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The TV screen
crackled. Everything crackled in this place. Why the Commander had
picked LA as a base was a complete mystery to her men. Not that
they would ever have mentioned it of course, they were occasionally
disgruntled, but not actually certifiably insane.
Joe slammed
a fist down on it, and the picture swam into view. The usual supercilious
network guy: all teeth, tan, and tonsorial splendor. It was no accident,
either, news anchors were among the first people to have direct
satcom uplinks wet wired into their brains. It made for real up
to the minute news, though the cerebral degradation made their conversation
a tad dull. Of course, all news functions of Vidnet were generated
directly from Seattle, where the Omnisoft could keep the closest
possible eye on them, so intellect became even less of a factor
than in the old days.
"Greetings
and salutations, citizens. In our top story tonight, the Chairman
of Omnisoft Enterprises - may its stock never tumble and its workers
never unionize - announced the appointment today of Gerald Wainwright
as Chief Executive Officer, replacing Frank Dilius in that post."
Joe picked
up a can of shakes, and took a swig of caffeine. He hated security
detail, but at least you could catch up on your TV. The news anchor
droned on.
"Mr. Wainwright
has served Omnisoft in many capacities, most recently as Chief Financial
Officer and Tax Factotum. The Wainwright family, you will not be
surprised to learn, have been Board members for over three generations.
It is to be hoped that the new CEO will be able to develop something
approaching tenure. His last three predecessors lasted less than
a month each. Frank Dilius, of course, accepted a lateral move following
the latest hostile takeover attempt and recently assumed his new
post on the Minos IV Antarctic mining facility."
Joe looked
at the time. He glanced back over his shoulder at the security monitors.
Nothing. There was never anything. No-one was stupid enough to try
to break in. God, this job was boring. He settled back into his
chair and took another swig of shakes.
Outside, the
sign in front of the building read Devasation Engineering and Tactical
Havoc, Inc. D.E.T.H. It was a new sign. Very corporate, very respectable,
which just goes to show you. The building was a more accurate indicator
of the activities within: a massive pile of dark stone and cracking
stucco combined with the hulking statuary of a previous age to give
a most appropriate sense of foreboding. Which is exactly why Carolyn
Bast picked it out, of course. She didn't want anyone mistaking
it for a new fast food joint, or anything. Not that there was any
danger of that; she could have based her operations out of a pink
tile palazzo and it still would have inspired fear among the populace.
Carolyn Bast was like that. It was a gift.
The old man
stood in the shadows staring at the building. He'd been there all
day, watching the comings and goings, waiting. Now it was lunchtime,
clerical personnel had streamed out to the cafes and restaurants,
blinking for a moment in the daylight before heading off down the
street. The old man pulled his tattered robes in closer around his
feeble body and shivered a little as he stared. He'd seen the security
cameras, noted the pressure pads, lightguards, and duotacs. They
meant nothing. He began to walk towards the looming edifice, bypassing
the main entrance and heading towards the back. A rear door opened
and two people stepped out, deep in conversation. They strode towards
the front of the building and the door began to close.
With a speed
that would have startled onlookers, if there had been any, the old
man darted forward and slipped inside. The door clicked shut and
whirred slightly as the locks engaged.
Once inside,
he didn't pause, but turned left down a long corridor. The security
guard still hadn't seen anything, of course, because he was still
watching TV. The news anchor had moved on to entertainment news
and was cheerily reciting the names of those scheduled for deletion
following the hostile takeover attempt while their faces flashed
across the screen. Ordinary faces, not the faces of zealots at all,
no matter what kind of spin Omnisoft tried to put on their crimes.
Joe was riveted: for him, as for most people, it was their very
ordinariness that made them fascinating.
The old man
had passed three separate camera stations by now, and come to a
halt outside a functional grey door. He tried it. Locked, of course.
He hesitated for a moment, then glanced up and down the corridor
before raising a thin, arthritic hand up to the door. He moved it
over the surface, as if looking for something, then stopped, his
hand hovering over the right hand side of the barrier. Taking a
deep breath, he closed his eyes, his lips moving in a silent chant.
Time ticked by. Then a faint sound, a whispered release, and the
door swung open. The old man lowered his hand, he was shaking now
and seemed visibly weakened by the effort. He stepped forward, half
stumbled into the room and carefully closed the door.
Inside, the
room was spartan, yet exotic. In one corner stood a small round
vivarium in which a collection of unpleasant-looking insects scuttled
about pointlessly. A few books, along with stacks of papers and
rolled charts were piled (neatly) on a glistening steel desk. A
couple of terminals, including a muthalink, provided the rest of
the furniture. Most of the remaining floorspace was taken up with
an eclectic collection of what could only be loot. The violently
acquired wealth of a dozen campaigns, lovingly chucked on the floor.
The abode of a seriously anal, yet phenominally greedy being. It
was, in short, Carolyn Bast's study.
The old man
wasn't interested in any of this. Do-it-yourself psychology held
no charms for him. His eyes swept across the room, then stopped.
There, in a niche in the wall, was the box. He stumbled towards
it, arms outstretched, and gently lifted it onto the desk. He made
a small holy sign over it, before reaching inside his robes and
withdrawing the key at the end of a long string looped around his
neck. He inserted the key into the box.
Back at the
security station, the news anchor had finally reached the stuff
that Joe was actually interested in. The supercilious smile was
joined by a calculated mischievous twinkle in the eye.
"The Disciplinary
Committee announced today that the deletion of those seized during
the recent hostile takeover bid will be vidcast live in three days.
In order to encourage company-wide participation, Omnisoft has set
up a callbox. If there is a particular method of deletion that you
would like to see employed, just key in 296-DIE. Calls are running
2-1 for vaporization at the moment -- but remember, it's up to you.
I think we can do much better than that, eh? Use your imaginations!
Get creative! And remember - death doesn't have to be instantaneous,
just inevitable."
"Three days.
Alright!" Joe was excited now, "Am I on duty then?"
He reached
for the duty roster, and as he did so, one of the monitors caught
his eye. There, in Carolyn Bast's study (Carolyn Bast's forgodsake!)
was an old man. An old man in crappy-looking rags. And he had the
casket! As he watched, the old man gently raised the lid of the
casket, and light, golden liquid light flowed from it. The old man
smiled and removed a cable from beneath his robes. Joe watched,
frozen in disbelief, as the decrepit intruder plugged one end into
the box and the other into a jack behind his ear. The data flow
started. The old man wasn't there, yes he was, no...It was a warrior.
In a strange armor, like nothing...The warrior looked up, straight
into the security camera. Joe jumped backward, then remembered what
he was supposed to be doing and hit the alarm. The warrior picked
up the box and walked out of the room.
Carolyn Bast
looked around her study. Her eyes missed nothing, though Joe still
clung to the vain hope that she might not miss the box. He'd served
three campaigns with her now, but was just as shit-scared of the
woman as the first day he'd signed up. She turned her gaze to Joe-cold
green eyes in a too-white face.
"Have you
anything to say?"
"No, Commander...that
is..."
She smiled.
Bad news.
"Very good.
Return to your post."
Joe scuttled
away, relieved. Setzen stepped forward. He looked like he had come
from working out, and it was more obvious than ever that this was
no ordinary soldier. He had the hardened shell of one who has been
case hardened by experience, his eyes were dark and never surprised,
his body scarred and knotted. Behind those eyes everything was a
strategic decision, he weighed people and situations with the same
cold reckoning. If emotion had ever been a part of his psyche it
had long since been beaten into submission by calculation and obedience.
It was almost impossible to imagine him ever having been a child,
playful and innocent. He gave the distinct impression of having
dropped out of his mother fully formed and feral. Replacement parts,
upgrades, and retrofits littered his battered body, their wires
and conduits burrowing into his flesh, mingling with bone, muscle
and nerve so thoroughly that it was difficult to tell if he was
a machine with human parts or a man with mechanical ones.
"Kill him,
Setzen."
"Yes, Commander,"
he turned to go, then looked back, "Is anything missing?"
"The casket."
Setzen smiled
slightly, pleased, and turned the mechanism on his arm up three
notches.
"His death
shall be long and painful."
Carolyn ran
a thin white hand over the biomechanics.
"Why, thank
you, Setzen."
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