March 8, 2363 AIA

Ionu

When Ian Byrick came onto the floor, the only person who noticed was the assistant floor manager for that day. The unfortunate man yelled an insult to get Byrick’s attention and told him to put on a hard hat. Ian stormed over to him.

“What’s your name, boy?”

The man’s mind whirled around this new development. “Chen.”

“Chen, do you know who I am?”

“You’re the man on my floor without a hard hat.”

It took effort, but Byrick checked himself. After all, he’d never been to this building before. Things happened without him realizing it. There were too many people who didn’t know his face. He swore to himself that he would make regular inspections a priority.

“I’m Ian Byrick. Have you at least heard of me?”

If Chen had been a more honest or brave man, he would have said he hadn’t, but Chen Shui was, above all, intelligent, and he instantly knew it would be in his best interest to have heard of him.

“Sir.”

It wasn’t much, but it seemed appropriate.

“Where the hell is Victor?”

“You mean—”

“I mean Hoaken Victorsson!”

Chen pointed down the long room. Through all the heavy machines and movement, Byrick thought he spied the man standing on top of a platform. One hand was on the controls in front of him. In the other, he held a clipboard that absorbed all his attention.

Byrick’s eyes never left the figure as he turned.

“Sir!” Chen called as he set off.

“What is it?”

“This is a hard hat required area.”

“And?”

“It’s required, sir.”

Byrick took two steps back, snatched the hat from Chen’s head and snarled, “Then I suggest you get off the floor.”

Chen left. It was close enough to his break time anyway, and he really wanted to get to a computer to look up who Ian Byrick was.

Even with the uniform hard hat, Byrick stood out. Working clothes came in various shades of brown and blue, accented by grease, dirt, and occasional spots of dried blood. His clean white shirt and light gray pants shone out in the dingy atmosphere. He knew Victor would see him, and he was close enough to see the man’s eyes as they flicked to him, then back to the clipboard.

By god, if he pretends he didn’t see me—

Byrick couldn’t finish the thought. His already impressive rage was stoked to a new level at the very idea of it.

As it turned out, he didn’t need to invent any consequences. When Byrick approached the platform, Victor called out without looking up from his clipboard, “Mr. Byrick! We’re glad to have you here, sir. Would you like to come up?”

Ian’s heavy march up the metal stairs made such a racket he had to wait until he reached the top before he could make himself heard.

“Victor, you were told I wanted to see you immediately.”

Victorsson held up a finger as he finished marking down a few figures on his papers. Then he put the clipboard down on the controls in front of him and turned to his boss.

“Yes, Mr. Byrick. Unfortunately, I received the summons while I was overseeing the registry of the last two loads of material. The only other person who has the authority to sign the registers has the day off. Since I knew it would take at least thirty minutes to track Winslow down, and registering the materials would only take forty minutes, I decided it would probably be faster to do it myself.”

That was reasonable. Ian wasn’t in the mood for reasonable, but there was a part of him that still looked to the future, and it knew a man who could make wise decisions would be useful. He forced himself to let the matter go.

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“How lovely.” The sarcasm dripped through his clenched teeth. “Are you free now?”

“I’m at your disposal, sir.”

“We have to talk.”

Victor glanced around the crowded floor. Then, once again proving his ability to make wise decisions, he said, “Would you like me to show you to my office, sir? We can talk privately there.”

“If you please.”

They went to the far end of the building, furthest from the noise, through a small lobby, stopping only for a moment by his administrative assistant’s desk to mutter a few words to the man. Then Victor walked over to his office door, opened it, and motioned for Byrick to go through first.

“Whichever chair you want, sir,” he said as he closed the door behind himself. “I’m afraid I don’t have many in here. The one behind the desk is the most comfortable.”

Ian had already claimed it by the time its owner had turned around. Victor went to the only other chair in the room. It was a sad little metal thing that was almost as uncomfortable to sit on as it was to look at.

“What can I do for you, sir?” Victor asked.

Byrick peered around the small room. “You work here?”

Victor mimicked his boss’s examination. The bland metal walls were crowded with oversized whiteboards. Their edges were peeling away, and paper cluttered every inch that wasn’t covered in writing. Since the papers were tacked up by magnets, if they ran out of room on the whiteboards, they used the walls.

“I do.”

He wondered if Byrick was thinking of his own office. It was five times as big, and there were no papers to be seen. Even his slick computer was hidden away in a custom compartment in the man’s desk. Victor would’ve been overjoyed to have that much room to lay out all the paperwork he needed. Of course, he would’ve had to take down the expensive art to bring in more whiteboards.

Ian turned his attention to his underling. “Victorsson, one of my managers called me today. He wanted to know when Fif Taver would be returning to work. I had no idea who this…Fif Taver was”—he spewed the name, as if insulted by how strange it was—“and told him so. He was very surprised since I was the one who’d requested him to leave his assigned job and report for a special assignment.”

Byrick stopped and stared at Victor. Hoaken Victorsson watched him without betraying anything, and for one strangled second, Ian Byrick felt uneasy. He went on, even as the more reasonable, future-minded part of his brain tried to figure out why he would feel uneasy.

“I made certain inquiries, and let me tell you, that took some time and effort. The net result was that I discovered twenty-eight people—twenty-eight people, Victor!—have been pulled from their jobs and put on a special assignment. No amount of questioning could reveal what this special assignment was.”

His boss seemed to be waiting for something, so Victor said, “That sounds frustrating, sir.”

“But I did learn something interesting. All the orders supposedly came from me, but they were all relayed by you.” Byrick sneered at him. “What can you tell me about that?”

To Byrick’s enraged amazement, Victor pulled a battered phone from his pocket and glanced at it.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Victorsson!” Byrick cried. “Am I keeping you from something important?”

What was it about Victor? He looked the same. He had the same expressions and used the same words. Victor had always had that over-acted deferential attitude that came across as sarcastic. Byrick was willing to accept this modest rebellion because of how talented the man was, and it was no worse than usual.

But…something…was wrong.

“Not at all, sir. I’m waiting on an urgent message.”

“From your floor?”

Victor smirked. “No, sir. We’re not that important. I’m the only one with access to a channel on my floor.” He put the phone on the desk between them. “Now, you asked what I could tell you about those orders?”

“Yes!”

“What would you like to know?”

“You admit it?”

“Admit what, sir?”

“You admit you gave those orders using my name?!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

“Because they needed to come from someone high enough they wouldn’t be questioned, and no one questions your orders, Mr. Byrick.”

“But why would you admit it?”

It was something about his eyes—no, his whole expression.

“You want me to lie?” Victor asked.

His tone too.

“Of course I don’t want you to lie! But I didn’t expect you to so readily tell the truth either! What’s going on?”

“We hoped that you wouldn’t find out so quickly. We had plans for you, but we figured that if you did find out, there’d be no point in lying. That’s why I was the one who relayed all the orders. That way, when you stumbled on to us, you were bound to come to me.”

He’s not afraid, Ian realized.

Victorsson’s sarcastically deferential attitude had always been a mask. It was the face he put on so he didn’t have to admit to himself how intimidated he felt around his superiors. That was the other reason Ian had tolerated it: he’d found it funny.

But now, Byrick had the obscure impression that, this time, Victor was laughing at him.

Between them, the phone chimed.

Victor stood up. “They’re here.”

Byrick got to his feet as well, though he wasn’t sure why.

Victor went to the door and opened it. Two men flanked a third, giving the impression they were guarding him, despite the fact there were no cuffs in sight. Hoaken ushered the third man inside. His escorts followed. One of them shut the door and locked it.

“What’s going on?” Ian demanded.

“This is a part of the special assignment, Mr. Byrick. This man is going to be very important to you. We would have preferred someone better, but…he’ll have to do. You’re his fifth, so with luck, we won’t lose much.”

“What are you talking about?! I don’t even know this man’s name!”

“In three minutes, his name will be Ian Byrick.”

Ian’s future-minded brain told him to run.

He was only to the side of the desk when something stabbed him. A white shaft had pierced his shoulder. His eyes followed it back to where it emerged from Victor’s palm.

“Come,” Victor called to the man behind him. “This is him.”

The figure stepped forward with slow, awkward steps. He never spoke and didn’t seem to know what to do with his eyes—until he fixed them on Byrick’s face. The man raised his hand. Byrick’s breathing became faster and faster as the claws grew toward him.

They were driven into his skull.

There was pain followed by nothing.