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Experiments in Causality: Part One
Written by Steven Mayes
Chief of research Jonathan Fiedler stood in his office seventy-some stories above the streets of Neo-C, peering out the solid-glass window at the group gathered down below. The streets below the Asher Systems Research building were teeming with people holding signs, as if they were protesting something. If they were protesting, they weren’t protesting any projects taking place in this building. They couldn’t be. There hadn’t been an information leak in nearly four months, as far as the corporation’s field operatives could tell, and they couldn’t protest without information.
The last run-in the company had with data thieves, and by extension protesters, had been on the Antonov-Rosseau project, when two punk kids had hacked into the corporate mainframe via a weak link in of the inventory programs. Every aspect of the pistol had been top secret and classified to hell and back. Nobody but those directly involved in the project had access to the implementation details at that point, including Jonathan himself. But in less than three hours time, according to the server logs, those two kids had rummaged through and almost certainly stolen everything that had been available on the network, which had at the time included the materials list and near-complete instructions on how to replicate the acceleration mechanism.
This time there could be no information leak unless company personnel had intentionally let it slip. Data was no longer stored on the vulnerable networks, but was now on a dedicated server in the research lab, inaccessible to those outside. Gaining access to it physically required no less than three different levels of authorization, and electronically the gauntlet of security hurdles was even more demanding. Given that no company personnel had shown signs of flaking lately, it could only be surmised that there was no leak. But if there was no leak, then what were the people doing?
Jonathan reached out, placing his hand against the window, fingers spread to more evenly distribute his weight across the glass. He did not lean into it, simply rested his hand upon it. The glass could easily take the added pressure as Jonathan was relatively thin, but Mr. Fiedler remained as he was, comfortable it would seem. He continued to stare down at the streets, the cool glass at his fingertips, the people swarming around like angry hornets on the street below. Something was going on down there. He would have to find out in a moment exactly what that something was.
It was at that moment, with Jonathan in deep contemplation of the situation unfolding below that a computerized voice broke the silence of the room. “Mr. Fiedler, there is someone here to see you. A Dr. Joseph Hall, sir.”
Jonathan started when he heard the voice. He heard the thing every day but it still caught him off guard occasionally, and it did so again this time. He remained at his window looking down for a moment before straightening himself and clasping his hands behind his back. “Tell him to come in.”
The door slid open, accompanied by a gentle creaking sound. The noise was something Jonathan had prided himself in. The software required to emulate the sound of an antique wooden door was not cheap, and it was certainly not easy to find. It seemed, however, to impress his guests more than a little. Dr. Hall stepped into the room, standing just within the door. Jonathan’s voice seemed to fill the room as he spoke, like a priest in a cathedral. “Have a seat, Dr. Hall. I trust the business is urgent?”
“Sir, it is, sir. It concerns the state of our stasis field research.”
“Did something go wrong? Because if so much as one piece of equipment is damaged...”
“No, sir. Nothing like that, sir,” the little man stammered. He was, after all, only five-foot-eight. The man he spoke with, his boss, Jonathan Fiedler, was at least six-foot-two, and was intimidating for reasons beyond his position in the company. Jonathan preferred to wear street clothes as opposed to the suits that many in positions similar to his wore, and the style of these somehow made him seem less like a boss, and more like a man who killed people in alleyways late at night.
“Then what?” Jonathan said, his irritation beginning to grow at the babbling scientist. The poly-nylon blend of his pants made a faint swishing sound as he turned to face the little man. The beginnings of a death stare were growing in his expression, and he spoke once more. “What exactly is it that you felt you must interrupt me for?”
Dr. Hall had begun to cower a little, trying for all the world to sink into his chair. As he spoke his next words though, he straightened himself a bit, obviously proud and yet trying not to offend the man in front of him. “Sir...” he puffed himself up a little, “we are ready for the first experiment, sir.”
Jonathan Fiedler’s expression lightened a little then, before darkening even further. This time it darkened not with anger though, but with a sick kind of excitement. “Best not to keep them waiting, then. Let’s go.”