Virtual Destruction

CHAPTER 17

Four hours of sleep and a lot of coffee was all Gary Lesserec needed to start the day.

Showing up at 6:45 A.M. at the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, he was able to claim the best parking spot in the minuscule open lot nearest to the fence surrounding the T Program trailers. He enjoyed coming in even before the other early risers showed up, able to get more done in the first quiet hour than he managed to accomplish in the rest of the day with the phones ringing and the offices bustling.

Inside, the T Program trailer was utterly silent. As he passed through the CAIN booth into the Exclusion Area, Lesserec flicked on only a few banks of the fluorescent lights, leaving the trailer in a comforting gray gloom that emphasized the quiet.

The light in Michaelson’s office was on, but the big man was nowhere to be seen behind his desk. Just like him, Lesserec thought with a scowl, completely oblivious to the world around him. The rest of the trailer completely shut down to conserve energy, and Michaelson happily went home, leaving his own lights burning all night. Not maliciously, just not noticing and not caring. The world revolved around Hal Michaelson, after all.

Lesserec powered on his workstation, keyed in his password to access the parallel processor. When the system came up, Lesserec checked the log and saw that Michaelson had indeed gone into the VR chamber the night before and had activated the new simulation, Lesserec’s masterpiece. He hoped the new chips had done their stuff.

But he didn’t want anyone else to know about it. Not yet. For now, it was just a small example to keep Michaelson aware of who really did the work around here, who was the true brains and imagination behind T Program.

Michaelson was just a mouthpiece. He and Hal had an understanding — and now, after having his mind blown by the incredible entertainment simulation, Lesserec was sure that Michaelson understood in a way that he had never done before.

Lesserec removed his entire package from the computer. He had a stack of the original disks at home, and it would take hours to recompile the simulation for use; but he didn’t want it clogging up the machine, and he didn’t want anyone else stumbling into it. The simulation was available to the right people, if they really wanted to see it — but for now Lesserec would play his cards close to his chest.

He stood up, cracked his knuckles, and went to the small kitchenette. He yanked the white door of the refrigerator open. A bright yellow Notice sticker insisted the refrigerator was to be for food items only, no film, batteries, or hazardous chemicals allowed.

The bottom and middle shelves were filled entirely with cans of Diet Coke, cases and cases bought from the local warehouse store, the cost of which was shared evenly by all T Program members. A few long-forgotten lunches lay tucked at the back of the top shelf, and a box of rock-hard sesame-carob fudge leftover from the Christmas party.

Lesserec snagged a cold can, popped the top and slurped a big mouthful. He’d had enough coffee before leaving his home, while Sandra continued to sleep. She probably wouldn’t wake up until eight or nine.

Holding the can of Coke, he sauntered down the trailer’s carpeted back corridor. The VR chamber was still sealed shut, and Lesserec worked the access panel, slipping his badge into the reader and keying in his PIN. The vault door popped open.

Inside the silent, featureless chamber he found the body of Hal Michaelson lying contorted and motionless on the floor.

Michaelson looked like a roadkill sprawled with his arms and legs bent at odd angles, an insect sprayed with Raid. His face and his hands had a sickly pale appearance like the soft white underbelly of a fish floating dead in a tank.

Lesserec bent over, his heart pounding. He looked into the expression of agony on Michaelson’s dead face.

“Gross,” he said, then hurried off to call Security.

The Protective Services Officer used his master keys to get into the emergency exit door of the T Program trailer, and Lesserec ushered him down the halls. The PSO didn’t know what had happened, obviously expecting something like a security breach or a tripped alarm that had not shown up on the monitors.

The guard had short blond hair cut in a butch and wore a dark blue uniform that fit like Spandex. His keys jingled, and the leather on the gun holster at his side squeaked as he strode forward; the walkie-talkie at his left kidney squawked and hissed.

“Okay, so what’s the problem?” the PSO asked. His face had the scrubbed pink appearance from sunburn.

“Right this way,” Lesserec said, leading him down the hall toward the VR chamber. “I hope you like paperwork and publicity. This is going to be a real pain in the ass.”

He swung open the heavy door to the VR chamber. When the PSO saw Michaelson’s body on the floor, his jaw dropped as comically as a cartoon figure. He swayed back, grabbing the door jamb.

“Oh, my God,” the PSO said. He froze, unwilling to step farther in.

Glad I could count on you in an emergency, Lesserec thought. A real man of action.

“What happened?” the PSO asked again.

“He died, that’s what happened,” Lesserec said scornfully. “Aren’t you going to investigate or something?”

The PSO grabbed the walkie talkie at his hip. “I’m calling for backup,” he said. “Who is this guy?”

“You don’t know?” Lesserec answered in disbelief. “I admit—” He looked down at the corpse’s contorted face. “He’s not very photogenic right now, but he has been in the news a lot. That’s Hal Michaelson. The guy on TV with the President the other night?”

“You mean that Michaelson?” The PSO blinked his eyes. “Oh, boy.”

The PSO clicked the button on his walkie-talkie and spoke rapid-fire into it. “We’ve got a situation here. A dead body in the Virtual Reality chamber over at T Program. It’s apparently Dr. Hal Michaelson, the head of the project.”

“Say again,” the walkie-talkie said.

Lesserec reached out and grabbed the PSO’s arm. “Do you realize you just blabbed all that over an open channel?”

The PSO blinked. “What?”

“Your walkie-talkie. Don’t they drill you guys on operating procedures? News hounds listen on the open-band scanners just to pick up a scoop like this. You just blew the story before we could put together an official Lab press release.”

“But,” the PSO said, still sweating, “it’s too early in the morning. Nobody’ll be listening.”

“Get real. Those people watch like vultures to see if we’ve had another tritium release or a security breach or anything. You just told the whole world that the head of the President’s new high-visibility initiative is lying here dead.” Lesserec shook his head. “This place is going to be a circus in less than an hour.”

The walkie-talkie squawked again. “Hello? Apparent cause of death? Please advise,” the voice asked back.

The PSO wet his lips and looked at Lesserec. Lesserec put his hands on his hips and blew air through his lips. “Go ahead, the cat’s already out of the bag.”

“But… how did he die?”

“Do I look like a coroner? How should I know?” Lesserec said. “Heart attack, I think.”

The PSO clicked the SEND button again. “Uh, apparent coronary arrest. Request backup. We need to get the body over to Medical. We’re going to get a lot of publicity on this.”

“Acknowledged. Backup on its way,” the voice answered. “Will call Health Services and get them ready for an emergency inspection.”

Visibly shaking, the PSO shoved the walkie-talkie back in its holder at his hip.

Lesserec looked around the VR lab. “A lot of this stuff is highly classified. I’ve already cleared the computers and locked up the classified documents Michaelson had lying around. We’ve got to put black cloth over all this equipment. Even just the shapes of some of this stuff is Secret National Security Information. Anybody who doesn’t have a need to know can’t get a glimpse of it — including you, so don’t pay attention.”

Flustered, the PSO said, “Uh, yes. Let’s get to work and clean this place up.”

The T Program members knew something was up when they came to work because of the flurry of police cars and the extra scrutiny when they came through the double gates into the T Program trailers.

Lesserec called a meeting at 9:00, although the hotshot programmers pretty much came in at all hours of the morning, whenever they pleased. Lesserec assumed he would have to give the same information repeatedly.

He stood, crossed his pudgy arms over his t-shirt, and looked at the confused programmers sitting around the table. No Doritos this time. No festive atmosphere of making catcalls during the President’s news conference.

“All right, listen up,” Lesserec said. Rumors had been flying for the last hour, and some of the rumors were right by sheer chance. “You already know something’s happening,” he said.

Walter called out, “Now presenting, Gary Lesserec, Master of the Obvious!”

Lesserec ignored the catcall. “Michaelson’s dead. I found his body this morning in the VR chamber. Look’s to me like a heart attack while he was working late last night, but we won’t know until Health Services looks him over. He might have to be taken down to Valley Memorial Hospital for a full autopsy.

“Regardless of the cause, he’s dead. And that means it’s up to us to put together the whole dog-and-pony show our dear friend Hal set up for us.”

He gave a short, barking laugh. “Knowing him, I almost think he did this on purpose, and right now his ghost is laughing at us. Michaelson was always shoving us into quicksand and walking off with the rope.”

He sat back down again and looked at their reactions. “Lab management has to make everything tidy and official, but for the moment I’m still acting group leader. I don’t want it, and they’ll probably post the job, but you know the blinding speed any official happens around here. They can’t possibly get anybody else to pick up the reins fast enough to get this international demonstration done in time. It’s going to be crazy to finish it, but a lot of the Lab’s prestige rides on this.

“I’m open to your suggestions, but my gut feeling is we should not ask for a postponement, because a delay will look like we don’t have our act together.”

He lowered his voice and leaned across the table, meeting the scattered stunned expressions. “We don’t need a whole lot of talking the next four weeks. We need a lot of work. We need to finish setting up the virtual presence inside the Plutonium Facility for the first-stage demonstration. I’ll be coordinating with the folks out at the Nevada Test Site so we can rig up the full downhole simulation that Michaelson wanted us to show off.

“I’ve already talked to NTS this morning. They are in as much chaos over there as we are. Testing has been shut down for years, and just to get up and running again is keeping them at Warp 9. They’re gonna set up a preliminary test detonation for us with two thousand tons of high explosive so we can calibrate our sensors and get a good feel for what it’s like to watch the explosion through virtual presence.”

Danielle raised her hand and then stuttered as if she didn’t know what to say. “But, but what about Dr. Michaelson?” Shouldn’t we — take a… take a day off or something?”

“And what?” Lesserec raised his voice. “People die, the program goes on. Any other questions?” He stared at them, pleased to see everyone flinch. “All right, then let’s get back to work.