Hail to the King by S.T. Hoover

Author:S.T. Hoover
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Project 89 Media, LLC
Published: 2019-07-21T04:00:00+00:00

32

Thursday, December 3rd

Networking Hub 17

Denver, Colorado

10:54 AM (MT)

The early morning rush to DenCom Tower had slowed, but stragglers still flowed through the main doors, usually rushing straight to their desks or stumbling in half-awake.

Nelson watched all of them intently on the monitors. He kept an eye mostly on the established entrances and floors that had been designated as “troublesome” because there were either disgruntled employees on that floor or possible incursion points.

At the entrance, Nelson watched one man stumble in and fall flat on his face, his briefcase spilling paperwork and files atop the trotting feet of other employees. They were stomped out of sight before the man reached them. Nelson felt sorry for him, whatever his name was. Johnson, maybe? No, he’d quit months ago.

But he did know the man on a nearby monitor. Dustin McDonald, or Dusty to those who knew him, was yet again stealing from the supply closet on the fifty-third floor. Nelson watched a stapler and pack of Sharpie pens disappear into the man’s suit pocket and didn’t bother marking it down. No one cared that he took stuff, and he wasn’t shy about it, either. With an eBay username like “Suplyh0g69,” he wasn’t trying to hide what he was doing. Still, Nelson wondered what would happen if he confronted the man. Maybe he could mount a speaker near the camera Dusty periodically flipped off as he left the pillaged closet. Maybe he’d ask Dusty for a box of staples while he was in there.

He then looked at the room’s lone wall clock. It was time to call Benedict again.

He plugged the number into the computer’s comm link and groaned. This would be the seventh call since Benedict had boarded the Vulture, and Nelson was not looking forward to the conversation. If there was one thing Benedict knew, it was when Nelson hadn’t had his “beauty sleep,” as Ben called it.

The AI’s voice echoed over Networking Hub 17’s speaker system.

“Hello! You’ve reached the automated ordering system of Barker’s Pizza, best pie in Gallipolis! Will this be a home delivery or pickup?”

“Pickup,” Nelson told the AI.

“Great! What would you like to order?”

Nelson sighed. “One extra-large Hawaiian with extra anchovies.”

“Yum! Just one moment!” the AI said before switching the line to elevator music. A Muzak version of “California Dreaming” echoed in the Hub as Nelson waited for the woman to come back with the inevitable, “Sorry, fresh out! Please try another location!” before a false dial tone filled the line.

In the year since the Vulture had been active, Nelson had grown to hate the automated disguised number. And, to add insult to injury, he was the one who had designed it that way. He and Douglas had given them the plans for pretty much everything that made that ship more than a giant Frisbee. From engine plans to sewage treatment, their stamp was on everything, and Nelson still hadn’t even set foot on board! Maybe once the NSU was dealt with, he would take a much-needed vacation, and—

“Congratulations!” the AI said.

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