Justin nodded, his jaw flapping silently as he tried to form an answer. Flunky. Ever. Ever. Ever. Got it. Agnes gave him a last look of disgust and strode away down the hall.
"Well," he squeaked, coughed, cleared his throat. "Well," he said to the empty hallway. "I think we're all done here. I'll just be getting along then."
*
"You're sure this is alright?"
Verma ignored him and watched the screen projected on the wall, frowning in concentration. So the new director wanted to scrap the mission as much as Root of all evil did. Mr. Hartron would want to know that, wouldn't he? But what mission were they talking about? Nobody'd mentioned a mission. How can they plan a mission without security?
"Play that part again."
"What part?"
"The part where she says she don't want the mission either."
Agnes's voice filled the room. "Neither of us wants this Pruitt. You don't need the threats, except perhaps for entertainment."
"For entertainment," Verma chuckled. Threats. Well that's something Mr. Hartron would want to know about. But what was the other thing they were talking about? A tape? Verma reached back into his mind. What kind of tape? Must be some kind of sound or recording tape. Nothing he could tell Mr. Hartron about that, not really. Not unless he found the tape and found out what was on it. Now where would Root of all evil hide something like that? He must be hiding it. He'd said, what was it he'd said? 'Don't forget the tape?' No. 'Don't forget I have the tape.'
"Because," Dutch went on, "...there aren't supposed to be any electronic devices in level three conference rooms. Dr. Ted..."
"Dr. Ted's gone Dutch. Go back to where they talk about the tape."
Root's voice rose from the screen. "Never forget I have that tape Agnes."
"That's it." He swung around toward Dutch.
"Dr. Ted's gone," Dutch repeated thoughtfully. He frowned.
"How big are tapes Dutch?"
Dutch turned and stared, his eyes momentarily blank. "That all depends on what kind of tape."
Verma nodded. Switched off the screen and swiveled in his chair. "Agnes," he folded his hands on his stomach and leaned his head back against the wall where the screen'd been. "She works for Mr. Hartron. So that makes Mr. Hartron the boss."
Dutch nodded. Verma was too absorbed in his thoughts to notice his rapt attention.
"And Mr. Hartron, he wants to know what's going on."
Dutch nodded. "It's hard to argue with that," he said slowly. "At least, it would be difficult to formulate..."
"What tape are they talking about?" Verma cut him off. "Did you see the look on her face when Root of all evil said he had the tape?"
"She did appear somewhat taken aback."
"So what tape? That's what Mr. Hartron will want to know Dutch." He drummed his fingers on the desk. Why hadn't they said more? Root didn't want whatever mission they were talking about but Root never wanted missions. Always talking about what a big deal going to the past was. But there was something there. A threat. Mr. Hartron would definitely want to know about a threat. So what was it about the tape?
"I'm afraid there's insufficient data for an assessment. Actually I'm not afraid in any physical..."
"That's what we have to find out Dutch." Verma hopped off his chair and walked to the door. "What kind of tape. Where's the tape. What's on the tape." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Mr. Hartron's going to want to know." The door swished open and Verma gave him a meaningful look. "And Mr. Hartron's the boss now."
Dutch watched the door swish closed and stared at it while his programs ran over and over the same combinations and permutations until he could feel his temperature begin to rise.
"Oh dear," he finally said. "This is becoming quite complicated."
9
Time Travel Protocol 12-22-2021* (End Game):
End Game will be executed when extreme model paths (those ending in clear abuse) exist with a probability of greater than five percent. (Cross reference Protocol 12-22-2021-s**.)
*(Highly Confidential: Paper Copies Only)
**(Secret. One paper copy maintained. Available only with written authorization of the Director.)
Ted was quite taken with them," Warren said, carefully setting down the hammer. "He used to play them while he thought. Since he was always thinking that could be quite distracting. As you can imagine."
"I didn't hear you come in."
"You seemed absorbed," Warren answered, shooting her a curious look. Anything you want to tell your lawyer? "I didn't want to disturb you."
"Can someone get those things out of here?" Agnes asked from her desk as Artie edged into her office, a stack of old fashioned manila folders clasped to his chest. Warren's eyes followed the wave of her hand around the room. "I mean," she went on. "They're everywhere." She leaned back in her chair and ran a fingernail along the keys behind her, tinkling do re me fa so la te do. "I'm not sure I've ever even seen a xylophone before."
"Actually," Warren said as he sat across the desk from her. "Some are xylophones and some are glockenspiels."
"What in the world's the difference."
"As I understand it, a xylophone has wooden keys and a glockenspiel has metal ones."
"How interesting. And exactly how long am I going to have them around?" She watched as Artie dropped the stack of paper onto her desk, raised a hand when it threatened to fall over, then stepped back.
"Before you can replace them with your antique video equipment?" Warren asked with a smile. "I had to approve your storage list. Everyone has idiosyncrasies," he added. "Only some of us have the ability to indulge them."
"Idiosyncrasies is right," she said, turning behind her. The wall tapered down from a point and bowed out into the office ending covering a large semi-circle of floor space. "Deep Pacific?" One of the strangest looking fish she'd ever seen appeared out of the black water and pressed its nose against the glass. Agnes looked into the blind eyes that stared back and shuddered. "That thing must cost a fortune."
"It feeds the water encasing the lower level conference rooms so that they can't be bugged from outside. Ted always claimed that it was actually quite cost effective."
She snorted a short laugh and turned to Artie. She arched an eyebrow.
"The personnel files you asked for."
"They're not electronic?"
"Dr..., er, we consider personnel files too sensitive to be kept electronically."
"I see," she sighed eyeing the stack of paper. Progress. She looked back up.
"Well," Artie said, looking back and forth between her and Warren. "If you don't need me...?" He nodded a few times as he backed out the door.
Agnes shook her head. Wondered if he were still nodding and walking backward down the hall. "I'm afraid I make Artie nervous."
Warren gave her one of those insincere sincere chuckles that expensive lawyers reserve for important clients. "I think you make a number of the employees nervous."
"Not you?"
"It's my job not to be nervous. I came by to walk you to the Planning Committee. I thought we might chat on the way."
They stood and Agnes walked around the desk.
"Hostile work environment," she said as he stopped to let her pass. "I'm surprised a lawyer would make that mistake."
"One of the very interesting ironies of modern law," he conceded. "Is that trying to be polite is evidence of a hostile work environment."
"I'll be back," Agnes barked to the secretary as she passed through the inner door. The woman stared back at her with red, hollow eyes.
"I'm afraid Louise was quite attached to Ted," Warren observed as they stepped into the hall.
"Is that feedback?"
"It's an observation."
"I've never been able to stomach fawning female secretaries," she said. "They're an anachronism. Like cars you have to drive or screens you operate with a remote control. They belong in museums, not cluttering
up places of business with their mooning." She turned to see his reaction, but as she was already coming to expect he didn't have one. "So what's on your mind Warren?"
He nodded his head slowly a couple of times as they walked, as if acknowledging that it was a reasonable question, weighing the pros and cons of answering.
"The planning committee has very strict, and to your mind what might seem very unusual, governance," he finally said as the elevator doors slid open. They stepped in. "Level three."
"Oh?"
"You see Ted came to the conclusion very early on that the project should be run jointly by a scientist a logician, but certain functions had to be in the control of one or the other. For example, the research committee must be chaired by a scientist. That was Ted, and will now be you. But it has to be a scientist."
"And the planning committee?"
"The sole function of the planning committee is to decide on and plan missions. Ted felt that was not in the scientist's wheel house. The risks of time travel are risks in how the mission can affect the present and future. As a result..."
"Pruitt chairs the planning committee," she said grimly.
The elevator stopped and the doors opened on a glass wall with a large foyer on the other side. Agnes peered into the retinal scanner and a door in the wall swished open. Warren used the scanner and followed her through. Their steps echoed as they walked down the corridor. One wall straight, the other side tilted out from floor to ceiling. Lights set in both walls bathed the hallway in bright light.
"Why's the wall tilted like that?"
"The building has ten floors. The atrium and executive offices are above ground, the rest are below. The building below ground is tapered in so that each level's a little smaller than the one above it. The launch level's the lowest, right above then physical plant. It's significantly smaller than level one where the guest apartments are."
"Why?"
"Supposedly it provides added reinforcement in case of earth quakes."
"Supposedly?"
A corner of Warren's lips may've twitched up, or may not've. But when he talked he was back on the original topic. "Pruitt's whole being is focused on minimizing the implications of the missions, some might say he'd prefer not to have them at all. He does not have the power to stop the mission but he can appeal the decision to the board. You on the other hand, are the one who chooses the team."
"I see. And this mission..."
"We should," he cut her off with an apologetic look, "...probably hold off on specific discussion until we're in the conference room."
She looked around. No one. "Surely you sweep for bugs."
"Constantly. The entire facility is swept by electronic anti-bugging devices. But Ted was afraid that the sweepers might be hacked so he hired people to do manual sweeps as well. But most of them are Asians and he was afraid they were actually spies. The level three and above conference rooms are swept by a multiple teams from different subcontractors. The walls are thick glass and are surrounded by moving water."
"From that monstrosity of an aquarium in my office and the atrium?"
Warren nodded. "The water circulates through the entire building. The offices encased in it are the only rooms in which we can speak freely. In the rest of the building we are generally circumspect."
"Isn't that rather extreme? I've spent years in the government and private industry and never seen such paranoia."
"Ah the government," Warren said indulgently. "The government is in an interesting position. It's been completely and thoroughly infiltrated and compromised. It has no secrets anymore. Their security people know it, but of course don't admit it. How can they? They spend millions, billions on keeping secrets. Inconvenience anybody forced to deal with them to a degree where it is almost impossible to accomplish anything. Use secret courts to throw people in prison. What would they say? Whoops? Sorry? All a big waste of time?" He shook his head. "No. They escalate. Make punishments ever more draconian. Classify massive amounts of information. In the parlance of Las Vegas, they've doubled down. I think it began a long time ago, but the final straw was the constitutional amendment abolishing taxes. It's hard to expect more from an organization that funds itself through lotteries, gambling, and alcohol and drug sales. Private industry," he added with a glance at her. "Is not much better."
"So much for progress."
"Oh there's progress. Of a sort. People can spend more and more time absorbed in their electronic devices. After all everyone has them. Even people who feed their children a diet of fast food. It allows delusion on a massive scale, which of course the government fully endorses. No one notices the collapse of the environment and civil society."
"You're quite a cynic Warren." He smiled, and this one seemed almost sincere. "This idea of Pruitt's," she went on. "About women being more temperamentally suited to travel to the past..."
"It's actually backed up by substantial psychological testing and evidence. Of course, according to the law no evidence that men and women are suited for different roles is admissible. The law assumes..."
"The cliff notes Warren. I'm not planning on going to law school." Warren's neutral expression wandered slightly toward amusement then drifted back. One thing you could say about good lawyers. You can't offend them.
"There's an important psychological difference," he said with a slight nod to acknowledge that he wouldn't go into details in an open hallway, "...between missions requiring an intervention, which are rare, and those requiring special care to avoid any intervention. Pruitt believes that men are much more suited to missions that require decisive action but are extremely ill-suited to its avoidance." They stopped in front of the conference room. "Some of the wags paraphrase it that men are too stupid to travel to the past and women are too smart to travel to the future."
"I'm not entirely sure who should be more insulted by that. You or me."
"Knowing Pruitt," Warren said wanly. "Probably both of us."
"And what about Sarah? Is there anyone who believes she's not suited to decisive action?"
"Sarah's the exception that proves the rule. Pruitt tried to keep her out of the program. He believes she's too ah, decisive," he said with a small smile. "But Ted has overruled him. Up until now."
"Up until now?"
"Well. Now that Ted's gone..." Warren shrugged.
"Never assume Warren. A good lawyer should know that. So this is Pruitt's show," she sighed before he could go on. "To win I need to outvote him and make sure I've got the board."
"If you view it as a contest."
She shot him a baleful look. Turned to the door, but it stayed closed.
"You may have forgotten the procedures for level three conference rooms in the rush of your arrival." He stretched an eye open and leaned into the retinal scanner. The door swished open and he passed through without waiting this time. Agnes followed and stopped at the shrieking siren.
"Right," she shouted. "We both have to use the scanner. I was briefed." She looked at the faces staring back at her. "How do we turn it off." But two security men were already running down the hall. One of them started to say something but a look at Agnes's face evidently made him forget what it was. He stretched an eye against the scanner, projected a screen onto his forearm and tapped an icon. The noise died, and Agnes only had to put up with the smug glances of the employees walking past in the hall.
"Attendees are programmed into the system," Verma explained as he came up behind her.
"Yes. Yes. I know. I know. I just forgot," she snapped. She passed back through the door, glaring at a couple of young woman who'd slowed to watch the excitement and sent them scurrying down the hall. Her glare didn't seem to affect Verma. He watched her scan in, turned and strutted away down the hall. Agnes watched him until the door slid closed. Him? Had to be. Why be polite to the new director if you're watching her for her boss? The head of security's exactly who Rick would pick. Too bad he's not on the committee. Wouldn't'v
e been a bad thing for him to hear this.
"He doesn't come to the meeting?"
"Verma?" Warren said. He looked at the closed door as if considering the possibility. "There's really no need to have security here."
"But it's necessary to have a lawyer?"
"It's always necessary to have a lawyer."
Pruitt stood at the end of the table behind a small podium, staring across the room as if he hadn't noticed the alarm or Agnes coming in. Warren and Agnes were the last two there. Warren waited for Agnes, then lowered himself into a chair. She looked around. Pruitt, Warren, Ronald Poole, Sturgell Bob, Karen Abraham. Didn't recognize any of the others except...
"What are you doing here?"
"He doesn't belong here," Pruitt said without glancing at Justin, who stared around the room valiantly holding the sick smile on his face as everyone stared at him. "He isn't cleared."
"If I might be so bold Pruitt," a young man sitting across from Agnes said. "It's not particularly bold," he leaned over and explained sotto voice to Agnes. "It's an idiom used to introduce information that could be considered somewhat contradictory to the person being addressed. Sort of an advanced apology."
"Yeees," Agnes said. She glanced at Warren, who gave her an amused wink.
"Yes Dutch?" Warren said.
"If he passed through the retinal scanner," Dutch went on. "Then he must be cleared. The security processes..."
"I'm aware of the security processes Dutch," Pruitt said.
Dutch frowned, an expression confined to his forehead. His eyes stayed somewhat blank and the inane smile he'd worn since Agnes entered the room never wavered. Now that was a file she was going to have to get ahold of. "I confess to being somewhat confused Pruitt. Actually I'm not confessing per se..."
"Yes, Dutch. Yes," Warren interrupted. "Please go on."
"I see." Dutch winked conspiratorially at Warren then turned back to Pruitt. "You said he isn't cleared, but you also said you're aware of the security processes. That doesn't seem consistent because the security processes clearly state that..."
Soul Source: Back and There Again Page 16