer follow his recommendation, it would be tantamount to admitting his own failure, which would be the end of his job. Hastmeyer would certainly accept the seriousness of the situation if Melvin was prepared to make such a sacrifice, and he’d issue the edict, thereby probably saving The Company’s neck.
But now Melvin began asking himself whether it really was necessary. Losing his job was no small thing. His reputation would be blackened and rather than appointing one of his sons to take his place, the CEO might decide it was time for another family to take on the role the Briggs family had held for generations. Should that occur, his wife and children and their children would suffer the disgrace for years to come. No one would understand his sacrifice and it might be for naught anyway. Jo was possibly dead already and the game over. Or perhaps the employees would naturally tire of ranting against The Company and turn back to the everyday things in their lives.
If he backtracked right now and assured Hastmeyer he could solve the problem without the Secretary’s intervention, it was possible there’d be no dire consequences at all. On the other hand he might be signing The Company’s death warrant. Melvin twisted in an agony of indecision and then lowered his eyes.
“Perhaps the edict is a bit premature. I believe I may be able to find another solution.”
Hastmeyer smiled. “Good man. I knew I could rely on you. Was there anything else?”
“No Sir, just to extend my best wishes to the CEO on this important day.”
…
Many hundreds of years into Jo’s future, a morning went by during which: two thousand white-suited figures toiled over a rectangle of ground in front of them; executives snored in their beds, rode to hounds or in the case of a few smug guests, swam in sparkling warmed pools or strolled to play croquet on the exquisite lawns of the most powerful man in the world; thousands of ordinary people slumbered in hexagonal tubes while thousands more engaged in a myriad of diverse activities, all within the confines of a series of silos; a young woman used Microwave Time Viewing technology to make contact with a man from the past; a group of programmers tested an idea, frying a number of computer components, but escaping any hurt themselves; some technicians pieced together an unsavory puzzle and disbelieving the result, started again from scratch; many thousands followed the story of a girl living in a world far removed from their own; and a frightened secretary of a Secretary stared fixedly out at trees and pastures as he rocked in a chair on the verandah of his country house, waiting to see if the world he knew was about to end.
~~~~
CHAPTER 44
Just after eleven, Jo stood in the cafe’s toilet cubicle, stripping off track pants and hoodie. This was the third broadcast placing her in central Melbourne, so the Hunter’s agents could arrive any minute. She thrust her photography gear into the carry bag, and emerging in her sleek yuppie outfit, left the cafe. Though it was hard to resist the adrenaline urge to hurry, Jo made herself stroll casually up the street.
From his nearby parking spot, Richard watched her walk away. She appeared carefree and confident and her courage bolstered his own. He slipped inside, selected a morning paper from the rack provided for patrons, and grabbed a table as someone stood to go.
The cafe was doing a brisk business, serving mainly women breaking a busy morning’s shopping. A few students from Melbourne University also appeared to be forsaking lectures in favor of getting a java hit. Richard ordered a latté and settled back behind the paper.
It was all too obvious when the agents arrived some five minutes later. Three men and a woman strode in purposefully, spreading out to scan the tables. The woman walked through to the ladies room and came out seconds later shaking her head. The four then converged upon the counter, where one of the males held up a photo and seemed to be demanding that the frantically busy girl at the coffee machine stop to look at it.
Between frothing milk and nodding to a waiter calling a new order across to her, the girl cast a quick glance at the photo and shrugged her shoulders. The four went into a huddle and then spread out again, homing in on waiters and waitresses. Richard smiled at the annoyed headshakes they were getting and when they started hassling the patrons with their photos, two of the waiters stepped over angrily and ushered them out of the cafe.
Richard half rose. Had one of the men been the Hunter? All had hair, though that was easy enough to fake. In the end he sat again, his gut persuading him to wait a little longer. For all that, he nearly missed the Hunter when he did come in, initially writing him off as another student. In jeans and a faded cloth cap over a black stubble haircut, the young man sauntered to a free table within earshot, and clicked his fingers to summon a waitress.
Perhaps it was the arrogant body language that tweaked Richard’s radar, but confirmation came when the man twisted to give his order, and revealed the tip of a tattoo at the base of his neck.
Richard held the newspaper up, apparently engrossed in one of the articles, but listening attentively. The waitress had returned with the Hunter’s coffee
and he could hear her objecting to being paid on the spot.
“All payments are at the counter, sir.”
The voice that replied was honey-smooth, overshadowed with a slightly affected accent. “This fifty isn’t for the coffee. It’s your tip if you have time to sit for a second and answer a question.”
The scraping of a chair indicated her ready cooperation.
“About fifteen minutes ago, a girl with long blonde hair in grey track pants…”
An exasperated sigh. “Not again! I’ll tell you what I told the others. I did see a girl like that come in around eleven, but I didn’t serve her. I was busy. Things were hectic at that time. They’re starting to calm down now, but…”
“Forget that girl, she’s not important. What I want to know is whether you saw any girl leaving the cafe that you hadn’t noticed coming in.”
There was a surprised, “Hmm! Now you come to mention it, I did. I remember wondering which table the girl had been sitting at, because she seemed to appear out of nowhere.”
“Could you describe her?”
“About my height with short reddish-blonde hair. She was wearing black pants with a long pink top. Oh, and a gorgeous pink and charcoal scarf to die for.”
“Did you see which way she went?”
“She turned right, up the hill.”
A rustle and renewed chair scraping signaled the transaction had been completed, but Richard remained where he was, turning a page and thanking the gods that Jo had had a ten minute head start. She should be back at Marilyn’s by now. The Hunter began talking again and it was soon clear he was on the phone giving Jo’s new description to someone and outlining a specific perimeter of operations.
Richard began regretting the plan to return to Marilyn’s place. Agents would be closing in on that area with an updated description of Jo. He had to call as soon as possible and warn her. She would not be pleased he’d failed to abide by her wishes, but if she’d read his note, she’d know that already. Standing, he kept his back to the Hunter as he edged around the tables to the cash register on the counter. As he left the cafe, he could still hear the Hunter talking.