Writing > Code

Chapter 26

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Daen:
Chapter 26

It was an upscale restaurant in Miami. Not top-of-the line, but definitely nicer than your standard eatery. About two dozen people were inside, listening to the lilting background music and enjoying their overpriced meals.

Not one of them showed any concern for disease, or for the political unrest in their own country. They showed complete and utter disregard for terrorist attacks, too, as long as they happened elsewhere. Tom might as well be surrounded by the dead.

Still feeling a dull ache of worry, Tom called Vicky once again. Once again, the call didn't get through. He couldn't even leave a message!

He knew she was alive. News stations were reporting that Holly had been killed, but there was also footage of Vicky on the beach after the explosion. There had been no statement from anyone in Scheria or Elysia, and since the Coded Nation was now foreign soil, reporters were forbidden from landing and asking questions.

News sources were estimating forty or more dead. And it had happened right in the middle of a week-long festival, celebrating the founding of their new nation.

Kenshi Saito appeared in the doorway and turned his coat over. It was raining outside: the wind whipping trees and water around in turmoil matching Tom's emotional state. Comparatively at ease, Kenshi spotted him and moved over to his table.

"Hello, Kenshi," Tom said, carefully controlling his voice and extending an arm to the other seat.

"Thomas. It's good to see you again." The older man sat gracefully. "I must say I was surprised you were able to make this meeting. Given the circumstances, I would have thought you'd be on your way back to Scheria by now."

"My reasons for meeting you may have changed, but they're no less valid," Tom hedged.

"I see. Should we order a meal, or is this conversation short enough for drinks only?"

"That's up to you."

Tom waited for Kenshi to order some drinks- non alcoholic, though. Kenshi never drank during negotiations, and he was clearly not here as a concerned former business associate.

"I take it you heard about the attempted theft last week," Tom said casually, as the drinks were being delivered. "Just before the President officially recognized the Coded Nation?"

Kenshi's stance didn't change, but his expression flickered just slightly. Tom had known him a long time, and that was all the confirmation he needed. "I may have gathered a few details. The coded people are being remarkably tight-lipped about it, though. Understandable, given the attack they recently suffered. Why anyone would want to steal from Scheria is a mystery, though. Everyone knows they have nothing of value."

Tom shook his head slowly. "You know, I gotta hand it to you. I had no idea you were still interested in coded affairs, much less willing to go to such lengths. I mean, manipulating the US government into trying to steal for you? That is next-level Machiavellian stuff."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Kenshi said in a remarkable display of false innocence.

"Save it. I've done some checking on Coleman-Saito's actions over the past few years. Which I'm sure you already knew. Do you expect me to believe it's just a coincidence that you set up CS's new head office right here in Miami? You've got ties to the State Department, the IRS, and the military. You've helped fund half of the election campaigns for the President's party, in at least thirty states. For all I know, you're bankrolling Humanity First, too!"

"You wound me," was the only response to that, but he didn't look all that hurt.

"I remember how you used to do business, Kenshi," Tom went on. "Now that your co-founder Dan has retired, you're in full control of CS. There's no way you'd be foolish enough get caught up in an SEC investigation. The loss of business alone is costing you what.. two billion dollars? Three? Not to mention the damage to your image. No, the only reason you'd let that happen is if you needed to use the SEC. You planted information for them to find in their investigation- information that took them to Scheria. Then you could use the distraction to hire Dr. Tan's kid to steal from him!"

Tom shook his head. "You know, I wondered why the State Department was so willing to trade coded recognition for silence about Drekker's actions. It didn't make sense, until I realized you were behind it. The one thing more embarrassing than having one of your operatives caught, is having everyone find out that he was only pretending to work for you!"

"A fascinating theory, Thomas," Kenshi said approvingly. "Quite interesting indeed. Perhaps you missed your calling as a screenwriter, because that would make a thrilling movie. But a fictional one, as you have no proof."

"Of course I don't. You never leave fingerprints, do you? You've been that way ever since you stopped working with the BOP."

They both sat in silence for a bit, their drinks going mostly ignored. The background music and conversation seemed to seep into them instead.

"You're assuming I was working with them in the first place," Kenshi finally responded before taking a sip. "To extend your interesting fiction, what if I was only using the BOP back then, just as I was using the State Department now? Wouldn't that make for a more interesting story?"

Tom just sat there for a few moments, thinking about it. Could it even be possible? He knew Kenshi was manipulative and calculating, but he hadn't always been that way. Had he?

"Why are you doing this to us?" He managed. "I thought we had an understanding! When we cut ties with your company, we were very generous. We gave you a ton of equipment, and most of our brain-mapping statistics. We even forfeited any right to the patents for your cures based on those statistics!"

"Table scraps," Kenshi said, his voice finally starting to get heated. "Why should I be content with mere crumbs when there's a sumptuous dinner waiting for me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tom said stubbornly, uncomfortably aware of just how true that statement really was.

"Now who's claiming ignorance? We're more alike than you're willing to admit, Thomas," he went on fiercely. "At first I wondered why you gave up a promising political career in order to back such an insignificant little project. Even if it was being run by your closest friends. I began to understand later, after hearing about the codes. I saw the potential in the idea, as you did. That's why I have allegedly been willing to go to such great lengths, and bear such enormous costs, to acquire their latest research. You know how valuable it is!"

Tom tried to still look shocked from before, but something in his expression must have given him away. Kenshi's eyes narrowed briefly, and then a slow smile appeared. "But you don't know, do you? They never told you!" He leaned back, looking around the room, and laughed softly.

"Oh, that is delicious! So.. that support you gave them? Was that a leap of faith after all? All this time I thought you were playing the noble protector, when you're really just the dupe!"

That was enough. "Whatever they're working on in there, I can trust them to handle it safely. A hell of a lot more than I could ever trust you. You're not coded."

"Neither are you!" Kenshi responded fiercely again. Nearby patrons glanced at him, and he looked down briefly, moderating his tone. "I respect what you've done, Thomas, but you have to stop pretending to be something you're not. You can't keep straddling both worlds. Either you're on their side, in which case you should go get a code of your own, or you're on ours."

"Their side and ours?" Tom repeated, feeling anger rise up and replace his embarrassment. "Is that how you justify attacking them? You blew up children on that beach, Kenshi! It doesn't matter if you were the guy on the boat or just the guy giving the order- there is no justification for that."

Kenshi gave him a look of surprise and shock. "You think that was me?"

He looked bewildered for a few seconds, and genuinely hurt. "I have children of my own, Thomas. You've seen me with them! If you really think I could do something like that.. then you might as well take out that gun of yours and end me right here. I would deserve no less."

Despite himself, Tom was beginning to wonder if his initial suspicion was true. Kenshi was an expert liar of course, but he did look truly dismayed at the possibility. He loved his children, too. He had a boy and a girl, named after his grandfather and mother-in-law.

"Think about it. Now that the coded people are a recognized nation, the only chance I have of getting that research is by maintaining a relationship with them. Attacking them only drove them further away! It wasn't me, Thomas."

Grimacing, Tom slapped a couple of bills on the table and stood up to leave. "We'll see. One way or another, I'll find out who did this. If it was you, I can guarantee you'll pay for it."

Outside in the rain, Tom tried calling Vicky again.

-.-

All around the world, television stations would be switching broadcasts in the next few seconds.

Vicky stood on the beach and closed her eyes, feeling the wind rush across her scalp and code. Given the importance of what she was about to say, she was mildly surprised at her lack of nervousness. Then again, maybe it wasn't so unusual after all. For almost a full day, she'd felt the strange combination of rage and numbness.

A few coded people had on-camera experience in their pasts, but all of them had been quite firm in their opinions. Vicky was the one to represent them, experience or no. A few more were skilled with cameras and sound systems, and were busy preparing in front of her.

When the time finally came, one of them held out a hand with three fingers, then two, then one.

"Hello, world," she began, realizing immediately that she sounded a bit breathy. Fortunately the wind and waves weren't being too loud right now. "I'm Vicky Brandt, and I'm speaking on behalf of the Coded Nation."

She couldn't help but pause right there, and look to her left. At the burnt wreckage of the creche. "Exactly one day ago, we suffered a terrorist attack on this very beach. As many news services have already reported, our unofficial leader Holly Trainer.. was killed."

Unbidden, images of Holly's face flew through Vicky's mind. Of her smile, her laugh, and her practically patented overly-patient look. Vicky swallowed, trying to banish them for now. "At first we assumed she was the target. That this was an assassination, a mindless and cowardly attempt to kill the Servant of Scheria. We were wrong."

Vicky nodded to one of the techs, who pressed a few keys and superimposed a website onto the broadcast they were sending out. "Just as the attack started, our Code Applications website received a manifesto, written by the attackers. It was clear from what they had to say, that they didn't know Holly would be here. They were after the building, not the person."

At her direction, the camera panned over to view the blackened site. All the bodies had been removed, but the damage was obvious. "This used to be our creche. For those of you who don't know, it was a hospital, combined with a school, combined with.. an orphanage. Twenty-two children and five adults were killed here. Over sixty more were injured. By cowards. Murderers whose motto was simple: better dead than coded."

Now she'd started trembling again. Moving into the shot, Vicky stared right at the camera. "I lost people in this blast. One of my closest friends lost both her father and her son in this blast! A lot of people assume that coded people can't feel emotions. I can tell you right now, I am angry. I am furious. I'm-" Her voice broke for a moment, and Vicky swallowed again. "I'm cut raw and ragged over this! But what I am not.. is afraid. None of us are afraid."

She knelt down on the sand, picking up the burnt remains of one of the window frames. "History has shown us how nations often respond to terrorist attacks. We've seen how countries which were founded on the ideals of freedom and hope endure terrorist attacks, and let it change them. Many times those same people, once open and inclusive, quickly embrace isolationism and xenophobia. They happily trade in their freedom for the illusion of security. And sure, they are a little safer from foreign extremism than they were before. But they're also a lot more vulnerable to their own leaders than they were before. That's how authoritarianism works."

Pointedly, Vicky dropped the frame on the sand. "That's not how we work. Terrorism isn't meant to kill people so much as change them, and we refuse to be changed. Who we are is more important to us than whether or not we are alive. We will never forget our dead, but we will also never forget that we are who we are because of them!"

"The creche will be rebuilt. The coding center will remain open, and applicants will not be turned away. Our relief efforts will continue. In every way we will remain the same, because while attacks like this often define people, it is we who decide what they mean to us. And we have decided that it has only made us stronger!"

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