Chapter 48

WASHINGTON, DC

“And we can’t not upgrade Great Central — we have twenty thousand of the best SolarScope people there,” Dalton Forrester said as a matter of course. The people around the table nodded, easily agreeing.

“This is true. The team’s done a good job of analyzing where to get energy from,” Toshi Nakamura said, admiring the red and green blocks dotting the map.

“Yes — this strip of functional SafeZones along Long Island — educational material, system manufacturing. You have other places you could go to for those items. The logic seems quite solid.” said Ivan Khodorov in a deep voice, pointing to the system map on the wall.

“So the upgrades mean twenty-four hour forcefields instead of the lead casing, and option to increase to storm-proof energy levels?” Vijay Kapoor asked for clarification.

“That’s right, Vijay,” Dalton said.

“Sounds good to me.”

The seven SolarScope Board members were all present for the emergency meeting. Their analyst team worked all night to come up with a recommendation of upgrading select functional SafeZones and unplugging others. The proposal was waterproof.

“Alright with the rest of you?” The other remaining Board members nodded in assent.

“Good,” Forrester said. “So SolarScope is completely protected. Ms. McDonald and her team are doing general negotiations with other industry representatives after our meeting. She’ll do the difficult work with them. The caucus is adjourned. William, will you please let Ms. McDonald and her people in?”

He recognized very well that the exercise of the next few hours was worse than restructuring a company — they were talking about lives. They were saving the lives of one person in five, while leaving the other four at the mercy of creatures. And they had only started with the northeast region. This was going to roll out nation-wide over the next week.

As Dalton Forrester rose to greet the stern-faced Morgana McDonald and her colleagues, he remembered that there was only SolarScope now. The other Board members’ expressions of condolences before they started the meeting reminded Dalton of that fact. He called the meeting to order, and the small group of people in the room proceeded to agree on who was to live, and who was likely to die.

“What is it,” asked the Chief, “that requires us to talk in the middle of the night on a triple-shield secure line?”

“Chief. We need to change the plan. This is an opportunity to de-monsterize the monster, not kill it. There’ll be wide media coverage. What better way to demonstrate and spread the method than with the monster itself?”

“Pritchard! We don’t know if it will work on that thing. And it massacred our people! And we lost an entire battalion to this just yesterday!” He thundered. Their names, freshly through his head. He could never get them back.

“Can you put that aside, Chief? We made that monster. We did! We have a chance to undo this!”

The Chief thought about the ones he had only just lost. Ran every single name through his head. This… thing…

Pritchard broke in with just one word.

“Pandora.”

She only whispered it, but the Chief heard its echo in his gut.

“What do you know about Project Pandora?”

“I know enough to know that it was cheaper and more universally effective alternative, but less popularly palatable and far more work. This revives it, doesn’t it? Gives us a chance to make the right choice this time.”

“And,” she added, “if it doesn’t work — if it doesn’t shrink instantly — I will cut its head off myself.”

The Chief was silent. Damn it. Damn it. Riley was too good. But… she was right. Unpalatable. Grindingly against his every bit of conditioning and angry emotion. Beyond that — if he changed the plan now, he wouldn’t have time to put it through the proper channels. And so it would destroy the team he worked so hard to build and gel and fine tune to delivering results. He could lose his job. His lifestyle.

But in the end, it was the right thing to do. And the right thing to do was more often than not the hardest, most unpalatable thing to do. And we always have a choice, he thought grimly.

He braced himself and took a deep breath.

“Fine. Pritchard, damn it, you’re right. Tell me what you propose, let’s figure this one out.”

Josh Orsini’s anxiety over Riley’s lack of response dissolved when he read her message. It gave him a boost. When he and his Director were called into the board room, he stood up in the holding area with confidence, marching smartly into the spacious board room behind Nathaniel Blake III. He politely greeted Morgana McDonald as she passed him on her way out.

As he shuffled along the back of the room, Josh tightened his grip on his case and smiled at the people around the table, returning the nod of acknowledgement by the regal Mercedes DaSilva. Then he took his seat on a comfortable chair along the back wall next to Nathaniel Blake III. They had briefed and re-briefed beforehand. The script was spotless, and soon, it would be show time.

Forrest Dalton cut an imposing figure. He called the meeting back to order and began proceedings. Blake stood to make his standard presentation — the economics, the overview of technology, supply chain. As Blake droned on, Josh reviewed his points. Nakamura and Hung had concerns about the technology itself, particularly the defects. Nakamura was a very thoughtful and analytical man, and Hung was incisive. But Josh knew how to put their concerns to rest. Khodorov worried about the risk of counterfeiting and replication by non-SolarScope entities. Josh had gotten data from Patterson the afternoon before to reassure Khodorov that duplication without SolarScope equipment was impossible.

It was Amr El Kaddouri who was going to be the hardest case to crack. Try as they might, his background and concerns were a mystery to the team — indications were inconsistent and sometimes conflicting. They couldn’t find out what his biggest headache was, so Josh had to find out in real time.

Before Josh knew it, Blake had gotten to question and answer period, and threw Orsini into the spotlight. Forrester, Da Silva, and Kapoor had no questions. For the rest, the team had done their homework well. Josh handled Nakamura’s questions with practiced ease. Then, he produced the hologram presentation of technical pyrotechnics that had Khodorov leaning back in his seat and nodding. He was convinced, too. Hung, surprisingly, had no questions. Josh felt Nat Blake ooze with approval.

Then Amr El Kaddouri cut through the air with a question in quiet bass. “What about the long-term sustainability of the business model? And the product itself?

Harriet Hung spoke for the first time, adding, “Yes — what are the key risks in this respect? Can you please speak to that?”

As Nat Blake cut in with a very eloquent and long-winded explanation that did anything but answer any of the questions, Josh’s mind set adrift. He looked around at the people around the table as an outsider looking in and suddenly noticed that underneath the strong veneers each and every one wore, they all looked… tired.

Josh thought about that cushy apartment Downtown, the farcical “negotiation” of the day before, the long, exhausting hours at the office, and the general absurdity of the situation. He felt the weight of the gun in his hand, heard Makini’s voice and saw Riley’s face. He absorbed the excrement that was spouting out of Nat Blake’s mouth…

And he decided that he couldn’t live with it.

In a moment of courage — or foolishness — Josh Orsini couldn’t decide which, and at that particular time, he really didn’t care, he opened his mouth and cut Nathaniel Blake III off. He activated the system presentation he had prepared before going to bed — just to get things out of his system. He hadn’t intended on showing it. But now, he thought that he might present it after all.

“As you can see, Board Members, the business model is robust for approximately six months. We will have time to receive full payment if the government accepts our terms. However, it’s the potential misuse of the product that poses the greatest risk. Please allow me to walk you through the logic. As you already know, the monster that attacked Center City, Philadelphia yesterday is a creature that we created. Repeated exposure to energy blasts of a magnitudes less than 2000 EeVs led it to mutate in such a fashion.” Infographics and charts revolved on the boardroom table. There were no videos this time.

Josh paused without looking down to remove his foot from underneath Blake’s heavy shoe. He plunged on. “IF the rayguns are not used at absolute maximum, then we risk creating more such things. Our total expected delivery is five hundred thousand units across the nation in six months. ALL of those units must manually be adjusted to maximum level — it’s too dangerous to transport them in bulk at anything more than 1000 EeVs. SolarScope cannot control five hundred thousand units once they are issued to users. And even if we found a safer way to transport them, increasing the energy range to set 2000 EeVs as the factory default, the more powerful design would compromise user safety.”

Several members of the Board had leaned forward on her elbows with thoughtful looks on their faces. El Kaddouri had uncrossed his arms and was watching Josh and the graphics intently.

“This information also poses a reputational risk to us should any of it be leaked — a week from now, six months from now — years from now. Governments around the world have very few viable alternatives to SolarScope — that much is happily true. And we have enough control to suppress any customer complaints — but not forever. We can also roll new products out in twelve months to stay on top of customer demands — stronger guns, portable nuclear missiles, dig up the drone technology — but we have just thrown most of our R&D resources at the raygun project since the Wars, and developing completely different products would take at least twelve months — unless we get creative.” Khodorov’s eyebrow was raised. Whatever they were thinking, he certainly had a captive audience. Out of the corner of his eye, Josh saw Nat Blake’s knuckles turn white.

“However,” Josh said, looking around the room with eyes ablaze. He couldn’t stop now. “The greatest risk we face to the sustainability of anything is this: Should these rayguns create enough monsters, our customers, supply chains — even ourselves — may not have years or months to address the reputational risk. In a matter of weeks, it is possible that many of us could no longer exist. We just. Don’t. Know.” He looked from Forrester to Da Silva to Kapoor.

Josh concluded. “Now this is the first risk to consider. Is SolarScope prepared to face the consequences of potentially creating more monsters?” He paused. “If the answer is ‘no’, then we are prepared to propose viable — but not as profitable — but more sustainable alternative ideas — precision projectile launchers, bladed drones, tranquilizer bullets. The ideas are in infancy stage, but can be rapidly prototyped at a lower cost.” Josh rocked back on his feet and closed. “When it comes down to it, the primary question seems to be: How confident are we that every last one of the military personnel, Perimeter Guards and — let’s be honest — gang members who receive a raygun will turn their units up to maximum?”

The room was silent. Staff lined against the walls were wide-eyed. Nat Blake’s jaw muscles worked furiously. The seven Board members had varying degrees of thoughtful consideration painted on their faces. Then Mercedes Da Silva smiled mysteriously and raised her hands in a slow clap.

“Thank you, Mr. Orsini. Thank you, Mr. Blake, Mr. Orsini, for your presentation.” The other members echoed her thanks, then Chairman Dalton Forrester got to his feet.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen. I think we’ve heard enough,” Forrester said, his expression unreadable. “Thank you again, Mr. Blake and Mr. Orsini for your contributions. Let’s take a fifteen minute break. The Board will deliberate and release a statement at noon.”

People stood and moved towards the door. Da Silva called Blake over for a word. Josh slipped out, past looks of admiration, sympathy and pity, to the holding area. He sat down on one of the couches to wait for death to rain. That was, after all, what he had just brought upon himself. But strangely enough, he felt… free.