GNRP Chapter One: Reflection

GNRP is the working title of a sci-fi story I’ve been meaning to write for several years now.  In the interest of actually writing something, I’ve decided to commit to publishing one chapter per week.  I know how the story ends, I just have to figure out how to get from here to there 😉  This will be in every way a first draft; I expect that I will make many mistakes and it could use some significant improvements.  Feel free to make suggestions in the comments.

This story is licensed under the Creative Commons – Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States.  You may share this story with anyone you wish in any form you wish, provided you do not change the story or profit from its distribution, and provided that the story is clearly attributed to me and a link to the aforementioned license is included.

Anyway, with no further ado, I present chapter one.

Reflection

“We’re sorry, Mr. Soren, it looks like your flight will be arriving forty-two minutes late.  Please take a seat in the waiting area until the flight has arrived.  If you have any questions, please contact the nearest flight agent.  Have a nice night.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Frank replied to the now blank holographic display.  This spaceport had not had a flight arrive on time since it was constructed.  The war probably didn’t help any.

Frank headed toward the food court.  The flight, perhaps, was beyond his control, but the war was not.  Very few knew, but he was the man responsible for it.  He laughed out loud, drawing stares from the crowd.  Few indeed knew that Galactic Nanotechnology Research and Production did more than make cell phones — he had always liked that pun — medical nanites, and Galactic Identification Device implants.

He joined the line for the McDonald’s replicator.  Moments later he stood in front of the monitor, and was greeted by the computer.  “Welcome back, Mr. Soren!  Would you like to see the menu, or do you want to order?”

The GID was a marvelous device.  A person’s identity and money were safe wherever they went.  The device was impossible to forge — except for the device’s inventor, that is.  Frank’s own GID was modifiable, a prototype model from GID’s inception, a model that GNRP had explicitly promised was never produced.  Only a half-dozen or so remained active.  The prototype allowed him to change the ID broadcast by the device; for the duration of this trip he was Steve Soren, resident of Earth and professional taste-tester.  Mr. Soren had built up millions of credits in free flights, lodging, food, and movies, and he had not once even checked the balance on his account.  Frank doubted if Mr. Soren even knew how much money he actually had; likely he was too busy testing the latest new recipes.

Frank sat in the one vacant chair within his eyesight and began eating.  He had always enjoyed choosing strange identities for these undercover trips.  They were always real people — anything else could lead to investigations into the GID system — and they were always people oblivious to the actual magnitude of their own wealth.  That way he could spend their money on these excursions and keep GNRP’s financial manager from knowing his whereabouts.

He threw his tray into the garbage receptacle and headed to the bathroom to wash up.  His reflection taunted him in the mirror, a poor representation of the man he used to be.  Slicked back black hair covered a slight bald spot in the back of his head.  Grey eyes peered out from under sparse eyebrows.  Years of desk work had filled in his gut and softened his arms and chest, though he fell short of being fat.  An unlimited supply of medical nanites had kept his body in perfect working order, but they were no substitute for regular exercise.

His eyes scanned the bathroom as he turned to leave.  This same bathroom was what originally gave him the idea for GID in the first place.  It was equipped with utilities of all sizes and shapes to accommodate just about every known species, but every single fixture came down to one basic design: a porcelain bowl filled with water.  Every species was the same, when you broke it down right.

Frank may have had the idea, but without Ellis Mitchell, co-founder of the company, the GID never would have worked.  It was Ellis that designed the first hardware.  Without Ellis, Galactic Nanotechnology Research and Production would have been just another failed nanotech startup.  Unfortunately Frank and Ellis had a difference of opinion regarding the war, and Ellis went into hiding.

Frank sat down in the waiting area, scanning the flight information displays.  “Great, delayed again,” he mumbled.

“That’s what happens when there’s wars,”  said a lanky balding man to his left.  “I always schedule flights for the day before I need to get where I’m going, just to be safe.”

Great, thought Frank, a chatty stranger.  May as well pass the time. “I try to do something like that.”

The stranger nodded.  “Yeah, but even then I’ve ended up waiting days.  Once I was stuck near the front lines of the war — the Navy flagged down our transport as we passed Alexandra IV — after I delivered a shipment of medical nanites from GNRP.  The Navy kept us there for six days, searching everything.”

The reference to his company piqued Frank’s interest.  “So you work for GNRP?”

The stranger smiled proudly.  “I’ve been piloting GNRP transports for ten years.  Mr. Mitchell personally gave me an award for being the safest and most punctual pilot.”

“Impressive.” Frank had never paid much attention to Ellis’ award-giving activities.  There were too many of them.  Ellis always tried to boost the morale of every employee, high and low.

“Yeah, I think it’s too bad that Mr. Mitchell has taken this extended vacation.  The company just isn’t as friendly with Mr. Jameson running things by himself.  We’re all walking on thin ice until Mr. Mitchell comes back.  I’ve heard rumors of another round of layoffs.  I don’t know why Mr. Jameson keeps firing people.  Near as I can tell, the company is shorthanded in every department, and the more layoffs there are, the more productivity falls.”

Frank nodded in agreement.  In reality it was Ellis rigging the layoffs.  Ellis would track down the best, most productive workers in each department, then using Frank’s identity he would have them fired.  Ellis wasn’t cruel enough to leave people jobless in his effort to cripple GNRP, though — he managed to get a job at another nanotech company for every employee he fired.  Frank chose the words of his reply carefully.

“Yeah, but Mr. Mitchell himself said on more than one occasion that without Frank Jameson there would be no GNRP.  He can’t be that bad of a guy.  Look at all the good his inventions have done.”

The pilot raised an eyebrow.  “Those things would have been invented eventually.  Even the GID wasn’t Mr. Jameson’s idea, technically.  His own ingenuity lies in the way it works with the body to ensure it can’t be removed, and in the way it uses body heat to power itself.  Mr. Jameson really just took an existing concept and made it work feasibly.  He didn’t know anything about nanotechnology.  He’s a biochemist.”  The pilot produced a water bottle from his jacket, took a sip, and continued.  “GNRP was the last company to come out with medical nanites, no invention there.  They just happen to work better than everyone else’s.  Even GNRP’s military products are just old ideas made reality.”

Frank suppressed a sigh.  He had gained a bad reputation, thanks to Ellis’ efforts.  Not even his old colleagues at the Biochemistry Research Institute would talk to him.  “I suppose you’re right.”  He was, really.

The man jerked his head toward Frank, as if he were startled.  “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten to introduce myself.  Nick,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Frank.”  They shook hands briefly.

“Pleased to meet you, Frank.  I know I’m a talker, but after spending so much time just waiting in spaceports I started to need a little more social interaction.  My crew doesn’t talk to me much.”

They fell into silence for a time, watching the passersby without really seeing them.

It was Nick who broke the silence again.  “I just don’t understand why Mr. Mitchell hasn’t come back.  He must know what’s happening to his company.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t like Mr. Jameson anymore.  If they had an argument and Mr. Mitchell couldn’t win, it would make sense for him to take his money and leave.”  That was the essence of what had happened, after all.

“If that were the case, he should have gone public with it, rather than just disappear.  It doesn’t make sense.”

Frank simply shrugged.  He wasn’t sure why Ellis hadn’t gone public.  It would certainly destroy GNRP — but he thought Ellis wanted to stop Frank’s war efforts, without collapsing the company.

The pilot eyed Frank for a moment.  “You sure seem to have a high opinion of Mr. Jameson.”

“I used to make appointments for him.”  Frank preferred to tell the truth as much as possible, or at least a version of it, unless it would expose his fake identity.  He often made his own appointments, despite his secretary’s protests.

“Oh?  Did he lay you off too?”  He paused when he saw Frank change positions as if he were uncomfortable.  “I’m sorry.  I’m being too nosy.  A bad habit.”

Frank pursed his lips.  “Don’t worry about it.  You know, a week before the war started, I wanted to take some time off to be with my wife and son.  Mr. Jameson was going to let me, but Mr. Mitchell talked him into making me stay for another week, for a big nanotechnology conference.  So I stayed, but I sent a letter home asking my wife to come to me instead.  Her transport was the first…”  He closed his eyes to hide the tears welling up.  Despite the pain they brought, it was good to actually say the words.  He seldom spoke of this with anyone.

“She was on the Stargazer?”  The pilot asked softly.

Frank nodded, eyes still closed.

“Do you know why the passenger list was never disclosed?  That’s not normal.”

Frank himself had deleted it, to remove the connection to himself and his company.  The company that owned the Stargazer couldn’t survive the fiasco of a missing passenger list were it made public, so they simply announced that they would not be releasing the passenger list, nor the contents of the cargo hold.  It had given rise to countless conspiracy theories.  “Yes, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to say anything.” As much truth as possible.

“Were you threatened?  You can go to the police, you know.”  The pilot — Nick — began to look worried.

“No one threatened me.”  He supposed he could end up dead if he were to say something, but he didn’t think it would go that far.  Then again, he had started a war.

It hadn’t been a war, at first.  It happened as he had explained to Nick — Ellis wanted him to be at some big nanotechnology conference, but it conflicted with Frank’s planned family vacation.  Ellis had always been good at getting Frank to do it his way, and that time was no different.  It had been Frank’s own idea to invite his wife and son to stay with him there.  She decided to go the second day of the conference, and bought tickets aboard the Stargazer.

The Stargazer had also been carrying some rather valuable prototype nanotech demonstration models to the conference.  Somehow a group of renegades found out and hijacked the ship.  Only one person escaped, a crew member who happened to be cleaning an escape pod when the attack occurred.  He claimed the renegades shot everyone they saw.

When Frank had been informed, he shut out the pain by feeding his anger.  He contacted an old friend, Greg Farnsworth, an officer in the Galactic Navy, and asked him to track down the renegades and make sure they were imprisoned as the law demanded.  Greg, however, seemed to think there were wheels that needed greasing, and asked for a small “subsidy” in order to make it happen. Highly illegal, of course, and not exactly moral.

The first payment made, Greg contacted him and told him the Navy wasn’t quite interested in tracking down a few renegades, but that he could make it happen for a larger “subsidy”.  They agreed on an amount, and two days later the Navy attacked one of the more well-known renegade spaceports.

Frank had hoped those responsible for the Stargazer would be found quickly, but every message he received explained that more time was needed, that the renegades were difficult to locate, that they needed more grease for the wheels.

That’s why Ellis left.  Perhaps he felt responsible; he had insisted on Frank going to the conference, after all.  Ellis’ solution was apparently to bankrupt GNRP — and Frank along with it — so Frank could not keep bribing the Navy.  Its source of funding gone, the Navy would most likely turn its attention elsewhere.

The pilot interrupted Frank’s thoughts.  “No one threatened you, eh.  Well, I’ll leave off there.  You probably wouldn’t appreciate more prying.”  Nick glanced at the clock.  “They’re probably done unloading my ship by now.  Nick Collins.  If you ever need a ride, give me a call.”

Frank nodded in thanks as they shook hands, and watched the man make his way toward one of the smaller hangars. A nice guy. Hopefully Ellis won’t fire him.

Ah, the layoffs.  That was a sticky situation.  The first time Ellis had rigged a round of layoffs, the company lost almost 2000 nanotechnicians, pilots, inspectors, and managers.  Frank attempted to re-hire some of them, but they all refused.  When he tried replacing them with new talent, he was able to get many to accept offers, but they invariably called back the following day to explain that they would be unable to accept.  Ellis was making it effectively impossible for Frank to replace the missing personnel, and there had been four rounds of layoffs so far.

The speaker system announced that Frank’s flight was ready to be boarded.  He headed toward the ship.

* * *

Ellis sat at his desk watching the security camera feeds from Spaceport Central.  Frank headed toward his flight slowly, meandering through the crowd.  Whenever Frank reached the edge of Ellis’ monitors, Ellis pushed a few keys, and the computer displayed another camera feed.

Ellis sighed and rubbed his eyes against the drowsiness he felt.  He had been planning this for over a week, and there were still dozens of things that could go wrong.  It would be easier if he could connect to the transport’s computer before Frank was on board, but Ellis did not want to risk detection too early.  That meant he would only have one minute to work with.

It had always been easy tracking Frank.  His GID had a unique signature only Ellis knew how to find, so it did not matter what identity Frank hid behind.  Ellis had not rigged the GID; it was just a side effect of the ability to change the identity broadcast by the implant.  Ellis’ own GID had the signature as well.

On the computer screen, Frank boarded a transport.  Ellis’ camera feeds ended there, but that was not important.  Frank was on board; that was all Ellis needed to know.

The plan was simply to make Frank late for his covert meeting with his Navy contact. Commander Farnsworth would not wait longer than fifteen minutes before assuming Frank was not coming.  Without a negotiation for further funding, there would be fewer Navy ships committed to the war.

To delay Frank, Ellis would force Frank’s GID to stop broadcasting during the flight.  When the passengers disembarked, security would notice a passenger with no ID broadcast.  They would take him into custody.  At that point the GID would restart itself, security would see the ID broadcast again, and Frank would be let out of custody after signing some paperwork and scheduling a visit to GNRP’s offices for an implant inspection.

His fingers hammered at the keyboard.  The transport would soon be out of range.  Diagrams of software systems filled a screen to Ellis’ left, status updates filled a screen to his right, and machine code filled a slightly larger screen between the two.  His eyes flicked from screen to screen, keeping track of everything.  Sweat trickled down his forehead into his eyes, but stopping to clear his eyes would lose him precious seconds.

Moments later a small window popped up with the words “Access Granted”.  He entered a few commands to Frank’s GID, telling it what to do and when.  The connection was lost just moments after he finished.

Ellis leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes.  He was getting better at hacking, but he kept finding himself at the limits of his abilities; he was always cooking up ideas that were just barely beyond his skill level.  Somehow, though, he always pulled through.

It was time to sleep.  Frank’s flight would be long.  Ellis locked his computer and headed for his bedroom.