The Infinity Mainframe (Tombs Rising Book 3)

by Robert Scott-Norton

  Langer spoke up. “It’s OsMiTech policy not to let security logs off the premises.”

  “And why is that?” she replied, turning her attention to the telepath.

  “Security,” he replied, looking at her like she was talking in a foreign tongue.

  “Security?”

  “Langer’s right,” Devan said, “We can’t let anyone just look at the security logs when they want. I’ve a business to keep secure and people under my protection to keep safe. Any request for information like that has to go through the proper channels. If you’ve forgotten what those proper channels are, perhaps I should contact UniTEEP and let them know you need a refresher on the procedures.”

  He sipped his tea.

  Claudette sipped her tea. It was already tepid.

  “Devan, I’m sure you can appreciate my delicate position here. Nikoli Wei was murdered less than two weeks after being assigned to audit the registration process at OsMiTech. Most of his last two weeks were spent on your premises. I’m doing everything I can to wrap this mess up as quickly as possible. It doesn’t do either of us any good having this unsolved murder hanging over our heads.”

  “So, it was murder then?” Langer asked.

  “His throat was slit. His wife’s too. I’m pretty comfortable that it was murder, yes.”

  “The police have kept quiet on it.”

  Claudette stiffened in her chair. “It’s common knowledge.”

  “Oh, well, if it’s common knowledge,” Devan said, and then smiled.

  “What was he like?” she asked, focusing on Devan’s eyes, ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach.

  “Nikoli?”

  She nodded slowly, using the same neutral expression she used when speaking to her children.

  “He came across as a decent enough person. A bit of a fashion disaster in that blue suit of his, and I suspected he’d had a couple of drinks before coming to work—did he have a drink problem at all?”

  “None I’m aware of.”

  “Thought I’d mention it. Might be important.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so.”

  Devan smiled. Amused perhaps that his attempts to derail the meeting weren’t succeeding. Claudette waited for him to continue.

  “As far as I know, he was always punctual, highly organised, and got on OK with OsMiTech staff that had to work with him. If you’re looking for motives for anyone might kill him, you’re looking in the wrong place.”

  “Why do you think someone might have killed him?”

  “What was his personal life like? Most murder victims know their murderers. Many are family members. Have all of his family been accounted for? Alibis?”

  “I’m not the police.”

  “Just wondered if you’d heard.” He turned to look at Lucy who hadn’t reacted at all since the earlier slip. “I remember you… Lucy isn’t it?”

  She didn’t reply. Didn’t even look up.

  “Devan, if you don’t mind….” Claudette interjected. It wasn’t good protocol to talk with a blocker whilst they were working.

  “Oh, she doesn’t mind. Good practice for her. Seeing if she can keep up her blocking and maintain a conversation. All ministerial blockers are more than capable.”

  “Devan,” Claudette said, raising her voice. To her irritation, he held up the palm of his hand, shushing her.

  “Lucy, what’s is like working here, with all these suits?”

  Lucy stared at the floor.

  “Come on now, a girl like you, trained by the best, is more than able to do two things at once. I’m the telepath benefactor, don’t you know?”

  Lucy lifted her head. “I know what you choose to label yourself.”

  A puzzled twist of Devan’s features. “It’s not a label.”

  “When you talk, you talk on behalf of telepaths. Only, I never asked you to speak on my behalf. You weren’t elected.”

  Devan nodded, and clasped his hands around his cup, leaning into the conversation. “And that’s why you prefer to work here rather than at OsMiTech? You want to work for the elected?”

  Claudette interrupted, “Enough, Devan.”

  He flashed a last smile at Lucy then turned back to Claudette. “I like to look after my people.”

  “She’s not one of your people. She works for us and is well taken care of.”

  “Why are you so interested in what happened to Nikoli Wei?”

  “He was murdered. That’s enough.”

  “But why do you think security logs might help you?”

  “If you’ve nothing to hide, then hand them over. He was one of ours, and I owe it to him to find out what happened.”

  “I’ve plenty to hide. Like I said, I’m running a business. I can’t give you the access you want.”

  “I’ll get a court order.”

  “Get in line behind the police. They asked for one two days ago. It doesn’t look like the judge will give it to them.”

  “If you continue to block the investigation, there will be a price to pay.”

  “Threat?”

  “Fact. No government can sit back and watch a corporation run rings around the legal process, especially when that—”

  “Why are you so scared of us?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Devan shifted in his chair, took out an e-cig and rested the end on his lips.

  “You can’t use that in here.”

  He placed it behind his ear.

  “You’re scared of us. Or is this personal? Are you scared of me?”

 

  Claudette flicked a stray bit of hair off to the side of her fringe and crossed her arms.

  “How’s the product launch going? InfiniteYou. Nice.”

  The change in Devan’s expression from relaxed to angry was instant. There was a new tightness around his eyes, a slight redness to his cheeks. Claudette thought he might want to chop her head off and nail it to a wall.

 

 

  He moved quickly, Lucy lurched forward, grabbing his arm, but it wasn’t fast enough to stop Devan sticking his hand inside his trouser pocket and pulling out something. Claudette got to her feet and ducked out of the way, then realised what Devan was holding. It wasn’t a knife or any other weapon. Lucy realised it too and let go before slinking back to her chair.

  Devan laughed. “You two must be so much fun at parties. A balloon pops and you rush under the table, is that it? Here, take it.”

  The item he held between the thumb and first finger of his right hand was a silver HALO.

  “Our latest model, it’s yours.” He tossed the HALO to Claudette, and she caught it easily. “I’m not proposing of course. Let’s be clear on that.”

  She held up the silver ring to the light and a flash of green light illuminated the band, symbols appearing briefly, before fading to nothing.

  “It’s a gift. There are only three thousand of these in existence. All out in beta. Everyone’s signed NDAs. Got to be done to keep it out of the press.”

  Claudette held it beside the HALO she wore on her left hand. Hers was a government issue device, built and configured for maximum security at the cost of less social linking. She’d had hers for two years now, a second generation device and couldn’t imagine getting by without it. The HALO was more than her access to the OsMiTech Network, more than a personal communication device, it was a status symbol. The HALO devices were the consumer product that had helped make Devan Oster his billions.

  She tossed the new device back to him. “I can’t take it.”

  “It’s a gift. It’s yours.”

  “Even so. Security wouldn’t let me take it.”

  He slipped it back into his pocket. “Thought I’d offer. Even after we ramp up production, it’ll be awhile before you get another chance. We’re expecting demand to be high.”

  “Excellent.”

  He tapped
one of his own rings on his left hand; he had several of them across both hands. “I’d best be going. Don’t want to outstay my welcome.”

  “Security tapes?” Claudette said, getting out of her chair and cutting him off as he made for the door.

  “See you in court,” he said with a smile, as he stepped around her and out of the room. Langer nodded at the women and followed his boss.

  Claudette closed the door and watched the security man struggle to keep pace with Devan as he walked away down the corridor. Closing the door, she turned to look at Lucy. The poor girl was still staring at the carpet. Perhaps the pressure of the meeting had been too much for her.

  “Did you get it?” Claudette asked.

  “No, I’m sorry, it wasn’t there.” She looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her.

  “OK. You can go.”

  Lucy grabbed her bag and departed through a different door.

  Claudette sighed and sat back in her chair. The meeting had been about as frustrating as she’d imagined it would be. Why she’d dared to think things might go her way for once was a cause for concern. One for her therapist perhaps.

  She dialled a number. It was answered after the first ring. “I want Andrew sent to another department and Lucy to be dismissed.”

  There might have been a protest, but Claudette had already returned the handset and was considering her next move. How on earth she was expected to perform her duties with such inept people around her was a mystery.

  Devan Oster

  17 years ago

  Blood had never bothered Devan until the day the bullet missed.

  The launch of the HALO rings had been going well. The assembled press had been cooperative, listening patiently whilst Devan ran through the well-practised spiel. They’d also invited some early adopters of the devices to help hype up the audience. And it was working. People had been trying to sell tickets to this event for the last three weeks at ridiculous prices, and no one at OsMiTech had tried to stop them. What was the point? It all helped boost the brand image.

  But, when it went wrong, it went about as wrong as it was possible to get. Devan had felt that itch in the back of his neck again and knew that there were some teeps out there that were doing their best to scan him. Langer was somewhere behind him, out of sight, doing his best at blocking. If they could identify any teep audacious enough to scan their ‘saviour’ right on the doorstep of their own refuge, Devan didn’t know whether he'd want to send them for diminishment or promote them.

  He heard the bullet rip past his ear, closely followed by the scream from the audience and the dull thud as a body standing close fell against the marketing banners.

  Devan stopped in mid-breath, unsure what had just happened because when a bullet tears past you and misses, a part of you is still waiting for the impact.

  Someone knocked into him. The podium floor met his shoulder with the force of a brick.

  “We need to get you off the stage. There may be more than one shooter.” Langer tried to hoist him to his feet and propel him from the stage to where a car had suddenly appeared, doors open, waiting to swallow him up.

  The perspex lectern he’d been leaning on only seconds earlier, exploded and shards of heavy plastic cut across the stage, shattering the screen they’d brought to show off the new development.

  Langer hesitated, but only for the briefest of moments, scanning around the area, looking for the source of the attack. “I’m getting him out of here,” he yelled into a hidden microphone. “We’ve got a man down—Milford Jones has been shot.”

  “What—Milford?” Devan had shouted above the noise of the panicking crowd, bodies now running in all directions, unsure which the safest escape trajectory might be. Cars from beyond the OsMiTech perimeter honked horns as swathes of the escaping audience bled out of the compound and into the road, interrupting traffic. The drivers wouldn’t know why dozens of near collisions were barely avoided until watching the news channels later that evening.

  Sirens in the distance. Getting nearer.

  Langer held Devan tight under the arms and dragged him along the stage. A third bullet ‘phipped’ into the floor inches ahead of them but Langer spurred onwards toward the car. One confused lady stood by the open door. “What’s going on?” she yelled and hurried up the steps to shelter inside OsMiTech. She fell before making it. Devan had time enough to see the crimson petals bloom on the back of her summer dress before he was thrown into the back of the car.

  Time made no sense that day. Whole sections missing from his memory. What he’d recall later was only a series of clips, fragmented memory. The doctors would tell him it was post-traumatic stress.

  Devan waited hours for news of Milford’s condition in the relatives room at the hospital. Fame and celebrity didn’t buy you anything in that soul-sucking hell. The chairs were uncomfortable. Antiseptic stung his nose. The people weren’t deferent. Devan Oster, one of the richest men in the country was finally knocked back down by the assassination attempt on his life.

  Langer had waited with him. His best security agent had a splash of blood on his white shirt and Devan later found out it wasn't Langer’s at all. Milford Jones had been waiting at the back of the press event chatting to Langer when the first bullet hit and ripped a chunk of his skull off. The blood was Milford’s. Langer noticed the stain after the second hour of waiting for news from the operating theatre and tried to clean it off in the waiting room basin. When he came back to sit down, the stain looked worse: smudged and wet, and Langer’s eyes and face were wet too.

  “Have they got him?”

  Langer shook his head, staring at his tablet’s screen, absorbing the news feeds. “The centre of town has been cordoned off, but the shooter has probably made good his escape by now. I doubt they’ll catch him.”

  A flash of anger then, a quickened pulse and Devan had to take a second before speaking lest he rant. “If they won’t catch him, we will. I want a dedicated team.”

  “Absolutely sir, our best men.”

  Hours later or days, Devan had no idea, he was admitted into a recovery suite to see Milford. His boyfriend was hooked up to monitoring machines, cables snaking over his bare chest, sticking to his skin. The smell in here was worse—too clean. Devan couldn’t bring himself to look into Milford’s face until he’d sat next to him for several minutes. Langer stood on the other side of the curtain despite Devan telling him to piss off and do something useful. The doctors had been doubtful that anything could be done. Milford would die.

  Devan finally bit down into his courage and gave the injured part of Milford’s head his fullest attention.

  And bit his own lip to stop from screaming.

  Wednesday, 1 May 2115

  2:45 PM

  Working at the Department for the Regulation of Telepaths was not what she’d trained for. Throughout school and college, she’d been more interested in tech and programming. But since OsMiTech had eradicated much of the free market in technology industries, demand for her kinds of skills had diminished. There was little chance of getting a job in an OsMiTech company without being a telepath so she’d gently put that dream aside and moved on. Adapting to change was something she’d learnt to get good at.

  It might have been a stupid idea but Ruby had exhausted her other options. The Weis deaths had already become just another thing that happened and the news feeds had gone quiet on the event. She wouldn't let this lie and if Glynn wouldn't help her—well, she’d just have to do it on her own.

  The metro to Southport had been tiresome, and she’d spent the majority of the journey jammed up against a window. From the metro platform, she could see OsMiTech headquarters peering over the rest of the skyline. Whilst there were many OsMiTech facilities around the country, Devan had settled the headquarters here, in Southport. If she ever got the chance to speak to him again, she determined to ask him why.

  The Arts Centre was quiet at 3 o’clock when Ruby turned up in the foyer. The place felt huge compared to t
he other evening when it had been dominated by Devan Oster’s event dressing. After her conversation with Candice, she was more determined to understand what had been going on in Nikoli’s mind the night he was killed. Devan Oster would be the perfect man to ask about it, but he was untouchable. The launch of InfiniteYou was the first time she’d ever seen him in person and as far as she could ascertain, it was the first time he’d left the confines of the OsMiTech compound in months. Still, details of what he was proposing with the upgraded network had been sketchy.

  “Excuse me,” Ruby asked the man behind the information desk.

  The man smiled and looked through his wire-framed spectacles at her. “Yes, miss. How can I help?”

  “I was here on Friday evening for the OsMiTech event. I was hoping to speak to someone in your security office.”

  The polite smile he kept for his regular customers dropped a fraction as he sensed officialdom. “I’m not sure that will be possible. Is there a problem?”

  Ruby smiled, she needed to get the man on her side. “I work for DRT.”

  “DRT?”

  She offered her ID card. He took hold and inspected it carefully, reading the details before handing it back.

  “So, is there a problem, Miss Parry?”

  “I wanted to check some of your security footage from the OsMiTech event.”

  “I’m not sure that will be possible. I’d suggest you make a formal request through our security office. They can evaluate and let you know.”

  “I’m afraid this is important. I need to speak to someone now.” Ruby’s voice rose in frustration. “If I could just have half an hour’s access to your security feeds, I’d be out of your way.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not able to allow that kind of access. Like I said, you must send a formal request through your department.”

  Ruby fumed. That familiar heat rushed to her face, and she found it difficult to keep her hands from slamming on the desk in front of her and yelling at the man. Two people had formed a line behind her. She felt them staring at her back, willing her to move out of the way.