The Lazarus Protocol: A Sci-Fi Corporate Technothriller (The SynCorp Saga Book 1)

by Pourteau, Chris

  “Come, Little Tiger. All is not lost.”

  Ito led her to her father’s office—she still thought of this working apartment that way, even after all these months and filling the house with her mother, her lover, and her new husband.

  “The central government has relocated from Beijing to Xian for now,” he said, throwing the news to the wallscreen. “A dust storm buried the city.” Ito pinged someone on his retinal display, then threw the second image beside the newsfeed.

  Marcus Sun’s face appeared immediately. He was awake, his eyes alive. His robe and disheveled hair were the only signs of the morning’s early hours.

  “Ming, thank goodness,” he said.

  “Marcus! I think Xi—”

  Sun held up a hand.

  “I have my spies, too, Ming. Your aunt is meeting with the Minister of Manufacturing first thing in the morning. She will use your connection to Taulke to discredit you. With the minister’s support, she can force a vote of no-confidence with your board of directors. She will take the company from you if that happens.”

  Ming opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Boards and ministers and under-the-table tricks. Frustrated, she killed the newsfeed—she needed no reminders of the trouble she was in—and reskinned the wall as a hearth with a huge, crackling fire. Ming gripped the back of the couch, her fingernails digging into the leather. Would that bitter old woman never give up her quest for power? Did family mean nothing to her?

  She squeezed her eyes shut. She was a queen, a powerful woman.

  “Don’t despair,” Marcus said. “There’s a way we can thwart her. Perhaps.”

  Ming looked up.

  “There’s a bylaw that covers this eventuality. Something your father included when he founded the company. The physical presence of the CEO is required for a no-confidence vote. Not virtual presence—the CEO must be in the boardroom when facing a no-confidence vote.”

  “The accused facing his accuser,” Ito said.

  “Precisely,” Marcus said. “Jie Qinlao was nothing if not traditional.”

  “I … I don’t understand,” Ming said. “We don’t have the votes. How does this help us?”

  “The only exception,” Marcus continued as if he hadn’t heard her question, “is death, proven by an official death notice. If you’re not legally dead and you’re not present, they can’t take a vote of no-confidence. At most, they can appoint an interim CEO to run the company in your absence. ”

  “Alright,” she said. “But I still don’t—”

  “Ming,” Ito said, the urgency back in his voice. “You need to go into hiding.”

  “No!” Ming slapped the leather so hard her hand stung. “We fight her.”

  “No, you don’t.” Sying’s red-silk robe hung open, her breasts poking at the sheer material of her nightgown. Ito looked away, and Sying drew her robe closed.

  “No,” she said again as she crossed the room. “You are a lone queen on the board. Xi has all the pieces. If you stay and fight, you’re trapped. The best course of action is retreat.” She took Ming’s hand, squeezing it. “For now.”

  “Sying is correct,” Marcus said. “Your father was wise, Ming. The rules of this game are on your side. Use them.”

  A look to Ito, who nodded. The three people she trusted most were all in agreement. She had to flee.

  Ming gripped her lover’s hand. “You come with me.”

  Sying smiled faintly. “No, I’ll stay here. Your aunt dares not touch a daughter of the House of Zhu. I’m safe. And we need someone on the board who can speak on your behalf.”

  Ming nodded. The relief on Ito’s face was a rare show of inner feeling. “Fine. I’ll go to—”

  Sying placed a gentle palm just above where the silk of Ming’s robe formed a V on her chest. Her fingertips were hot against Ming’s skin. “I don’t want to know. I can’t reveal information I don’t possess.”

  “I need to see my mother,” Ming said, choking with emotion as she realized the price of her chosen course. “And Ken. To say goodbye. ”

  As she turned, Marcus said, “Go with your father’s grace, Ming. He’d be very proud of you.”

  Ming regarded the old lawyer’s lined face, the calm expression of support she saw there.

  Would he? she wondered. Beijing smothered in the dust of her ambition. Maybe Xi was right to want her out.

  “Hurry, Ming,” Ito said. “I’ll meet you at the dock.”

  • • •

  Wenqian, barely awake, rested at an angle in her maglev chair.

  “Ito said you were leaving,” she said without preamble as Ming entered.

  “Yes.” Guilt roiled Ming’s gut. How often had she cursed her father for leaving her mother? “I’m sorry, Mama. Marcus can tell you the details. It’s necessary—”

  “Don’t explain. If Marcus says you need to go, then go, before it’s too late.” Wenqian tried to lift an arm and failed. Ming took her hand. It was withered and cold in her grip. She squeezed the lifeless flesh anyway.

  “I’m sorry about—”

  Her mother’s hand came to life and grasped her daughter’s fingers. “No apologies. You are your father’s daughter. He would be proud of you.”

  Ming felt her face grow hot. “That’s what Marcus said. I’m not so sure.”

  The withered claw found its strength again. “You blaze your own path. Take risks. Reward will come for those who fight with honor.”

  “But I’m running,” Ming said bitterly .

  “You fight on your terms.” Her mother’s breath grew labored. “Only the foolish fight a battle they know they will lose.”

  Ming swiped at her cheeks, aware of time slipping away. “I love you, Mama.”

  Wenqian’s eyes closed. Ming felt the pulse of a data packet arriving in her retinal display. “What’s this?” she asked.

  “Something for when the time is right, Daughter. Be safe.” Wenqian fell back into sleep, exhausted from the mere effort of holding their brief conversation.

  Ming kissed her mother’s ice-cold forehead.

  She had no time for puzzles now. She stored the data packet in a folder labeled Later .

  • • •

  Ming slipped through the door to Ken’s room and turned on a dim light. Her husband lay sprawled across the bed, his mouth open in the sleep of the unencumbered mind. It had been a long time since she’d enjoyed that kind of bliss.

  The light didn’t wake him. She sat on the edge of the bed and poked him.

  “Ken, wake up.”

  He surfaced from sleep slowly, his eyes blinking, stretching his arms as teenagers will when they’ve rediscovered the waking world. Ming felt strangely sorry for him, but also detached, as she had on their wedding day. Would his family be able to keep him safe? Would she even care if anything happened to him?

  She was not surprised when her heart answered no. He’d become a pawn in this game of power against Xi. Her pawn, but a pawn all the same .

  “I’m going away,” she said.

  “Okay.” He sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes with his pudgy fingers. “Can I come with you?”

  Ming shook her head. “I might be gone a long time.” She hesitated, then reached out to stroke his cheek. “It’s best if you went to stay with your family. Tonight. Ito will arrange it.”

  “Tonight?” He was fully awake now, and something in her tone made him straighten up. “What’s wrong?”

  “Maybe nothing. I’m not sure. But we’re being safe.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. His skin was warm, alive, pulsing with life. “Go home.”

  “But—” he said, as he tried to grab her hand.

  Ming evaded him and slid off the bed. “I need to go. I’m sorry.”

  Ken pouted. “We’re married. We’re supposed to stick together.”

  The whine in his voice urged Ming toward the door. “Take care of yourself, Ken.”

  Sying was not in their bedroom. Ming darted into her closet and pulled on
the least-conspicuous outfit she had, a simple button-down shirt, heavy trousers, sensible shoes, and a smart-jacket she could alter to make waterproof or heavier, to fend off the cold. She grabbed a small canvas go-bag from the top shelf. Ito had long ago schooled her in the principles of survival. The bag contained cash, a change of clothes, access to an anonymous ByteCoin account, and a few toiletries.

  All that Ming would need to seed the start of a life elsewhere until she could reclaim her own.

  • • •

  Ito waited for her on the dock. Five aircars and four drivers were standing by. Her oldest friend, the sensei of her childhood, appeared even older in the dockside’s dim light. The skin of his face sagged, and a sheen of peppered stubble shadowed his chin.

  “Four pawns to guard our queen.” Ito gestured to the drivers as they turned to enter their vehicles.

  He held a pair of cheap data glasses in one hand, offering her a tired smile as she approached. In his other was a steel hoop.

  “We need to deactivate your implanted data device. It’s not going to be pleasant, but we can’t risk Xi being able to track you. Your code and tetradecimal number are a part of the corporate database.”

  Ming gave a tight nod of acceptance. Ito helped her fit the hoop around her head at eye level.

  “Stare straight ahead—”

  “Wait!” Ming said. She thought about the data packet her mother had pulsed to her. She wouldn’t be able to access it once she was disconnected.

  “No time, Ming,” Ito said in a strained voice. “Stare straight ahead … in three … two—” Before he finished the countdown, a bright flash pierced her eyes, frying the retinal implant and its internal transponder connected to QM’s security. Only her implant’s memory board, now inaccessible, survived the surge.

  “Fuck!” She tore off the hoop and threw it to the ground. Groaning, Ming tried to push the pain out of her head with her hands.

  “Apologies, Little Tiger. The pain will fade quickly.” Through flashing afterimages, she thought she saw a look of contrition on Ito’s face. “Can you see?” he asked .

  Ming nodded. Almost.

  “Good. You need to get going, now. Both of you.”

  Both? She turned and there was Sying, walking toward her. Oddly, still wearing her thin, silk robe.

  “Wait…”

  Ruben walked beside his mother, dressed in rough trousers and a smart-jacket over a blue-checked shirt. He carried a small canvas bag like hers.

  He thinks he’s coming with me .

  Ming shook her head. “No, no, no—”

  Sying stepped forward and seized her by the shoulders. “You promised me, Ming. You promised you would teach my son.”

  “But I meant—”

  “No!” Sying’s judgment cut like cold steel. “If he stays here, he’s a weakness to me. If he goes with you, I will be more effective … If you love me, you will do this for me.”

  Ming felt her eyes well with tears again. He was a boy, a kid. What did she know about kids? Ruben’s face was pale with apprehension. His chest rose and fell rapidly.

  But there was something in the way he stood up straight that compelled Ming to hold out her hand to him. The boy’s palm was clammy, but his grip was strong.

  She kissed Sying. Quickly, a mere touch of her lips. Far too little to last her God knew how long. “I’ll bring him back safely. I promise.”

  Sying’s eyes were shining. It was the first time Ming had ever seen her cry.

  Ito stood next to the third aircar. He slipped passport bracelets around first Ming’s wrist, then Ruben’s. “Clean passports. The transponders on all the cars are deactivated. We’ll launch all of them at the same time.” He regarded her a moment as if to impress her face on his memory, then crushed Ming to his broad chest. His heart hammered against hers.

  “Stay safe, Little Tiger,” he whispered in her ear. “Remember all that I’ve taught you. Come back to me.”

  Ming tightened her arms around the old man, wondering if she’d ever see him—any of them—again. This was wrong. She should stay and fight. Her mother, Ito, Sying, even Ken, they were all staying while she ran off like a scared animal with Ruben. How long? Would she see any of them ever again?

  Ito let her go, and the chill of the early dawn air wrapped itself around her. “I’ll be here when you return,” he said.

  She boarded the vehicle and snapped into the three-point harness, tugging the webbing tight across her chest. After making sure Ruben was strapped in tight, she gave his hand a squeeze. Through the virtual dash curving around her upper body, Ming could see the bright lights of Shanghai at night. Her city no more.

  She ignored her loved ones standing on the dock. Ignored Ruben’s tears as he waved goodbye to his mother. Ignored Ito’s rigid, gray uniform so close to the car that if she lowered the window, she could touch him one last time.

  It was time to look ahead … to the future.

  “Hang on, kid,” she said.

  Ming released the docking clamp, and the car fell into the night.

  Chapter 26

  Anthony Taulke • San Francisco, California

  Even the Pacific Ocean had lost its ability to quiet Anthony’s troubled mind. For the thousandth time he asked himself: what had gone wrong? The randomness of the weather events, their severity, the massive loss of life—none of the models could account for what had happened.

  Apparently, H wasn’t buying it. Pizza boxes and Chinese fast food containers littered the table of the boardroom, though Blue Hair and the rest of the Taulke Industries scientists had been moved out. Taken for questioning, H said.

  He and Victor Erkennen stayed, their compliance ensured by the troops stationed at the door. Government agents brought them clothes and food, but they’d been told very little. Viktor manned his oversized chair, napping. How could the man sleep at a time like this?

  After deactivating Anthony’s virtual, H had erected a dampening field around the room. She allowed them a single wall screen and access to commercial newsfeeds to entertain themselves. Anthony suspected having the 24/7 newsfeeds playing was also her way of reinforcing to him the scope of his screw-up.

  It’d been years since he’d watched an uncurated newsfeed. How did people watch this stuff and really know anything? It was nearly impossible to distinguish between actual news, opined propaganda, and commercials by the same sponsors who bought and paid for said propaganda. After a few hours, it all merged into a meaningless chorus of drivel.

  This is how they used to torture prisoners , Anthony thought. Sat them down and pried their eyes open and overloaded them with artificial stimuli to make them pliable . He half-wondered if that’s what H was doing now.

  The newsfeeds constantly replayed some of the most extreme moments of the last few days. For the hundredth time, he watched the massive dust storm grow out of the Gobi Desert and consume Beijing. Viewed from space, it showed up as an enormous brown blob, lightning arcing across its ruddy interior, burying China’s capital. The few drone pictures from inside the storm were even worse. Chaotic winds seemed to battle one another as they whipped dust and dirt and sand and flogged them against Beijing like a cat-o’nine-tails.

  Anthony worried about Ming. Thanks to H, he’d heard nothing from her since before the launch. They’d been careful about keeping her part in Lazarus secret, but Anthony knew that anyone with the technical know-how could mine the project data and find out. H wouldn’t even let him call Tony or Louisa to check on them.

  Lazarus . Anthony cringed at the name now. Frankenstein’s Monster would have been a better name for the creation he’d unleashed on the world.

  The screen flashed up the aftermath from the micro-hurricane in the Gulf that had swept across Mexico like a lawnmower. News drones showed unbelievable pictures of denuded countryside and bare foundations where homes had once stood.

  In London, a bomb cyclone had dropped temperatures to minus forty Celsius in only a few hours. Water mains froze and burst. The hom
eless were frozen where they lay outdoors, most simply slumped in sleep but some in positions of agony, making them seem like icy descendants of the victims of Pompeii. Trees stood like crystal statues sheathed in ice. A brave newswoman, bundled like an Eskimo, had ventured out to touch her glove to a bough of flash-frozen leaves, and the whole world watched as they shattered like the wings of a butterfly.

  And on the East Coast of the United States, the weather was a beautiful spring day—in autumn.

  “She’s gone.”

  Anthony turned to find H entering the room. The guards secured the door behind her.

  “You can’t keep us here,” Anthony said, ignoring her entree. “I’m an American citizen.”

  H regarded him with a pitying look. “I wouldn’t say that so loud outside this country. They’re liable to lynch you in the street.”

  Viktor woke up and slumped forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I need to contact my government,” he said. “I will request political asylum in the Russian embassy until— ”

  “Until this blows over?” H finished for him before checking something on her data glasses. She pointed at the screen which was showing the devastation in Mexico again. “That ship has sailed, doctor.”

  “Funny,” Anthony said. “Who’s gone?”

  H dismissed the guards. They exited and secured the door from the hallway.

  When they were alone, H sagged against the conference table. She looked suddenly worn down. It was clear to Anthony that her previous bravado, so recognizable and expected, had merely been an act for the soldiers. When she met his gaze again, Anthony saw something else there—fear. A worm of unease slid into his belly.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “Who’s gone?”

  H muted the newsfeeds. The sudden quiet let Anthony hear the rush of blood in his own ears.

  “Ming Qinlao has disappeared,” H said. Her voice was dry.

  “Disappeared? You mean her government took her?”