An Eighty Percent Solution (CorpGov)

by Thomas Gondolfi

  “Anything else pertinent to report?”

  “Not that I can think of, sir. The details are in my report.”

  “OK. Thank you for your efficiency, Mr. Marks. Oh, and make sure the cost of those trains gets into your expense report. I know from experience just how expensive those models can be. My son’s a railroader.”

  * * *

  Mark Linderheim, sixteen and a student working his way through Oregon State University, busied himself restocking Doritos when the first customer of the day, that being a relative term as they were open twenty-four hours, entered the store. An attractive woman in her thirties moved directly to the counter and stood there waiting for him. Probably just wanted a pack of narcosticks or some lottery tickets, Mark thought. He tucked the last of the bags on the shelf and took the empty delivery crate with him back behind the counter.

  “May I help you?” he asked affably.

  “I’d like to place one hundred puts of twenty-three credits per share on Nanogate,” replied the lovely customer.

  “No problem, ma’am,” Mark said, punching the numbers into the computer. Just another version of the lottery, he thought to himself. Some people thought it gave them airs to play such risky ventures in business rather than take the equivalent risk in the lottery. Didn’t matter. Odds didn’t change. Either way provided ample ways for idiots to throw away their money. “That’ll be ninety-four credits,” he announced flatly, keeping his feelings to himself.

  The woman opened her Coach bag and drew out a hundred-credit note. Per company policy, Mark waved a forgery detector over the bill until the green light and the oh-so-annoying female voice sensuously offered, “Valid.” Mark made change without another word and meaninglessly offered the woman a nice day.

  Working as a convenience store clerk offered millions of ways to numb his brain. Mark moved on to cleaning the trays of the Fozone machine. As he removed the drawers from the massive freezers, another customer came in, a man with his little girl. In the time it took the four-year-old—with considerable help from her father—to make up her mind and pick a candy from the rack, Mark managed to empty, scrub, and return the tray to its place. He made it back to the counter in time for the pair to walk up.

  “Good morning,” Mark offered.

  “Good morning. We’ll have this, and I’d also like to get some puts, please. Can I get sixty-five at twenty-four credits a share?”

  Mark nodded and entered the codes into the machine, wondering about the coincidence. Two puts in a row were unusual, but not earth-shattering.

  “I’m getting candy,” the little girl announced firmly.

  “Yes you are, dear,” agreed Mark. “That’s a pretty dress. What stock, sir?”

  “My momma desneged it on the ’puter fer me,” the girl added smugly.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” said the man, smiling. “Nanogate, please.”

  OK, Mark had seen unusual coincidences before, but this seemed extreme. As he currently took statistics as one of his math courses at OSU, he immediately began to run numbers in his head on how unlikely this combination was. He kept losing decimal points in his head before giving up. Statistics did say one thing that very few people remember, though—no matter how unlikely something might be, it still happens sometimes.

  “She did a wonderful job, honey,” the customer said to his little girl, paying Mark’s confused look no heed.

  “With the candy, that’ll be sixty-three nineteen.”

  The man and child left without another word. Mark managed to earn sixteen more credits in the hour it took him to restock the walk-in cooler with beer and energy drinks before two separate people rang the entrance chime at the same time. Both went for the coffee. One, a regular, always spiked his double-shot espresso with energy creamer. Sometimes Mark wondered how the man didn’t have his hands fall off with the jitters.

  “Morning, sir,” Mark offered the newcomer, who absently carried a fruit pie and a cup of normal black coffee. The man seemed somehow nervous.

  “Morning. Can I get these, and can I short sell from here?”

  “ConVenEE is a recognized broker. If you are properly registered you can sell short here.”

  “Excellent. I’d like to sell short one hundred fourteen shares of Nanogate.”

  Mark’s ears buzzed. “Can I get a saliva sample for identification?” he asked reflexively, numbers dancing in his head.

  The man opened up automatically, allowing a simple swab of the inner mouth. The swab went into the machine, which immediately identified the man as someone named Michael Henderson.

  “Mr. Henderson, the put will more than cover the cost of your purchases. The remaining four thousand nine hundred fourteen point twelve credits will be retained on your account until the return of your short sale. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Mark’s brain worked overtime. His teacher could surely give him the odds against something this outrageous, assuming the number of zeroes wouldn’t overflow the archaic campus computer.

  The regular stepped up to take his turn. “Morning, Mark.”

  “Howdy, Jimmy. Just your coffee this morning?

  “Well, no, I’m going to also take a hedge against Nanogate tanking. Say eight hundred shares at thirty credits.”

  Mark’s eyes bugged right out of his head.

  It took four hours and three more anti-Nanogate stock sales before Mark’s relief showed up to give him his mandated break. He wasted no time calling his girl, Julia, who worked at the Red Salmon Creek casino just north of town. “Julia. I want to pass something by you. I’ve had a rash of people betting against Nanogate.”

  “Did you say ‘Nanogate’?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “I’ve had like fifteen short sales and puts this morning, all on Nanogate.”

  “Someone knows something. I think we should get in on this. Should we call our folks?”

  * * *

  “One hundred three meters, but I can’t see a freaking thing,” Tony said between chattering teeth. He floated in a concentration of green and gray moving flecks, only barely pierced by the powerful light on his forehead and that of his teammate, Tolly, tethered two meters to his left. Tolly looked like a cross between Batman and the Creature from the Black Lagoon in his formfitting scuba outfit. After an hour, the water’s coolness started to penetrate even Tony’s dry suit.

  “Good,” Linc offered over his long-range audio link. That storm really stirred up the ocean currents. You’re getting silt and algae storms. Makes it nearly impossible to see.”

  “It’s also making it freaking cold.” Tony could almost envision his companion’s disapproving expression through the audio connection, even without Linc saying a word. “OK. That’s great, but where now?”

  “Target is 216 meters to the northwest.”

  “Northwest?”

  “Turn to your right, mate,” Tolly offered, consulting his wrist compass. “A little more. There. Dead set.”

  “Switch to stealth mode for approach.”

  “Turning off jet packs and lights,” Tony said, plunging himself into absolute blackness as Tolly followed suit. The pair, still tethered together, kicked gently in their target’s direction.

  “Why am I doing this?” Tony remarked absently as the cold continued to seep in and the lack of other stimulus started playing games with his mind.

  “Cause you and Tolly are the only two with the deep scuba experience necessary. Oh, you’re bearing just a little west. That’s got it. You should be seeing something soon.”

  At first he saw nothing but blackness, and then the water started glowing in one direction. The fish started becoming more plentiful, attracted to the food attracted by the light.

  “After dark to your left, Tony,” Tolly said cryptically.

  “Huh?”

  “After dark, shark. Look left.”

  Tony made a mental curse at rhyming slang as he twisted around. He caught the signature silhouette
of a hammerhead shark, about four meters long, snapping up a 40 centimeter squid. Two other smaller sharks drifted into view, but all gave the humans a wide berth. In front of him, a dome started to take shape through the murk.

  “OK, first placement location identified,” Tolly said, pointing toward a light mounted on top of the nearly transparent dome. It wasn’t until the huge light gave perspective to the size that the immensity of the structure made itself felt. 86 hectares stood dry beneath the Loihi Bubble, growing wheat, rye, oats and dozens of other grains. At sixteen billion credits, the farm, dome, and precious metals mine—which they couldn’t see below—represented a significant investment to the NaBiCo Corporation, a subsidiary of Nanogate. The loss of Loihi would dent even that deep pocket.

  Together Tony and Tolly swam over closer, pulling items out of their pouches as they approached. Tony stuck a suction cup to the dome to hold himself in place as he lengthened the tether between himself and Tolly. The pair of saboteurs slowly rotated at six meters from the suction cup, affixing devices to the dome. Tolly gave him a thumbs-up and showed three fingers. Tony showed him back three of his own.

  Tony’s experience and math showed that three shaped charges, placed six meters apart, would splinter the entire dome, creating a hole between them large enough to overcome any possible emergency repair. Doubling the number of charges provided assurance of destruction. The same procedure at two different sites ensured that if, by some miracle, a grouping was found or the holes somehow plugged, the second would be sufficient. All timers were set to detonate seventy-eight hours later. This gave the divers more than enough time to exit the area and decompress.

  Tolly and Tony repeated their hex placement 75 meters away.

  “Site two complete. En route to submersible.”

  Despite chattering through his teeth, Tony couldn’t help but smile at another successful mission.

  “Watch your depth. I don’t want you bending,” Linc offered.

  “Go bite your bum. I can watch my own depth. And make sure you have some hot coffee ready. I’m freezing.”

  * * *

  “Erecting itself in front of you is the Nanogate Spire, a marvel of modern engineering and construction,” claimed a propaganda board in front of the construction site with a pleasant female voice. “When completed, it will be the tallest free-standing structure on Earth, at a lofty 1.83 kilometers tall, stretching over 200 meters taller than the Tovarich Tower of Moscow.”

  “How fitting,” Tony remarked, leaning up against the brick façade of the building next to the construction. “Nanogate, the corp that kicked me out, is taking the brunt of our attacks…our first of many victims.” With the GAM’s change in targeting, he didn’t even worry about security or Metros. This site’s sole guard slept most of the time, and its single obsolete surveillance drone scoured the wrong areas three times while leaving the rest of the site open.

  The spire’s framework curled up into the air like the gruesome skeleton of a unicorn’s horn. The metal shimmered, not in its own light but rather like it crawled with millions of tiny insects. No pests infested this site, but instead trillions of nanites carried materials up to the top, where they fused them into the growing crystalline structure before returning for more. The spiral grew in height as Tony and Sonya watched.

  “The opening of Portland’s Nanogate Spire is planned for February fifteenth,” said the sign.

  Sonya looked at Tony and then wistfully up at the seemingly self-growing building. “My grandfather once told me that people used to build skyscrapers by hand. Men would actually climb on those metal arms hundreds of meters above the ground with no gravity belts or safety harnesses. A huge machine would lift massive beams into place, and they’d heat bits and pieces of metal together so they stayed put. Each building often measured its cost in the number of lives lost.”

  “Sounds like we shared some similar relatives.”

  “Yes,” Sonya sighed. “By the way, don’t think of what happened as anything but a one-night stand. She isn’t romantically involved.”

  “Huh?” Tony asked, confused by the sudden subject change.

  “She was gone when you woke up, right?”

  “How—”

  “Suet’s environment taught her only one way to show gratitude. She’s protective of us as her family. You saved Colin, someone she’s come to think of as a brother. She showed you the appropriate gratitude. She’ll come to love you like a brother as well, but don’t equate her sexual outbursts as anything but friendly fornication.”

  Tony mulled this over. “Thank you, Sonya. I honestly didn’t know what to think. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed myself, but it was so sudden and so unexpected.” His eyes stared off into nothing and his mouth hung slack.

  Sonya gave a soft, girlish giggle. “She has that effect on many men and women both.”

  “Whew! I just…”

  “You’re among good company, Tony. Also, you’re best off not remarking on it in any way. She gets testy if you do, thinking she hasn’t pleased you.”

  He nodded. “So why are we taking this out?” Tony asked, pointing to the spire, trying desperately to change the subject. He didn’t like talking sex with others, especially other women. It made him feel somehow dirty.

  “Well, Augustine said that Nanogate’s already behind on construction and every day in delay is costing them hundreds of thousands because of extending leases.”

  “So add the cost of rebuilding to the cost in delays, and it’s going to make them sting.”

  “That it will.”

  “Actually, I’d give a pretty penny to watch the faces of some of my coworkers when this comes down. All the stock options lost, the bonuses evaporating…”

  “The layoffs,” Sonya offered.

  “True, which can work for us even more. We should be able to recruit from their losses. We’ll have to be careful, of course, but maybe form a second cell that isn’t tied to ours. Only one of us needs to be exposed.”

  “Have you ever been a guerilla before?” Sonya asked quizzically.

  “No, why?”

  “I’ve been running this group for years. You’ve made more progress in a few weeks than I have in my entire tenure.”

  “My grandfather fought in the resistance in the Australian revolution. When I was very young, he used to tell me stories. They were never pretty, but they were romantic. I dreamed about his adventures. But even more than those stories, I’ve been reading from the local library since I’ve been with your group—Che Guevara, Mao Tse-tung, and even Girish Taqueur of the Martian revolt. While this isn’t directly the same kind of war I’ve been reading about, it has enough similarities that I can pick my way through basic strategies.”

  “Reading?”

  “Yes.”

  “Unbelievable.” Sonya shook her head.

  “Shall we get on with our fun?”

  “Yes.”

  “After you, ma’am.” Tony followed Sonya over to the ceramcrete walls hiding the underground vats of raw material. “Rare or well done?” Tony asked, pulling out a plasma cutter. He traced his arm in a broad circle just like a fairy godmother waves her wand. The 3 meter circumference he outlined fell out of the wall with only a minor cacophony that no one noticed at ground level.

  “Either of two minor changes should bring this building down. First the mixture.” Sonya poured the contents of her handbag into one of the two vats. “The compounds in this should oxidize this material, making the material bond the nanites achieve much weaker.”

  “My turn,” Tony said, waving an electronic probe over a 2 meter section of the microscopic workers. “If Augustine’s correct we’ve reprogrammed these nanites to build sections of the frame with a different crystalline lattice. This will make a 2 meter weak point out of every 40 meters or so.”

  Sonya looked up at the visibly growing spire and smiled. “It’s poetic justice that we’re using their technology against them. I approve wholeheartedly.”

  “I agree.
I don’t know when it’ll come down, but it’ll be a long time before completion. Even better will be the exceedingly spectacular show it provides.”

  * * *

  Using low-light contact lenses, Squib crawled along above a false ceiling using a grav-belt fine-tuned to just barely carry his weight. Too many years had passed since someone in the army gave him his nickname—he couldn’t even remember its origin.

  His employer put a rather attractive price on this clut’s head. Tracking this target caused him some problems until he called in a favor from a wirehead. That worthy individual offered that he’d captured a sideband transfer worming his target’s identity into the database as owner of this flat. One in a trillion shot, but he’d take all the breaks he could get.

  His client insisted this be a simple vape job with no fuss. Squib didn’t care. One hole or a thousand holes, they still died. One hole saved on ammunition.

  Simple sonic probes had provided the layout two days earlier. An easy commission—nipping in through the ventilation system posed no problem for someone of his diminutive size. He planned to drop in silently through the bathroom, the one room in any flat that nobody ever thought to guard. He lifted one of the faux ceiling tiles and looked down. A mottled orange animal sat on the toilet lid looking up at him. It let out a small sound, barely loud enough to even be heard.

  Squib reached for his gun to silence the creature when he felt a burning in his chest. He crashed through the false ceiling to fall heavily to the floor, knocking what little breath he still had out of him. He couldn’t seem to inflate his lungs. Looking down, he realized he no longer had a chest, only a hole where most of it had been. He looked up and saw his target, standing nude above him with his finger smoking. Squib could only think, as he died, No one alarms their bathroom…

  * * *