X

by J. D. Glass

  “It’s the feudal system,” he explained, his voice soft, serious, “creation of the prison planet. Destroy the environment so you’ll have to buy clean food, water, air—have everyone live, work, and die for the machine.”

  “That’s who the Man is, Charli, the Man wants to ruin it for everyone, keep all the good shit for himself, make the rest of us slaves—for them,” Ben broke in, his voice full of excitement and righteous anger, a tone Charli had heard from him before during his occasional workplace tirades. “It’s working, Charli, they’re destroying the planet, decimating its resources. The economy is for shit and getting worse every single year, we’re being watched, we’re being analyzed, eliminated, they’re—”

  John quieted him with a simple wave and returned his attention to Charli. “The thing of it is, we can win, Charli, we can fix it and make it right—we can start now, right now.” He leaned forward, closer to her in his earnestness. “Reason, logic, the might of right, Charli, the dream of the ages—a world run, protected, cared for and shepherded, by those who were created to do exactly that and made intelligent enough to do so properly.”

  John was very clear: he wasn’t, in his estimation, a racist—that was a biologically incorrect term, since race was a cultural construct. He merely believed in the power of intelligence, of right making might as he’d said.

  She listened with an interest that was unfeigned, not because she believed or agreed with him, but because it became clearer and clearer to her he was quite likely the most dangerous sort of insane: someone not only fanatically convinced of his mission, of his vision, but also intelligent enough to disjoint arguments that ran counter to it, and what she considered most threatening, someone resourceful enough to bring it to some sort of fruition.

  “We eliminate the obstacles, Charli, the living, breathing, monsters in charge of the whole ugly thing, and then?” John sat back, a large and satisfied smile on his face. He spread his hands wide to emphasize his words. They were large, Charli noted, yet his fingers—long, lean—had a strange, almost delicate look. They were, she decided, the hands of a man careful with small details.

  “Then evolution takes over—and the reign of homo logos begins. It’s the only way.”

  She nodded a dismissive thanks to Cooper as he handed her the coffee she’d requested, careful not to touch him as she took it from his hands, uncertain if the sudden rush of nausea that lurched into her throat was from his proximity or the scent that wafted up through the plastic lid. It was almost too hot as she held it, and the smell—like diesel fumes on a humid day—threatened to once more raise in her throat what she’d just forced herself to swallow down moments before. But at least, she thought, it gave her something to wrap her hands around, a focus, and as foul as it seemed, it was caffeinated and she needed to be as aware as possible. She forced herself to swallow before she returned her attention to John.

  “How…and why?” she asked simply. She sipped again, her gaze fixed on the pale blue of his eyes as he answered.

  There were phases and parts to his plan, and John painted a broad picture for her. For those who were guilty of nothing more than the accident of their birth, John had something relatively painless in mind.

  “Saxitoxin—barely feel a thing,” he’d said, “puts them into a calm, almost dreamlike state as the body shuts down.” But for those who were responsible for creating what he called the slow holocaust—the destruction of the brightest and the best until only the idiot and therefore obedient zombie masses remained—his solution was ricin. It was deadly, it was quick, an amount no larger than a pinhead was needed, and it was, as he put it, “rather unpleasant.”

  And the only way, he believed, to make this ideal come true was to eliminate those incapable of thinking, of creating—after all, wasn’t it the ignorant, through inferior brain capacity and the breeding capability of rats, that made up the majority? And weren’t they the ones after all ultimately responsible for the horror show that had been human history? “It’s time, finally,” he told her. “Technology and the times—the special people like you, Charli—it’s all caught up now, all possible. It’s the next phase, natural, inevitable—the revolution of evolution. We will forcibly replace what has come before, and correct the mistakes of the past.”

  She could see Cooper’s head bob in perfect agreement somewhere off to her side, and then John glanced at his watch.

  She noticed it because it was different, large, and he removed it to adjust buttons on the satin-brushed steel as he read it.

  “It’s time,” he repeated, only this time it was an announcement, as he stood. “Let’s not keep the world waiting any longer than it’s already had to.” He snapped the steel band back on his wrist and the hasp caught her eye—it was an incongruous flat black, a stark contrast against the shinier links. He’d covered it with his sleeve and she walked—was escorted, really—between him and Ben to the car.

  The very air was quiet, filled with a heavy expectancy, and the first flakes of snow fell against her cheeks through the reddened black sky. She took a deep breath as she stared up into the downfall.

  “Ah, the fresh air of freedom,” John said and smiled as he held the door for her. She forced one in return as she tucked herself in and the door swung shut, sweeping a solid wall of cold air before it. She knew it was cold only because she could see her breath, not because she felt it.

  Now, a minute, an hour, however much later it was, Charli had no idea how she’d been able to make a joke, smile, act as if this was all just the normal part of another day and come up with questions as well as arguments that dug for further information without seeming to counter him too much. She had cleared herself, rid herself, of almost every feeling or reaction, the absolute shut-off allowing her to rely solely on her wits to provide the next steps.

  Still, every now and again, she was aware that her heart had yet to stop racing, the sharp report that had gone off so close to her ears echoed in cruel replay, and whenever she took a deep breath, she still smelled the faint sick smell of the cloth that had covered her mouth and robbed her of consciousness, however temporarily.

  “By the way,” John told her as she watched the indicator light shine green and he opened the door to wave her in before him. “Her real name was Harper—Elaine Harper.”

  Another quick wave of nausea threatened to swamp her senses. There’s got to be some residual effect, she thought as she swallowed the potentially disorienting discomfort down. Now that could be key, maybe I can use that somehow. She considered the possibilities with absorbed interest as they passed through the next door into the lab to meet the tall and slender man John called Dr. Seung who waited for them just inside.

  If Dr. Seung was surprised to be introduced to Charli, it didn’t show, and neither did the rapid absorption of information he gave away and she took in as they shook.

  There was knowledge to be gained in the quick and light grasp, not only its style but also its temperature and texture. She observed the shadows that further darkened his eyes when she angled her head to study his serious face, noted his expression was broken only by a quick polite smile, and just as quickly caught that it was more reflex twitch at social nicety than genuine expression, the same as his handshake. His thick hair, graying at the temples, was somewhat unkempt although his white coat appeared pristine, the red stitching that bore his name almost shocking in its stark contrast. Charli wondered what exactly went through his mind; Dr. Seung certainly did not have the air of someone who had the same expectations that John did. She surreptitiously inspected the rest of the room.

  Despite the newer construction that included carefully masqueraded electric lines run through squared conduits along the walls to create additional power sources that were, in turn, layered under paint that from both the residual smell and soft sheen made her suspect might have been only a few months old, age, decay, and the hint of obsolescence clung to the architecture.

  This room was large, even larger than the one Cooper had be
en told to wait and stand guard in, and as she cautiously peered about, she recognized the usual lab trophies—specimens preserved in alcohol—set on different low shelves that divided the sides of the stone-covered lab tables from one another. Each one had a small metal wastebasket next to it. She also recognized the gas lines she’d seen the shut-off valves for just outside the room: oxygen and propane.

  Farther into the room, set within against the back of it, in fact, was a smaller steel housing. She eyed the dials and the door set on it. It looked, she thought, for all the world like a meat locker or a freezer. For a moment, she wondered if what Romello sought was in there, and then decided it really didn’t matter. Time was growing short, she could feel it, a soapy film that covered her hands, creeped up her arms, breathed in her ear, foul-scented, hot, and wet. It was vital that she develop some sort of action plan, and quickly—it couldn’t be long before—

  “Let’s do this, shall we?” John asked them both and he handed her the laptop.

  Time’s almost up, she told herself as she hefted the plastic case. She found a clear spot along one of the workstations and set the laptop between two stainless steel valves, each with a colored button on its face—one green, the other yellow. She began the booting sequence. “Are you wireless in here?” she asked, noting the icon on the lower right hand corner of the screen that announced it was still searching for a signal.

  “No,” Dr. Seung answered as he approached, a length of cable in hand. Charli noticed the wide end hookup. Ethernet, then. “You can patch directly through our network—you’ll bypass the fireline or whatever it’s called.”

  “Kamsa hamnida,” she said unthinkingly as she took the cable end.

  “You speak Korean?” he asked in obvious surprise.

  “No,” and to her own surprise, she felt herself blush, not because she was embarrassed, but because she had slipped. His soft accent, the musical lilt to his words so similar to that of some of the coders she’d worked with, such as her shift head, Eunae, had told her, and she’d responded without even thinking.

  Get your head back in the game, she ordered herself firmly. She had to think and think fast, because the crux was almost upon them. She slipped the connector into the port. “Some of my workmates have taught me enough to be polite—and to count all the way to ten,” she said nonchalantly. “Beyond that, it might as well be Greek to me.” She gave him a brief smile and focused on the screen. She typed in the network request.

  “Well, that’s all geek to me,” he said and pointed to the screen.

  “I’m very used to that,” she said politely. The link was in and another icon blinked in the same lower corner, alerting her to its available status.

  This, in a few moments, would be it, the final payment, and she would hit the network to make it happen, and once it did—game over. For everyone.

  “Charli—the exchange link, it’s the eagle icon on the desktop. It’ll bring you right into the account. There’s a menu to choose from, then just enter the password.”

  “I see it,” she informed him and nodded, eyes focused on the stylized icon as she clicked on it. “It’s opening.” A tune she didn’t recognize played as the program started.

  She had to be quick, and it had to not only look like an accident, it had to be unnoticeable. She could stall, since with an outbound signal, there were several things she could do, but there really wasn’t enough time; she couldn’t stop the exchange, not really. As she tapped through the setup screens, she brought up another small one that bypassed the surface operating system and a few quick key commands enabled her to learn several important things: her link was directly in the heart of their network, the computer she was on was completely outside of the firewall, and she had unlimited access—to everything.

  There were, she concluded as she closed the session and paid careful attention to her surroundings, the fume hood, the gas lines, and the air vents overhead that had just turned off, a few things she could do, and she knew exactly what they were. Dr. Seung’s “all geek to me” had given her a piece of it.

  Only one of her options was a calculated risk, no different than tackling and taming the waves, finding and riding the line of best probability. If she rode it right… Johnny can’t code, Charli reminded herself as she brought up yet another small screen and typed in the commands.

  * * *

  To: redbetta@zenchat.com; lpendowski@whitestone.com; cole.a.riven@msc.navy.mil

  Laura: attached going straight to your and my work server folders. 2 data dumps: one “Fox” and the other “Plum.” My password: dbl-ovrhang2go. Send this to Eric ASAP.

  Cole: Use this—find something. My fave surfboard is in the office—take care of it. And thanks for the rubbers.

  C

  * * *

  She thought about it for half a second, then added one more address—the one she had for Anna, or Agent whatever it was John had said. If he’d told the truth, and like it or not, Charli had so far no reason to think he hadn’t, then someone had to be monitoring Anna’s e-mail accounts. Someone, somewhere, would know what to do with the data dump she sent—it just needed enough time to send.

  Charli mentally took a deep breath; she knew what she had to do and she had to do it—Now, she told herself. She turned up the volume on the laptop, then feigned dizziness, letting the temporary loss of balance bring her toward the shelf set just above the counter, where her elbow hit and loosened but didn’t open the oxygen gas cock and her hand slapped against and knocked over a quart jar that held a preserved specimen.

  The quiet atmosphere shattered with the glass as it hit the stone counter, drawing all eyes toward her. Hers found and focused on a dead frog with an extra set of flippers right above the front pair as it floated along the stream of alcohol it had sat within for who knew how long, and a pungent scent filled the air.

  John was—as Charli had expected—instantly solicitous, placing a hand beneath her elbow. The too-warm and wanting touch of it now carried an additional eagerness, all of it still very palpable to her through the layers she wore. It was enough to almost make the feigned-ill feeling real. Almost. “Are you all right?”

  Charli gave what she hoped was a wan smile and waved him away, using the opportunity to let her elbow hit the valve. She felt the “give” of it, which meant she’d managed to open it slightly. She straightened and shoved the laptop against the stone backstop of the counter, away from the puddle she’d just created, and used the screen to quietly nudge the other valve, too. “I’m fine—nerves, I suppose. Just want things to go smoothly.”

  He nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and Charli ignored the clouded eyes of the mutant frog as it lay on its side, no more than five inches away from the laptop. It stared at her, gap-mouthed and white-tongued as she once more placed her hands on the keyboard. She sighted, then clicked the program icon she needed. She was grateful for the strange melody that played as it ran since it hid the hiss of gas, while the alcohol, still strong in the air, hid the propane. The first part had gone well enough. It was almost time for phase two of her plan.

  She watched the indicator in the corner that told her how strong the signal the system received was. It was fine, but she had wiggle room, she could play with it a bit, buy herself a few precious seconds. “The system’s a little slow,” she said to no one in particular. The icon next to it blinked steadily, downloading data across the ether. Already, it was at fifty percent. Charli risked a quick glance at her companions.

  It was a funny thing, she observed. As expert as people were in their fields, as competent as they could be with certain software, they were happy to ignore someone working on or with something they considered unknown, rather in the same way people ignored repairmen or mechanics, and true to form, both John and Dr. Seung ignored her as they sank once more into conversation.

  That played perfectly to the plan she’d now formed, and she used it to her advantage. Charli shifted the black plastic, sliding it between the gas cocks, tapping one,
then the other again, increasing the amount of gas that escaped and gathered in the room as she half heard John and Dr. Seung discussing both precautions and delivery methods. She watched them in her peripheral vision. “Just like Air America,” Dr. Seung said with a slight chuckle as he handed a flat package to John and the right screen came up.

  Seventy percent complete, the blinking notice told her, and she knew she had only about thirty seconds as she typed in the password that would allow the exchange. She didn’t even have to ask. Everything John said and did had already told her: tabula rasa. Had the situation not been so dire, she would have considered it a good hack.

  Charli casually slid a hand into her pants pocket, then found the matches and the crumpled brochure beneath it. Carefully, she untucked the cover from its fold, then eased one of the matches out from under it. She bent it back with painstaking slowness to avoid detection, flexing the thick cardboard until the head touched the striker on the back. There simply wasn’t enough time for anything else. Between the alcohol vapors, the extra oxygen, and the propane now mixing in the air… I hope this works—I hope it’s quick. She fought to keep her breath steady.

  John neared as Charli hit the Enter key with one hand and pulled the matches from her pocket with the other just as a screen message popped up showing both a new status bar for the transaction in process and another one reading “100% Complete. Message sent.”

  “Done,” she stated while she hurriedly closed the window, and as she palmed the matches once more, then turned to face the man who peered over her shoulder, she hoped she’d been fast enough, that he hadn’t seen the Sent message. She held the matchbook in her hand, the unglazed interior a stutter-slip under her fingers.

  John glanced at her, then to the screen that showed the almost-complete status of the exchange, then quickly looked at her again. She could actually see his mind work through his eyes as he took it all in. He waved his head slowly from side to side. “Charli…what are you doing?” he asked in the tone one would use with a child, the disappointed voice of a beloved parent, and his eyes seemed sad as they gazed into hers.