He walked through the last security door, and headed to the northern civilian wing, barely noticing the blur of shops as he passed. They merely peripheral, like horse blinders with a thousand images flashing inside.
He passed between the ornate Grey Market pillars, his indication he was close.
“The finest rugs money can buy! Hurry before they run out!” called the old woman standing beside the slats of cheaply dyed wool, stacked as high as her chin. She was waving. Her swollen joints and paper skin made them look less like arms and more like tree branches. She was exotic and Eli wondered if her parents or grandparents had accents from back when people came from all over the world and settled in this country, before it became overcrowded and they shut the border. What did an accent sound like? Was it like when someone was drunk or high and slurred their words? Perhaps.
He didn’t mean to, but he made hard eye contact with the woman. She was an orphan. The population was full of them. He knew the look, a flip-switch expression of piteous supplication, asking, always asking for something from someone with anything to give, breakfast, lunch, dinner, new uniforms when they grew tight and pinched the soft skin of the underarms. Well, he was through with asking.
That was why he liked working for the GovCorps. He worked, he was paid. It was predictable, it was respectable.
He looked at the mounting stack of frayed rugs, wilting over one another. He looked at the woman standing beside them. When one was selling, essentially, one was asking.
There was a flicker of recognition across her face and, for a moment, he saw how he looked in her eyes. She recognized that he too, was an orphan. But how? He wasn’t begging or beseeching or dealing.
Flustered he looked down and hurried past the shop but could feel her eyes following him, locked on the back of his head.
Eli continued walking in a straight line as if The Point was his destination.
Once he went past the very last Civi-shop which was a jewelry store, he would be over the lines and into restricted territory.
His hunger drove him forward. He could practically feel his ribs rubbing against the inside of his uniform.
If only Villus would get on the phone with NRP, but Eli knew that wouldn’t happen. He had seen Villus stick his neck out for his troops on several occasions, from letters of recommendation, to calling in favors for faster medical. Villus even helped Sergeant Malcom’s little boy get in for lung regrowth therapy for his asthma within a month of applying. Normal wait time for that kind of treatment was at least a year. Here, Eli was starving to death and he couldn’t even request a phone call.
Keeping his stroll casual, he walked past The Kradle Karat, and turned right into a dark hallway. He came to a door with a key pad and quickly typed in an override code he had remotely programmed into the lock from his computer earlier. It clicked loudly and slid open.
Eli hustled down the long hallway, smiling to himself. The thrill of the hack was sweeter than candy.
There was an elevator at the end, and he got inside. The doors shut. Eli removed from his pocket, a square, silver device the size of a deck of cards. He held it up against the elevator security module. A numerical pad appeared on the screen and Eli punched his own code. This ignited a homemade virus he named Bro-kyyn13. After a few seconds the screen flashed and he was in control.
He pressed 100, the very top—not to mention very forbidden—floor in CorMand.
The elevator was slow and when he stepped off into the barren hallway, his watch read 12:16.
There was a door at the far end. Bingo. And as an added bonus, it wasn’t even locked.
He shoved it open and in a shocking flash, was blinded by the bright light of the solars. Shielding his eyes he stuck his head out, careful not to look down or he might lose his nerve.
Just as he thought, the door led to the outside of the building to a set of stairs that would take him up to the rooftop.
Eli removed his jacket and used it to cover his head so that he wouldn’t burn from being so high and close to the solars. He then carefully stepped one foot out onto the flat steel, testing its stability until finally placing both feet flat on the ground, clutching on the railing.
Eli almost lost his tiny lunch when he accidentally caught sight of the world below through the basket of holes dotting the platform. The white stone skyscraper tunneled down, plunging into the tiny concrete world below. An image of free falling, screaming flashed through his mind. His vision went spinning. Closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, he white knuckled the railing, forcing himself up the steps.
He suddenly missed his shabby third floor balcony back in the Slags. He had always dreamed of leaving his shambled boyhood for a better life, a life where he wouldn’t have to worry about his next meal, but now it was as if he was the butt of a cruel joke. Well, that was all about to change.
Eli shook his head and focused on placing one foot carefully over the other. Never did he think he would be this far off the ground.
He wiped the heavy sweat that was gathering on his forehead. It’s probably ninety degrees up here. He thought.
His phone blipped loudly in the windless artificial atmosphere. He let it ring.
When he reached the rooftop, he scuffled, low to the ground, his rear end bouncing off his ankles, far enough away from the edge to where he was comfortable. Then he sat cross-legged, absorbing his surroundings.
The rooftop was large and barren. Piping and concrete blocks were scattered about, preforming building maintenance functions that he knew nothing of.
Although at least a decade old, the area looked brand new thanks to the lack of wind and bird droppings. He took a deep breath. Yes, this was definitely doable. For the first time in weeks, he was hopeful.
His phone blipped. He ignored it and checked the time. 12:37. It must have taken him longer than he thought to climb those stairs.
Eli stood, wobbly kneed as a toddler and forced himself to walk around. If this was going to work, he would have to learn to relax.
He looked up at the dome, shielding his eyes. Yes, the solars were good. Too good. He would have to rig some sort of canopy to help control the lighting.
He walked around like an inspector. Finally, he found a concealed area behind a half wall that would be perfect. The ten by ten foot space was out of sight and wasn’t nearby anything that looked important enough to draw attention from the maintenance man.
Now his phone was ringing. The bell tone meant work.
“Hello?”
“Jackson, it’s Willis. Where you at, buddy?”
“Lunch.”
“Well you better get back here. Villus is asking for you.”
Eli’s mood deflated. He inched further toward the center of the roof. “Know what it’s about?”
“Nope. But if I were you I’d get my ass back here ASAP.”
Eli hung up the phone and tried to keep his lunch on the correct side of his stomach as he climbed back down the stairs.
Chapter 11
Eli made it into Villus’s office at exactly 12:57—three minutes under his lunch break deadline. He didn’t know what good it would do, but was relieved just the same.
Eli wasn’t really afraid of his superior officer, and it wasn’t as if he was concerned with being discharged for taking a lunch. Villus didn’t have that much power, something he openly resented. However, he was Eli’s executive officer and, unfortunately he seemed to take pleasure in torturing him, day after day, coming or going.
Villus’s black, shark eyes drifted up from his built in desk computation screen. The room was dark, and the light of the computer washed out his taunt features. He removed his hat from his shaved skin head, razored so close there was no shading of any hair follicles below the dermis. The pale skin between his scalp and neck was gathered, wrinkled, and although only ten years older than Eli, he was already pale and strained from either an abundance of work or an abundance of being an asshole. Eli chose the latter.
Villus was silent—
a game Eli was familiar with, but he wasn’t in the mood to be intimidated today.
“You called for me sir,” Eli said it as a statement, not a question.
Villus paused, placing his hands, palms down on his desktop, displaying his cigarette yellow fingernails. Eli wondered why they always looked so jagged, brittle and broken. “Where were you Jackson?”
“Lunch.”
“Thought you couldn’t eat Corp food.”
“I brought my own.” Something piqued in Eli. Villus was already well aware of Eli’s condition and yet he continued to ask. Surely he wasn’t merely patronizing him. “What’s this about, sir?”
Villus stood up from his desk. “This is about Project Shield. You know? Your big program that you claim is going to win us the war? The whole reason why my superiors insisted on recruiting you? Now, since you have so much free time to go walking around the Civilian Corridor, one must assume you’re finished.”
Eli sighed. “I’ve made progress, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Being the man of his temperament, Villus clenched his fist. “That’s damn well not what I’m asking. Is it or is it not finished?”
Eli sighed. Project Shield. His schizophrenic struggle. Part of him wanted to complete the project, step up to the challenge. Without question, Shield would rise the ranks as one of the greatest accomplishments of mankind, if not the greatest. Plus it would secure his place in CorMand, and he would never in his career have to worry about getting demoted, like some poor souls. On the other hand, he couldn’t bring himself to finish it, knowing Villus was planning to debut Shield in the next Demonstration, hoping to impress Congress into shoveling more money into the CorMand war effort. Eli couldn’t imagine anything more horrible than having a hand in the barbarous Demos.
He was hoping they would simply take his developments and move them straight on to the battlefield. That would be logical. But politics and money did not follow logic. Project Shield was as much of a money grab as it was a weapon.
“No,” Eli replied. “It is not finished.”
“I know it’s not. Because if it were, then you would have it on my desk faster than a sex-bot suck off.” he then lowered his voice. “Do you at least have something you could show me?”
Eli picked up on his change in tone. Villus’ nearly invisible eyebrows were arched instead of furrowed. Then Eli understood, he was asking, not ordering. Villus needed a show, but not for himself, for his superior. Eli decided to play along and see where this went.
“Sure.” He shrugged. “I might be able to show you a little.”
Villus’ eyebrows returned to their normal angry slashes. He dialed a number on his handheld. “Clarence. Villus. Could you tell the Colonel that I have Eli Jackson here?” He listened. “Affirmative.” Then hung up.
Eli inwardly smiled. Clarence was Colonel Harried’s secretary. Ah so the dog has to put on a pony show. He thought. Ok, I’ll play along.
A few minutes later Colonel Harried entered without knocking. He shut the door before he addressed Eli. “Hello Sergeant Jackson.”
“Sir.” Eli saluted with fervor.
Villus gave a standard salute.
“At ease.” Harried was a large man in his sixties with strong, wide shoulders. His thin grey hair was buzzed flat as a table top.
The Colonel was the reason Eli was recruited into CorMand. The only reason.
Eli tried getting into CorMand as soon as he graduated high school. He sent in an application every single year, but, because he was a hacker neither Villus nor his senior officer Colonel Bing wanted anything to do with him. They didn’t care if he could help the war effort or not.
But Eli’s luck changed just months before Mevia was arrested. Colonel Bing died. Eli didn’t think much of it at the time, assuming Villus would be promoted to Colonel and his chances at being a drone programmer at CorMand would increase by exactly zero, but to his elation Villus didn’t get promoted. They brought in open minded Klein Harried, a transfer from another division.
One of his first decisions was to ignore Villus’ advice and recruit Eli. So of course Villus hated them both.
Harried moved closer to Eli. “Jackson, I hear you’ve made some progress on Shield.”
“Yes sir.” Eli hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. The promise to deliver Shield was the whole reason Harried decided to overlook his previous hacks and bring him in. They wanted Shield so bad it hurt.
“May we see what you have so far?” asked Harried.
“Of course sir.”
Villus was still standing behind his desk. He held open his hand. Eli gave him an incredulous look. Did Villus think he could just hand over a program as if it were a pack of gum?
Eli forced himself not to roll his eyes as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his handheld. He ignored Villus’s outstretched hand and connected his device to the computer by pointing and launching the app.
Villus eye daggered Eli for another moment before looking down at his screen.
Eli scrolled through his programming files until he reached the one called “Shield.”
“There you are, sir,” he said. “It should be on your screen.” Villus pressed a button and suddenly the entire screen floated before their eyes like a green cloud. He adjusted the focus to where they could read the letters clearly.
“This,” Eli held up his hand, “is Project Shield.”
“Thanks a lot, Jackson,” Villus growled. “Now, would you mind explaining to us what it is we’re looking at?”
“It’s code.” Eli often thought it was peculiar that someone who didn’t know the first thing about coding was the head officer of the Drone Programming Division—DPD.
“We know that. Speak English.”
Eli paused a moment to figure out how he was going to simplify such complicated terms.
“Basically it’s an anti-virus for both programs and matter. It actually attaches itself to solid matter. Most drone programs are concrete, never changing. Shield, on the other hand, interacts within itself, adjusting and changing instantaneously with every new variable, without the constant surveillance of the human factor.”
Villus scrolled through the lines. “When I asked for English, did you not comprende?”
Eli sighed. “It’s a force field for the drones. They’ll be able to instantly reject any physical or viral attacks from the Eurasian drones. Just like…a shield.”
Villus was obviously trying very hard not to look impressed. “Do yourself a favor, Jackson and stop being such a smart ass.”
“I’ll do my best.” He was asking for trouble but couldn’t help himself and he wasn’t sure, but it looked like Harried had the beginnings of a smile. Yes as long as the Colonel was in charge, Eli would be safe from Villus’ disdain, at least on an official level.
“That is most impressive Jackson,” Harried broke in before Villus could say anything. “But do you think that it is possible? An antiviral program that can not only attach itself to drones but also shield them from…”
“From anything,” Eli said, getting excited. “From bullets, to blades, to viruses. With Shield,” he looked Harried in the eye, “our drones will be unstoppable.”
Harried looked up at the program with the wonder of a younger man. “And you can do this?”
“I believe so, sir. It won’t be easy, but I’m working on it.”
Harried was beaming. The man was actually beaming! Then his phone blipped. He looked down at the screen. “Excuse me gentlemen.” He nodded to each of them. They saluted. Then the Colonel turned to leave but not before giving Eli a pat on the shoulder.
Eli knew better than to smile. Villus was ripping him apart with his eyes.
The door shut and they dropped their salutes. Villus pointed his finger, “Look here—“ but he was interrupted by his own phone. He answered and then listened. “He’s standing in my office right now actually.” He shot Eli a what-have-you-done-now look.
Eli stiffened.
&n
bsp; A few “uh huhs” and “oks” later Villus hung up the phone. He leaned over his desk, his arms slanted in a downward V. “Maybe you’d like to explain to me just what in God’s name you were doing up on the roof.”
Eli’s stomach plummeted. He stammered, not used to Villus having one up on him.
“Jackson are you planning some sort of terrorist attack?”
“No! Of course not.”
“Of course not, what?”
“Sir.”
“Then explain to me why you went into a restricted area and broke into the roof.”
“Sir, technically I broke out of the—“
“Answer me!” He came around his desk.
Eli stood up straight, squaring his jaw. “To garden.”
“Excuse me?”
He released a slow breath. “Sir. NRP hasn’t been delivering my food. You know I have an allergy—“
“Get to the point.”
Eli’s kept his eyes locked straight ahead. “I’m starving sir. I was hoping to help my situation by making a small rooftop garden...sir.”
Eli didn’t know sort of reaction he’d get, but he certainly didn’t expect to be laughed at. He always thought Villus didn’t laugh because he was a sardonic ass wipe, but now he knew it was because he squealed like a wounded dingo.
“Hee! A garden?” He chuckled. “You were sneaking off…do you even know the first thing about…?”
Eli sighed. “I tried growing something on my windowsill, but it didn’t work.”
Villus laughed even harder. Then as if a hand passed over his face, he instantaneously composed himself so fast it was disturbing. “Out of the question. Gov-Corp regulations prohibits anyone from going on the roof. It’s a safety issue.” He turned his back to Eli and faced the floating screen.
“Safety? But I’m starving!”
“Permission denied, Jackson.”
Eli was about to say he wasn’t asking for permission but he stopped and took a deep breath. “How am I supposed to eat then?”
“Take it up with NRP. You’re dismissed.”
Children of the Kradle (Trilogy Book 1) Page 6
