A/N1: Is ownership of Chuck located at Blackrock? And where the heck is that, anyway? Time will tell.
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Thursday, December 4, 2008; 2:28 PM PST
The four Fulcrum men and one woman, most in their white lab coats, had been working steadily for almost forty-eight hours. The room was chilled for the benefit of the computers, making the coats more than a mere affectation. The overhead illumination was dim and the room was lit mostly by the light thrown from the glowing computer screens and the peculiar blue light from the Intersect cube itself.
Even with the fear and uncertainty they had been living under, they had hope for the first time in over a year. The legendary Orion was with them. Sitting right there. The man who had actually invented the Intersect. Or, as he put it, at least the really cool parts. If anyone could get them over the last few hurdles of what they needed to finish it and produce a working Intersect for Fulcrum, this was the man. Since Carmichael had spiked the research with computer viruses on several occassions, they knew they were still playing catch-up with the government's efforts.
Each of them were established and knowledgeable scientists in their own right but they found themselves bringing their questions to Orion as if he were a wise professor, or an oracle of some kind. As if he were possessing knowledge that the common striver lacked. He was working on his own aspects of the coding and they tried not to bother him excessively, but couldn't resist the temptation entirely.
Meanwhile, Orion himself was tired, sore, hungry, and very, very pissed off. The desk he was sitting at (with the Intersect cube) had been bolted to the floor and he had, in turn, been chained to it for two days. The other scientists in the lab brought him food and water. Several times he'd been taken for bathroom breaks, but in those instances he had been accompanied by armed guards watching him the entire time. It seems they were instructed to treat him with a certain amount of caution. What sleep he had had was limited to cat naps while sitting at the table, his head down and the keyboard pushed to the side. His back ached and he had a headache. He had the vague thought that he might be too old for this shit.
His complaints aside, he could also recognize that he was frightened. It was an almost objective observation. As if some part of his psyche stood apart from the rest and said, 'yes, this is actually terrifying.' Ted had turned into an unpredictable maniac. While he might have merely been a jerk when they had known each other at school, it was pretty clear that he'd basically lost his mind at this point. And, of course, that made him very dangerous. He knew that Ted could order his murder for any or no reason at all on a whim, and that his brainwashed lackeys would carry out his orders without pause or qualm.
Orion didn't want to die and certainly didn't want to die in this underground hellhole surrounded by Fulcrum nitwits. Orion was of an age that he no longer truly feared death, but with his recent discovery of the coding mistake in the Fulcrum Intersect, he now had something important to live for. For the first time in years, he felt he had a mission. And that was the crux of his decision making for the last two days. He had to maximize his chances of survival first and foremost (without turning over the secrets of the Intersect, of course). If he died there in the Fulcrum Intersect lab, his mission would not be accomplished and that would be a tragedy.
In any event, he'd worked on the Fulcrum Intersect, or at least appeared to, for most of the prior two days. He'd finally finished the set-up for the program that he wanted and was ready for the next step in the process. He was confident that he could make himself invaluable to Fulcrum for a while by being an useful tinkerer to the invariably (and deliberately) glitchy Intersect. And that would keep him alive for a while. What had Ted said? Sherezade. Staying alive just long enough.
But, more importantly, he had inserted a nugget of information into the code. If he didn't make it out of here alive, eventually someone would access the Fulcrum code for the Intersect. He'd left a message inside it for Charles and Eleanor. It explained everything and included the random bit of code he'd found together with an explanation of how to use it. With the whole story laid out to them, even if he died, everything would be ok. With the power and brilliance of his children and the family they had assembled around them, he knew everything would be ok. The mission would be accomplished even without him. He thought of it as a somewhat half-assed version of life insurance, making sure from beyond the grave that certain things came to pass.
Roark had given him two days to create the Intersect and that time was almost up. He was satisfied with the results of his preparation and ready for the next stage in his captivity as it would come to pass.
He continued to fiddle around with the Intersect cube, ostensibly fine tuning it. In actuality, he was just killing time until Roark came in with his next demands.
He didn't have to wait much longer than the deadline which had been set earlier in the week. Roark and Smith came into the lab, with Roark, at least, in ebullient spirits. Waving his arms like a maestro, he said, "So, what goes on here, huh? What new and profitable creations have my team of evil geniuses come up with?"
Most of the white lab-coated scientists looked away, not eager to draw the attention of this unpredictable man.
Stephen, however, looked into Roark's eyes and said, "You're the only evil one here, Ted. Always have been. Truth is, I should have listened to Mary. She had your number from the beginning. She told me you were an asshole and I thought it was an exaggeration. Nope. She was right, of course. You're an asshole." Notwithstanding his harsh words, Stephen's voice was calm and moderate. As if taking to an armed lunatic.
Roark grinned from ear to ear and said, "I sure am. And I'm now worth several billion dollars. See how much the world rewards assholes? You, my impoverished old friend, are not an asshole and what do you have to show for it?"
"I have a family, Ted. You are all alone," said Stephen.
Laughing, Roark waved his hand in dismissal, "Awww, overrated. I get laid whenever I want by women who know all the professional tricks. And you know the best part? I don't have to talk to them afterward. I win."
"You have no one who loves you," countered Stephen.
"Expand your reading beyond science and engineering, dude. Try The Prince. I'd much rather be feared than loved. And believe me, I'm feared. How about it, Mr. Smith? Aren't I feared?"
"Positively fucking terrifying, Sir," said Smith deadpan, managing, somehow, to conceal the terror he claimed to be experiencing.
"So, speaking of terrifying, Orion. Your two days are up. Do you have an Intersect for me?"
"Of course I do," said Orion. He gestured at the glowing blue cube in front of him. "Here you go."
"Show me," said Roark.
"Ok. Give me the configured database for upload," said Orion.
"What?" asked Roark, confused by the request.
"The database. The information you want uploaded to your agents. Give it to me and I'll show you how it works," said Orion.
Roark looked at the other scientists in the room and said, "Well? Give him the database."
One of the men looked terrified and said, "Sir, we don't have it. You told us to concentrate on the Intersect itself and assemble the data once the Intersect was done. Now that Orion has finished it, we can get started..."
Roark made an impatient noise and reached behind him for his weapon. It seems that drawing and holding a pistol while two of your fingers have been splinted together was not so easy. After fumbling and cursing for a bit, he finally awkwardly pulled a pistol from behind his back. He stared at it as if trying to decide how to hold it with the impediment. He seemed to consider using his left hand, but then rejected that idea and just used his middle finger on the trigger. Without further preliminaries, he shot the man in the chest. The body flew back to land on the floor near his horrified comrades. Blood began to seep from the corpse onto the brushed concrete floor. The others, all freaking out to some extent or another, backed away from both the body of their colleague and Roark.
That task accomplished, Roark screamed, "I don't care what I said. How dare you listen to me! Everyone knows I have no idea what I'm talking about." He waved the gun at Orion and said, "We have an Intersect and can't do anything with it. Get him a database. I don't care what it is. In the meantime, Orion, I want you to demonstrate it without a database. Let's see it."
"Ted, you're asking me to show you how a reader works with nothing to read. All you'll see is a blank. It won't prove shit," said Orion.
"FUCK," screamed the Sachem. Turning back to the cowering men and women, he said, "You have two days to get him a database. In three days we are going to Intersect all of Fulcrum and make the army of agents we need to ... to...whatever it is we said we were gonna do when we all got juiced up."
He focused on Orion and said, "Don't go anywhere, Stephen. Still have to make sure your Intersect works."
"Damn, Ted. And here I was hoping for a long weekend in Hawaii after all the serious work."
Roark gave a bark of laughter.
Roark and Smith stormed out of the room and headed back to his office leaving the Intersect scientists, those living anyway, to do his bidding. Once there, Roark put the pistol down on a table and made his way over to the bar. He tried to pour himself a drink. His splinted fingers made it difficult and he eventually gave up.
Looking at Smith he said, "Goddammit. My fucking fingers...pour me a drink."
"Yes, Sir," said Smith, moving to accomplish the task.
"So, what do you think?" asked Roark.
"If he's telling the truth, it's a step forward," said Smith.
"Do you think he's telling the truth?" asked Roark, taking the drink from Smith with a nod of thanks.
"I don't know. He's got to be off balance at this point. You killed one of your own guys a moment ago. That's got to shake anyone up. Being unpredictable is frightening," Smith said.
Roark chuckled and said, "Frightening? Don't you worry, Mr. Smith. You are safe with me. I'm counting on you to save my fat ass when the shit hits the fan."
For a fraction of a moment it looked like Smith might actually smile. Then the moment passed. He said, "I find that very comforting, Sir."
"Aw, what the hell? I think you're impossible to kill anyway," growled Roark.
"Yes, Sir. I intend to live forever. So far, so good," he said, deadpan.
"Anyway," said Roark, "let's think about it. Think about what to do next. Orion has gotten us the working Intersect..."
"Maybe," said Smith.
"Yeah. Maybe. If not, we kill some more folks close to him to make him cooperate. I don't know. His daughter maybe. Fuck knows she's got to be easier to kill than his son. Someone. But, and this is important, I think he's telling the truth about completing a working Intersect," said Roark.
"A fair assumption," agreed Smith with a shrug.
"Right. Let's say he is. If we have a working version we can Intersect our people," said Roark.
"We need the database," said Smith.
"Yeah, but think about it. Even if we don't have everything we need loaded into our agents, we can start. Put in some stuff and more later, as a more comprehensive database becomes available. You know. Like updates or refreshers or something."
"Ok. We'd have to keep in close touch with our agents as the balance of the plans progressed," said Smith.
"So, we do that. In the meantime, we have all our people Intersected," said Roark.
"All? You're thinking about instituting Protocol 7. I have to wonder if it's premature, Sir," said Smith evenly.
"Smith, you've seen the same news reports I have. The government is reeling from damage suffered during the attack on us. They don't know what the hell they are doing or which end is up. But, the one thing they are focused on is wrapping us up. We just lost the armory in Marina Del Ray. I mean, I know it was one of a dozen or more, but it's an indication that Orion's kid is on a roll. What we need now is a secret weapon to attack our enemies violently and quickly. And Orion has just given us that weapon. The Intersect. What better way to strike out than with our people enhanced?"
"I see that, Sir. But do you think it's wise to bring everyone together in one place at one time while the government is so red hot? God knows we'd make a tempting target."
"No better time at all. They won't be able to find their own asses with both hands right now. We have to pull it off before they get their balance back. Before they can think clearly. Hell, man, the doofus in the White House is going to leave office in a few weeks and the new guy is still even struggling to put together a team. That's the edge we have, Smith. We exploit the chaos. They don't have anyone there who can think clearly right now. Anyone in charge to fight us. We take advantage of that. We can calmly determine the next step, while they are flailing around like monkeys on cocaine."
"Yes, Sir," said Smith.
"If we trigger Protocol 7 we get our full strength here. We Intersect them and we send them out. We put the plans in motion. This is the perfect time. A lame duck and a chaotic transition. This is just the right time for us to execute our plans," said Roark.
"Yes, Sir," said Smith.
"I can hear the concern in your voice. Don't worry. I'm telling you, this is perfect. I intend to trigger it immediately. By the weekend we ought to have a full house here," said Roark. "The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that this is the right timing for our ultimate objective. Let's do it right now."
"Yes, Sir," said Smith.
"So, do it. Send the message: SUPERNOVA. EXECUTE PROTOCOL SEVEN."
"Yes, Sir," said Smith.
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A/N2: Wow. Roark is nuts, but Smith still seems loyal. The dude's got serious discipline when it comes to chain of command. So, we now have Fulcrum's plan. Assemble the entirety of Fulcrum in the Mojave Desert while the Federal government is distracted and leaderless. Heh. Let's see how that turns out for them. Heh, heh.
A/N3: You know the drill. Love to hear from you.