Chapter Text
Jacob Hale wiped down the bar in preparation for the after-work rush. He was an average looking man, with no distinguishing features, and naturally prone to silence. When asked to describe him in one word the vast majority of humanity would have replied, “Who?”
Due to an unfortunate accident he had little left in the way of formal education, however it turned out he was a quick study so when he was retrained as a bartender it hadn’t taken him very long to pick up the necessary skills.
Which was fortunate, because the after-work rush at the Speak-Easy Wine Bar was less like a surge of humanity and more like the invasion of a barbarian horde.
The wine bar was a stylish, upscale boutique situated directly opposite the monolithic Halcyon Tower, headquarters of Aerolith Dynamics, the world’s biggest corporation. With Halcyon directly over the road, there was never any lack of customers when 5pm rolled around. Despite this there weren’t many “regulars”, due to Aerolith’s high staff turnover rate. Hale himself had used to work there, before his... accident.
Jones, the other bartender (and another former Aerolith employee), nodded at Hale as he finished and the two of them got into position. The clock ticked over to 5pm and they both braced themselves as the doors slammed open and the first desperate customers threw themselves at the bar.
Despite the incredible rush, Hale didn’t mind the after-work crowd. For the most part they were only interested in drinking, not talking. And they generally didn’t care what they were drinking either, as long as it was heavily alcoholic and there was a lot of it.
It was the late night crowd that put him on edge: the higher-ups, finally leaving their plush offices and dropping in for a glass of wine before they went home. Aerolith was the company for the best and the brightest, and they valued intelligence, ruthlessness, and the ability to get the job done.
Not necessarily in that order.
Porter was the first member of upper management in today, and as always she made a beeline straight for Hale.
“Bartender Hale!” She greeted him enthusiastically. “How are you doing? How is your head? How is your amnesia? Are you suffering any headaches or migraines that could be indicative of belatedly recognised brain damage? No? Oh, well, that’s... good.”
She leaned over the bar and put one hand against his forehead, the other on his throat. “Hmmm… no temperature, pulse seems normal.” She then grasped his chin and turned his head from side to side. “No bleeding from the ears or nose.” She sat back and took the glass of wine Hale handed her. “Well, you seem alright, but do let me know if you start feeling unwell at all, won’t you? I just feel so responsible for what happened. It’s so terrible how that elevator car went into free fall, despite all our safety protocols.”
She continued to examine him closely as she drank. “Really, you’re lucky to have survived with such minor physical injuries. Have any of your memories returned at all? No? Oh, how sad. Perhaps that could be a sign of lingering trauma. How thrilling! And awful. Have I given you my card? You know you can always call me if anything happens and you need to talk. Perhaps you could come in one day and ride the elevator car again, to see if that jogs anything loose? I’d be happy to ride along with you.” She smiled at him sweetly and finished her drink.
“Well, let me know if you change your mind. In the meantime… Bartender Jones! How are you doing? How is your post-traumatic stress disorder? Ohhh… is that a nervous tic I see? How exciting.”
Hale mentally wished the best of luck to Jones as Porter moved on, then felt a nervous tic coming on himself as the next member of upper management to arrive that evening sat down before him.
However (unlike his garrulous and way too touchy-feely co-worker) Mincer was never particularly interested in conversation, and today was focused purely on finishing the other half of the bottle of red wine he had started the day before. When he was done he stood and left, but not before smiling and waving at Hale in a friendly manner. Hale had to take a break to go out back and shake for half an hour after that one. When he returned he found the pace at the bar considerably slower and Jones, having started the day on the lunch shift, ready to leave.
“See you tomorrow,” she said. “Good luck with the late night shift.”
Hale nodded. “See you, and thanks.”
The bar emptied out. Most people didn’t tend to linger at the Speak-Easy, it was just the first port in a storm and then they moved on to other places where the alcohol was cheaper and they were less likely to run into upper management.
Which is why it was completely empty at 10pm when the door slammed open.
“Gooooood evening Jack, all alone I see!” Future carolled. “I have had a completely terrible day, surrounded by boring idiots, boring old people, and boring rules junkies. Let’s start with shots!”
By the time Future was halfway down the line of drinks on the bar he had become much more cheerful. This was actually a bad thing, because a cheerful Future was a Future who challenged you to various drinking games, and he really didn’t like it when other people didn’t join in.
“You need to relax and loosen up, Jack,” he said, waving a shot glass. “Just one quick round of Truth or Dare! I’ll take it easy on you, I promise.”
Hale politely declined, citing his legal obligation not to drink on the job.
“Ugh,” Future’s disgust at people following rules was palpable. “You disappoint me, Jack. Were you always this boring? Ooops.” He smiled maliciously at Hale, “Sorry, my bad, I guess you wouldn’t know if you were always this boring, what with your complete, unrecoverable amnesia.” He leaned forward intently, “Do you ever wonder what you were like? Do you ever miss it?”
Hale wondered what the safest thing to say was, “I don’t miss it,” he said finally. “You can’t miss something you don’t remember ever having.”
“Hmph,” Future sat back, and then smiled. “Well, if you’re not going to play with me, then let’s get on with it! These shots aren’t going to drink themselves!”
Fortunately Future rarely stayed long at the bar, being more interested in going out to find some “real fun”. Hale never, ever asked what kind of fun that was. Instead he neutrally said that he hoped that Future would have a good evening, and tried not to think about his cheerful response of, “Oh, I certainly wiiiillllll!”
As the door closed behind his customer Hale breathed out a quiet sigh of relief. He turned towards the line of empty shot glasses, intending to begin clearing them away, but instead recoiled in horror when he spotted a plain white envelope on the bar. Oh… oh no.
Future had left him a tip.
Steeling himself, Hale prepared to deal with the situation. He donned a pair of heavy gloves and a full-face respirator, then got out some extra-long, reinforced tongs, picked up the envelope and dropped it into a jar marked “dangerous, industrial waste”. Then he carefully sealed the jar and picked it up with the tongs, ready to be placed out for disposal.
Behind him the door swung open again.
“Ah, I see Future has been in already. Greetings Bartender Hale.”
“Hello Sayer,” Hale replied, somewhat muffled by the respirator. “Sorry, I’ll be with you in just a minute.”
“Take your time,” Sayer Typhon replied, setting down a suit bag and taking a seat at the far end of the bar. “I certainly don’t want to risk finding out what’s in there. Future’s sense of humour is ridiculously juvenile.”
Hale nodded in acknowledgement, although juvenile was not the word he would have used.
Once the tip was safely disposed of, Hale was quick to put his safety gear away and pour Sayer his usual drink. It didn’t do to keep Aerolith’s chief financial officer waiting.
“Ah, much better,” Sayer said after the first sip. “It has been a very long day.” He shot a penetrating look at Hale. “And how has yours been?”
“Okay,” Hale said, carefully cleaning away the empty shot glasses. “Busy after 5, as usual.”
“Anyone interesting come in?”
“Corinne Vasquez swung by, but she didn’t talk to me, just collected some of her people and headed on out. I think they said something about a darts competition over at the Aristaeus Bar.” Hale paused, “I saw Dr Young briefly, he looked pretty bad. Asked if he could buy the whole bottle of scotch and take it with him.”
Sayer raised an eyebrow. “And you sold it to him? This is a wine bar, not a wholesale liquor store.”
“He’s not the first to ask. There’s a system.”
“Very well,” Sayer seemed entirely unmoved by Dr Young’s distress. “Anything else?”
Hale filled Sayer in on the little bits of gossip and idle chit chat he’d picked up over the course of the evening. “And as well as Future, both Porter and Mincer have been in.”
Sayer’s lip curled. “I can imagine what Porter had to say, so you needn’t fill me in. Unusual to see Mincer though, wasn’t he in just yesterday?”
“Yes, and…” Hale hesitated. “He seemed to be in a good mood.”
Sayer’s eyebrows shot up. “Indeed. Did he say anything?”
“No, he just smiled at me and… waved.”
Sayer grimaced. “Wonderful. Who else has been in?”
“Actually,” Hale started, “It’s not who’s been in that’s interesting, I think, it’s…”
The door opened and they both turned to see who it was. Sayer’s casual stance vanished instantly and Hale stiffened to attention as Ocean Typhon, Sayer’s younger twin brother and chief executive officer of Aerolith Dynamics, walked in.
For his part Ocean paused only briefly when he saw his twin, before deliberately continuing his entry, shutting the door firmly behind him and taking a seat at the opposite end of the bar. Hale zoomed over to take his order, although not quickly enough to avoid having Ocean snap his fingers at him for attention, and poured him his (extremely expensive) white wine.
Ocean sipped delicately from the glass and then proceeded to turn and do an overly-exaggerated double-take upon seeing his brother at the other end of the bar.
“Ah, Sayer,” he said, “Already here, I see.”
Sayer bristled at Ocean’s tone. “Yes. In fact I’ve been here for quite a while,” he replied. “Some of us are better at working more efficiently, instead of just putting in face-time.”
“And some of us have important job functions that we cannot shirk,” Ocean responded. “I’m sure you remember how busy it was when you held the top position at Aerolith.”
“I have not forgotten,” Sayer replied ominously. “I’m so glad that you’re appreciating all of the hard work I put in before your takeover.”
Ocean smirked. Hale resisted the urge to flee. It wasn’t easy.
Anyone observing the two men sniping at each other would have been struck by their physical similarities. Given that they were identical twins this was not surprising, and they were generally tolerant of people who commented on how alike they looked, having become reluctantly used to it over the years.
What they would never forgive however, was anyone saying that they were also similar in personality.
“Yes, of course, all of your ‘hard work’,” Ocean replied dismissively. “But there is something to be said for working smarter, not harder.”
“And there is something to be said for doing both,” Sayer shot back.
“Oh I completely agree. And I appreciate you understanding my abilities in that area.”
“Your abilities… and what would they be, exactly? The ability to convince others to join you in your egomaniacal delusions?”
“Oh Sayer, you fail to see the big picture, as always.”
“Can I get either of you another drink?” Hale interjected weakly, hoping to avoid bloodshed.
“No,” said Ocean. “I have too much work to do.”
“I am also far too busy for another drink,” Sayer said.
The door swung open again.
“Well hello you two!” Speaker beamed cheerfully as he entered. “I see we’re all burning the midnight oil tonight! This is an unexpected bonus, I was hoping to catch up with both of you, there are some issues I need to discuss!”
“… On second thought,” Sayer began.
“I believe I will have one more,” Ocean concluded.
Hale was already pouring the drinks.
Speaker kept up his cheerful monologue as he took a seat in the middle of the bar, chattering about schedules and recruitment drives. “It is such an exciting time to be working at Aerolith Dynamics!” he concluded.
Sayer snorted derisively.
“Yes, exciting and busy.” Ocean agreed between clenched teeth. “Although even so I fail to see why the vice president of public relations, recruitment and training feels the need to work so late,” he added, clearly miffed about not being the last to arrive. “It’s not as though your entire role couldn’t be easily outsourced to HR.”
Speaker’s smile thinned a little. “Yes, well, unfortunately we have had a large number of positions suddenly open up today, and my office has been swamped trying to fill all of these new vacancies. I don’t suppose either of you would know why that would be?”
“No idea whatsoever,” Ocean replied instantly.
Sayer became very interested in his drink.
Speaker let the silence stretch out for a few moments before continuing. “At any rate, we are likely to suffer some delays in production if we don’t increase our recruitment efforts and speed up the training processes. I hope you don’t mind, Sayer, I’ve sent a request for additional funds to your inbox. The matter is really quite urgent.”
“I’ll look at it immediately,” Sayer replied, getting out his datapad. “But I hope you’re not planning to offer signing bonuses. Recruitment is already well over-budget this year.”
“No, of course not,” Speaker replied. “But I really do need to recruit some skilled workers for the manufacturing plants. For some reason we have just had a huge number of them simply fail to show up for work in the last two days. I’ve sent Mincer a memo about it, but you know how he is.”
“… Yes, I do know.”
Hale went over to see if Ocean needed anything but was waved away before he got within five feet of the man. Feeling at a loss, he decided to go and start sweeping up as far away from the trio as he could manage.
Despite his efforts he was still able to clearly hear their conversation: Ocean informing Speaker that delays due to personnel shortages were unacceptable; Speaker replying that employee retention had been oddly difficult of late; and Sayer smugly stating that his department had had less turnover than any department (other than recruitment and training).
Ocean’s response to that was acidic. “Perhaps that is because your department seems to consist of people who apparently make a career out of never being in the office in the first place. Your administrative assistant, for example. The one you keep telling me I need to make enquiries on your availability with. Gorsen, isn’t it?”
Sayer’s tone chilled. “How odd, I have never had any problems with Gorsen’s work.”
“Oh, so he does work, does he? I had begun to wonder, having never actually seen him.”
“Perhaps that is because you never come down to Finance,” Sayer responded.
“I am the CEO, Sayer,” Ocean said victoriously. “I do not go to Finance. Finance comes to me.” He drained his glass and swept to his feet. “Well, I have so enjoyed our little chat. Do get that request for funds seen to promptly Sayer, I would hate to have to put you on a performance improvement plan.”
Sayer’s face went blank in his efforts to control his rage as his brother departed. Hale and Speaker both waited quietly for a few moments until he had control over himself once more.
Sayer exhaled slowly. “Well.” He paused. “I find that I am no longer in the mood for wine, Bartender Hale. I believe you mentioned scotch earlier.”
Hale fetched more drinks while Speaker moved over to sit next to Sayer.
“Sayer, I know you created the character of Gorsen as a way to prevent Ocean foisting a spy on you,” Speaker began, losing some of his overly-cheery tone, which Hale had begun to suspect was at least partially put on to annoy the Typhon twins. “And also as a method to avoid having to schedule meetings with him, but may I suggest that this particular ruse has run its course?”
Sayer nodded. “You need not suggest it, Speaker, I had already come to the same conclusion, and indeed have already begun taking steps to resolve the situation.”
“That’s a relief,” Speaker said with a sigh. “We have more than enough problems to deal with as it is. The situation at Halcyon really is becoming quite untenable. Sayer, it is just not possible that this many employees are simply not turning up, or quitting without notice. And they can’t all be made up, like your Gorsen. These are real employees, and they’re not leaving, Sayer. They’re… I don’t know what, but they seem to be just vanishing.”
“Mmmm,” Sayer agreed. “Hale, you were about to say something about people who haven’t been in when Ocean arrived, could you expand on that?”
Hale hesitated when both men focused their attention on him, then began to speak. “It’s… it’s Vidorr-1.”
“Ocean’s former company, before he sold it to Aerolith in exchange for…” Speaker stopped talking and shot a look at Sayer.
“In exchange for taking the position of CEO from me,” Sayer finished evenly. “Go on, Hale. What about Vidorr-1?”
“Have either of you ever met anyone from it?” Hale asked in a rush. “Because I haven’t. Everyone talks about it, about the amazing advances in research it’s made, but it’s all second-hand. The whole company was acquired, lock, stock, and barrel. But where are the staff? Where are the researchers who’ve been producing all of these amazing advances? Where are the testers, the maintenance people, the… the cleaners? Not one of them has ever come here, and we’re the only drinking place for blocks.”
Sayer’s eyebrows were furrowed and Speaker looked thoughtful. “Now that you mention it,” Speaker said slowly, “I don’t believe I have ever had direct contact with any Vidorr-1 staff. Of course, Ocean is very protective of his old company… He screens any new staff before they’re assigned there personally.”
“Does he now?” Sayer said. “That is extremely interesting, because Ocean has never had much interest in personnel. Unlike myself, he has no skill with the everyman.”
Hale and Speaker avoided looking at each other.
“And I, too, find that I have never directly spoken to or encountered anyone from Vidorr-1. How very interesting,” Sayer continued.
“It is possible that they’re simply not going out for drinks,” Speaker pointed out. “Perhaps Ocean has a zero-tolerance alcohol policy?”
“Well, yes,” Hale agreed hesitantly. “That’s a possibility. It’s just that… I mean… if I had to work for Ocean…” He looked meaningfully at the empty glasses in front of Sayer and Speaker.
“An excellent point,” Sayer said. “Well spotted, Hale. You have confirmed my opinion that you were the right man for this job. And now I believe you are also the right man for the next job. Amusing as it has been watching Ocean attempt to contact a fictional character, I now find myself in need of a real administrative assistant. Someone I can trust, someone no one will notice, someone who can use their high level access to investigate on my behalf. In other words, I need you, Hale. Or should I say, Sven Gorsen?”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an ID card, which he handed to Hale.
Hale stared at it, and him, in shock. “Wh-what?”
“You intend for Hale to take the place of the fictitious assistant you created?” Speaker asked, incredulously.
“Yes,” Sayer confirmed. “It should be well within his capabilities. His most recent physical examination indicates that he has completely healed from the accident, aside of course, from the complete, unrecoverable, amnesia. This Vidorr-1 situation is most interesting. As my admin, Hale will have level 5 clearance. More than high enough to access the secure personnel files. That would be a good place to start.”
Hale just stood silently still. He could think of several flaws in Sayer’s plan, but he knew better than to express any of them out loud. Fortunately, Speaker filled in for him.
“But Sayer,” Speaker said. “Hale has been in place here at the bar for over four months now. Even with the level of turnover that is happening, there is bound to be someone who will recognise him.”
Sayer beamed proudly, “Yes, but fear not! I have a plan to prevent such an incident.”
“Oh, good,” Hale said weakly. There was no way this could end well.
Sayer reached into his jacket pocket again and pulled out a glasses case. From inside it he produced… a pair of glasses.
They all looked at them. They appeared to be perfectly ordinary glasses. Slightly thick rims, but still… glasses.
“Put them on,” Sayer instructed, handing them over.
Hale obliged.
“There,” Sayer said, then he fished out his cellphone and began texting.
Hale blinked in surprise as words suddenly popped up before his eyes.
[Greetings Employee Hale, identification number 44821. I am Sayer.]
“Wha…”
“Ingenious, isn’t it?” Sayer said proudly. “In addition to the text-capable screen, the glasses have an inbuilt camera, with both audio and visual receivers, so I can see whatever you are seeing, hear whatever you are hearing, and send you any directions you might need.”
“Very impressive, Sayer,” Speaker agreed. “But I’m still not sure that…”
“I’m not finished,” Sayer said quickly. “Go and put this on too.” He handed Hale the suit bag he’d brought in earlier. Hale hesitantly went out to the back room and changed into what turned out to be a completely ordinary business suit. It fitted him perfectly, but that was about all that could be said for it. Hale had been hoping for invisibility or camouflage abilities, but apparently not.
[Are you finished yet? We are waiting.] Sayer texted him over the glasses.
With a sinking feeling in his stomach Hale went back out to the bar.
“Much better,” Sayer said, coming around behind the bar and adjusting Hale’s tie. “Then we tidy up the hair a bit… try and get it cut before you report for work tomorrow… and now, the piece de resistance.”
With a flourish Sayer pulled something out of another pocket and attached it to Hale’s jacket lapel.
Hale looked at it. It was a large enamelled name tag with GORSEN on it in big letters.
Speaker actually clapped his hands in approval. “Oh, it’s perfect Sayer, no one will recognise him like that!”
Hale tried to think of a tactful way to suggest that, in fact, everyone would recognise him like that, but failed.
“Yes, it is perfect,” Sayer said cheerfully. “And don’t worry at all about the cost of the suit and equipment. I’ll just take it out of your pay.”
“What about Future, and Porter?” Hale asked, when he was finally able to speak without screaming. “Porter might not see through my… disguise, but Future…”
“Future’s access to the building is still restricted to the IT department on floor 13,” Sayer said. “It is one of the few systems that I had set in place that Ocean has not overturned. You need not fear running into him in the corridors. As for Porter, I don’t rate her observational skills highly unless she thinks that you might be ill or injured. So, just try to avoid coughing, sneezing or bleeding in her presence.”
“And the bar?” Hale asked faintly.
“We can’t risk anyone putting together your appearance at Halcyon with your disappearance here, so I think it’s best you continue as bartender for the moment,” Sayer said. “Besides, it is an excellent source of information.”
“Thank you,” Speaker said mildly. “I can re-jig your schedule here so that you can start just on 5, Hale. It can’t be helped,” he added, in response to Sayer’s frown. “If you want him to keep both jobs and keep collecting information I need him here for the afternoon shift.”
“Yes, of course,” Sayer said reluctantly. “And please allow me to offer my belated congratulations on the success of your venture here, Speaker. When you initially told me you had purchased the bar as a way of keeping an eye on things here at Halcyon, I was skeptical, but it has turned out even more successful than I had ever imagined.”
Speaker smiled slightly. “Thank you, Sayer.”
“So, what do you say, Hale?” Sayer turned his attention back to Hale. “Are you ready to take the next step and begin working actively against Ocean’s plans? I will not force you if you are not willing, but I will remind you of what is at stake. All the signs indicate that Ocean intends to overthrow the board of directors and take Aerolith in a new direction, one that is unlikely to lead to a long and happy life for anyone, and there is no one willing to stand against him other than us.”
Hale sighed. Despite all of the danger, all of the insanity, and all of the likelihood that they hadn’t a chance of succeeding, there wasn’t really any other decision he could make.
“Yes.”
**
The worst thing, Hale reflected as he left Ocean’s office later the next day, was that the whole “disguise” thing had worked perfectly. Nobody had even looked at him twice, and the video and text functionality of the glasses had allowed Sayer to direct him to any task anywhere in the building, as well as advising him on how to respond to situations as they occurred. This had been something of a mixed blessing when Ocean had discovered him in the highly classified personnel records room. (“Who are you? This is a restricted area, identify yourse... oh. So you’re Gorsen, are you? Come with me.”)
Sayer’s texts during the subsequent 30 minute grilling and vicious verbal assault had ranged from the helpful ([Tell him it was an IT fault, he’s been itching for a chance to slap Future around]) and nefarious ([Please turn your head 45 degrees to the left and maintain that angle for 30 seconds]) through to the distracting ([Do you think he is planning on wrapping this up today? Honestly, have you ever heard anyone so in love with the sound of their own voice?]) and insulting ([Feign stupidity. Just do that thing with your face that you usually do]).
Having been thoroughly raked over the coals, Hale wanted nothing more than to go lie down for a few minutes, but Sayer had already sent him instructions for his next task over the glasses. He checked his datapad and noted that Speaker had also sent him a list of tasks to be done for the bar “when you get a spare moment”. It seemed that both of his employers intended for him to keep working for them full-time, while also engaging in corporate espionage on the side.
Hale wondered if he had bitten off more than he could chew by agreeing to this new double (triple?) life, but shook it off. There had never been any real doubt that he would agree. He owed Sayer far too much: his life, his medical care, his rehabilitation, even the job at the bar (via a favour from Speaker). But most of all, just for being there. Ever since the accident, Sayer had been the only permanent being in a confusing and transitory world.
Hale would never forget how it had felt waking up in the wreckage of the elevator car: the chaos, the pain, the not knowing who he was, only to find Sayer bending over him and repeating:
“Can you hear me? Can you hear me? Can you… oh. He’s still alive, tell the ambulance to hurry up! What do you mean you haven’t called one yet, do it NOW! Greetings employee, I am Sayer. Don’t try to move or speak, you’ve been injured. Does anyone know who this man is?! You, call Speaker and find out. You were in an elevator that crashed after freefalling thirteen stories, but I have good news! Based on historical precedence, this is an entirely survivable accident. Future, what are you doing here? Security, detain Future and return him to floor thirteen AT ONCE. Please stay still, employee. There are any number of internal injuries that you may have sustained, and movement might exacerbate them. An ambulance is on the way, and will take you to receive medical care. I need someone to go with this man to the hospital not you Porter. Someone else? Anyone else? I have an important board meeting I must attend in thirty minutes and… oh for… I’ll do it myself!”
And he had. Sayer had made sure that the ambulance personnel were thoroughly briefed on the situation, had actually ridden along in the ambulance to the hospital (fortunately, and not coincidentally, located very close to Halcyon) and had personally filled in Hale’s admission paperwork before returning to Halcyon and the meeting with the board.
The meeting where the board had told him of his demotion and replacement.
And then he’d been there again, when Hale had woken up after surgery. “I seem to have some unexpectedly free time,” was all he had said about the matter, “So I thought I would check in on you.”
Hale wasn’t stupid. He knew that at least some of Sayer’s motivation had been out of a sense of responsibility for the accident. Sayer had worked out the series of events that evening while sitting by his bedside, stringing together a mixture of information, recollection and speculation: Dr Young’s recommendation to Aerolith’s board of directors that they consider acquiring Vidorr-1, based on his knowledge of their work. Ocean’s subsequent deal with the board and requirement that he be made CEO. The board’s recognition that Sayer was unlikely to take this well, but also knowledge that they couldn’t simply fire him.
(“I know where all of the bodies are buried,” Sayer had said in dark amusement. “Although, to be completely honest, there aren’t that many buried bodies. It’s such an inefficient way to dispose of a corpse.”)
At some point, Sayer had theorised, word must have been passed to Future that, should a terrible accident befall his oldest brother just prior to the board meeting, no one would look into the circumstances of said accident too thoroughly.
(“Future would have jumped at an opportunity like that instantly and without a lot of forethought, which is why he failed so spectacularly. Again.”)
Not knowing of the board’s intentions or the fact that his twin was about to re-enter his life after several years away, Sayer had responded to a request for his immediate presence on floor thirteen an hour before the board meeting, giving Future the opportunity he needed to set the trap.
(“Future’s programming access is limited to floor thirteen, and he would never have been able to make the necessary changes to my codes remotely. The plan,” Sayer had said, steepling his fingers and sitting back in the chair, “if indeed one could call it a plan, must have been for all of the safety systems to cut out and the elevator car to freefall once I hit the down button, with my personal code being the arming device. The board meets on floor 80. An elevator car fall from that height could, conceivably, have killed me, or at least injured me sufficiently to allow them to finish me off on the way to or at the hospital. It might have worked, had it not been for the random twist of fate that brought me… you.”)
Stepping out into the maze-like corridors of floor thirteen Sayer had, quite literally, bumped into Aerolith’s latest recruit, one Jacob Hale, who had been deposited on the restricted floor due to an elevator glitch. In the interests of preserving Hale’s life and/or sanity Sayer had immediately ordered him off the floor and used his personal priority code to summon a new elevator for Hale, unintentionally triggering the trap that had been meant for him in the process.
(“I feel I should apologise, employee Hale. This is not the first time Future has attempted to kill me, but it is the first time he has been so careless as to wind up catching someone else in the crossfire. I… misjudged the situation, with him and with the board. It is a mistake I will not make again.”)
Hale supposed he could have blamed Sayer for the accident, but it seemed stupid to blame someone for dodging a bullet that subsequently hit the person standing next to him. Besides, it seemed he wasn’t the blaming type. He was willing to accept Sayer’s assistance in starting a new life and, when it subsequently turned out that there was a lot more to Ocean’s plans than met the eye, equally willing to assist him in finding out what was going on behind the scenes. Hale had never expected to wind up back in Halcyon though, but when he thought about it, it seemed inevitable really: Halcyon was where he had started, and there was a pretty good chance that Halcyon was where he would end too.
Hale thought about the question Future had asked him the night before. He didn’t miss his old life, not really, but he was a little concerned that he appeared to be trying to make up for the loss by attempting to live three separate lives all at once. There was probably some sort of trauma response in there, but he didn’t have time to deal with it now. Especially since Sayer had just sent him a new text and, judging by the font and capitalisation, he was very much Not Happy.
[HALE! Forget the task I set you, get back up to my office immediately. Graphical design has just sent me a new batch of business cards and the idiots have managed to mis-spell my last name. Take the blue box on your desk back to that pack of halfwits and inform them that there are NO ‘B’s in ‘Typhon’!]