Flight or Fight (The Out of Dodge Trilogy Book 1)

by Scott Bartlett

  His coworkers from other departments grew excited when they saw him, waving, smiling, even falling in to walk with him long enough to congratulate him on his success with the FutureBrite report. It wasn’t common for a contract worker to take the sort of initiative he had. Most never did, out of fear that innovative ideas would be interpreted as subversive and result in terminated contracts, maybe even punishment from the reps. But Carl had never truly feared being different, knowing that it was the only true path to excelling where others merely mucked through their daily routines.

  So orthodox he was unorthodox. Isn’t that what Xavier had said? And look where it had gotten him.

  His reception by his Youth Dignity underlings differed drastically. They mostly shot him icy stares and then refused to look at him again, staring at their blank workstations, doing nothing. Carl’s resounding success with the FutureBrite report had made their positions all but redundant, and everyone could doubtless see the round of demotions on the horizon.

  In Morrowne’s office, Carl found more joviality and warmth, which alarmed him most of all. “Intoeverylifeali!” his boss cried, spreading his arms.

  Had he just gotten Carl’s name right?

  “Good morning, Mr. Morrowne.”

  “Excellent job with the report, son.”

  Son?

  “Simply astounding,” Morrowne went on. “Nearly a perfect victory for FutureBrite and for SafeTalk. If there’s anything I can do for you, just ask. That isn’t to say there’s any guarantee you’ll get it, you probably won’t in fact, but if there’s anyone who deserves to ask it’s you. I’m proud to have chosen you as the head of Youth Dignity.”

  “Thank you,” Carl said. “You praise me excessively.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “There was one thing…”

  “Simply ask. Anything at all. You can ask for anything.”

  “I was wondering if it would be possible for you to put me in touch with Xavier Ofvalour. I’m eager to hear his feedback on my blog posts, and—”

  “Xavier Ofvalour? Is that all? Why, he loved the blog posts. They accomplished exactly what you said they would.” Morrowne smiled his headhunter smile. It was still a headhunter smile, despite the apparent merriment.

  “Yes, excellent. But if I could get to speak with him…”

  “Not a problem.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I said it’s not a problem. He’s been asking to speak with you, actually.”

  “He has?”

  “He has, and it’s an absolute travesty I haven’t contacted him yet. Give me a moment, if you please.”

  “Of course.”

  Morrowne extracted his phone from his pocket and held it to his ear after tapping the screen a couple times. “Xavier? It’s Francis. I have Carl Intoeverylifeali here with me. He—” Morrowne stopped speaking, and smiled broadly at something the Hand had said. “I’ll tell him right away.” Morrowne hung up, and his eyes settled on Carl again. “Xavier wanted me to tell you that he orders you to blow off work to go drinking with him at a bar called the Glitchy Pixel. He said he’ll meet you there in a half hour.”

  “I, uh…oh! That’s wonderful. I just have a couple things to see to at my workstation…”

  “As you will,” Morrowne said, his grin firmly in place. “But I wouldn’t keep the Hand waiting for very long!”

  Pushing himself slowly to his feet, Carl hesitated, uncertain whether he had permission to leave.

  Morrowne had one more thing to say. “Xavier asked me not to tell you he said this, but it’s too exciting not to share it with you. He remarked yesterday that he wouldn’t be surprised if you succeeded him as the next Hand of the Market.” Morrowne jabbed a finger in Carl’s direction, with a wink. “You just remember who hired you on.”

  “Great,” Carl said, too quickly. “Yes. Thanks. I will. Bye, then.” Leaving the office, he silently cursed himself for his dismal acting ability. That said, maybe this was how he really would act, even if he hadn’t recently joined up with a secret group of radicals. The incredible heaps of praise Morrowne had just dumped on him would have proved unsettling even under normal circumstances. Upper management never acknowledged contract workers for their contributions.

  Then, something happened that would have felt out of place in his wildest imaginings.

  He sat at his workstation, striving to appear as casual as possible while granting Suckeggs remote access to SafeTalk’s systems. All around, his Youth Dignity subordinates had taken to glaring openly at him, and a few were clustered in the farthest corner, whispering to each other and occasionally attempting to vivisect their department head using their eyes alone.

  Having just made the final keystroke necessary to let Suckeggs in, he nearly screamed in terror when he heard Gregory Stronger’s voice from over his shoulder: “Hi, Carl!”

  He jumped slightly, but otherwise managed to conceal his anxiety, despite his racing heart. The smile stretching Gregory’s lips didn’t look like it belonged on his face, and neither did his wide eyes nor his raised eyebrows. In fact, Carl hadn’t known his facial features were capable of such an arrangement.

  “Hi,” Carl said.

  “I came to apologize.”

  Carl blinked. “What?”

  “I want to apologize for the relations I had with Maria, and for any other slight, perceived or otherwise, I may have committed in the past. I would be honored if you would consider calling me your friend, and either way I hope we enjoy a long-term partnership, working together to make Dodge’s markets as efficient as they can be.”

  So this was it. The world really had gone bananas. Gregory Stronger was sucking up to him.

  “What would our friendship entail?” Carl asked.

  Gregory shrugged meekly, his smile broadening even further, which taxed credulity. “I don’t know. Maybe drinks sometime next week?”

  Spinning his chair back around to log out of his workstation, Carl made a dismissive gesture in the air above his shoulder. “I’d give it a sixty percent probability.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Xavier Ofvalour’s empty car awaited him outside the SafeTalk headquarters, and its door swung upward at Carl’s approach. Inside, he found the secret wine compartment already open, so he helped himself to a glass, which he sipped all the way to the bar. He’d hoped the surry would help calm his nerves, but instead he felt much more inebriated than he normally would after just one drink. Certainly, the Hand drank only the finest surry, but he didn’t think that was the only factor. He remembered reading somewhere that under unusual circumstances, people tended to get drunk quicker, which he was now convinced of, since he felt drunk already.

  Given the trove of sensitive information in his possession, the thought of losing his wits around the Hand scared him very much.

  He found Xavier Ofvalour waiting on the sidewalk outside the Glitchy Pixel. “So sorry I’m late,” Carl said, measuring out his words carefully to sound sober but achieving the opposite effect. “I had a last-minute thing to attend to at SafeTalk.”

  “Always the dedicated worker. Think nothing of it. I was enjoying the fresh air.” Here was none of Morrowne’s excessive praise, or Gregory’s sycophantic mewling. The Hand wasn’t being hostile, far from it, but underneath his conciliatory manner Carl thought he detected—what, could it be nervousness? Was it possible Xavier cared as much about how this meeting went as Carl did?

  Inside the bar, Carl began to approach the bartender, but Xavier laid a hand on his arm. “I doubt that will be necessary,” he said, and he led him to a booth in the corner.

  The bartender soon looked up from wiping down the bar with a cloth, and his eyes widened when they settled on Xavier. He walked out from behind the bar and approached them briskly.

  “Mr. Ofvalour,” he said, wringing his hands. “I am the owner and proprietor of the Glitchy Pixel. It is an absolute honor to serve you in my humble pub. We have a rule that whenever a customer comes in with a LifeRank higher than
any customer before, that customer drinks for free. I don’t need to check in order to know that is the case with you. In fact, I suppose we’re finished with that rule after this.”

  “Splendid,” Xavier said. “Thank you so much. I’ll pay for my friend’s drinks, then.”

  The bartender looked at Carl for the first time, and his mouth twitched. “Nonsense. Your friend must drink for free as well.”

  “You are too kind,” Xavier said. “This is Carl Intoeverylifeali, you know, who just finished instructing the public about the upstanding corporate citizen that is FutureBrite.”

  Some of the brightness returned to the man’s eyes. “Yes! Of course. I’m most pleased to serve you as well, Mister, um…”

  Carl smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “What can I get for you, gentlemen?”

  They occupied themselves with small talk until they had their drinks. After that, Xavier looked at Carl with a directness that exceeded the boundaries of a breezy conversation between colleagues over drinks. “So, I take it you have a proposition for me.”

  Carl felt his hand tense around his glass, and quickly relaxed it. “A proposition? Well, yes, I do, but how could you know that?”

  “Morrowne contacted me on your behalf, did he not?”

  “He said you wanted to see me.”

  “Yes, but not until after you’d asked to speak with me. Correct?”

  Carl nodded.

  “Then you must have something to propose. No one contacts me without good reason, no one intelligent anyway, no one who will be kept around for long. I’m the Hand of the Market, and there are far too few hours in the day. What is it you want?”

  Recognizing that this abrupt transition into curtness represented a tactical maneuver, Carl wondered why Xavier considered it necessary. Surely he couldn’t suspect Carl’s true aim, else the documents would already have been seized, and Carl would likely be sitting in a cell right now, awaiting the next prison barge’s arrival. Still, Xavier wielded his power expertly, and he was clearly using it to make Carl feel unsettled. He wished he could stop drinking, but of course that would arouse suspicion, too. So he took another sip, and then another right after.

  “I’d like to propose a press conference.”

  Xavier’s eyebrows shot up, his brusqueness almost completely gone. “A press conference? To what end?”

  “I thought reiterating my report’s findings might help to cement FutureBrite’s image, not only as a public good but also as a lynch pin of our society. It would ensure that anyone thinking of criticizing the company will hesitate, for fear that doing so will draw the ire of an angry online mob.”

  The Hand spun his drink on the table. “Seems good in principle. But press conferences are boring. Would anyone actually watch?”

  “I think they would if you were presenting alongside me…both of us, championing FutureBrite together. And if we did it live.”

  “Live?”

  “Yes. No one does anything live anymore. The Hand appearing on television, in real time, unfiltered, everyone in Dodge will watch. It will be a historic event. Everyone there will be vetted by us, of course, and it’s not like we have anything to fear from the press.”

  Xavier gave a small chuckle. “Indeed.”

  “So, what do you think?”

  It took a long time for the Hand to answer, and in the meantime he stared at the table and spun his glass faster. At last, he met Carl’s eyes with a smile. “I think it’s brilliant. Let’s do it. I’ll have my people put together a slide show and write up the script.”

  Carl realized he’d been holding his breath, and now he released it as quietly as possible. “Splendid,” he said, and in a rush of bravery he added, “Shall we order another round of drinks?”

  “Of course. You know, if I’m being perfectly honest, Carl, I thought you wanted to meet with me for an entirely different reason.”

  “Oh? And what was that?”

  “I thought you were going to ask me to help arrange the release of your friend Natalie Lemonade, as a personal favor. I’m very glad you didn’t ask that. Because it’s something I’ll never allow.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Before dropping into bed, Carl collected Maria’s neatly arranged smart clothes and tossed them into the laundry, given their avowed ineffectualness in concealing her activities. He turned out the light, slipped under the covers, and soon found that without the clothes the bed felt even emptier. He wished Maria was here with him. Or Natalie. Or both? No. That wouldn’t work.

  Despite his exhaustion, sleep wouldn’t come. His success in arranging the press conference, which Xavier’s people were putting together overnight, had left him with less confidence, not more. Everything indicated that tomorrow would be a success for the resistance, and with any luck getting the truth out about FutureBrite’s corruption would vindicate Natalie, exonerating her. As for Riley and Jenny, Carl expected they would be released, along with the rest of the children in the company’s care.

  So why did he have a tight ball of dread pulling his stomach down toward his feet?

  He spent an hour trying various positions, trying to get comfortable enough to sleep. After that, he was done. He rolled out of bed, threw on some clothes, pulled on his shoes, and walked to John Anders’s house.

  It was Maria who let him in when he rang the bell. “Carl,” she said once he’d hoisted himself into the porch. “What are you doing here?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “So? Do you think it’s a good idea to just pop over whenever you like?”

  “Don’t worry. I already turned my lifelog off.”

  “Wow. Great. Now they’ll definitely be suspicious.”

  “Are you trying to say you’re not even a little bit happy to see me?” He raised his eyebrows, and smiled.

  Some of the tension left Maria’s shoulders. “Maybe a little.”

  They kissed, and Carl walked past her into the TV room, settling onto the same coffee table he’d sat on during his last visit. “Anders could really use some couches or something.”

  “Where would he put them?”

  “Good point.”

  “Carl, this is serious. This is the most risky part of our mission, and you’re paying me frivolous late night visits.”

  “I’d have thought the risky part would be getting on stage with the most powerful man in Dodge with the intention of screwing him over. But I guess that’s just the most risky part for me.”

  Maria crossed her arms, clearly lacking a reply. She looked worried.

  “Anyway, I’m not visiting frivolously,” he continued “I’m here because I’m scared.”

  She tilted her head to one side. “Scared of what?”

  “Scared that this seems to be going so well.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I know. But, look…” Carl fished around inside his pocket until his fingers found the data stick, and he took it out, offering it to his wife.

  Taking it from him, Maria held it up to study in the dim lighting provided by the computer equipment. “What’s this?”

  “It’s all two hundred thousand FutureBrite documents.”

  She dropped it on the carpet as though it had scalded her.

  “Schrödinger’s cat, Maria, be careful with that!” Carl scooped it off the floor and offered it to her again, but this time she refused to accept it.

  “Why do you have that, and why are you giving it to me?”

  “Because I want a backup plan. Another way of getting the documents out. I need one, if I’m going to feel at all safe up on that stage. Please, Maria?”

  Reluctantly, she took the stick from him and slipped it inside her pocket. “Okay.”

  “Thank you.”

  She nodded, and he turned to go.

  “Carl?”

  He turned back.

  “I don’t believe you, you know. That this isn’t about Natalie for you.”

  A sigh rose through his
chest, and he did nothing to suppress it.

  “I want you to tell me the truth,” she said. “Do you love her?”

  Forcing himself to meet his wife’s eyes, Carl tried to imagine a world in which he did tell her the truth. Tried to anticipate what her reaction might be. Its magnitude.

  He couldn’t. He had no idea how she’d react.

  But he told her anyway.

  “Yes, Maria. I do.”

  She merely nodded again, her gaze suddenly distant, and she took out the data stick, turning it around and around in her hands. “You can let yourself out.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  “Arrive two hours early for the press conference,” the message from Xavier said, and Carl showed up three hours early, having knocked back a stiff drink of surry vodka and orange juice first. The prep room where the rehearsal would take place remained deserted for the full extra hour, giving Carl time to sit and wonder whether arriving so far in advance was helping with his anxiety or increasing it. It afforded him the opportunity to perform a series of breathing exercises, but it also meant he was alone with himself, dwelling on everything he stood to lose as a result of his actions today.

  Xavier arrived at precisely the appointed time, with the press conference script in hand, which he passed to Carl. “You’ll need to have this memorized by the time we go out on stage.”

  The script took up several pages, which would have been a problem if it were actually necessary for Carl to learn it. Since he planned to disrupt the presentation quite early on, he only needed to pretend to memorize it.

  “We’ll run through it before we go out, to make sure you have it all,” Xavier said as he poured himself a drink from a concealed mini-bar nearby.

  “Oh,” Carl said, heart rate spiking. “Of course.”

  His consternation grew as he pored over his lines, trying desperately to cram them inside his head. Concentration eluded him, kept away by his fear that the whole plan was about to be derailed, all because he couldn’t memorize lines he never intended to deliver. Xavier would call off the press conference, or else forbid Carl from joining him on stage. He supposed that wouldn’t matter, as long as Suckeggs and the others had managed to successfully hack the blog and insert the FutureBrite revelations. Would it?