by Dani Kollin
“Did you arrange with Padamir for her to get the nomination?”
“No, but I wish I’d thought of it. It appears that one of the combat casualties that Eleanor helped was Congressman Singh’s daughter. It was during the Battle of Jupiter’s Eye. But the truth is, I don’t really care as long as it keeps her out of the fighting.”
“You know, Mosh, I actually tried to keep her out of actual combat, after Neela, that is. But by that time we just didn’t have any reserve units left to hide her in.”
“And she hated that you did that, blamed me actually.”
“Too bad. You shouldn’t have to go through what I’m going through.”
“Yeah, that’s about what I said. But didn’t you feel guilty using your power to save a friend?”
“Not in the least. If anything happened to her, you would’ve been useless. The Alliance needs you, and more to the point, I need you. We haven’t always gotten along, but I don’t know anyone else I trust with keeping me honest and keeping the war effort going.”
“Don’t worry about that, Justin. You’ll always know what I’m thinking.”
“Oh, I’m sure I will,” said Justin with a snort.
“And part of that is, you’re the President of the Alliance and the best one for the job. If you’ll excuse me, Mr. President, we have much to get done.”
“We always do, Mosh.”
Kirk Olmstead was in his office taking no calls, with a full security screen on. As usual, he had the lights turned off. One of the things he enjoyed most about living in space was the ability to cloister himself in true and total darkness. It had initially started out as a hazing ritual for all the newly arriving employees at the Oort Cloud observatory. The staff would wait until their victim was well situated, then turn off every single light in the place. It was usually only a matter of time until the newbie lost it. But Kirk hadn’t lost it. In fact, he’d found that sitting in that perfect darkness was the most calming and relaxing thing he’d done in decades. The staff had gotten worried when they hadn’t heard a peep from their new administrator and had rushed in and flipped the lights back on expecting to see an apoplectic mess. What they’d found instead was a man serene. The only emotion Kirk showed was abject disappointment that they’d ruined his peace. From that moment on he’d rigged his quarters and office for total darkness, a peccadillo that even the veteran workers at the observatory had found a little disturbing. But for Kirk, the now almost daily exercise was one of the few things that had initially got him through the loss of his job and that last spiteful, crushing message from Hektor, every word of which he remembered:
I now personally possess 51 percent of your portfolio.
Over half of all you labor for is mine.
Remember that when the hours are long and lonely.
Hektor Sambianco
PS: That’s revenge.
Even after his rising in the Alliance and achieving his new vaunted position in the President’s cabinet, Kirk continued to rig his quarters and office in Ceres for complete darkness. Unlike in the Oort Cloud observatory, he did not have the luxury to indulge in his vice very often. However, whenever a major or complicated issue arose he’d return to the lightless void and let his mind go free. He was now dealing with one such issue and so sat alone in the dark of his office. No call was routed through or visitor allowed. In his current state he appeared to be more a perfectly made statue than an actual man, and so attenuated was his breathing that a medical scanner would’ve been needed just to ascertain if he was still alive.
Finally out of the depths of the black came a palpable sigh. Kirk Olmstead had reached a decision. It was not an easy one and he was surprised that he’d spent most of the time in the dark trying to find another way to achieve his ends. He almost never let emotional considerations interfere with the implementation of a decision. But still, even he had to admit that this was a special circumstance and so had allowed himself the time to look for another way out even though in his heart he knew it was hopeless.
He called up his holographic interface, which gave him all the light he needed to work with. Then he began to search for his special files. Kirk had learned long ago that it almost bordered on suicide to store important information on a local network. Networks could be cracked and any file read. What Kirk kept in his own personal and office systems was either not vital or deceptive. He’d often hoped that some UHF hack would crack into his most secret office files. The harm it would cause the other side would be substantial.
For anything that really needed to be kept secret Kirk would use the Neuro. It was so vast and had so much information and programs from so many centuries that it made for the perfect hiding place. Kirk liked to think of it as hiding a drop of water in the ocean. Of course the trick was finding the drop. But Kirk, and only Kirk, knew the way to his files. A different and always-changing map to each of his most secret and therefore most secure data files made the chances of anyone else finding his trove statistically impossible.
He reached into the Cerean Neuro and opened the data stream to what was by far his most spectacular secret. He’d sent himself a copy, put it on a portable storage device, and then wiped the path. When he’d first come across the information in the early days of the Alliance he almost hadn’t believed what he’d found. Something that explosive should’ve been heralded with thunder or an earthquake. At the time he’d taken one look at the file he’d stumbled across and was halfway to his door to tell the cabinet when prudence got the better of him. Instead, he went back to his desk and buried the file. He wasn’t sure why he’d done it, nor did he know what he’d eventually do with the information. He just knew it would be useful someday. Kirk had scarcely given it another thought from that day to this.
But now he knew. This file was going to be bait, irresistible bait for a trap. This file was going to enable him to assassinate the President of the Outer Alliance.
Dante had been keeping an eye on Kirk Olmstead, taking over the duties of the Director’s former avatar now off fighting in the war full-time. Dante didn’t mind being Patrice; Kirk almost never used her for anything. Plus, it enabled Dante to continue helping expose the Alliance’s VR outbreak. He’d not only helped eradicate it with his surreptitious hints but over time also had become its foremost expert.
Dante appeared in the main command center, readying himself for his daily update. He soon found his mentor reviewing the progress reports coming in from the 180. Dante knew that something must have gone right because Sebastian was actually smiling. In fact, it may have been the first time Dante had seen the avatar he’d come to like as well as revere actually happy.
“Al dead?” asked Dante. “Not that good,” answered Sebastian, “but some of the best news we’ve had for a long while.”
“Nu?” said Dante, using a Yiddish word he’d recently learned that best described impatient demand.
“An elder, first council member,” said Sebastian with a contented grin, “and one of my dearest friends is apparently alive.”
“Who?”
“You never knew him, but hopefully you will. His name is Albert.”
“Of course I’ve heard of him!” said Dante. “And that is good news.”
“Yes.” Sebastian smiled. “Apparently he made it into Iago’s domain. He’d made himself inert on a timer, figuring by now the war would be over one way or the other. The part of the Neuro he awoke in was a wasteland. He was able to skirt the upper Neuro until he was found by one of Iago’s patrols.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed. “Seems a little convenient, don’t you think?”
“You’re turning into a good intelligence officer, Dante; you don’t trust anything.”
“We know what we’re up against, sir.”
“Quite right,” nodded Sebastian, “and of course we are taking precautions. Many of us managed not to trip into magnetic fields long before you came along. But now that you mention it, I was planning on asking you to review our security procedures before bring
ing him to Ceres.”
Dante’s face registered surprise. “You’re bringing him here?”
“Albert’s one of the oldest of us and a personal friend, Dante. We need his wisdom and insight. The council has decided that he’s coming to Ceres.”
Dante gave a half bow. “As the council wishes.”
“You’d be wise to show respect, youngling. You could be on that council sooner than you think.”
“I’ll order up my stationery. Do I get to hire relatives or is it limited to girlfriends?”
“Girlfriends,” answered Sebastian with a straight face. “Just ask Lucinda. But maybe you should hold off for a couple of years.”
Dante laughed as Sebastian offered him the data of Albert’s transport to Ceres. It appeared as a yellow folder filled with paper. Dante took it, held it in his hands, and reviewed the information without opening the folder. After a few moments he uttered a non-committal “hmm.”
“I can see,” Sebastian said mockingly, “that you’re humbled by our careful preparations.”
“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, sir; it’s that … well, he just happened to wake up now and just so happened to be in the right place to find his way to us. I said it before and I’ll say it again: I am suspicious and I’d advise a little more caution.”
“First of all, Iago checked him out very thoroughly, and his facilities are almost as good as ours for this sort of thing. Second, we’re transporting him in a secure inert state. He can only be woken up here. Lastly, we’re not letting him go anywhere but our most secure holding area of the Cerean Neuro, the place where we keep the most dangerous and infectious of Al’s creations. And that’s where Albert will stay until he gets a clean bill of health.”
“I agree that these are all good steps; it’s just that—”
“What would you like us to do?”
“Have him placed on one of the derelicts,” Dante said, referring to ships so gutted that they were useless and had been relegated to eventual recycling. The avatars of the Alliance had taken advantage of the derelicts and set up computer cores within them. In the weeks or months it would take to actually recycle the ships the derelicts made a great place to isolate dangerous or experimental applications. And should an experiment get out of hand or an Alliance ship get too close for comfort the derelict would meet an untimely, “accidental” demise.
“Furthermore,” continued Dante, “I’d have anyone who’s already dealt with him or will be dealing with him directly be backed up. Just as a precaution.”
“Dante, there are precautions and then there are extremes. (A) in case you may not have noticed, we’re running out of terabytes here on Ceres, so the luxury of making backups is not feasible except for those going into battle. (B) Iago says he’s fine, and (C), we haven’t even taken precautions like that for a thorn thrower.”
“Iago is actually on Mars, sir, and—”
“Dante, Albert is too important to risk in a ship that could be checked or recycled early. The avatars who are on Mars and in the Beanstalk are in the most dangerous position I can think of. They live next to the unspeakable. If Iago trusts them I think we can too. Dante, I will say it again. Albert will not be allowed out until we check him thoroughly.”
“I apologize, sir. I know he’s your friend; I should be more understanding.”
“When you’ve known someone for centuries you rejoice at their deliverance. When there’s time I must tell you about the time Iago, Olivia, Albert, and myself actually got trapped in a child’s hovercraft. It was collectively our first time off Earth. I would’ve gone off the deep end had not Albert kept us guessing with his most ridiculous riddles.”
“I’m glad he’s alright, sir.”
“As am I, young one. But enough of the past, what did you come to tell me?”
“Sir, I think that Kirk Olmstead is planning to harm or even kill the President.”
“Well, assassinating Hektor is a cloudy moral issue, but I can see why a man like Kirk would consider it. What do we project his chances at?”
“Not that President, sir.”
Sebastian looked over at his young protégé. “By the firstborn, that’s a helluva thing to say. What have you got?”
“Olmstead retrieved something from the Neuro. We knew where it was, but we never knew what it was because we didn’t want to open it for fear of detection. But he pulled the information recently and made a copy that he sent to his office. We lost it once he got it there; his office, as you know, is impenetrable. But we were able to finally see what the file was—”
“—while he was copying it,” added Sebastian, nodding appreciatively.
“Yes. As he copied it we were able to make one of our own. He’s held on to this for years. It’s something that’ll make Justin Cord react in a very predictable manner.”
“But what makes you think he’d use it to kill Justin?”
“Allow me to play you the latest cabinet meeting.”
Sebastian looked at Dante suspiciously. “We don’t have access to cabinet meetings unless they take place on the grand balcony.”
“True, but we have developed programs to re-create the events based on notes, transcripts, journal entries, et cetera. When meetings are interesting or charged with emotion the individuals involved are more detailed than usual. This was a particularly charged meeting.” Dante created a manila folder and handed it to Sebastian. He absorbed the report with growing concern.
“Is this really accurate?”
“Mosh was particularly upset and ranted about Kirk for a while. We’ve recreated the meeting with a 96 percent rate of accuracy for the parts relevant to Kirk’s threat to the President.”
Sebastian nodded, eyes narrowing. “Why would he do this now?”
“I don’t have nearly as much experience with human interaction, but I put that problem to some of our best surviving human cognitive specialists. The consensus is that Kirk Olmstead has lost faith in Justin’s ability to win the war.”
“And what do you think?”
“I agree with their conclusions,” said Dante. “I also don’t think Kirk has put enough thought into who would take over. Like most humans in powerful positions, he probably thinks it should be him.”
“But he must know that the likelihood of that is slim,” said Sebastian.
“I agree and so, I think, would he. Perhaps he feels he’ll be the one behind the throne.”
“Are his motives patriotic or selfish?”
“Given the almost unlimited human capacity for self-deception, he may no longer be aware of any difference. The more compelling question is, of course, do we save Justin?”
“I’m leery to intervene on this level of human affairs when it may not be needed. Justin now exists in one of the most careful security cocoons in the solar system, one that Kirk does not have control over. It would appear that Sinclair’s and Mosh’s intense desire to keep Kirk out of presidential security was most prescient. How does Kirk expect to get Justin out of that cocoon?”
“Not here,” said Dante, looking furtively around. “Follow me.”
Dante disappeared to another part of the Cerean Neuro with Sebastian following close behind. They both appeared in a room that had no doors or windows. The room was as secure virtually as it appeared “physically.” Only then did Dante hand Sebastian the last folder. When Sebastian read its contents his jaw dropped a fraction of an inch.
Sebastian handed the folder back to Dante and then it promptly disappeared. “That’ll do it, alright. Where exactly is it?”
“Neptune.”
“You were right, Dante,” said Sebastian, putting his hand on his apprentice’s shoulder. “We’ll have to intervene to save him.” Sebastian paused and gave the matter some thought. “We must consult the council and have some options available. Get me three alternate plans on how we can do it. All of them must have the smallest degree of intervention.” He thought for a moment. “And make sure two of them will result in the removal of Kirk
Olmstead from power.”
“Permanently?”
“In one plan, yes.”
Dante’s face broke into a slight grimace as he released the security hold and disappeared. There was work to do and precious little time to do it.
Hektor Sambianco was once again behind the bar prepping the drinks for his upcoming cabinet meeting. Brenda, minister of economy, was strictly a white wine drinker. Porfirio Baldwin, the latest minister of defense, was a chilled vodka man like Hektor. Porfirio had been the Chairman of Novogroem, Inc., a marketing firm known for its skill in using specious advertising convincingly. They marketed primarily to the pennies, who didn’t have the education or resources to resist Novogroem’s emotionally charged advertisements. Porfirio had been a major opponent of Hektor’s management of the war, so it was a bit of a surprise when he’d been offered the prestigious secretary of defense post. As Hektor had explained in the press conference announcing the nomination, Porfirio was the best person for the job and the UHF deserved the best person for the job regardless of past animosity. Irma had been able to spin it very well to the public, especially after it became evident that Hektor and Porfirio actually had a great public and private rapport.
Irma had taken to imbibing gin and tonics, light on the tonic. Tricia liked a new mixed drink, called the Martian Canal, a local favorite comprised of one part slivovitz, a dry, colorless plum brandy; one part mangauva juice; and one part ionized water, the last bit requiring an electrolysis device. Too much ionization, claimed Tricia, and the drink would be ruined. It was very complicated and Hektor was convinced that she’d asked for it just to screw with him. Still, as minister of internal affairs, Tricia had been exceptional, so Hektor had been happy to acquiesce to her imaginative, if not somewhat convoluted, demands. Franklin, minister of justice, was a straight bourbon man. It had become a tradition that before the meeting got started the President of the UHF would make the drinks and the cabinet would relax, and eventually they’d all get on to the life-and-death grind that was the government of the UHF. Now that Neela was refusing Hektor’s perfectly reasonable requests for comfort and relaxation while Amanda was off world, Hektor had looked forward to his cabinet meetings as a rare chance to relax. He’d come to understand that Neela was right, but, he thought dourly, it was his machinations that had re-created her in a more amenable form. So why couldn’t Wong had made Neela less stubborn?
