Laura had taken a long time to get over her father’s death and she only recently forgave him for killing himself, even though he had suffered with severe depression. When his death had received coverage from the local news, Fionnuala had been mortified by the sudden interest in her family. Death by hanging was uncommon, especially with the option of the termination rooms. Laura still endured her emotional outbursts about the press intrusion that day.
Laura had found Fionnuala huddled in a corner of the living room, while her father’s body hung in a noose. Laura had cut him down, tried to revive him. Fionnuala had always been useless in a crisis. If Laura was to learn anything from her father’s death, it was that she wouldn’t become another statistic on the World Government’s books. She would stick life out until the bitter end, just like her great-grandfather.
During the video call, Laura had half-listened to her mother’s latest ramblings; her self-pity was nauseating. Fionnuala didn’t really need her help; she just wanted someone to complain to. She lived comfortably off the proceeds of her husband’s insurance policy. Then there was her increased use of the Light Box and the slight incoherence in her voice that suggested she was tipsy during the call.
Her mother’s remarks had the ability to cut deep. She often blamed Laura for her husband’s depression, then would apologise a few days later for the things she had said. It had been a year since Laura last visited her in person. She considered telling her mother about the lottery update and her new promotion to Level Five, but decided against it. Fionnuala would find a way to complain about a ‘bothersome’ move to another planet. Laura would probably have to force her to go to Exilon 5.
After she had signed the confidentiality agreement, Brett had escorted her to the door leading to the heart of Level Five. ‘You can’t speak to anyone about the work you do here. Do you understand? You’ll be given access to extremely sensitive information and your work will be continually monitored while you’re at the Centre. Understand?’
Laura had nodded as Brett opened the door. The room on Level Five was half the size of the one on Level Four. There were just twenty-four isolation booths facing towards the centre aisle. Twenty-two of them were occupied. Brett had marched her down the aisle and deposited her at a vacant booth. Nobody moved or spoke to her. They reminded her of the robot supervisors at the Maglev train stations.
‘You can take this one. Someone will contact you shortly. For now, just sit here quietly.’
Those had been Suzanne’s last words before she marched out the door like her backside was on fire. Unsure of her role, Laura just mimicked her co-workers. A few hours later, she received orders to go home and rest, which she jumped at; she had worked without a proper break for two weeks.
The following day, when she arrived into work, she was told that important information was on its way to the High Level Document Storage Facility. She sat in her booth and stared at her monitor, expecting it to spring into life. Two hours later, it still remained blank and she could feel the cabin fever begin to set in.
Laura tried to muster up excitement about her new promotion but it slipped by without even a congratulatory high-five. She wondered how happy her former colleagues, Chris and Janine, would be for her. But Suzanne Brett’s chilling warning the day before reminded her to proceed carefully with what she shared outside of Level Five.
Beyond the twenty-four booths, there was a water station, a bulletin board that displayed a different motivational quote each day, and a vacuum tube with a direct link to Gilchrist’s office. Level Five lacked personality. She’d been naïve to expect the ESC to spend money on areas other than Gilchrist’s office.
Today’s bulletin board message was short.
We are the sum of our counterparts.
It was cryptic and utterly irrelevant.
Now that Laura wore the purple uniform, would Chris and Janine view her differently?
Her new colleagues on Level Five worked silently. Laura rose to her feet and scowled at the insular vibe. On Level Four, there had always been time for a quick chat. But here, it was as if the isolation booths were designed to keep people in as well as out.
If they wouldn’t come to her, she would go to them. She walked along the centre aisle and stopped at the first booth.
‘Hey, I’m Laura,’ she said. The woman ignored her. Laura moved on. She went to the next booth and rattled out the same line. The response didn’t change. She worked through six more people with none showing her any interest.
A voice boomed from behind as she moved away. ‘Hey! New girl.’
Laura turned. A beady-eyed, black-haired man at booth ten was standing up. He motioned for her to return. She approached him.
‘Since you are clearly unfamiliar with the way this place operates,’ he said. ‘I’m going to enlighten you a little. Pay attention.’
The other workers showed no interest in their conversation.
‘Don’t bother trying to get to know anyone here. Nobody is interested in you or your story. Have you been briefed yet?’
Laura nodded.
‘Well, then you should know they are as serious as shit when it comes to this place. You will be monitored like they said, and if you have to take breaks, make sure they’re sanctioned ones.’
Laura really wanted to walk away.
He continued. ‘The information we receive within these four walls is extremely confidential and highly sensitive. What we retain up here’—he tapped the side of his head—‘can get you killed in an instant. Remember that and learn who your enemies are, because you’re already in a room with twenty-two of them.’
Her lips parted and she looked around. There was no laughter. She wasn’t being set up. The beady-eyed man was deadly serious.
‘Right now, you’re wondering who the hell I am. Well, I’m just like you. I came from another floor some time ago, but I’ve learned to survive here and you will have to do the same. When you stepped through that door, you became one of us, so learn the rules fast.’
Laura frowned at him. ‘What rules? Are there more I should know about?’
‘You are not my problem. Figure that out for yourself. But know this. They’re always watching. Now, I suggest you go back to your booth like a good girl and wait until they send your work programme to your monitor.’ The man broke off his intense stare and sat down.
Laura walked back to her booth and sat in her chair. The man’s words had left her shaken to her core. Her heart raced.
While Brett had warned her already, she felt as if the advice from her new “frenemy” in booth ten wasn’t to be ignored.
He said they were always watching.
So, who was watching her now?
Laura sat back at her booth, feeling overwhelmed. Her stomach growled, which only added to her woes. Any more time spent thinking about the creep in booth ten and she might have to take an unsanctioned break.
Not a moment too soon, her monitor sprung into life. She exhaled.
Finally.
She put aside her reservations about the workers in The Abyss. She read the instructions that appeared on her monitor:
Worker. Welcome to the High Level Data Storage Facility.
The information that is stored here is extremely confidential. When the high-level files are decrypted upon arrival at the Security Centre, the outward tagging system, that is the tag that indicates the level of security on the file, is stripped.
This is done to prevent the supercomputer from automatically storing the file in the central database, which requires twenty-four hours notice for retrieval. It is an automatic security measure for all files with clearance levels of Five and above.
The Level Five and higher files sent to this location need to be investigated by the Data Analysis Unit on Level Six, before they are sent for storage to the central database. Therefore, all files of this nature must be accessible at any time, day or night.
All workers in this facility are required to process each file when it is received. Fi
les are then manually stored in a maximum security, but fully accessible, database within the Analysis Unit on Level Six.
You are required to process each file as it comes into the waiting area. The security level is printed in the file. You must re-tag each one before a new encryption code is embedded. If you receive Level Eight files by mistake, they should be redirected to booth sixteen immediately. Alternatively, please create a blind copy of the information using one of the spare discs and deposit it into the vacuum tube on the wall.
Due to the sensitive nature of these files, you are not permitted to discuss the contents with anyone. Please place your right thumb at the bottom of the screen before continuing.
Laura blinked and anger coursed through her. A separate message flashed up asking for confirmation before she could continue. She complied. The screen flipped over to a pooled list of waiting files.
What was she even doing here? How long would she be stuck on Level Five doing the same work she had done on Level Four? She tried to remember the bigger picture: the move to Exilon 5. She considered taking another vitamin D shot to ward off her feelings of inadequacy.
Some of the files disappeared from view. Booth numbers flashed up beside random files, as they were processed: sixteen, nine, eighteen.
She hadn’t given much thought to how long the others had been here, but now it was all she could think about.
Why do we need to do this, anyway? Don’t they have computers for this stuff? Can’t they just write a programme that would do this job? Or was it that they didn’t trust technology, and human intervention was the only way to make sure the files were stored correctly? If anything went wrong, they could blame the human operator.
Far easier to prosecute a human than a tin can.
Laura considered a transfer back to Document Control and Storage, but they had her locked in through contractual agreements. She willed herself to open the first file that hadn’t already been claimed by another booth. She could feel the tears coming.
Give it a chance, Laura. You haven’t even started and already you’re quitting.
She thumbed a tear from her eye and checked the document. It was a memo from the World Government to Head of Operations, Suzanne Brett, about a staff member at the Centre. It read:
Dear Ms Brett,
It has come to our attention that a member of your staff has leaked confidential information to a person or persons outside the Centre about the status of various bank accounts and their details. I can only assume it is so they can get access to the funds.
This matter was brought to our attention by our insider, who had been offered the information in return for stolen goods. We are happy to let you deal with this staff member.
However, if we find that storage-bound information is leaked in the future, we will have no choice but to intervene.
Sincerely,
Tom Billings
Overseer for Security Matters
World Government
She noted the clearance level at the top of the document—Five—and closed the file. She tagged it and ran it through the re-encryption programme that had been placed as a shortcut on her monitor. All the files that came into Level Five seemed to have the clearance hidden somewhere in the document. She was a fast reader. At least she could put one of her skills to good use down here.
She picked another random document marked as confidential. It was another memo from the World Government to Suzanne Brett.
Dear Ms Brett,
It has come to our attention that a number of workers have attempted to access certain security areas within the Centre without correct authorisation. Our monitoring team at the World Government flagged up their security chips. You have twenty-four hours to fix the problem or suspend the workers involved.
If you do not comply, we will have no option but to intervene.
Sincerely,
Tom Billings
Overseer for Security Matters
World Government
It was marked with that day’s date and had been sent within the last ten minutes. She wondered who the workers were.
Note to self: Don’t piss off the World Government.
She tagged it as Level Five and ran it through the re-encryption file, same as the last one. She checked the time and wished she could be somewhere else.
But there was nowhere to go. She was trapped.
23
Bill wandered the passenger ship’s empty corridor, calling out. An eerie silence filled the ship. The hairs on his arm stood up. He forced one foot in front of the other, moving silently along the dark, tube-shaped passageway. Where the hell was everyone?
The ship’s overhead lights illuminated each step. A strong urge to find someone drove him on. Could he really be the only one on-board? His lack of trust kept him hidden from others but here he was seeking people out. For some reason he had to know he wasn’t alone.
As he moved forward, the darkness behind him deepened. His body tensed. He kept moving.
The place felt unfamiliar to him. Why? The ship was his second home. He had memorised every corner so he could stay hidden.
But something was wrong. He could feel it.
The air turned against him, tightening around his body, making it difficult to breathe. He clutched at his throat, trying to work air into his lungs. He dropped to his knees, weak.
A male figure stood before him. ‘Don’t be afraid. Let me help you.’
Bill felt his body relax. The unbearable tightness lifted from his throat. He clambered to his feet. His heart thundered in his chest as the dark shape glided towards him.
The man wore clothes that didn’t fit his frame. He stared as the figure, suddenly familiar, stopped, barely a few inches away. Other than the outfit, the shape bore no other distinctive features.
‘Who are you?’ he asked of the blackened mass.
‘Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered.’
Bill didn’t recognise the voice.
The dark figure removed his hat. The man had no expression, no features.
Bill reached out to touch the shape in front of him. His hand sliced through the wispy cloud that instantly reformed into a solid mass. Mesmerised, he let his inhibitions go. Was this real or a dream? It felt real enough.
The man slipped in closer and Bill tensed up as he caught sight of a shiny object in his hand. He raised his arm a second too late as the knife sliced effortlessly across his throat.
Bill awoke with a start, drenched in sweat and feeling claustrophobic. His tight throat made it difficult to breathe.
He twisted and turned in the cocoon-like sleeping unit on the passenger ship. The air hung oppressively around him. Gasping for air, he fought the resistance on his arms and legs. He remembered where he was and stopped struggling in the restrictive unit.
He groped in the dark for the unit’s lock. His face flushed and he turned his head, searching for new air. There was none. He raised his fist and banged the lock to force it to release. His strength vanished along with the air. Light-headedness caused his head to swim.
‘What the fuck—’
He slipped in and out of consciousness. When he was awake, he repeatedly slammed his elbow against the lock.
‘Christ!’
The pain blazed through his elbow as it connected with a hard surface. But he continued on, each time drained a little more of energy.
He continued to pound on the lock, quieter now.
‘Open up. For Christ’s sake, please open!’ In the air-starved environment, the panic gripped him.
He turned on his side and let his eyes close. He wanted to fight, but he was too weak. Isla was shouting at him to keep trying. What could he do? A hot tear fell from his eye and landed on his cheek. He didn’t have the strength to wipe it away.
A blast of cool air rushed over him and he sucked it into his lungs. The oxygen revived him like a dose of Actigen. He lay there, in no hurry to move and out of danger.
He felt cold arms reac
h in and lock around his body. The sleeping quarters were still dark. He didn’t fight as they pulled him free.
His head hit the floor with a thud. He ignored the pain as he swallowed another lungful of sweet, oxygen-rich air. He managed to focus on the figure of a man hovering over him. Cool fingers rested on his neck. The man spoke to someone else in the room.
‘His pulse is strong. They all seem fine now.’
Bill blinked to clear his vision and focus better on the men’s faces. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, but in that short moment, they were gone.
His head throbbed and he sat up slowly. The room was empty except for those who had been trapped in their pods. What were the men doing outside of the units anyway? Weren’t they also trapped?
He kept his back flat against the wall, as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. Scattered across the hard floor were nine other people. Bill crawled forward, fighting off his dizziness while he felt each body for a pulse. They were all alive.
‘What happened?’ he asked one man, who was lying on his back and staring at the ceiling.
‘I couldn’t breathe. The lock was stuck. If it hadn’t been for those two men—’ He didn’t finish. Instead, he closed his eyes, breathed out.
As soon as he was able, Bill walked the halls in search of someone in charge. He found a senior officer and showed him his World Government credentials. The officer rushed to explain the situation, with obvious embarrassment.
‘I’m sorry, sir. There was a power failure in Section Seven, where your unit and fifty others are located. The situation is now under control.’
‘How the hell does a ship this size get power failures?’ said Bill. He winced as his fingers probed the golf ball-sized lump on his head.
‘Normally the back-up power supply takes over, sir, but because it didn’t engage immediately, the computer shut off the oxygen levels to that area.’