Scene 10

The elevator doors open on the sixty-second floor. Chuck looks around nervously before stepping out into a hallway he’s never seen before.

He’s worked in this building for over a year, but never ventured beyond his little slice of the fourteenth floor, except to find the locations of key vending machines, snack cupboards, and sleep pods he’d seen mentioned in the #WorkLifeBalance channel.

The carpet up here is different. Thicker. The lighting is warmer. On the wall opposite the elevator, a screen the size of a dining table cycles through Ares Frontier footage—rocket launches, habitat modules assembling themselves on rust-colored terrain. A title card fades in over a shot of colonists prepping for departure: Ares Frontier is a proud partner of the President’s Pardons for Passports initiative. Renounce your claim to citizenship and get a second chance—on Mars. Chuck watches it loop twice before realizing he’s stalling.

Just outside what can only be an enormous corner office, he sees a lone desk standing between himself and the door. The man behind it is maybe thirty-five, vest over a pressed shirt, hair that looks like it was cut yesterday. He’s on a call, laptop open, phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, typing something with both hands. He looks up when Chuck approaches, glances back at his screen, looks up at Chuck again and waves him past.

The office door is open. Chuck walks through.

The first thing he notices is the view. Floor-to-ceiling glass, two walls of it. The city laid out in late afternoon light. The desk is enormous and mostly empty—a single gigantic monitor, a coffee mug, a framed photo turned away from visitors. Along the interior walls, glass cabinets hold artifacts telling the story of Ares Frontier’s history.

A small conference area dominates the center of the room. One chair has been pulled away and sits facing the large desk in the corner. Kael Osterman is standing by the window, reading something on a tablet. He’s taller than Chuck expected. And quite a bit thicker. The man turns, and the face Chuck has seen in keynotes, interviews and a dozen company all-hands livestreams resolves into a real person three feet away.

“Chuck?” Osterman smiles. It reaches his eyes. “Night shift, right? You’re the one who flags the false positives so I don’t get woken up at 3 AM.”

“That’s—yes, sir. I try.”

“Close the door and have a seat.”

While Chuck complies, Osterman sets his tablet face-down on his desk and pulls his chair around to Chuck’s side. Close. No desk between them. As he sits, the expression on his face hardens subtly.

“You suck, Chuck.” A twinge of contempt pulls at the corner of Osterman’s mouth. “You should have woken me up, Chuck.”

Chuck’s mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

“Yesterday, someone used my credentials to access the network. No brute force. No zero-day exploit—just a walk-in off the street, right through a door your team left open.” He pauses. “While you watched.”

“Sir, I noticed some unusual activity, but I thought it was you logging in remotely.”

“You acknowledged a yellow alert without an investigation, took no action, then went back to scrolling on your phone. I haven’t browsed our security team’s wiki in a while—is that our standard procedure now?”

Chuck’s face goes hot.

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” Osterman leans forward. “You’re going to find out who was in my house pretending to be me. By Monday. Otherwise, you’ll have to find your free room and board elsewhere.”

“Yes, sir.”

Osterman studies him for another moment, then stands and walks back to the window.

“Get out of my sight.”