Chrysalis

40

At the same moment Logan uttered the unutterable, Ben Cardiff — principal software engineer level II, BioCertain Research — was approximately a quarter mile south and four hundred feet above, standing at the railing of one of the large parapets that sprouted like mushrooms from the bulk of the Chrysalis Tower. An al fresco lunch was currently being served, and he’d left the table he’d been sitting at with friends and walked over to the railing, Bloody Mary in hand, to take in the view. Working in Arc B of the Torus all day, and most evenings, he didn’t often get a chance to admire the surroundings while the sun was at its zenith. It was a sight that never grew old. He took a sip of his drink, relishing how the sharpness of the vodka offset the Worcestershire and Tabasco, harmonizing perfectly with the sour tang of tomato.

Located on the thirty-second floor, this cafeteria was as high as he’d ever been in the Chrysalis Tower, and as high as he was ever likely to get. While he drank in the sensation he felt a rustle at his side, and then Wing Kaupei was standing beside him. She placed her slender fingers on the railing as she looked over the expansive vista.

Cardiff noticed her knuckles were turning slightly white. “Don’t like heights?”

“It isn’t the height so much as the openness. I suppose there’s a clinical term for the condition.”

“You should learn to enjoy it. Best view I’ll ever get for free.”

“And you should learn to do as you’re told.”

“Care to elaborate?” Cardiff drained what was his second Bloody Mary. He knew his tongue was a bit looser than was wise, but he didn’t care. It felt good to unwind the mainspring in his chest a little.

“You know what I mean. You just took it upon yourself to send a transmission. That’s my job.”

“I know, I know: you’re surprised. But remember — it’s a job I made possible, and then taught you how to do.”

Wing ignored this. “Worse, you didn’t even run the contents past me, or our superiors. How do you think they’ll take that?”

“If they’re smart, they’ll take it as a statement of independence. You keep saying we all have our own parts to play in this; that we’re all happy, equal little cogs. But that’s not really true, is it? I mean, you dictate what gets transmitted and what doesn’t.”

“I’m just the conduit.”

“Whatever. But the fact is, you’d never have been able to do any of this without me. This whole mission, or whatever you want to call it, couldn’t have happened.”

“You overestimate your importance.”

“Now you sound like an apparatchik. Who else could have arranged untraceable communication with someone like Asperton, and engineered the Line, and taken care of the video array so Prawn could do his thing?” He tried to take another slug of his drink, realized it was nothing but ice, and put it down again.

“None of that justifies stepping outside your prescribed role. Everything we’re doing is scripted. There’s a good reason for that: it keeps us all safe. And in case you’ve forgotten, at the end of the day it puts a million dollars in your bank account.”

Cardiff swirled the ice in his glass ruminatively. “You know, you really should have come up to my room last night.”

“Is that what this is — payback? Sour grapes?”

“No. I’m not that petty. But, see, it left me with time on my hands. Time to look at a few more of those feeds you told me to stay away from.”

Wing frowned and looked away, muttering something in an unfamiliar language.

“You’ve been keeping secrets from me. It seems people have been hurt — and a lot more seriously than you let on. You said I’d targeted those three as some kind of proof of concept for our superiors: but it was a lot more. For me, that changes the playing field. And I asked myself: If you could talk so dismissively to me about Prawn, that fat little worker bee — who knows what you think or say about me? Could it even be that thing we had, all those months together, was just an act?”

Now Wing looked back at him. “You’re being a fool.”

“No. No, I’m not. I told you: I was just thinking independently. But I also know there’s a line I shouldn’t cross. I wouldn’t want these ‘superiors’ — as you call them — to get upset, maybe garnish some of my million bucks. So, yes: I sent a message of my own. But all it did was assure our superiors here at Chrysalis that we’re going to play by the rules. That they’ll get what they’re paying for: and we’ll turn it all off. This way, they won’t get so worked up that they do something rash — something that, say, might get one of us in trouble down the line.”

Wing said nothing.

Cardiff glanced at her, raising his eyebrows. Then he chuckled. “But you know what? I don’t think anyone’s going to be upset by my tiny act of insubordination. Everything’s still going exactly as planned. And, Wing, I shouldn’t need to remind you: unlike Prawn, I still have a critical role to play. I’m the only one who can activate the kill switch.”

When Wing remained silent, Cardiff pushed himself away from the railing. “Have one of these,” he said, shaking his empty glass. “It’ll cheer you up. Twenty-four hours from now, it will be mission accomplished. But today being a Sunday, I’m probably going to stay in this evening. Just thought I’d let you know, should you change your mind — for old times’ sake.” And with that, he turned and walked across the expanse of balcony, passed through the archway into the cafeteria proper, and was lost from view.

Wing watched him go. Most of what he’d said was vainglorious nonsense, typical of a certain type of man who rises only so far yet remains convinced he deserves more than his true worth. But he was right about one thing: his bit of “independence,” as he’d called it, had come as a surprise to her. Now at last she smiled, secure in the knowledge she wasn’t the only one who’d find this to be a day for surprises. Benjamin R. Cardiff, for example, had no idea how little a million dollars meant to those behind this operation.

And he certainly had no idea she cared even less about his “kill switch” — or, for that matter, about turning anything off.