Terrence’s eyes popped open. Sleepy, incoherent mumbling oozed from his mouth before he sat up. Wasn’t long before his thoughts rushed back to the front of his mind and he remembered where he was.
“No!”
He jumped and peered out the sliver, realizing he had been asleep. How long? He couldn’t tell, though the day appeared bright. There was no car and no scratching against the door. His head swiveled to check on Nikki. She slept peacefully. He looked over the edge at Malcolm; also asleep. A brief sigh of relief, but his heart still raced.
He couldn’t shake the feeling someone would come and try to get into the barn soon. It may have been daytime, but maybe leaving now would be best? Evade the farmer who was bound to check on the barn at some point, as well as get in extra hours of distance? He scampered down the rungs.
“Malcolm?” He nudged the back of his head with both paws. “Malcolm?”
The Weavile rolled onto his other side, making Terrence step back. “Hm?” His eyes creaked open, then squinted.
“Malcolm?”
“… What?”
Though Malcolm was supine, Terrence was still slightly intimidated. Would Malcolm tell him off again? He had to tell himself sidekicks weren’t supposed to be afraid of the hero; he was here to urge Malcolm to action! He cleared his throat. “Uh… well… I was kinda wondering if… maybe we should go? Like… now? I mean… I know it’s, like, still day, but I’m kinda... scared still being here and, you did say the missing bridge meant, uh, it was gonna take longer, so… I feel like we should, you know, just go now?”
Malcolm assimilated his words, then shook his head. “We’ll be seen.”
“But what about time?” Terrence took a step forward, tone more forceful. “And can’t you just attack someone who sees you?”
“Yes, but word’ll get out-”
Terrence growled. Might’ve been foolish, but the desire to get home overtook him. “But you said we lost time because of the bridge! And if we keep waiting, that gives more time for the army to find you! Come on, I-I think it’s better we go now.”
Malcolm cocked an eyebrow. He raised himself up enough to sit against the door. “Army…” He cleared his throat. “I never told you it was an army.”
Terrence expected a scowl; he didn’t expect a look of worry. The Fennekin’s blood ran cold; his worst fear being realized. He shook his head.
“No… it… it’s not… is it?” The child’s voice shook.
Malcolm didn’t answer right away, but his hesitance sufficiently answered. “Terrence…” Malcolm was somber. “You see why I didn’t want to tell you anything… but I should’ve known I couldn’t have kept this secret… Things are very bad right now. The army is after me.”
There it was, point-blank. Terrence only stared. He recalled his panic from the dog and how that could’ve been the end. The dread of never making it home resurfaced. “But…” Terrence gulped. “Wh-why?”
Malcolm opened his bag to take his medication. Returning to sleep wasn’t likely; may as well prepare to leave once it’s dark. “They’re blaming me for the pandemic.”
“A what?” Confusion joined Terrence’s fear.
“People here are getting sick and dying because of a virus and, before you ask, you and Nikki are safe from it. Your system’s strong enough to defeat it; if you got it, you’d only get a cold.” He assured, leaving out the detail it was killing infants and toddlers. Terrence didn’t need to know that.
More bewilderment in the fox’s face. He tilted his head. “How would that be your fault? How can a person spread a disease that much? I mean, there’s germs and stuff, but you’re not sick. How could you make someone sick if you’re not sick?”
“They say I created the virus in a lab and then spread it by giving it to test animals and letting them loose. Pokemon started getting sick when they interacted with them and, by the time anyone realized what was happening, it’d become very widespread.”
“What?” Terrence scowled in disgust. “But you wouldn’t do that! Why’re they saying that? Lame idiots.” As if that nice, family man in that picture would make people sick on purpose!
Malcolm nodded, thankful Terrence trusted him. “They’re saying I did it so I can create a new medicine that would cure it, thus, make tons of money selling it. That would normally sound insane, but because I know how to create medicine, I’m an easy target. They say the portals were closed to stop the disease from spreading, which is partially true. Mostly, it was to make it impossible for me to escape.”
Terrence shook his head. “But… why would they do this? How come they don’t arrest who really did this, and why’re they blaming you? I mean, aren’t there a lot of scientists who make medicine?”
Malcolm sighed and his voice became softer. “… because I know who really did this. They want to get rid of me so I can’t tell anyone the truth and get him caught.”
Terrence growled. Whoever was accusing Malcolm was going to be met with a face full of fire. He and Malcolm would team up and destroy the fiend with subzero ice blasts and unstoppable conflagration; a combination worthy of a hero and his sidekick. Nikki could even cheer them on! Every heroic duo needed moral support and nothing ever dampened her spirit.
“So who did this?” He asked, then extemporaneously spouted his best tough-guy catchphrase. “… W-we’ll teach him a lesson!”
Malcolm wished he could be that optimistic. He looked at Terrence and hesitated, knowing his gusto for justice would be dashed as quickly as it formed.
-
Hay needles scattered about as Reuben’s hand wrapped around someone’s neck. A high-pitched squeal shot from the source; the echoless exclamation falling flat in the cramped room. Two eyes bulged as they pleaded the feline intruder for mercy. Reuben didn’t kill her, but his iron grip suffocated any hope of squirming away. The emaciated Umbreon could only gag and try to force his paws away. The anemic yellow and lack of glow of her rings showed she was in poor health.
Reuben relented, slightly. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t match a name to her face. Don’t let her go, but at least let her talk.
“Plees…” She gasped, paws still on his hands. “Plees… do no- urt me… Wha- do you want?”
That Spanish accent; Reuben’s mind ticked as he tried to remember her. “What’s your name?” His voice was calm, but his eyes were intense, piercing hers like he was her ultimate judge.
“I-I- I do no- remember.” Her eyes darted. “Plees le- me go, sir.”
Reuben thought more before continuing. “You… I’ve seen you on the news...” Pieces slowly came together. His neutral demeanor slowly changed into a scowl.
The Umbreon flailed harder, but her enervated state made her fall limp. “Iss no- true!”
Reuben’s eyes widened. He remembered. There was her face… Yes… she was in that story indicting Ohara. She was wearing a lab coat… injecting that white rat with the virus! Reuben nodded. The pieces fell into place. His grip tightened once his memory heralded her name.
Leticia Gutierrez, head of the virology department at BioComp. She was the one Malcolm persuaded to administer his virus to the animals. The story played frame-for-frame in his mind. Surveillance of the Umbreon on the phone… the nodding in agreement with Ohara’s directive… the worry on her face as she poisoned the animals, as though her conscience was telling her to stop…
Reuben snarled, exposing his teeth and fangs. His veins bulged. “You... helped Ohara! YOU’RE a part of this!”
“No, plees, you meesunderstand!” She tried again to force his paws off; eyes tearing up from anxiety. It was like trying to fight against a trash compactor. The bulky feline could crush her head like a melon.
And he was tempted to do so. Righteous anger coursed through his veins… but a moment’s common sense stalled his decision. Why not extract information from her? He slackened his grip, letting her slip to the ground so she could breathe. “Where’s he? Tell me and maybe I won’t kill you.”
Leticia couldn’t talk right away, needing time to catch her breath. She sat against the wall and panted. Her eyes darted about, as though searching for an escape.
“Run and I’ll snap your neck.” Reuben stated. This was not protocol for interrogating suspects and criminals, but that didn’t matter right now. He was already treating her with more mercy than deserved.
“I-I don- know.” She admitted after nearly a minute. “But thees iss wrong-”
“Tell. Me.” His gaze narrowed. He tightened his fists.
“Malcolm’s innocen-, sir. Plees le- me explain-” She tried backing further into the wall.
Reuben planted a foot over one of hers and pressed. Not enough to break a bone, but enough to hold her down.
“Stop!” She tried yanking away, tears welling from the pain. “I don- know where -e is, and -e did’n- even do anything!”
“Then who did?” He asked, not believing her. May as well kill her, sleep, then resume his search. He was wasting time.
Leticia regretted not lying and making up Malcolm’s location when the Incineroar asked, but sudden terror had a way of throwing off easy solutions. Her admission would likely seal her gory fate. With a heart palpitating faster with each second, she clenched her eyes and poised herself to answer.
-
While one of Rutger’s butlers prepared Banks’ coffee, the Wigglytuff surveyed the spectacle that was Rutger’s office. It was officially Banks’ but nothing of his was here anymore. Rutger’s medical degrees loomed over him. Pictures of Rutger performing laboratory operations, focused and purposeful. Framed articles of his scientific accomplishments and glowing reviews from former peers describing his work as the zenith of medical progress. Other pictures showed him with his attractive Floatzel wife. She too was a scientist; the lab coat she wore in most of her pictures made that clear. Their baby Cyndaquil son was in some pictures too. Adorable little tyke with those wide, blue eyes and neatly-combed fur. He would lead the next generation of science, probably.
And Banks? A know-nothing pushover. A joke of a president who should’ve never held the position. He was happy as vice-president, hating Coppola for resigning over a scandal he could’ve explained away. Banks could’ve resigned too, but didn’t think it good for the country. Can’t have two resignations in rapid succession without engendering national instability. So, he bit the bullet and took the oath.
Arrayed on Rutger’s desk was an orderly mosaic of graphs and reports. Colored bars and highlighted sentences towered over him with academic prowess. Rutger was about to take him to class.
“Your coffee, Mr. President.” A tuxedoed sudowoodo set a polished, ceramic mug before him, almost making him jump. “My apologies for startling you, sir. Is there anything else you would like?”
“No no, you’re fine. Uh, thank you.”
Rutger had nothing to drink; why risk spilling anything onto these papers? He dismissed the butler and sat across the president. “Well,” he gestured to Banks before folding his hands on the table. “Shall we start?”
“Y-yes.” Banks cleared his throat. Rutger’s piercing gaze made him avert direct eye contact. “Um, well… where do I begin again?”
Rutger kept a somber face while he laughed on the inside. Banks had nothing.
“Oh right… well, I’ll start by saying that the number of deaths from the pneumonavirus are not going down as quickly as I would’ve thought, and it makes me question how much you, uh, really know about this disease.”
Rutger cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.
“Second thing. Uh…” Banks stuttered. Rutger noticed the sweat on his brow and nudged the tissue box towards him so he could wipe it off. “Thank you…” He grabbed a sheet and dabbed his forehead. “But anyways… the next thing I have a problem with is what you’re using the military for and… and that you recruited people without even training them. So many of them are dying. And to hunt Dr. Ohara? This is a terrible misjudgment. What does he have to do with BioComp?”
Banks attempted his best scornful stare, to which Rutger nodded.
“And also, y-you need to stop censoring people. Revaria wasn’t founded on dictatorial rule like that. You can’t keep quieting people because you don’t like what they said. When I gave you free rein to deal with this virus, I didn’t intend for you to punish people for disagreeing with you.”
Rutger answered with another nod. “You’re right, Mr. President. I hate that I have to act unreasonably at times but… aren’t these times unreasonable to begin with?” He slowly rose from his seat, sending a shadow over Banks. “With all due respect, I’m doing everything in my means to stop the virus and bring justice to the man who selfishly let it loose.”
Banks felt like he was shrinking into his seat.
Rutger continued. “I understand your points and why you’re concerned, but I’ll show why you should allow me to maintain complete power for the time being. Please take a look at this.”
Rutger nudged Graph 1-C towards Banks. The Typhlosion inwardly smiled; time for a virology lesson.
-
“Well, tell me!” Reuben raised his foot to kick her when Leticia blurted out a name. Of all the names in existence, it was the last one he expected.
“Rutger! E-et was -im!”
Reuben slowly set his foot down. “… You’re lying.”
“Find the phone records, or check the servers; I swear! H-he had the lab burned down, but the phone records and email servers! He canno- delete those! He force- me to do geev the virus!”
It was truth, or a clever lie. Phone records and servers weren’t difficult to access for law enforcement. Simply obtain the warrant, then get the phone company or lab personnel to turn over the evidence. However, how could he do this with Rutger? How would Leticia expect him to do this? He had no evidence, aside from her claim, and Rutger would silence him like he had others. And accessing the scene where BioComp once stood was forbidden; municipal police officers weren’t allowed.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
“You have other proof?” He asked.
Leticia’s ears drooped. “Eet got destroy- in the lab, but… eef you can- get the records, look up John Finley. -e was Rutger’s friend and work- in the lab. I was -is boss. Rutger want- to experiment with a new medicine and knew -e could do it through -im.”
That name was also familiar. John Finley was a Leafeon and the first person caught on Rutger’s list. Rutger decried him as a threat and Ohara’s accomplice upon his capture. Leticia didn’t sway him; it was just her word against Rutger’s. Even if Reuben thought he was a weak leader, he didn’t doubt his sincerity. Rutger’s passion was evident in his speeches. His love and charisma for Revaria wooed much of the public to his side. He couldn’t have been the monster Leticia asserted.
“You’re the only one I’ve seen blame him for this.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Everyone knows it was Ohara. Rutger, the news, internet, everywhere.”
Leticia defended herself, despite believing she would not be around much longer. “Who controls the news? The eenternet?”
Reuben’s eyes shifted downward for a moment before returning his gaze. “But that doesn’t mean they’re controlling some narrative or some crap.”
Leticia shook her head. “Have you seen any trial or questioning or... anything from anyone at BioComp? Have you seen anyone at BioComp get to deefend heemself or herself?” Despite having been isolated from civilization since her company became headline news, she knew what the answer was.
Reuben reluctantly shook his head. “But… it hasn’t been long. They’ll get a trial, of course.”
“No they won’-” Leticia countered, believing most of her colleagues to be dead already. “An- did the news ever play recording of my conversation? Did you acshully hear O-ara’s voice or did they just tell you that?”
Reuben was about to answer in the affirmative when the news story played through his mind.
There was the room.
The animals.
Leticia with her phone.
Not on speaker; why would it be?
Gray-scale image… date and time in the corner… audio quality that of a cheap voice recorder… Leticia’s voice was unmistakable, but the voice on the other end was indiscernible. The panel of experts unanimously confirmed it was Ohara, claiming they analyzed the footage in a lab at Reynolds University. That was one of the most prestigious forensics colleges in the world; what grounds would Reuben have for doubting them? His memory became fuzzy after that. Last time he watched the story was at the hospital, less than an hour before Lily drew her final breath.
Then grief.
Anger. Tears.
Blind hostility.
She gave up the ghost and someone had to pay. TVs everywhere. The halls. Rooms. Computers. Ohara was a murderer. Evil, soulless profiteer… The news said so...
Leticia’s nerves tensed up the longer the tiger stood steeped in interminable reflection. The thud of her own heartbeat pounded against silent dread.
“… S-sir?” Her timid voice squeaked.
Slowly, Reuben opened his eyes. “My daughter… she died because of this… I held her little paw a-as she...” He faltered, an anguished growl in his voice. He stepped towards her with a cold stare. He needed to do the right thing. Her eyes welled up. She knew he wanted to do the right thing… She knew she deserved the receiving end of justice. She should’ve stood up to Rutger when she had the chance. The blood of this man’s child was on her hands as much as they were on that Typhlosion’s.
If this bereaved father ever found Malcolm, she hoped he would listen to his side of the story and spare him.
“I-I’m so sorry, sir… I’m so sorry...” She clenched her eyes and braced herself.
-
While Malcolm waited for darkness and the medication to set in, he told Terrence about Rutger. The forces hunting him are being led by the man responsible for the disease. Mouth agape, Terrence’s bravado faltered from the news. Evil had all the power and the innocent were forced to flee. All one could do was keep under the radar and slip away. Once Malcolm made it to Earth, there was little Rutger could do. A mission where you couldn’t defeat the final boss; just run fast enough to evade his grasp. That was the greatest victory he could hope for.
The warm orange glow seeping through the narrow cracks showed the night was under an hour away. Terrence nudged Nikki awake so they would be ready to go soon. The three enjoyed some fruit left in a crate intended for the farm animals, as little as it did to answer the past few days of protein deficiency. Hunger pangs were only noticeable when adrenaline wasn’t coursing through their veins. Being on edge all the time made you forget you had to eat.
Terrence wiped the last fleck of apple from his muzzle. “Uh, how come only you know he did this?” Maybe Malcolm was both a scientist and a computer hacker? The idea intrigued him; no one could argue a doctor spy wasn’t a nifty concept for a videogame character.
“I’m not the only one who knows, but I was the only one who would’ve been able to do something about it... Timing was such that I couldn’t.”
“But if you can’t do anything about it, why’s he still hunting you?”
“Because his power can be taken away. If that happens, he can’t hunt me anymore. You see… he was never supposed to be in power…”
-
The Early Days of the Pandemic
Phinehas Banks paced aimlessly about his office. Not four months in power and infants and toddlers were perishing in Revaria’s hospitals. A fatal virus blindsided the nation only a week ago and was wringing death to helpless children. His heart ached for them; three of his grandchildren were young enough to be potential victims. Best he could do was call in the head of Virology and Disease Control (DVDC) for help. Established thirty years ago under President Webber, the department had been successful in stymieing the growth of and eliminating various diseases. Potential epidemics thwarted and dammed by medicinal breakthroughs. The current head was appointed by Coppola two years ago. He was head of Virology at Reynolds when extended the opportunity to head the DVDC. An eminent figure in his field, he was an obvious choice. If anyone would know how to combat this onslaught of marauding, murderous microbes, it would be him.
A knock at the door. “Mr. President, he’s here.”
“Bring him in.” Banks took a seat at his desk. The chair across awaited Revaria’s top viral disease expert. His folded hands fidgeted as he looked down. A tinge of apprehension perched in his mind; part of him questioned if he was really doing the right thing.
A suited Charizard opened the door. “This way, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Banks stood and warmly smiled when his visitor stepped in. “Dr. Ohara, thank you for coming. Please, have a seat.” he gestured to the polished, leather chair.
Dr. Ohara, wearing his best suit, shook his hand before sitting. “Thank you, Mr. President.”
Banks cleared his throat. After pleasantries were dispensed, his expression became somber. So did Ohara’s; no one needed to explain why he was here.
Or so he thought.
“Ohara…” Banks exhaled. “I… I have a massive favor to ask... I hate to put you in such an imposition, but you’re more qualified than anyone to do it.”
Ohara nodded. He wasn’t sure why Banks was being so dramatic; it was his job to research and stop diseases before they got out of hand. He didn’t say anything.
“This virus is starting to cripple us… destroying children, sending families into turmoil… we need this stopped as quickly as possible.”
The doctor nodded again, unfazed. He was about to mention how he and his team were already researching it when Banks took the conversation in an unexpected turn.
“And… because of how much public health affects everything… the economy, infrastructure, interstellar policy, agriculture, et cetera… I’m going to need far more help than I thought...”
Dr. Ohara shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Wh-what are you saying?”
Banks sighed and shook his head. “I don’t trust myself to lead effectively with this virus on the rampage. I’m afraid that… wrong policy decisions I make would interfere with your work fighting the pandemic… and I’d rather not have that on my conscience. One wrong move could kill more innocents who could’ve been spared...”
Ohara’s eyes widened. The air thickened with choking heat. “Mr. President…?”
“Dr. Ohara, I trust you. Your work creating Optizene proves you’re far, FAR more intelligent than me, or anyone else under me...” Banks appeared to shrink into his seat. He clasped his hands in a childlike, importunate manner. “So… I want to extend to you all the executive power I hold. Make any decision you see fit that’ll help end the virus. Economic, transportation, anything; I don’t care. Do what you need in any of these other areas to make sure the virus is quashed. Please…”
Ohara shook his head. “Mr. President, with all due respect… this is not a good idea.”
Banks winced as though betrayed. “But you can do anything you need to make fighting the virus easier… why is this bad?”
“I’m not an economist, I’m not an expert on transportation, or foreign policy, or infrastructure, or any of those other things. I wasn’t appointed to any of those roles; I’m a virologist. I was appointed to research diseases and inform the public with recommendations to stay safe from them. That’s it.”
“But I trust you; you’re smart!”
“Then I’d be happy to advise what you can do with the information I provide. If you grant me power in areas outside my expertise, I will mess up. In solving one problem, five more will pop up in its place. I would advise you call meetings with the heads of all the departments so we can advise you. That’s why we’re here. Use our advice to make decisions. You’re smarter than what you give yourself credit for, but you need to be more confident.”
Malcolm reached for a few tissues and wiped his sweaty brow. He didn’t anticipate coming here and contradicting the president.
Banks closed his eyes as though in thought. “… I appreciate your candor. Yes, I think a briefing of all heads would be best.” He opened his eyes and looked at Malcolm. “Tonight. I’ll let you all know the time shortly.”
Their meeting ended and Dr. Ohara headed back to his office. Banks sat there, having no intention to hold a briefing. He just wanted to dismiss him politely so he could find someone cooperative.
Someone in the same department, of course.
Someone as knowledgeable as Dr. Ohara, or at least close.
Someone with more confidence. A person not afraid to lead.
He scrolled through the DVDC employee manifest and read their varying qualifications. No one matched Ohara, but a few boasted litanies of degrees and published papers. Banks stopped on one. Thirty-four, but nine years’ experience heading the virology lab at Addison, a school equally prestigious as Reynolds. Five papers published, co-authored eight others, and was even on Ohara’s research team when he headed the creation of Optizene. If he was good enough for the head of the DVDC, he was good enough to make important decisions for Revaria. Maybe he would agree to tackle the virus head-on. Banks called one of his aides.
“Hey… yes… I have someone else from Disease I want you to bring… Yeah, Ohara didn’t agree to it… Could you bring Dr. Nicholas Rutger in? Thank you.”
-
Hours passed and Ohara never received a call, text, or email about a meeting that night. His attempts to contact the president went unanswered. A shame, but he couldn’t force Banks to act like a leader. Best to continue researching and experimenting, as well as continue urging the public to exercise safe health practices. A chime dinged from his monitor and a red circle over his email tab showed he just received a message.
He clicked it; maybe it was Banks?
… Except the email was not from him. It was from Jeremy Weaver, president of BioComp. Emails from labs and medical companies weren’t unusual, but the subject of this one made him raise an eyebrow.
“Rutger Helped Leak Virus. See Attachments. Please Investigate Him.”
Accusations against high-level government employees were not to be taken lightly. Malcolm innately didn’t want to believe it, but if Rutger was guilty, firing him and pressing charges would be the right course of action. He opened the email.
The body of text was laconic, but there were several attachments. John Finley calling and writing Rutger, allowing him to use their lab to test his new medicine. Emails from Rutger stating the medicine hasn’t been tested rigorously, so using animals would be safer. Then, follow-up emails suggesting tested animals should be let out among the public. See if anyone gets sick or not. Of course, An email from Finley expressed concern this would go worse than expected, but Rutger assured him nothing in the medicine was fatal. The worst that would happen to anyone is a cold. Finley responded with further skepticism, to which Rutger answered with extortion. After all, he worked for the government and for an agency more authoritative than BioComp. It wouldn’t take much to rescind BioComp’s licenses and smear Finley for malpractice. Malcolm had to double-check Rutger’s signatures in each correspondence just to make sure this was really him. He shook his head; this was someone who helped him develop and test Optizene.
Rutger explained in another email he would get someone else to inject the animals and release them. That someone was Leticia Gutierrez, Finley’s direct supervisor. She had more to lose if she didn’t comply, so she would be perfect. Malcolm was baffled as to why neither she nor Finley ever contacted him about this. Perhaps they thought telling him or another authority would result in retaliation not worth the justice? Maybe they thought the DVDC as a whole couldn’t be trusted if one of its employees was doing this? At least Weaver reached out. As far as Malcolm could tell, there was no exchange between him and Rutger.
Malcolm fumed inwardly. He dialed Rutger’s number, intending to confront him privately. A confession wouldn’t save him, but he didn’t think it right as his boss to fire him and press charges without a clear and rational explanation.
Rutger’s ringtone, Mozart’s Rondo Alla Turca, played on-loop in Malcolm’s ear. Either he was not there, or was ignoring him.
He opened a blank email, entered the executive office’s address, and typed. Request a private meeting as well as forward the email from BioComp. Banks needed to see the evidence himself before taking action against Rutger.
-
There was no erasing the grin from Rutger’s face as he leaned back in Banks’ newly-relinquished chair. Winning the president’s trust to tackle the virus was the greatest feeling, as well as just having an absurd amount of power. Would he take advantage of its entire breadth? Maybe not, but part of him fantasized about dictating things just because he could. Of course, Banks could change his mind and remove him if he did poorly, so he had to be careful. Just do what you were asked, Rutger. Defeat the pandemic, then leave. He opened several tabs on the president’s computer to get started. Research and find out what policies needed to be implemented or reversed to defeat the pneumonavirus.
The chime of a fresh email startled him. He nearly forgot he had access to the executive office’s email now. It wasn’t Banks’ personal email; it was the one used for the general position of president, like a work email. It was surreal that governors, senators, world leaders, etc. would be messaging him directly. So much for being that lowly virologist tucked away under Ohara’s shadow! He opened the email.
It was from Malcolm.
A moment’s terror was swept aside when he realized what he could do to Ohara. To BioComp. To anyone threatening him with evidence.
With a smirk he couldn’t contain, he expunged the email before Banks could get to it, logged into the DVDC’s server, and got to work.
-
Malcolm swiped his badge under an electronic card reader to enter a lab. Had to run some tests before calling it a night.
Red flash. Access denied.
He cocked an eyebrow. The system wasn’t glitch-free, but this rarely happened. He tried again.
Access denied.
Again.
Denied.
Was the system down? Better call IT support. He applied his fingerprint to his work phone, expecting it to open like always.
Fingerprint not recognized.
He tried several more times. Confusion slowly morphed into fear. He raced back to his computer and tried logging on. Access denied.
Unfortunately, he was the only one in the building, so he couldn’t get another employee to test his or her credentials right now. He would have to come back tomorrow morning and-
He froze mid-thought.
He would need his badge to enter the building again. If the system was down and all the employees were effected, then nobody would be able to enter the building. It might be best to stay until someone fixed the problem.
It then occurred to him they had landline phones. He hardly used them, but they were there. He could just use one of those to call IT. Thankfully, he was able to reach one not locked in a room he needed his badge to enter. He dialed the number.
A few rings, then a message.
“Hello. Suspicious activity has been linked with the number you are dialing from. Your call will be monitored by CommScan for security purposes. Press ‘one’ to proceed.”
He barely processed the recording when the faint hum of a distant helicopter drew his attention. A turn of the head revealed five scintillating lights in the sky. Approaching. The whirs of the motors intensifying.
Fear festered into panic. No time to think about what was happening or assure himself he wasn’t their target. Everything indicated he was now on a watch-list; possibly worse. Conceiving a plan in seconds, he swept what he needed off his desk and into a bag. Including the photo of his family wasn’t practical, but knew their moral support would be invaluable. At his car, he tore off the device meant to track it in the event of thievery and chucked it. He would’ve liked to unscrew his license plates from their frames, but the increasing volume of the motorized murmurs alerted him time was not on his side.
Off he sped. No headlights, no radio, just a prayer.
Make it to his waiting family and never return.
-
With the sky darkened satisfactorily, Terrence melted the ice keeping the doors shut and the trio headed out. He remained perplexed that Malcolm was in the cavern without the seeds. Were they duds? Perhaps it meant they would need to bring more seeds than needed. Whatever the reason, Terrence vowed their journey would not be in vain. They wouldn’t be able to defeat Rutger, but maybe he would be exposed as a murderous fraud someday and given a taste of his own medicine.
If Banks ever decided to stand up and do something about it.
