Part One: Anvil
"If we continue to develop our technology without wisdom or prudence, our servant may prove to be our executioner."
-Omar N. Bradley
Chapter 1: Recruited
Osean Institute of Technology
Oured City, Osea
January 12, 2011
It was a bright and sunny day in the capital, with a calm breeze rustling leaves and scooping up the last bits of ticker tape confetti that had managed to avoid the street sweepers' efforts. The fluttering paper seemed to reflect the nation's spirits, a final display of celebration. Osea had a lot to celebrate, having won their war against Yuktobania and preventing a space station from smashing into their city. But, as cheerful as the day was, not everyone was enjoying the sunshine. Dr. Marissa Atkinson only spared the vibrant view outside her window a passing glance before returning to the box on her desk. It was a thick, white plastic type that looked like the boxes the mailroom used for transporting letters. All four sides were marked with the Osean Defense Forces seal, with a large red sticker on one side that read "NEUTRALIZED." There was also a small label, filled out with blue ink, that read:
Atkinson, Robert J.
Civilian Contractor
DECEASED
Marissa took a breath, re-reading the label to make sure she wasn't mistaken, feeling like she'd been splashed with ice water. It was a familiar feeling, she'd reacted similarly the first time she saw the word "deceased'' along with her father's name on a yellow telegram from the ODF back in November. That had been more shocking then, overlapping with the news of the chemical attack in Bana City that had killed him and so many people she knew. Marissa didn't even know he was in Bana until the telegram arrived to regretfully inform her that he'd been the victim of Yuktobanian retaliation. She hated him then, hated his secrets and once a month email check-ins before switching between grief, despair and anger until finally settling on acceptance, throwing herself back into her work.
After another preparatory breath Marissa began to sort through the box. On top was a manilla envelope, which contained an itemized list of the contents and a notification that all the items had been decontaminated. She gave both a quick skim, noting that there wasn't much. A pair of glasses, a few personal letters from friends or colleagues, and a double frame with a picture of herself when she was five and another when she had received her doctorate. The last item gave her pause. It was a USB memory drive capable of holding multiple terabytes of information, with a simple label that said "For Marissa" written by hand on an adhesive label. With hardly a second thought, she slotted it into her computer and accessed the drive. There was only one file, a massive one with the title "Personal" but opening it revealed a text document that had one word, "Contingency." Marissa huffed.
"Even in death you still have your secrets," she said bitterly and closed the document, ejecting the drive and placing it on the desk before placing her hands on top, staring hard at the little device and blinking away frustrated tears.
"Dr. Atkinson?" a soft voice asked. Marissa looked up. A man in his late 20s stood awkwardly halfway through her office door, dressed in a plain black suit that screamed government. Taking a second to compose herself and wipe her face, Marissa replied.
"Yes? What do you want?"
"Sorry for the intrusion ma'am," the man began. "Uh, my name is Mark, I'm the one who dropped off... well, that." Mark pointed towards the white box.
"Ok, and?"
"And... I uh... well, was wondering if you had a minute to talk?" Marissa gestured for him to go on. "Er, outside?"
"Why?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "About what?"
"Right, sorry. Let me start over. I worked with your father-."
"Get out."
"Doctor Atkinson I-."
"I said get out!" Some of her feelings leaked into her words and her eyes began to burn. Mark hesitated, one hand still holding the doorknob, and swallowed audibly.
"I, look, Doctor I'm sorry but we really do need to talk."
"Do we Mark?" Marissa snapped. "Because I've already had as much well wishes and apologies and 'so sorry for your losses' as I can stand." Again taking a moment to center herself she smoothed the front of her shirt down with her hands and fixed him with a leveled gaze. "So if you want to tell me anything like that I'll spare you the wasted breath." Mark seemed to cringe back, almost wilting at the coolness in her voice.
"I..." Mark glanced behind him out the door, leaning back slightly to see down the hall. He turned his attention back to Marissa. "I don't want to be having this conversation either ma'am. I've had too many of them." That last statement seemed to be more to himself, the man staring down at his shined shoes. There was an awkward pause as both of them took another moment to gather their thoughts. Mark sighed. "May I be blunt?" Marissa nodded. "We need you. Badly."
"For what?"
"Classified work," Mark smiled apologetically. "Cutting edge technological research, but that's as much as I can tell you."
"Ok, but why me specifically?" Marissa huffed. "I'm not exactly in a position to leave OIT at the moment."
"Your father's passing left a hole," Mark explained. Marissa bristled and Mark hurried to continue. "We had contingencies in place! His partner would take over, but we hit a snag. A wall. You're the only person who can get us past it." He held his hands out helplessly. "I-I can't tell you any more than that, not unless you agree to help us."
"I'll... I'll have to consider it," Marissa said. "I'm in the middle of a long-term study, not to mention three lecture courses-.
"We can handle that," Mark assured. "Shuffle around your peers, pull some strings." He gave her a critical look. "If this is a matter of losing your tenure, I can assure you that you will be generously compensated by a grateful nation." Marissa frowned at that. She wasn't the patriotic type, typically unimpressed with the sweeping orchestrals and flapping banners that surrounded national holidays, so his enticement of her patriotism fell flat. "And again, there's nobody else on the planet we can turn to you."
"How long will I be gone?" Marissa asked. She saw Mark's eyes lighten up and quickly amended her question. "Assuming I say yes."
"Uh, well, however long it takes," Mark admitted, rubbing the back of his head. Marissa shook her head.
"Not good enough," She moved to push him out the door. "Thank you for returning my father's belongings, have a good day."
"Wait a minute, please," Mark said, holding up his hands to stop her advance. He glanced around. "Ok, it's a drone program, advanced ones. Complex algorithms, automated systems."
"My specialties..." Marissa noted.
"Exactly!" So they needed her for her research then. Machine learning, automation, artificial intelligence, things she had built a reputation around. Like her father had, the work that kept him away even after her mother died. Well, if Mark was desperate she could get him to take her, if only to get some final closure.
"I have a condition."
"Name it," Mark said quickly.
"I get to see where I'll be staying first," Marissa said firmly. "Then I get to make my decision."
"I can probably get authorization for that." Mark nodded to himself. "Ok, yeah, I'll see what I can do." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a phone.
"Wonderful, goodbye." Marissa closed the door, staying near it as she heard Mark's footsteps recede down the hallway. She looked at the white box. "No more secrets, not anymore." Whatever this project was, it had taken her father from her long before he died. Hopefully it wouldn't take her too, but it was a risk she was willing to take.
Conference Room
Gründer Industries Headquarters
Sudentor, Northern Osea
"Are you certain?" a man in a well-pressed grey business suit asked the woman at the other end of the phone.
"Absolutely," came the gravely reply. "Osea has given their verdict. Gründer Industries is being investigated and any assets connected to the V1 incident is being seized." There was a snort of amusement. "Whatever is left anyways."
"Quite," the man said. "You did well to provide this information. Rest assured, you'll be paid in full." There was no reply and the call disconnected. The man returned the phone to the receiver in the middle of the conference table and reclined in his chair. The news was bad, that was obvious, but not unexpected. After Ostberg and his loyal board failed to gain vengeance against Osea despite causing the largest war in recent memory, Gründer's involvement was bound to be revealed. You couldn't exactly plead ignorance when the President, CEO, CFO and COO were all involved. Now, the so-called "Grey Men" were in an Osean prison. Well, most of them anyways, one of them still retained his seat and his freedom.
The man sighed and rubbed his temples, working out the migraine that had settled there since the "Demons of Razgriz" had decapitated the greatest arms company on the planet. The Board's arrest was another complication to be sorted out. Gründer would need to be reorganized, the gaps left by madmen replaced by saner, less principled minds. They would also need to be silenced before they gave too much away. V1 was called that for a reason, only a fool would put all their faith in a single basket. No, there were other projects, other ways to skin a cat that could achieve the same end. He picked up the phone and dialed for his assistant.
"Get me a plane to Northern Usea," he ordered. "And have the archivists retrieve the file for Project Commander and have it meet me at the landing strip, I fancy a bit of light reading for my flight."
"Very good sir," the assistant replied. He hung up and allowed himself a small smile. Yes, this would be very good indeed.