by J Boyd Long
A Novel by
J. Boyd Long
Mad Goat Press,
Gainesville, Florida, USA
Genesis Dimension, Book 1 of the Dim World Series
Genesis Dimension is a work of fiction. All characters in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2019 Justin Boyd Long
Written by J. Boyd Long
www.jboydlong.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.
Published in the United States by Mad Goat Press, Gainesville, Florida, USA
www.madgoatpress.com [email protected]
Cover Design by Designs by Angelique
Limits of Liability and Disclaimer Warranty
The author shall not be liable for your misuse of this material. This book is strictly for entertainment purposes.
First edition printing February 2019
ISBN 978-1-948169-06-6 (Ebook Edition)
ISBN 978-1-948169-07-3 (Paperback Edition)
ISBN 978-1-948169-08-0 (Hardcover Edition)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018914321
Printed in the United States of America
For Erica, who taught me how to fly.
Chapter 1
Quentin wasn’t particularly fond of Mondays as a general rule, but this one was starting out like an unexpected vacation in the office. Richard, his supervisor, was out for the day. Richard was the poster-child for overbearing micromanagement, the fly in the ointment of an otherwise-perfect job, and Quentin had disliked him from his very first day working at IBZ Energy.
The new bank of servers they were adding to the network was a major project, and he was excited to be part of it. Richard had put him on the programming team despite their personality conflict, which had come as a surprise to Quentin. He usually got stuck with tasks like removing malware and changing passwords for people in other departments. Everyone in the IT department wanted to be on the server project.
Quentin settled into his chair with his Darth Vader coffee mug and started his computer. He blew into the cup, trying to cool it off enough to drink, and glanced around his cubicle while he waited. Normally, the slate-gray fabric walls felt like a prison, even with the memes and comics he had decorated with, but with Richard gone, it was almost pleasant. Within minutes, he was typing code and connecting ports, oblivious to what was going on around him.
At 10:45 a.m. the phone on his desk chirped, dragging his focus out of the computer screen. The caller ID indicated that it was an outside line.
“IT Support, this is Quentin.”
“This is Richard. I’ve got a top-priority task for you. How fast can you get to a stopping point on what you’re working on?”
Quentin glanced at his screen. What could be so important that Richard would call him from home? Actually, now that he thought about it, why would Richard call him at all, rather than someone else that he liked better?
“I’m working on the new servers, so I can stop right where I’m at. What’s up?”
“I’m in a jam. I don’t have time for you to run your mouth and argue with me, so listen up, and act like a responsible adult. You’re a damn good technician, and I know you can handle this. That’s why I picked you. Gerrard Zimmerman is going to call my office in a few minutes. Do you know who that is?”
Quentin tightened his grip on the phone, his face burning. Somehow Richard had managed to insult him and pay him a high compliment, all in the same breath.
“He’s one of the top-floor guys, right?”
“He’s the Z in IBZ Energy. He’s at the top of our food chain. I normally handle any problems the C-Suite people have, but I’m at a doctor’s appointment, and I don’t have my laptop, so I need your help to deal with this.”
This was different. Richard must be in dire straits to admit to Quentin that he needed help. It was one thing for Quentin to think that he was the best IT guy in the company, but for Richard to come out and say it, even if not in so many words…
“What’s the problem?”
“Email encryption. One of the field agents sent him an encrypted file, supposed to be text and photos, and he can’t get it to open with his key. You’ll have to use the computer in my office to do it, since they’re using a different encryption software than the rest of the company. Everything you need is in a folder on my hard drive called Football Picks. I’ll text you the password for my computer. Got it?”
“I think so,” Quentin said.
“This should go without saying, but I’m going to say it anyway. Anything you see in that email, you forget you saw it. Do you understand me? This is top secret stuff, and it’s none of our business. Fix it and forget it, alright?”
Quentin laughed. “What am I going to find out? That they’re creating fake shortages? Fixing oil prices? Everybody already knows that stuff. Don’t worry.”
“This isn’t a joke, Quentin. You work for one of the biggest oil companies in the world. Don’t assume you know everything that’s going on.”
“Alright, alright.” Quentin paused. “Wait a minute, did you say you would text me your password?”
“Don’t pretend like your phone isn’t in your pocket, Quentin. I’m not stupid.”
Quentin stared blankly at the wall with his mouth hanging open as he considered a variety of responses. Having your cellphone at work was against one of Richard’s many rules. Before he could decide what to say, Richard spoke again.
“And yes, I have your number. Now get down to my office. Security already authorized your keycard to open my door. You’ve got three minutes to get ready.”
Quentin sprinted down the aisle to Richard’s office, and just managed to get logged into the computer when the phone rang.
“IT Support, this is Quentin.”
“Quentin, this is Gerrard Zimmerman. I believe you’re expecting my call.” His deep, cultured voice resonated through the phone, giving Quentin a sense of wealth, power, and authority on a level that was so far above Quentin’s station in life that he was embarrassed to even speak, lest he expose himself as the low-level cog in the machine that he really was.
“Good morning, sir. Rich- Mr. North, my supervisor, said you were having some email trouble.” Quentin clenched his fist. He was already mis-speaking. Why did this guy make him so nervous?
“Yes, my encryption key isn’t letting me open this email,” Gerrard said. “Richard tells me you’re the resident expert in the IT department.”
“Really? I’ll have to keep that in mind when it’s time for my next raise.” Quentin started to laugh, but cringed when he thought about who he was talking to. This was not the person to make jokes to about his salary. To his relief, Gerrard chuckled.
“Well, if you can get this damned email open, I’ll put in a good word for you.”
“Yes, sir,” Quentin said, relaxing slightly. “Let’s see what we can do.”
Once he had the email copied onto Richard’s computer, he accessed the Football Picks folder. Richard’s attempt to make the folder title seem benign was laughable. Anyone searching his hard drive for important documents would key in on that instantly. After all, it was unlikely that a computer geek would be betting on football games. If he had been smart, he would have titled it Understanding Macro Data or something equally boring and nerdy. No one would ever open that.
It only took a few minutes for him to get the email unencrypted. He saw that it contained a note in the email body, an a
ttached pdf, and several photos.
“Got it,” he announced. He opened one of the picture attachments, just to make sure everything was working.
“Well done, Quentin,” Gerrard purred in his ear. “It seems that Richard’s assessment of you was correct.”
Quentin’s breath caught in his throat as the image filled the screen. It showed a crowd of protestors, mostly Native Americans, standing behind a picket line of security guards. They were holding signs with slogans like No Pipeline on Sacred Land, and REZpect our Rights. The guards were pointing rifles at the crowd, and in the center of the picture, the bodies of two men lay on the ground, covered in blood. A guard stood before them, a tendril of smoke curling up from the barrel of his rifle, and a scowl covered his face as if he had been shouting when the picture was taken. The faces of the people in the front row were frozen in horror, their mouths open and their bulging eyes staring in shock at the bodies.
“Are you there, son?” Gerrard’s voice brought him back to the moment.
“Yes, sir, I’m here.” Quentin shook his head and closed the image. “I’m sending it back to you right now. Let’s make sure you can open it this time.”
He sat in silence as he waited. The image of the smoking gun was still in the front of his mind, and the horror that it brought was right there with it. On impulse, he plugged his phone into Richard’s computer and copied the unencrypted version of the email and its attachments onto his SD card. He was sure that Gerrard would hear his heart pounding and the mouse clicking and realize what he was doing, but no accusation came.
When the copy was complete, he slipped his cellphone back in his pocket. His conscience was pulsing with guilt, but he consoled himself by deciding that he would delete it as soon as he read the pdf and found out what it was all about.
“It opened right up,” Gerrard said, startling him out of his reverie. “That’s just fine, just fine. Now then, this is a highly confidential report, Quentin. I don’t know how much of it you saw, but it can’t go any farther than this. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Quentin said. His tongue felt thick.
“I’m sure Richard instructed you to delete everything, and wipe out any trace of this, but I just want to make sure.” The tone of Gerrard’s voice changed ever so slightly, and Quentin suddenly felt cold. “This is sensitive information, son. There’s a lot going on with this pipeline and these protesters, as I’m sure you’ve seen on the news. We’ve got to keep everything going forward, and you’ve been a big help to me with this. I’m glad you’re on our team. We take care of our own, you hear me?”
While Gerrard hadn’t said anything threatening, he wasn’t as friendly as he was pretending to be. Not even a little bit. Quentin wasn’t sure he wanted to be on the team, and with each passing second, he developed an increasing desire to be off the team, to be far away from all of this. His throat closed, and he had to swallow twice before he could respond.
“Yes, sir. Glad to be of service.”
He erased everything from Richard’s computer, shut it down, and fled back to the relative comfort of his cubicle. The urge to tell someone, anyone, what he had seen, just to get rid of the secret, was almost more than he could resist. He prayed that Charlie wouldn’t pop over from the next cubicle and ask him where he’d been. Secrets had never been his thing, and this one had the potential to be exceptionally ugly. He tried to push it to the back of his mind as he opened the server project folder back up, and immersed himself in the passionless world of code.
◆◆◆
When he got home that night, he plugged his phone into his laptop and opened the pdf. As Gerrard had said, it was a report. It was short and got right to the point.
To: Gerrard Zimmerman, COO, IBZ Energy
From: Carl Holt, Chief of Security, DimCorp Inc
Protesters refused to disband after teargas. We decided to neutralize two of the leaders, as discussed. Tom Whitefoot and David Bonner (bodies pictured) were chosen by myself and Cpt. Mathers. The news teams were taken to the other side of the site beforehand, and afterwards we told them that Whitefoot and Bonner attacked security forces. BIA police and the US Marshal cooperated fully, incident report filed, no further legal action expected. Protesters have been pulling out in small groups throughout the day. Pipeline construction expected to resume within 72 hours.
The other pictures showed closeups of the dead men, their driver’s licenses, and a picture of the incident report filled out by the US Marshal. Quentin read the report a second time, his mind too numb to absorb the information.
This was not how things worked in modern-day America. No one got to just kill people who were in the way. That sort of thing was a couple hundred years out of style. These days, you went to court and settled disputes like this, you didn’t send out your security team to whack people. Right?
He picked up his phone to call Eissa, his best friend and confidant. She was good at giving him a different perspective on things, and he really needed to talk this out. Before he could enter his security code, the phone began ringing in his hand, making him jump. The number was unfamiliar, probably a robo sales call. He rolled his eyes and answered.
“Hello.” He waited for the automated voice on the other end to begin its spiel.
“Quentin James?” The voice belonged to a man, rather than the expected computer.
“Yes.”
“This is Carl Holt. I’m the head of security at DimCorp.”
Quentin froze. Carl Holt? Did Holt know that he had a copy of the email? There really wasn’t any way that he could have found out, but the timing of the call suggested otherwise. He tried to sound normal, but he couldn’t prevent the shiver of fear in his voice as he answered. “Yes?”
“There’s nothing to be concerned about, Mr. James. I’m just making routine follow-up calls to everyone who was involved in the security training exercise today.”
“Training exercise?”
“Yes, you unencrypted an email today for the COO of IBZ Energy, sort of an unusual situation, right?”
Quentin couldn’t think of a single time that IBZ had ever run a training exercise. If they did, he would have experienced one, or heard about it happening to other people in the IT department by now, and he had never heard of anything even remotely close. There was also the nature of the email. It definitely wasn’t the generic subject matter that you would put in a training scenario. It just didn’t add up, but he couldn’t say that to this guy.
“I’m not sure I can discuss this over the phone,” he said.
Carl laughed. “Oh, it’s okay, the training session is over. You did just fine. I’m just calling to let you know that it was a training session, and also an evaluation of you and your department. DimCorp Security stages scenarios like this on occasion to find places where we can improve. We’ve checked your supervisor’s computer, and you did everything you were supposed to do, so I want to congratulate you on doing a great job representing your department, and IBZ as a whole.”
It didn’t feel right. If the pictures were real, and they looked very real, then this guy had killed two men. If that was true, then the last thing Quentin wanted was to be on his radar. If it really was a training exercise, then it didn’t matter. The best thing he could do was smile, say thank you, and keep his mouth shut.
“Well, I’m glad I did all the right things,” he said.
He sat staring at his phone for a few minutes after hanging up. Everything felt surreal, as if he might wake up any second to find that it was still the middle of last night, and he had to pee, and none of this had been anything more than a very strange dream.
If it was real, then there would be evidence. Protestors getting shot would make the news, and that would be easy to find online. He turned back to his computer, but hesitated. They might be able to monitor his phone calls and his internet activity. Instead of doing a Google search that might get him in trouble, he headed over to Eissa’s apartment to finally talk this out with someone, and use her
computer to find out what was going on.
CHAPTER 2
Twenty minutes later, Quentin and Eissa sat on the couch hunched over her laptop, reading the headlines on one news website after another. Most of them had variations of the same story, buried near the bottom of the list. Protesters got violent, attacked police, two protesters were killed. Some of the articles even mentioned names, Whitefoot and Bonner.
“Dude, this shit happened for real,” Eissa said, putting the computer on the coffee table. “You just managed to step in a big bucket of shit. What in the hell do we do with that?”
