Silicon Override, page 11
“Oh. I’m…I-I thought it was another rhetorical.”
“Tell me you’re not making jokes right now, Miss Reed.”
“I’m really not. I’m just trying to explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain. It was all documented for me. Ready and waiting when I showed up this morning. I’ll grant you, it took me a little while to process it. It had to be a joke, right? I mean, seriously, canceling the experiment? Now. Today. On the word of a junior analyst.”
Maxine slammed back down into her chair and rubbed her temples before touching the screen on the wall beside her. It blinked to life with Abbey’s report attached to an email.
“You know the best part of all this? I’ve known for almost two hours now, and I still haven’t told anyone else out there. I mean, I’m sure they’ve heard by now. Rumors, at least. But nothing official from me. You know why?”
Abbey sighed. “I don’t know how to answer that.”
“Because I don’t know how to do it. How do I tell them everything they’ve been working for—for years—is done? They’ll think it’s a joke, just like I did. But you and I, we both know better, don’t we? You wanna know how I know?” Maxine pointed to the screen. “’Cause that email is from the director herself. And this one…” She swiped the screen, and a new email popped up. “This one is from her, too, explaining all about your little visit last night.” She slammed a fist into the conference table. “You went over my head, Miss Reed.”
Abbey didn’t flinch. Her fear subsided, replaced by a growing anger. She had expected Maxine to be upset. That was part of the deal. She knew that going in, but this? She’d had enough.
“Yeah, Maxine, I did. I tried to get in touch with you, remember? I called, and you all but told me to fuck off. So I was on my own. I did what I had to do. I checked, rechecked, and checked again, reviewing every result I got. Now I don’t know if you’re pissed at me because I went over your head, pissed at yourself because you and your group didn’t catch this before I got here, or pissed in general. You know what? It doesn’t matter. If I hadn’t made that call, this experiment would be barreling on, and if you read the email I had waiting for you in your inbox, you know damn well what would have happened had that occurred. Thirteen hundred people, dead.”
Abbey took a deep breath. “Shutting this down sucks, but it beats the alternative. You can rain shit on me all you want. But the fact is, I saved this place. If we ran the experiment now, the entire thing would blow up in our faces.”
“You don’t know that’s what would have happened.”
Abbey’s anger flowed full force, her mind too tired to contain it. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
Her tablet chimed. A high-priority IM awaited. She ignored it, her gaze and anger still focused on Maxine.
Maxine’s anger had cooled and hardened. “Fine, Miss Reed. I’m glad you’re so skilled at prognostication. That makes me feel better about this.”
“About what?”
“You’re suspended. Two weeks. Minimum. Assuming I don’t decide to fire you. Between you and me, I wouldn’t make that assumption.” Maxine flashed a smile full of vitriol. “Of course, you probably read a report and knew that was coming as well.”
Abbey choked on her response as Maxine’s words struck home. Suspended. She’d only had detention once in her life. She’d only been grounded three times. Ever. She’d never been punished like this. The reality of it was a cold waterfall over a ball of white-hot indignation. She had saved the experiment. Not ruined it.
Abbey stood and grabbed her tablet, managing to glance at the waiting IM.
Maxine didn’t even bother to look at Abbey. “Now I’m sure you’ll have a lot of time to sit and think about your attitude, your decisions, and your place in this organization. Assuming I decide you still have a place here. So you go on back to your quarters. You throw your little hissy fit, or whatever you’re going to do, and you think on that.”
Hissy fit? Over. The. Line.
Abbey’s anger reignited, and she flipped her tablet around so Maxine could get a clear view.
“Sorry, but I don’t think I’m going to have a whole lot of time for that. The director wants to see me.” She strode for the door. “Now.”
Chapter 23
Caroline paced the perimeter of her office. At each corner, she punished herself by glancing at her desk.
She had so much to do. So much to set into motion. But she couldn’t do it. Not yet. Her brain ran on overdrive, trying to process all the variables in play. Trying to stop the experiment at this point was like trying to stop a train. She had put so much effort into getting it going for so many years that there were several layers of redundancy in place, and each time she dug further, she discovered more.
The bad coffee, the fatigue, an empty stomach, and the dire news had conspired to crack her emotional armor. As she stood there in darkness, illuminated only by the glow of her monitors, it hit her. For the first time, she truly felt it. With everything she’d been working for in shambles, she’d lost her last link to any moment of real happiness in her life. Marcus had died long ago. Her attempt to reconnect with Chase had blown up in her face. Even her relationship with Sebastian, whatever that was, teetered on the precipice.
In the darkness, with everything lost, she felt how much she truly loved her son. How important he was, beyond the career, beyond everything. And she realized how she had pushed him away. And how everything was her fault.
Dr. Caroline Edwards, brilliant scientist and driven administrator, broke down and sobbed. Anguish, rage, frustration—all of it came out in muted wails as she struggled to hold it in. It lasted a little more than five minutes. But to her, it felt like the end of a long prison sentence. Her emotions, long-buried, burst forth, powerful and raw, in what felt like both agony and release.
When it ended, she was a changed woman.
The reality of the moment draped back over her. The frustrations of her personal failures receded in the wake of the more urgent matters at hand.
The experiment.
Hope intertwined with her natural determination, both sneaking into the newly formed cracks of her emotional shell.
She could fix this. She’d get the experiment shut down, and then they’d rebuild and retool.
The same for Chase. She would make amends with her son. She would do better. She would be better. She would start fresh.
Caroline resumed her pacing, driving forward until she neared the wall, then pivoted to her left to continue on. She let her mind run free—thinking, working, solving problems.
She’d nearly made it to the next wall when the door to her office chimed. She stepped to the control panel near her desk and thumbed a switch.
“Come in.”
The door opened with a hydraulic hiss, and Abbey Reed stood in the frame. Her presence unlocked something in Caroline’s mind. She felt it—the beginnings of a plan.
She offered the young analyst a smile. “Miss Reed. Why don’t you step on in?”
* * *
Abbey crossed the threshold, stepping into the office, but held her ground in front of the door. She’d been excited to come when she had left Maxine. But as she approached the office, that excitement had shifted to worry. Now that she was actually inside, she wanted nothing more than to turn and run away.
Caroline eyed her, attempting to be friendly. But Abbey didn’t need to reach to feel the tension radiating off the woman.
“I’m glad you could make it so quickly. Want to sit?”
Abbey shook her head. “No, thanks. I mean, I would, but I…” She felt her words slipping away from her, could sense the rambling, which infuriated her.
She cleared her throat and gathered her wits. “Did you have some questions or something? Do you need more information on the report?”
Caroline sat on the couch and fired up her tablet. “Yes. Not me, exactly. But I will need more information on your report.”
Relief flooded through Abbey. “Oh, oh! Of course. I’m happy to walk you through any of the subsections—”
Caroline chuckled. Abbey had the distinct feeling that there was something more going on. Something she hadn’t clued into yet.
And that she wasn’t going to like it.
“I said I needed more information from your report, but I didn’t mean I needed more information. You and I…we’re going to go chat with the department heads.”
What? The fear detonated inside Abbey. “Um. All of them?”
Caroline nodded. “Yes. And the executive board will be vid-conning in. Between you and me, that’s where you’ll want to keep your attention.”
The executive board? On a vid con?
Abbey finally took a seat in one of the chairs opposite Caroline’s desk. The thought of the executive board terrified her enough. Over a video conference, she wouldn’t be able to read them. She’d be at their mercy.
“Doctor Edwards?”
“I know. I know. This is a big step for you. And not an easy one. You’re coming with me when I break the news about the experiment. They’re not going to like what I say, and they’re going to have questions. Lots of questions.” Caroline tilted her tablet toward Abbey. “Good luck with that, by the way.”
“No. No, Doctor Edwards. You can’t do this to me. I…I suppose I could join you, in person, for the department heads. But the executive board…I’m not sure I’d really be a help.”
“Are you kidding me? That’s exactly why I want you there. The executives are going be all over me.” Caroline sighed. “I’m sorry to say it, but they’ll be all over you, too.”
No. No. This can’t be happening.
Maxine might be able to suspend her. She could even lobby to get her fired. But the Meridian executives…they could ruin her entire career.
Abbey shook her head. “Doctor Edwards. Please. I gave you the report. I gave you the details. I’m happy to sit here and go over every element with you, but the vid-con thing. I can’t—”
Caroline’s jaw tightened, and she looked away. “Look, I’m not going to lie to you. It’s going to get a little rough in there. There’ll be hard questions about your data and your methodology. That’s why I need you. No one knows this data better than you.” She turned to face Abbey again. “You handled yourself with me last night, and I suspect you’ll be able to handle yourself with them. Trust me. I’ll have your back.”
Abbey fidgeted, then glanced back at the door before turning back to face Caroline. She swallowed and reached. The woman’s emotional spectrum came at her like a Technicolor thunderstorm. Under it all, though, Abbey could see that Caroline was speaking the truth.
Still…
She bit her lower lip, then shook her head. “I can tell you everything you need to know. I can walk you through all of it. Right here. Right now. Just…just please don’t ask me to do this.”
Caroline sighed and nodded as she uncurled from the couch and stood, locking sad and sympathetic eyes with Abbey.
“Ah. That right there is the crux of our situation.” Caroline nodded. “I’m sorry, Miss Reed. But you have to understand. I’m not asking you to go anywhere.” She leaned closer, and the sympathy vanished from her eyes. “I want that to be clear. This isn’t a negotiation. There is no debate. There is just you, in the conference room, on this call.” She turned away, walking back to her desk. “I hope I’ve made my position clear on this.”
Abbey, unable to form words, simply nodded.
Chapter 24
The boardroom looked smaller than Caroline remembered. She hadn’t been in there in almost six months. Not since the incident.
The too-long conference table, nicked on the far end, dominated the room, while an assortment of chairs filled the remaining space. The gray walls sucked her will to live. And as she scoped those gray walls, she couldn’t forget the inane pictures hanging throughout, most of which featured ducks on a still pond, all seemingly trapped by the meeting detritus that filled the room, ruining any sense of tranquility they meant to impart.
Lastly, commanding the far wall, a monitor spanned most of the upper half, leaving a scant half-inch gap on either side. Just under the titanic monitor, a gaggle of wires and equipment sat in a haphazard pile, reeking of disinterest. There, the videoconference gear made its home.
The screen bathed the room in blue light, while the message Waiting for Caller flashed on the screen. Caroline’s senior staff filled the seats, crowded in so tight they seemed one singular mass, their faces washed of all color in the blue blaze of the monitor and the reflected light from the death-gray walls. The group didn’t wait as patiently as the vid-con gear did. Their concerned murmurs mixed with one another, building to a wall of angry, discordant sound. Caroline hadn’t told them specifically what the meeting was about. But she had no doubt word had already spread to most of them.
Caroline let them talk. Nothing she had to say would calm them, anyway.
The screen flickered once, and an electronic chime—not quite a ring, not quite not a ring—came through the mounted ceiling speakers. The sound dampened the group’s chatter to silence. As one, the staff turned to look at Caroline. Waiting.
Caroline aimed the remote control at the video screen and hit the Answer Call button. The screen went black for a moment, then flared back to life. The entire board of directors—eight angry-looking men, and three equally angry-looking women—sat larger than life in front of her, their pixilated images piped in from across the world.
The board members shifted about, and Caroline watched one of them—she thought he was the VP of legal—fidget. This wasn’t a group used to waiting.
She cleared her throat. “I’m glad you all could join us.”
From the looks on their faces, the board didn’t share her sentiment.
Leo Barrett, Meridian’s CEO, leaned forward. Despite the pixelization, Caroline could still see the heavy lines on his aged face. Even through the video conference, he radiated a sense of power and control.
“Doctor Edwards, we all appreciate your greeting. As I understand it, from the information in your report, things are dire at ArcSIS. Why don’t we jump ahead? What’s this all about?” His words were kind enough, she supposed, but his tone masked an edged blade.
Caroline swallowed hard and looked around at her senior staff, all of whom were staring back at her. Waiting. She focused back up at the video screen, seeing those same anxious looks on the faces of the board members.
Silence.
It’s time. “We’re delaying the nanocyte experiment.”
Leo scowled. “Delay? You want to clarify that for us? How long of a delay, Doctor Edwards? Two days? Two weeks?”
Caroline’s stomach tightened. The problem was that she wanted to give them an answer. Her entire life centered on solving problems. This was just another one, right? They could get the experiment online again. Even if it took a year, they could go back through all the initial research. They could still do this.
She wanted it so bad. It dangled in front of her.
The board tightened in barely controlled and poorly hidden panic. They’d give her whatever she needed as long as she promised a payoff at the end. All she had to do was give the word.
“Doctor Edwards?”
No. She pulled herself away from temptation.
Truth won out. It wouldn’t work. Any promise she might make would be folly. She’d looked through the research Abbey had provided. The data didn’t lie. The problem wasn’t the experiment. It was the infrastructure. The nanocytes put out too much data.
The nanocytes themselves were the issue. Their data model. That’s where they had to start over. That’s where they had to rebuild.
“Doctor Edwards, how long?”
Caroline steeled herself, locking away the fear and trepidation.
“Indefinitely.”
The board and her senior staff all erupted, voices at war, rising and falling over one another. Caroline put her hands up and let them go.
Leo managed to get the board under control. As his voice carried through the speakers in the conference room, the entangled voices of Caroline’s senior staff faded to silence.
“Caroline, I understand the trepidation, especially in the light of…prior data, but isn’t this overkill? If we can just look over your data and shift some resources, we can find a way to—”
“I’m happy to send over the data. I can have it to you in an hour. But I’ve looked over it, Leo. I know what it shows. As long as I’m in charge of this facility, if you want the nanocyte project to go forward, then we have to start it over. As of now, it’s done.”
Caroline saw Leo’s knuckles go bright white as he gripped the arms of his chair. The man shifted forward and stabbed at the camera with his finger as if he could poke at Caroline from the heart of Silicon Valley.
“You of all people know how many billions of dollars we’ve invested in this. You know what’s at stake here. You can’t just end this project.”
Anger rippled through her. Money. Why did they always have to take the short perspective? Sure, they’d need to figure out how to spin this for the investors, but pressing forward would just exacerbate the costs.
“With all due respect, the financial side of things represents a small variable in a much larger equation. The data shows dire repercussions for the facility and its staff if we move forward. Hundreds of lives are at stake.
“We can appreciate your…principles. However, you’re basing a fundamental change in our timeline based on a single set of data from an analyst. We have had the most brilliant people in the world working on this experiment, Doctor Edwards. A decision of this magnitude is not yours to make.”
“I disagree, sir. I run this facility, and I’m in charge of the projects and staff here.”
“Well, it sounds like it might be time for some changes in that regard. Do you think that’s something we need to discuss, Doctor Edwards?”
Caroline shrugged. “You can discuss what you want. I don’t need to be a part of it.”
