An Eighty Percent Solution (CorpGov)

by Thomas Gondolfi

Nothing smelled like a dead body—a mixture of iron, burned pork, and shit, in this particular case. Tony also couldn’t believe the vast mere of blood. Vids never got any of the three correct. Mostly the smell creators for vids really didn’t want to make their audience vomit. Twice Tony offered the contents of his stomach to the handy toilet. For the six hundredth time he missed the Body Removal of his former condo association.

  While unpleasant, disposing of the corpse proved the easiest part of the job. A molecular blade cut through the joints very easily. In just thirteen relatively easy pieces he had all but the torso safely within the calorie reclamation bin. The torso took a bit of extra effort, and mess, but eventually it too, in several uneven chunks, followed the rest to be ground into protein paste. This just left Tony with five liters of red to decontaminate.

  For whatever reason people just didn’t understand how much blood pumped through a person’s body. He scooped it up, sponged it up, mopped it up. He felt like the little Dutch boy of myth holding back the sea with a fork. The gradually congealing goo stuck to everything like honey and found the most devilish crevasses to penetrate.

  Cin sat at the edge of the mess and looked on with ladylike disdain for anything as plebian as cleaning. Tony couldn’t be angry at her. She was a cat, after all, and without her unusual warning—a rather wet, raspy tongue to his nose in the dead of night—it might be his blood staining the floor right now.

  Tony didn’t have any feelings for the poor bastard whose body he just dismembered, but the intruder’s presence did cause him some concern in other ways. He didn’t know who sent the criminal, but his tools weren’t those of an ordinary robber, but rather a professional assassin.

  Sitting up from his all fours position, Tony looked over the mottled pink floors. Before this was over he knew he’d be very happy for all the leftover bleach from his apartment’s initial cleaning.

  Who hired the bastard? Were the corps or Metros behind this attack? All questions for another time. Cin yawned. Tony fell back onto all fours to continue scrubbing like an ancient scullery maid. Someone should write a book: The Glamorous Life of an International Terrorist.

  Implement—Phase Five

  “When we agreed to this course of action, we knew there’d be a short-term increase in damage for a long-term payoff,” said one of the nine eight-centimeter solidos on the stark obsidian desk. He didn’t know the technology on how these conference calls were secured any more than he thought about tying his shoes. The corps bought security like one would buy a bag of potato chips, and with about as much thought to the purchase.

  “That’s all fine for you to say. None of your profits have been attacked. Nanogate, one of the crown jewels in our portfolio, is down seventy-eight percent and falling.”

  “It was your plan, Nanogate,” Taste Dynamics said scornfully.

  “Probably revenge-motivated,” one of the other solidos stated. “The profile we shared shows a twenty-two percent chance of such retaliation.”

  “Nothing showed anything in such scale, however,” offered another.

  “The Nanogate Spire represented billions in lost opportunity cost, lost revenue in retained leasing, and redesign costs.”

  “Redesign?”

  “Our polling shows we can’t pin this one on the Greenies. They haven’t publicly claimed responsibility. The masses think this was a design flaw causing an industrial accident, despite our media blitz to the contrary. They won’t accept the same design. We have to start all over.”

  “Seems excessive. What about retaining your current headquarters?”

  “We’re already negotiating that point. We aren’t in a strong bargaining position, though, and the owner knows it. He’s holding us hostage with a ruinous penalty and will require us to purchase the current building at a twice or thrice inflated cost.

  “But as costly as this is, it’s a pittance compared to the other impacts they’ve been making. We’ve been able to keep the manufacturing plant disasters—all five of them—quiet with some well-placed bribes. The Loihi dome, however, caught the media’s attention because of an ill-timed visit by some maintenance personnel. But the real point is that the cost to repair and replace will likely to be more than all of our combined companies’ profits for this year. Worse, we may have a shortfall of product.”

  “Insurance?”

  “How many of you buy insurance of this scale? We’re self-insured as a shared risk across our entire corporate umbrella. Even if we did carry such a policy it’d bankrupt the company underwriting the policy.”

  “Any other damage?”

  “Any other damage?! Of course there is, if that isn’t enough. Nothing of that scale, however. Call it pricey vandalism: rewiring the powering station of our delivery vehicles so the batteries burned up; multiple costly supercomputer crashes despite all the ice we could surround them with; rerouting sewage lines into the fire-suppression system of one of our primary engineering facilities and then setting a small fire. There are more of the same, but they’re swallowed in the larger problems.”

  “Total costs?”

  “Our current estimate is one hundred forty point three trillion, give or take fifteen percent. Note that this doesn’t cover the public opinion cost nor the stock impacts.”

  Even the normally nonplussed group fidgeted at the sum before one finally broke the tableau. “Stay the course. It isn’t as if we hadn’t expected costs. The computer analysis still shows this is by far the best course and it more than pays back in the long run.”

  One by one the other solidos agreed. He nodded in assent only because they expected it.

  “One other item of note,” ECM stated. “As we expected, the subject has changed his name, and databases have been modified to show the change. I’m sending details by separate carrier. This is the first confirmation that shows the subject is truly part of the GAM.”

  “Thank you for that clarification. Anything further?”

  “I have one item,” noted OldsTransport. “We discovered unusual market activity on all of Nanogate’s holdings. Specifically, there were massive puts against the stock just before significant pieces of sabotage.”

  “Were we able to track the people doing the trading?”

  “No. It was all done over the counter, in convenience stores and networked brokers in small amounts. Nothing traceable. Not only that, but innocents are getting involved in the frenzy as well.”

  “Does this really change anything?”

  “No, except that they’re now no longer poorly funded. We anticipate over six million just in the last week.”

  “I do ask that until this item is resolved, we meet weekly.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Yes, by all means.”

  The meeting ended as the communications links broke, one by one, terminating the images like soap bubbles landing in the summer grass.

  Nanogate sat quietly for ten long minutes, ignoring the insistent flashing of his door and the neural rasps of his percomm.

  * * *

  “Jonah, Frances, and Colin, you don’t happen to have your Metro uniforms still, do you?” Tony said, leaning back and picking his teeth after a group potluck.

  “Frak, no. I left that life behind,” Jonah said with the relaxed attitude of someone long away from such a painful memory.

  “We still have our ballistics,” Frances said for herself and her domestic and action partner. “They lojacked all of the bio-enhancement suits, so those had to go, of course.”

  The rest of the group stopped talking to listen in. Tony had become their number one planner, and if another epiphany struck him, they knew it meant a worthwhile mission.

  “Yes, that’s all I mean. So if we did some minor alterations, you could pose, at least for a short while, as if you were Metros.”

  “Yeah, but anyone doing a routine scan would find our badges deactivated, and our heads on the wanted list.”

  Tony ran his fingers through the thick brush of hair on his chest as he stared of
f in the distance. “And how do we make people careless?” he asked absently.

  “Kill ’em quick?” Several people chuckled.

  “Bore them silly. Let Andrew talk to them for an hour. They’d all fall asleep.” Andrew pushed Jonah off the couch with a playful shove to the arm.

  “Yeah, thanks for noticing me,” Tolly offered, mimicking an infamous donkey’s droll tones.

  “Show them what they want to see?” Sonya offered seriously.

  “Exactly. The great part of this plan is that in-depth scouting isn’t necessary. This is a swashbuckling job. So here’s what I’m thinking…”

  * * *

  “C’mon, you green bitch,” the Metro said, pushing Suet’s form ahead of him into the light of the security gate of Nanogate Storage Facility Sixteen.

  “Stop!” called the security guard, drawing his sonic club, his hands already pressing the local panic button.

  “We are stopped, you rent-a-cop,” the second Metro said, his own pulse pistol in the green woman’s back. “We found this number playing fast and loose with your fence about thirteen hundred meters down the way. She had this toy on her as well,” the Metro said, tossing the man a small block of explosives.

  The Nanogate security guard jumped, but realized, belatedly and a little sheepishly, that the device was little more than a featureless clay-like block without a fuse or detonator.

  The facility’s four other guards pelted up almost simultaneously from different directions, wheezing as they ran to respond to the panic button. With Greenies going after Nanogate facilities, they all looked tense, but they relaxed at the sight of the Metro uniforms.

  “What the fuck?” their leader demanded between labored gasps.

  “They found this one trying to cut through the fence,” the first explained, poking at Suet, who just looked angry.

  “OK, so what? Why don’t you tote this bitch away?”

  “Do you have the slightest idea how much paperwork is involved in an arrest?” the taller male Metro offered. “Look, I thought you might be willing to take this punta off our hands for the reward bucks. Make you look good. Hell, we even put a binder on her arm implants.”

  “Yeah,” the shorter female Metro said. “This way me and my partner don’t have to spend the rest of the night doing computer entry and booking.”

  “You could turn her in yourself. Why the free money?”

  “You idiot! Metros can’t get reward money. You a Nil or something? When did you get your private security license? Yesterday?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry. OK. We got us a detention cell in here. Come this way. Mike, stay here.”

  “Y’all see the game last night?” Frances asked as they entered the building.

  Suet waited patiently until they were beyond the gate’s monitors and inside the structure. Excreting a lubricant from her pores, one tentacle slipped out of the wrist binder like it didn’t exist. One of her arms wrapped around the neck of one security guard, lifting. The spine snapped instantly. Another arm swept the ground, catching one other guard unawares, taking his legs from beneath him. The first arm now did double-duty, lashing bloodily across the chest of the third guard with speed enough to crush a trough in his ribcage. Colin’s and Frances’s hand weapons, from their Metro façade, finished the standing cripple and the other stunned man.

  “Jesus, Suet! Give us a chance for some fun, too.”

  “I nuke fas’. No s’ow up for you.”

  “Whatever. Let’s plant these charges quickly.”

  Five minutes later they all gathered back together. “Can I do the honors?” Frances asked.

  “By all means.” Suet nodded.

  Frances sent a coded signal. Detonators didn’t need to be visible to work. The supposedly inert explosives in the guard shack vaporized the remaining guard, Mike, as well as a 30 meter section of fence and all the sensing equipment, leaving a gaping hole for the trio to stroll through before the real fireworks began.

  * * *

  Only a single light shining down on the desk held away the darkness. The corner windows showed only full night outside, one with no moon. Alone, late at night, Mitch Anson leaned back in his leather executive chair dictating a memo, eyes rolled up to the ceiling. His nostrils flared.

  “It’s clear that the ubiquitous nature of your failings proves you cannot be trusted at your current rank. Thus it is my duty to inform you that you are demoted two ranks, with a commensurate reduction in pay in the amount equal to eleven point four percent. Sincerely, Mitch Anson.” His breath raced and a flush covered his face.

  Orgasm was the only word to describe Mr. Anson’s demeanor. Mr. Marks thought to himself that sometimes one’s work truly delighted one. He watched as Anson’s respiration slowed to normal.

  “Excuse me,” came Mr. Marks’s quiet interruption. Anson, startled, sat bolt upright in his chair. He looked about wildly for the source of the voice, but found none. “Lights!” he demanded insistently.

  “Unrecognized voice command,” came a soft feminine voice. “The Portland Metropolitan Police have been notified.”

  “I’m very sorry, Mr. Anson, but I’ve already disabled your computer access.”

  “Who are you, you soon-to-be-unemployed Nil? This is not a place for practical jokes or hacking!”

  Mr. Marks stepped forward into the arena of light around the desk. Anson’s face lost its color. His mouth dropped open, only exceeded in size by the wideness of his eyes.

  “Cancel emergency call.”

  “Call cancelled, Mr. Marks.”

  “I…er…I’m sorry,” Anson stammered.

  “Sir, I’ve come to deliver a message,” he said in silky tones.

  “B-but I didn’t do anything.”

  “Sir, you needn’t bother with the scatter-pistol built into your desk. This shouldn’t be that kind of message. I do, however, have to inform you that Nanogate won’t be needing your services in the future.”

  “What did I do wrong?” Anson demanded, slamming both palms down on his desk as he stood to face Marks. “I’ve given everything to this corporation and now you’re firing me?”

  “Oh, you mistake me, sir. I’m not going to fire you. You’re going to resign.”

  “What?! There is no way I’ll resign!”

  “You will resign, sir, or we’re going to go on to ‘that kind of message.’”

  Mitch sat back down. “Why? What did I do? I don’t understand. I’ve done everything our corporation has asked for and more.”

  “It’s the ‘more’ that’s being objected to, sir. Your hiring of the bounty hunters to go after Mr. Sammis might’ve interfered with an ongoing corporate operation, had it not been caught in time. I personally removed all four of your hirelings.” Mitch started almost imperceptibly. “Ah, there are more. How many more did you hire, sir?” Marks took only half a step forward.

  “One. Only one more.”

  “Excellent.” Marks didn’t have an orgasm, but a smile crossed his face nonetheless. “Now, you can dictate your resignation while I watch. Then you will simply disappear. I suggest you remain off the net for the rest of your life. If you ever show up, one of us will pay you a visit…of ‘that kind,’ sir.”

  * * *

  The group sprawled around a red and white checked linen cloth spread beneath one of the trees in an idyllic park. They carried a picnic basket and munched on fried chicken, even if the real chicken content of their dish equaled zero. As everywhere, protein contents were substituted interchangeably. Since very few foodstuffs still grew on Earth, and chickens never really took to space travel, they were on the endangered species list.

  A gentle breeze brought the briny smell of a nearby simulated ocean.

  “I always wanted to spend the afternoon in here but couldn’t afford it,” Tony said as he leaned back against the trunk of the tree.

  “This seems obscene,” Suet said clearly.

  “It does seem out of place,” Sonya offered quietly from her typical lotus position.<
br />
  “I know,” Tony offered, “but the best place to hide is in plain sight—purloined letter style.”

  “It still seems as if we’re inviting the enemy to our meetings,” Andrew shuddered, looking at the huge Nanogate sign hanging on the side of the building that enclosed the wooded acreage.

  “Don’t worry. Our cover as the Beaverton Bomber Bowling League went over perfectly. Many of the bowling leagues have buy-ins just for this kind of thing after the season’s over.”

  “But the DNA scanners we submitted to?”

  “We be nab’ on the way ou’…”

  “Not going to happen,” Augustine interrupted. “With the information Tony supplied about the security on the low-risk areas, I easily rode into Nanogate’s files and switched all our DNA profiles with those of some midlevel functionaries in other companies.”

  “Yeah, I can just imagine the visits they’ll receive when this finally unravels, all thanks to our local net jock.” Tony nodded at the elderly woman, his friend. “And before you ask, she’s already masking our conversation—replacing it, actually, with bits and pieces of other groups of visitors amongst the trees.”

  “What about eyes?”

  “The floating surveillance is also being similarly redirected,” Augustine said in disgust. “You think I’m not thorough?” No one commented into her challenging stare.

  “I think we can safely call this meeting to order,” Sonya said. “I’d like to congratulate Andrew, Jonah, and Frances for their rather spectacular destruction of the Nanogate factory in Lusk, Wyoming.”

  “Grats!” several yelled boisterously.

  “Agreed. The planning and execution rivaled perfection itself,” Sonya said, adding to the praise. Frances blushed while Andrew just got more solemn. “The results speak for themselves. Our recruitment of operatives and the monetary contributions from anonymous donors is at an all-time high, even though Augustine’s shrewd stock market moves have made the latter less important than ever. But even more impressively, despite the firm lid Nanogate put on all our deeds, their stock has plummeted to nearly all-time lows.”