Fatal Exception Page 5
“I can't feel my left hand.”
“Good — and now?”
“God — oh God! It's on fire! Jesus! Make it stop!”
Dr. Reinhart made a few notes on his clipboard.
“Very interesting. Good. And now?”
Chris's voice went silent, but his heart rate and blood pressure skyrocketed, according to the nearby monitor. His face contorted with agony.
“Very interesting indeed . . . ”
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ELLIOT STORM WAS USED TO always getting what he wanted. Especially after he founded the company and became an overnight millionaire. When there was something he wanted, he simply took it. And when that thing didn't want him, he took it anyway.
For Elliot, strippers were better than real women. They always loved you, they never had a headache, and they were dying to get into your pants. All you had to do was hand over a few bills — of which he had plenty.
There was one stripper in particular he liked. It was at a so-called gentlemen's club on I-35. Her name was Mackenzie, and she danced as close to completely nude as the law would allow. Elliot got plenty of close looks at her during various table dances and lap dances, so he knew every inch of her body.
He would often whisper perverse propositions into her ear, but she always shrugged him off, took his twenty dollars, and went off to grind on another guy. Finally, this pattern of teasing and refusal got to be too much for Elliot to handle.
As he drove to the Meat Market, thoughts of her constant rebuffs throbbed in Elliot's head. “No” simply wasn't an acceptable answer to him. He drove a maroon minivan outfitted with false license plates and custom window decals that made it appear that the van was perfectly normal and empty. The windows themselves were simply for show — the interior of the van had been gutted and replaced with a special restraint system for Elliot to use in gathering the specimens for Dr. Reinhart.
He parked and waited outside for Mackenzie's shift to end at 2 in the morning — he knew her schedule by heart. He stalked his prey carefully, waiting for her to get into her car and drove all the way home. When she got out of her car, Elliot rushed up behind her and hit her with a stun gun, then clubbed her over the head and put her into the back of the van.
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MACKENZIE WOKE UP AND LOOKED around, but couldn't tell where she was. Everything was swimming. What was the last thing that happened? She couldn't remember.
“Hello, Mackenzie,” a voice said from somewhere inside her head.
“Hello,” she parroted.
“How do you feel?”
“I don't know.”
Dr. Reinhart and Elliot Storm were in the control room behind one-way glass.
“She has only basic consciousness,” the doctor said. “Her responses are based purely on instinct and basic learned behavior. If you asked her vhat her name was right now — even though I just said it — she would probably pass out from ze strain.”
“How does it work?”
“All her impulses and thoughts are fed through ze computer. The computer is programmed to only allow ze type of behavior we designate. If I told her to shoot herself in ze head, her thoughts would say no, but ze computer tells her brain to always say yes to us, so she vould do it.”
“So, she is cooperative then?”
“Yes.” The doctor activated the microphone. “Touch your nose with both hands.”
Mackenzie immediately put her index fingers into the tip of her nose.
“That's good,” Elliot said. “What about something that would go against her normal moral fiber?”
“Here, you try. But be careful, she cannot pull ze wires out or it will disconnect her from ze computer and it will cease all brain function.”
“Mackenzie, tell me you love me.”
“I love you,” she replied frankly.
“Good enough for me. How sturdy is that table?”
“Quite sturdy.”
Elliot lowered the shade on the observation window and walked through the door into the operating room.
“Hello, Mackenzie.”
“Hi there.”
“Lie back on the table and spread your legs.”
Elliot closed the door to the operating room and finally took from her what he had wanted for so long.
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DR. REINHART TOLERATED ELLIOT STORM'S perverse little side project simply for the sake of keeping the peace. Reinhart himself knew he wasn't innocent of such indiscretions, but with Elliot, it seemed to be more than an occasional indulgence. Elliot went into Mackenzie's room at least twice a day. The machines and tubes would keep Mackenzie's body alive indefinitely. Eventually, Elliot even stopped calling her by name. She became simply “Room 6.”
After a few weeks, Elliot's visits to Room 6 became less frequent. Without any sort of a hunt or a challenge, it wasn't as interesting.
Finally one day, Elliot went to Dr. Reinhart and said, “I'm done with Room 6. Please have it cleaned out.”
When Reinhart went into the room, he was amazed. The room itself was just as he'd left it, but Mackenzie's body, still connected to the machines keeping her alive, was simply ravaged in every way imaginable. Her hair was matted. She had bruises and cuts from head to toe. Her left eye was swollen shut.
She did not seem to notice any of this, though. As soon as Reinhart wheeled his way into the room, Mackenzie sprung up onto all fours and meowed, “I want more.” Apparently this was some sort of programmed behavior.
Reinhart almost took pity on the poor girl, even though she had no idea what she was doing. He pulled a scalpel from his shirt and handed it to her.
“I want you to remove your left eye.”
She rammed the tool into her eye socket and started digging and prying, slicing through muscle and connective tissue, until the eyeball hung loosely by its optic nerve.
Reinhart was intrigued. He'd done far worse to patients in the past, but this one had performed self-mutilation without a single scream or cry. Clearly, the computer interface had far more power than he had first anticipated.
He wrapped his hand around the bundle of wires running into Mackenzie's head and pulled sharply. They came loose, and her body went limp.
Chapter 9
How May I Help You?
TRANSCRIPTS FROM STORM COMPUTER CORPORATION Technical Support call logs, Agent ID 1138 (Webb, Phinnaeus).
Thank you for calling the Storm Computer Corporation support line. My name is Phinnaeus, how may I help you today?
Hi, I can't get my computer to start up.
What happens when you push the power button?
Well, it makes the light on the TV come on.
Do you mean the monitor?
Yeah, the thing that looks like a TV.
And what about the power button on the computer itself? The tower?
Oh, that thing for the disks? I figured I'd just unpack that part later. Right now I just want to use the computer.
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Thank you for calling the Storm Computer Corporation support line. My name is Phinnaeus, how may I help you today?
Why won't this thing work?
Excuse me?
I click on the Internet Highway button, but it doesn't do anything. It just says “page cannot be found” or some crap.
Are you connected to the Internet right now?
Aren't you listening? That's what I'm trying to do and it's not working.
Sir, do you have an Internet service provider?
Service? Hell, I got a computer, you tellin' me the Internet costs money even after I bought this piece of junk computer?
Yes sir. It's sort of like a telephone — you can buy all the phones you want, but in order to actually use the phones, you have to pay the phone company.
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Thank you for calling the Storm Computer Corporation support line. My name is Phinnaeus, how may I help you today?
I've tried calling y'all before, and I just can't do it anymore.
Excuse me, ma'am?
I can't get this damned thing working. Y'all always try to help me, but I'm just not cut out for this computer stuff.
I'm sorry, ma'am. If you can just answer a few questions for me . . .
Can you come out here?
I'm afraid we don't offer on-site support for consumers, only businesses.
No, I mean you.
Do what?
You sound cute.
Ma'am, you do realize that this is a recorded line, don't you?
Now now, don't get all huffy, I just said you sounded cute. Anyway, I really just want this damned computer working. Can't you just come out and fix it? I'll pay you — I live right down the street from y'all's office.
I'm afraid I can't, ma'am. I would be more than happy to help you out over the phone, however.
I get it. Fine. I'll just call back until I get someone else. Thanks anyway.
[Management Note: Same customer called 7 times within 30 minutes. Her last call was with Agent ID 946 (Wallis, Dale). Agent 946 is currently under investigation for gross misconduct following an unauthorized on-site repair visit. Details are in the police report on file in Human Resources.]
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Thank you for calling the Storm Computer Corporation support line. My name is Phinnaeus, how may I help you today?
You suck.
Excuse me?
Your products suck.
I'm sorry sir, is there something I can help you with?
Yeah, this fuckin' thing broke down again. I'm just about ready to throw it out the fuckin' window.
I'm sorry to hear that sir. If you'll just tell me what exactly it's doing, chances are I can help you out.
No way. I've already called you four fuckin' times this week, and every fuckin' time I spend 2 fuckin' hours on the fuckin' phone only to have this fuckin' thing break down again.
Well, how long has it been since you bought your computer?
Computer? I'm talkin' about my TV set, you fuckin' idiot.
Sir, we don't sell TV sets. We sell computers.
Bullshit. Guy at the flea market said that it was made by Storm. That's you guys, so you made the fuckin' thing, and it doesn't fuckin' work, so you need to get the fuck over here and fuckin' fix it.
Sir, if you continue to use language like that, I'm going to be forced to terminate this call.
Oh no you don't you fuckin' . . .
(Call Disconnected)
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Thank you for calling the Storm Computer Corporation support line. My name is Phinnaeus, how may I help you today?
My computer is trying to kill me.
Excuse me?
It keeps threatening me. First it said I did something illegal.
Sir, do you mean it gave an illegal operation error?
Yes, that's it. Am I going to get arrested?
No sir, that's just computer jargon.
What about this “fatal exception” error? Is that jargon too?
Yes sir.
So it's not going to try to kill me?
No sir. Computers can't do that.
Chapter 10
The Importance of Keeping Secrets
FROM THE FIRST DAY THEY started work together, Ronald Crockett and Gilbert Tubbs were joined at the hip. The name coincidence only added to the complimentary chemistry they had between the two of them.
As the head “building maintenance engineers” for the Storm Computer Corporation campus, it was up to Crockett and Tubbs to keep everything in proper working order — including Mr. Storm's secret toys. As such, they did much of their work in the evenings.
At first, they had no idea what any of the equipment was for. They simply looked at it as routine maintenance: check the smoke detectors, verify the pressure in the fire extinguishers, unclog the drains in the water fountains, test the concealed dart guns, and refill the nerve gas canisters. It was all in a day's work for the two intrepid janitors.
This was why Elliot Storm felt they were perfect for the job — they did as they were told, and they didn't ask questions.
But as the projects in the lab started ramping up, some of Crockett and Tubbs's duties — they always worked side by side — became a little questionable, even for the two of them.
While they never saw any whole bodies, it was up to Crockett and Tubbs to mop up the blood, pick up any leftover pieces of flesh, bone, etc., and return the various laboratory rooms to a pristine condition so Dr. Reinhart could carry on with his experiments.
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ONE NIGHT, WHEN THE MEN were tidying up after a particularly messy experiment, Crockett found a severed finger with a gold wedding band still wrapped around it.
“Hey, take a look at this,” he said, holding it up in the light.
“Oh shit, where'd that come from?” Tubbs asked.
“Found it right here under the table.”
From behind a pane of one-way glass, Elliot Storm and Dr. Reinhart watched the duo to see how they would react. Elliot had left the finger there on purpose, to test the moral fiber of his janitors. When he saw that neither of them seemed to have a problem with the fact that they'd just discovered a human finger, he knew they were perfect.
“How are you, gentlemen?” Elliot asked as he entered the room.
“Good evening, Mr. President,” Tubbs said as he rose to full attention.
“I'm just president of the company — not president of the world. You don't have to call me that.”
“Okay, Mr. President,” Crockett echoed.
“What do you have there?” Elliot asked with affected innocence.
“Looks like a finger, sir,” Tubbs responded.
“Found it right under that there table,” Crockett said.
“So you did. And what do you think about that? Does it seem a little strange?”
Crockett and Tubbs looked at each other for a moment, and then Crockett turned to Elliot. “Well, sir, we've been talking about that. We know there are some weird things that happen down here.”
“Go on . . . ”
“And we figured there must've been some kinda accident.”
Elliot smiled. “That's . . . almost the truth.” He started pacing around the operating table. “The truth is that we're on the verge of a major breakthrough with bio-electronic interfacing.”
“What?” They both looked quite puzzled.
“Basically, we're doing a lot of experiments down here with cadavers — dead bodies — that a friend of mine at the county sells to me.”
This couldn't be further from the truth, but neither Crockett nor Tubbs had the reason or the inclination to suspect otherwise. Elliot knew that the mere idea of some guy at the county morgue shipping dead bodies by the truckload over to a computer company was ludicrous — but then, so was the entire project.
“Anyway, it's all a big secret. We're trying to find ways to make computers and robots save lives.”
“Ohhhhh,” the duo said in unison.
“Our competitors would kill to get their hands on our research. That's why everything that happens here — and I mean everything — must stay an absolute secret. You cannot tell anyone anything you see here, nor can you tell them about your jobs, the things you find, any of that.”
“Got it, Mr. President,” Tubbs said.
Elliot wasn't done yet. If they fell for this one, he knew he had them hook, line, and sinker.
“One other thing — as I said, the other companies would do anything
to get any information about what we do here. They may even pretend to be law enforcement — police, FBI, whatever. If anyone ever approaches either of you claiming to be a police officer and asks about the company, you cannot tell them anything. Then, I want you to call me immediately. Got it?”
“Yes sir, Mr. President.”
Elliot handed them each a business card.
“You are now part of my inner circle, gentlemen. Only a few people outside this room have seen the things you've seen. And that's why I'm giving each of you a raise.”
And that was how Ronald Crockett and Gilbert Tubbs came to be the two highest-paid janitors in North America.
Chapter 11
The Big Announcement
ON MONDAY MORNING, PHINNAEUS SHOWED up 20 minutes early. Sure enough, he had his pick of any desk in the call center. He chose one as far from Stinky Dale's usual haunt as possible, logged into his computer, and sat down to wait for 8:00.
Propping his head up and almost unconscious, Phin felt the sudden jolt of someone or something hit his chair.
“Hey — sorry about the other night,” Justin said as he took a seat at the desk next to Phin's. “My car ran outta gas on MoPac, so I had to walk like a mile and a half to find a gas station that was open.”
“No big deal. Cops busted up the party anyway,” Phin replied with a smirk.
“Yeah, that usually happens at Rowdytown.”
“Mornin' monkeys!” Steve Zook barked as he passed by. He was in unusually high spirits in the mornings — usually the result of smoking a bowl, drinking a half liter of coffee, and popping a handful of all-natural diet pills with breakfast.
“Hey new guy,” Zook said, addressing Phin, “come over to my desk when you have a minute.”
“Sure thing, Steve.”
Once Steve disappeared around the corner, Justin leaned in and started whispering.