Fatal Exception Read online

  Fatal Exception

  A Novel By

  Derek M. Dukes

  Copyright ©2011 by Derek M. Dukes

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First Kindle Edition, 2011

  www.derekmdukes.com

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 — In the Beginning

  Chapter 2 — On the Building of Storm Computer Corporation

  Chapter 3 — The Smell of Commerce in the Morning

  Chapter 4 — The Blind Leading the Blind

  Chapter 5 — The View from the Top

  Chapter 6 — Concerning the Burglary on the Night of December 22, 1999

  Chapter 7 — Social Networking

  Chapter 8 — For Science

  Chapter 9 — How May I Help You?

  Chapter 10 — The Importance of Keeping Secrets

  Chapter 11 — The Big Announcement

  Chapter 12 — In the Field

  Chapter 13 — Concerning the History of a Certain Dr. Klaus Reinhart

  Chapter 14 — The Only Thing You Can Count on Is Change

  Chapter 15 — Experiments Gone Awry

  Chapter 16 — All She Wants to Do Is Dance

  Chapter 17 — Never Trust a Monkey

  Chapter 18 — In the Right Place at the Right Time

  Chapter 19 — Where You Least Expect It

  Chapter 20 — You Kill Zombies Good

  Chapter 21 — Your Mission, If You Choose to Accept It . . .

  Chapter 22 — The Graveyard Shift

  Chapter 23 — Concerning the Horrible Feeling of Being Stood Up

  Chapter 24 — Zen and the Art of Self-Reconstruction

  Chapter 25 — Collateral Damage

  Chapter 26 — The Revelation

  Chapter 27 — Into the Lion's Den

  Chapter 28 — Spiders and Flies

  Chapter 29 — Rewind, Rinse, Repeat

  Chapter 30 — Send in the Cavalry

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  “THANK YOU FOR CALLING STORM Computer Tech Support. My name is Wesley, how may I help you?”

  The words rolled from the back of his brain and off his tongue like an unconscious paraplegic plunging down a steep grade.

  After three years, Wesley was the most tenured tech support rep in the call center, and the ease, the almost subconscious way he took phone calls, would make lesser techs weep with envy.

  “Did you restart the computer?”

  If the customer says “no,” tell him to reboot; if “yes,” tell him to do it again. This is no script — this is instinct. A gut reaction. Years of experience, congealed into solid form, shaping and forming the wrinkles in his brain.

  For Wesley, tech support was no longer a cognitive exercise — it was purely mechanical.

  The wait for a customer's computer to reboot would, on average, take about half of Wesley's working day. Three minutes of silence (made easier with a Mute button), usually followed by a surprised “Oh! It's working now! What did you do?”

  And it would probably be no different for this caller — the last call of the day. Through some strange manifestation of quantum indeterminacy, this Schrödinger's Call had managed to slip into the call center's Automated Call Distributor at exactly 9:59:59.99999 — just before closing time. So, as luck would have it, while all the other techs were racing out the doors and heading out to drown the day's calls with alcohol, Wesley was stuck on the phone. Alone.

  Sure enough, as the customer's computer sprang back to life, whatever problem had caused the customer to call had been miraculously cured. Without so much as a “thank you” or a “go fuck yourself,” the customer unceremoniously disconnected the call, leaving Wesley free for the night.

  As he gathered his things from the shared cube — books, papers, pens — and dropped them into his flimsy blue backpack, Wesley heard a male voice call out from somewhere in the cubicle labyrinth.

  “Hello? Anybody down here?”

  The tech support department was on the second floor. The only people who would call tech support “down here” must be from the third floor — and that meant it was an executive.

  “Yes sir. What can I do for you?”

  A man appeared from the nearby hallway. Clean-shaved, casual khakis and polo shirt. There was something familiar about his face . . .

  “Elliot. Elliot Storm.” He extended a hand, which Wesley gladly shook.

  “I thought I recognized you.”

  “I hope it's not too much trouble, but I'm having a problem with the computer up in my office. Do you think you could come up and have a look at it?”

  When the founder and owner of the company asks you for a favor, there is one — and only one — correct response.

  “Yes sir.”

  Wesley followed Mr. Storm into the elevator. Just like a lazy executive to skip the stairs, he thought.

  “Yeah,” Elliot said, “I'm not sure what's going on with the computer. I just went out for dinner and came back and now it won't start up.”

  All business, Wesley headed straight for the computer while Elliot puttered around his office. Wesley was happy to be ignored — he was just doing his best to both fix the problem and look like he knew what he was doing.

  “You've been with the company for a while?” Elliot attempted some small talk.

  Wesley merely grunted in agreement.

  “I'm sure it's grown a lot since you first started,” Elliot continued as he paced around the huge corner office, occasionally stroking some useless but expensive decoration. Slightly annoyed by the constant motion in his peripheral vision, Wesley still managed to stay focused on the task at hand. Finally, Elliot came to a rest in his ridiculously large office chair and began absently flipping through a file.

  “You know, when I first picked the site for this campus, it was nothing but family-owned farmland.”

  He flipped a switch on a hidden control panel, causing the blinds to flip open.

  “Now look at it.”

  Wesley glanced up for a moment to see the glistening of the Austin skyline on the horizon, the towers twinkling like constellations.

  “Don't talk much, do you, Wesley?”

  With another flip of the switch, the blinds closed again.

  “Sorry, sir.” His face began to turn a faint crimson. “Just trying to get this fixed so we can both go home.”

  Elliot laughed. “Home? If I were going home anytime soon, I would have just left the computer for IT to fix tomorrow. No, I have a feeling I have a long night ahead of me.”

  “Well, I'd rather not be here all night, if it's all the same to you, sir.”

  But Elliot Storm wasn't paying the least bit of attention.

  “You know the best part about designing and building your own place? You can do anything you want with it.”

  Trying to block out the rambling as best he could, Wesley continued tinkering with the sick computer. It spat out some sad beeps, but was still unresponsive.

  “For example, the control panel on my desk.” Elliot toggled one of the switches just enough for the track lighting to flicker. “But you wouldn't know anything about any of that. You rent a small apartment about four miles from here. No nearby family, no girlfriend. Drive straight to work, straight home. Hell of a tech, though.”

  Wesley started feeling a bit uncomfortable.

  “How did you . . . ”

  “Personnel file.” He held up a manila folder. “Being the president of the company has its perks.” He fed the file folder into the shredder embedded in the desk, where it disappeared in a whirrin
g and sputtering grind.

  “You got that problem fixed yet?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Oh, you might need these.” Reaching into his pocket, Elliot produced a handful of chips and capacitors and tossed them onto the floor in front of Wesley.

  “Is this some kind of a game? A test?”

  “I guess you could say that.”

  “Well, I'm not playing anymore. Goodnight.”

  Wesley grabbed his backpack and advanced toward the door, arriving just after the deadbolts snapped shut at the order of Elliot's control panel.

  “What the fuck is this?”

  Elliot smiled. “This is science.”

  From a hidden panel on the wall, a tiny dart shot out, embedding itself into Wesley's neck. He grabbed it and jerked it out, but it was too late — the toxins were already swimming through Wesley's bloodstream.

  Paralysis took hold quickly and Wesley fell to the floor. He lay there helpless as Elliot Storm, founder and president of Storm Computer Corporation and overnight millionaire, opened a wall panel, dragged his limp body over, and shoved him down a chute to the basement.

  As Wesley fell, his awareness faded. By the time he landed underground, his world had gone black.

  Chapter 1

  In the Beginning

  WELCOME TO STORM COMPUTER CORPORATION. AS a new team member, you are joining a world-class organization that has in a very short time grown to be the world's leading supplier of home and business computer equipment.

  As this brief introductory video will show you, this company has come a long way since its founding in 1985. Once this video is over, your supervisor or manager will take you on a tour of the campus, after which you will start your training. Then you will begin the adventure of your new career in technical support!

  Phinnaeus Webb yawned. 8:04 a.m.

  Phin wasn't alone in his boredom — the entire room of a dozen or so newly hired tech support reps seemed stricken with an exotic yawn-inducing disease. While one guy in the front row slept hard (and snored loudly), Phin knew that anything that happens on company time could mean the difference between a paycheck and a pink slip, so he kept his eyes loosely glued to the TV.

  Thirty minutes went by, and Phin barely managed to stay awake.

  “Good morning!” A very average-looking man with soft, feminine features and an unremarkable voice stood up at the front of the conference room.

  “For those of you who don't remember me from the interview process, my name is Isaac Nix. I'm the Tech Support Manager for the call center here at Storm, and I guess you could say that I'm your boss, because I am.”

  Phin wasn't sure if this was supposed to be a joke, but at the sound of the word “boss,” the entire room seemed to sit up a little taller.

  “Now, first things first — One of the core values here at Storm is attention to detail. When you make a mistake, the whole company looks bad. When you do well, the company looks good. So you can probably guess which we like more.”

  Isaac Nix wanted so badly to come across like the drill instructor from Full Metal Jacket. He wanted to command respect from his underlings on a subconscious level. But for all his posturing, his whole demeanor was just too flaccid to be anything but an ordinary man in almost every way.

  Phin saw him for what he was — a mouthpiece for the company. Isaac was the perfect middle-management drone. He would soak up all the company propaganda, take to heart all the productivity seminars and bullshit, and spew it out word-for-word to his employees like Moses in Dockers.

  But Phin also saw opportunity for himself. With a complete tool for a boss, it would be all too easy for Phin to do a half-assed job and still come out smelling like roses.

  “I'll be handing out a quiz shortly . . . ”

  Phin snapped back to the moment, a jolt of adrenaline bringing his attention into line.

  “It's nothing major,” Isaac the manager continued. “Just to see what you already know and make sure you were paying attention during the video.”

  The snoring guy, now wide awake, turned as white as a sheet of paper. A guy sitting along the wall took notice of his embarrassment and cackled.

  “Sucks to be you, dude!”

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” Isaac walked over to the heckler, whose full beard and long, unkempt hair seemed out of place in the corporate world.

  “This is Steve Zook. He's one of our supervisors. If you have any questions, you can always go to him.”

  “But take the dumb questions to somebody else.”

  Phin looked at Steve and decided that he probably wasn't kidding. Isaac simply pretended not to notice as he passed out the quizzes.

  When Phin got his, he could barely keep from laughing.

  What color shirt was the narrator wearing?

  Blue.

  Who founded Storm Computer Corporation in the garage of his parents' house shortly after dropping out of college in 1985?

  Elliot Storm. Duh.

  In the latest version (Gateways 96), what is the name of the main menu button?

  “Go.” As in “go get a job slinging burgers if you don't know this one.”

  The snoring guy was escorted from the room by security as everyone else passed forward their papers.

  “Guess they take that video pretty serious,” Phin's neighbor whispered. Phin smiled and looked up. Another wisecracker. A kindred spirit, perhaps?

  “Brian Carter.”

  “Phinnaeus Webb. But you can call me Phin.”

  “So, Phin, what are you in for?”

  “Oh, the usual — trying to go to college, pay bills, et cetera. My ex-girlfriend didn't make enough to be my Sugar Mama.”

  “I hear ya, Phin.”

  As the crowd started to get up and follow Isaac to the training room, Brian and Phin walked a little slower. The way Phin saw things, it couldn't hurt to have an ally on the first day, especially in a place like this, where a guy will be fired for not knowing a narrator was wearing a blue shirt.

  “So, you said you're trying to go to school?”

  “Yeah, I . . . ”

  Brian jumped in, seizing the opportunity to talk about himself.

  “I just graduated. Information Systems management. Got all the PureSoft certifications too.”

  “Doesn't that make you a little over-qualified for a gig like this?”

  Brian shrugged. “I was just looking for a foot in the door. Really, I'm gunning for a job in network security. And I'll get it, too. Just you wait.”

  “I have no doubt,” Phin smiled, amused by Brian's passion for his work. He saw a glimmer of himself in Brian's enthusiasm. Not lately, though — and certainly not about this job.

  Phin was at Storm for only one reason: to make money. But first he'd have to learn what the hell he was doing.

  Steve Zook, the unkempt and wisecracking supervisor, happened to overhear their conversation.

  “Network security, huh? You could be waiting a while. Cecil is the best there is.”

  Brian chuckled. “Cecil? Your network security guy is named . . . ”

  “Cecil Peabody. Anything that happens on this network, he knows about it. So don't go thinking you can install Starcraft and just jerk off all day. Trust me on that one. Now run along, kiddies, you're missing the bus.”

  Phin and Brian raced in the direction where they'd seen their fellow new-hires heading and soon found themselves in a small classroom. As soon as they took their seats, a thick, middle-aged man with an obvious comb-over started talking.

  “Welcome to Tech University! I'm Jim Lyons, and for the next three days, I'm going to teach you everything there is to know about troubleshooting PCs for Storm Computer Corporation.

  He put his meaty paw on a computer tower.

  “Now, can someone identify what this is?”

  Phinnaeus sighed.

  Chapter 2

  On the Building of Storm Computer Corporation

  ELLIOT STORM WAS A SHREWD MAN. When he set out to create a new campus for
his newly formed computer company, nothing like it had ever been build, so there was no prototype to copy.

  He designed the whole building from scratch — giving each construction contractor group only a piece of the whole puzzle. It was frustrating beyond belief for the foremen, who were used to having total control of the job site. But Storm was paying them well — very well, in fact — so they were willing to put up with the occasional oversight or correction when the drywall went up before the electrical wiring had been put in.

  After the building was framed and partially completed, Elliot Storm (who personally supervised the whole affair) fired everyone working on the project and brought in a new group of private contractors. He allowed each group to work for a month and then would find a technicality in order to fire them so he could bring in new blood.

  In the end, seven different construction crews were used to build the structure. Aside from Elliot himself, not a single person on the job site had ever been there for more than a month, and nobody had a complete picture of what work had been done from start to finish.

  And that was exactly the way Elliot wanted it.

  During various stages of the construction, Elliot would give the crew the weekend off, and bring in his own people to work through the night. His secret contractors usually came from Venezuela, Cuba, or Honduras, always flew directly into Austin and flew back home as soon as their two-day job was finished. These clandestine all-night building parties were timed so that they would be finished, and their work concealed, before the next city inspection to make sure the edifice was up to code.

  The blueprints for the building supplied to the public construction crews often had pieces omitted, cut out, or covered over with white ink. These were proprietary systems, Elliot would explain, and were not to be messed with by any of the construction workers.