The office I’d chosen was close to the elevator and about twelve feet square, with a large, boxy terminal and a lamp sitting on an L-shaped desk. The rest of the desk’s real estate was covered in loose papers, which made the room feel smaller than it really was. I sat at the chair and booted up the green-screened terminal. A blinking white box appeared, prompting me for my identification. While the guy’s identification was easy to find on some of the forms on his desk, the password was trickier. Typing PASSWORD elicited exactly the response I’d expected: Access Denied. Looking for some clue, I glanced again at the letters from his wife and reminder notes strewn about the desk. Tinkermen were notorious for wasting their lives at their jobs, and yet this one was away from his office at the moment. I found out why when I discovered the lawyer’s bills; the amount due made my paycheck look like small potatoes.
I spied a small button labelled ASSISTANCE on the side of the terminal’s keyboard. I jammed my thumb into it and waited a minute or two until a Green-eye let itself into the office. Most of its body was stripped down to basics, with a very simple base and limbs. The friendly, simple design made people feel safe. Quite the opposite of the Grifter statue downstairs.
“May I be of assistance, Mr. McEwen?”
“I need access to the — I mean, to my terminal, but I’ve forgotten my password.”
I should have thanked my lucky stars that these assistance models were dumber than most. They were built without visual recognition to reduce costs. The Automatic plugged a small cord from its palm into the terminal and turned to me.
“I need confirmation of your identity, sir. Access code?”
“Password?”
“Incorrect.”
Why had I thought a second time that that would work? My eyes fell on the lawyer’s bill, which included the name of the guy’s wife. “Beatrice?”
“Correct, sir. Thank you.” He retracted from the terminal and slid out the door to parts unknown. I guessed the fellow in this office wouldn’t have the same access code for much longer.
I made sure the machine was gone before I started searching the directory for the serial number. Hundreds of lines of code ran in front of my eyes, and my body tensed up from the onslaught of information. I had far more respect for those Tinkermen now. I’d never done this alone. They performed such searches in mere seconds, which now seemed like a miracle. A few lucky clicks of the keys to select anything saying serial or number, and the white rectangle finally lit up, blinking to signal me to input orders. I pulled out the small strip and entered the Automatic’s serial number into the terminal. After several moments, the computer spit out a list of information: the Automatic was listed with the model code RU-D1, and had been bought two years ago by Johann Jaeger of Jaeger’s Electrics in SoHo.
Jaeger. That was a name I hadn’t heard in a while. I wondered if it was the same man I’d used to know.
No matter. I had what I came for. I shut down the terminal and left the office. Just as I was about to press my thumb on the down button, the elevator car arrived with a chime, and the silver doors parted to reveal two men in uniform. Not cops — GE hated having police on their premises — but security guards.
All three of us froze — the guards were surprised that I had gone for the elevator, like an idiot, and I was surprised at how much faster their response time was. I looked behind me for a way out, but heard them draw their weapons from their holsters. The guns were only for show, though. I knew they wouldn’t fire while civilians were on the floor. I was another story altogether. It was too bad my own revolver wasn’t in my holster. Then again, I wouldn’t have made it past the front door if I’d been carrying heat. Right now, my only options were to put up my hands or to run. I settled on the latter, turning and booking it down the hallway.
As I ran, the pattering of feet behind me was getting louder. These guards were in better shape than I was. Several pencil-pushers working at their terminals turned in surprise as the guards chased after me. I noticed that there weren’t any security cameras in the area and surmised that security had been tipped off by the Green-eye’s coming to the office I was in — they must have known that no one was supposed to be in there. I’d had no idea that GE was able to keep such close tabs on their Green-eyes, but I should have expected it. I kept forgetting that the old rules didn’t apply, here in GE. They probably knew everyone who even breathed on their building below the Plate.
The offices to the left and right ended just before I reached the doors to the mainframe. Now the corridor diverged in two directions. The hallway running perpendicular to me terminated on either side in windows. Hopefully this meant that the floor was set up in the shape of a figure eight, and the hallways looped back to the elevators on the other side of the offices. I took a chance and went left. Maybe I could swing around these guards and catch the elevator, or perhaps there was another set of elevators. There had to be.
I took a left. When I reached the windows, I nearly tumbled over a table and some chairs. I turned left again, hoping I could make it back to the elevators before the guards caught up to me. But I was unlucky. These
