Part 14 (1/2)
”Yes, now you see it. This would add even more pressure on the corporations. With a little luck it could cause some of the weaker ones to declare bankruptcy, removing them from the scene entirely.”
The room stood silent for several full minutes. Sonya's own heart leaped. ”I never thought I'd live to see it happen,” Sonya said finally. ”Do we even need to vote on this?”
Nanogate's nine-month-old grandson, Michael, giggled as he bounced up and down on his grandfather's knee. Drool flew most everywhere as the infant simultaneously decided to eat his fist. Everywhere included Nanogate's antique Armani lounging gown. Nanogate smiled. His eldest son married an intelligent as well as beautiful young biochemist. They gave him a grandson to carry on the family name. What wasn't to be pleased about?
”That's a good little boy. Ride the pony. When you get old enough I'll buy you a real pony.” Nanogate gave the giggling child an extra bounce and wiggled him side to side.
”So that b... that gentlewoman from Taste Dynamics told the truth about starting her little experiment before I proposed our Greenie solution?”
”That's correct, sir,” Mr. Marks said, standing at ease in the center of Nanogate's home library. Scores of actual bound books lined the walls of a room ornate with real leather furniture, hardwood floors, and an authentic wool rug, dyed maroon red. Mark's neon yellow tights clashed badly with the ancient decor.
”Want to play airplane instead?” Nanogate swooped the boy up and down without leaving his wingback chair. ”But she lied about authorizing action.”
”That is correct, sir. I liberated a copy of her personal notes. You will find it appended to my report. In short, it appears your action jogged her memory. Three days later she authorized one Michael Upton to proceed with an action he proposed three months earlier.”
”I guess that isn't a big surprise. I probably would've done the same thing.” The baby suddenly got rather quiet even though still flying about. ”And what results have they seen?”
”The answer to that didn't come easily, but good research always wins out. Apparently Mr. Upton has a fascination with trains. I managed to come into possession of a vintage B&O locomotive and flatcar in T-scale he needed for his collection. I swapped him for the information.
”The action was in two parts. The first involved intense propaganda, most of it fabricated, pointing to the evil ways of the GAM. The goal of the propaganda was simply to drive a wedge between them and their support base.
”The second action involved disguising a daycare for the underprivileged as a prime target in several nearly open files on our network. The Green Action Militia did, in fact, read out the data as projected. The perpetrators of the hack are conjectured, of course, but the GAM rarely misses data of that nature in the open even if they didn't themselves do the raid. It approaches a near unity probability that they ended up with the data, one way or another. However, nothing happened.”
”She was going to let them blow up a bunch of children?”
”Yes, sir. She deliberately set them up as bait. If I might be allowed an opinion, I believe it's as if she would've murdered them herself.”
The baby let out a noise, somewhat approaching a grunt before starting to coo and giggle again. Nanogate wrinkled his nose at his grandson's latest offering. ”Susan,” he said, ”would you please come get your son?”
As always, his servants, listening in to hear his slightest whim, got the message pa.s.sed. Within a minute the mahogany doors opened and a beautiful blonde, not quite back to her perfect size six, sauntered in, heels clicking staccato on the floor.
”Certainly, Father,” she said, picking up her baby. ”Did little Mikey make a doo-doo?”
”I wish you wouldn't call him Mikey. It's Michael.”
”Yes, Father.” She turned and left, cooing to the baby. The doors closed behind them.
”Have we come to that, Mr. Marks? Killing children? Never mind, don't answer that. I guess it's a case of the pot calling the kettle black. Who knows how many I'll be killing in the next few days.”
Nanogate stood up and walked to a stack of books on his desk. He picked one up and pointed it absently at his bodyguard. ”So it sounds like her primary action is dead in the water before it even gets started. And the other is a pipe dream. Good news. I can use that against her.”
”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 ma.s.sive 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.”