Konsk: The Great Takeover of the Place.

47. Alt-tech Centre, Going Down.

Catti Trueman, aka Catherine Oldman, wondered briefly about making a scene as she was escorted back down to the main deck of the Alt-Tech Centre's media dome. She discounted the thought as quickly as it had arisen; pointless, Manson's guards wouldn't hesitate to use force to restrain her. Besides, it was so much not her way.

Manson had insisted she give up her palm pad and she had done so without protest; she didn't need it. Now, hands once more in pockets, as was her style, her manufactured style, her fingers were busy, this time forming commands in binary, while she maintained an air of detached innocence, even calling greetings to some of the technicians as they passed.

She'd picked up the idea from her father. She chuckled at the memory of him sitting at his desk, apparently motionless, staring into his huge monitor as letters and numbers scrolled magically onto the screen, hands on the table in his binary gloves, only the slightest twitches of the gloves revealing the activity within. Oh, he'd come up with good ideas, she thought but it was the implementation that often let him down. He'd been in too much of a hurry to wait to buy some actual gloves, gloves with fingers and the oven gloves were just hanging there.

She, on the other hand, had taken the time to get it right. The contacts in her pockets had been three-D printed onto the lining material, were not metallic and hence not noticeable to the automatic detectors Manson had installed at every entrance to the dome.

So too with the persona, Catherine Oldman, that she had spent considerable time constructing and the faked on-line presence to go with it. She'd begun the work as a young teenager, way back in the old times, before the consequences of global warming had become all too apparent. She'd been familiar with her father's many on-screen aliases and had known Catherine Oldman would become useful at some point and probably essential, particularly after Spicer had returned from the past and managed to communicate something of the messages Learner had given him there.

Building Catherine Oldman had not been difficult for her, in fact, it was fun. She and Dawn had spent many hours of the long winter evenings back at the Little Big farm, happily constructing a female geek from a male perspective, including all the stereotypes and implicit biases. So the make-up that was designed to look like no make-up, the hairstyle that was contrived to convey zero sexuality, clothes to suggest nothing in the way of physical form and behaviours to indicate a detached non-sexual intellect.

Hacking the embryonic global network to create an on-line presence had been simplicity itself to one with Catti's talents and her father's technology and connections. The academic institutions that made up much of the backbone of the early network were largely undefended to begin with, no one having perceived the dangers to come. Catherine Oldman had quickly gained a variety of qualifications and later had a thriving web design business up and running, all operated remotely from the farm and funding her other, activities. As she grew up, she had begun to make physical journeys, to appear at conferences and business gatherings; it was all good practice for her persona and good for business.

When the web design business was bought by a much larger corporation, Catherine Oldman was in a position to choose where to go and she had the advantage of knowing at least something of the events that would unfold in the future.

The Critical Events Display was still flashing its Off-line message over the Sub-Continental Peninsula as she and her escort began to cross the main deck.

I wonder where they're taking me, she thought as they headed over towards the lifts. I'm probably going to get to see the lower levels at last. The prospect was not one that wholly appealed to her.

A small commotion began, over by one of the vending machines. A technician holding a beaker, was spluttering and coughing. Her companions laughed, one patting her back. Another sniffed at their own drink and pulled a face. There was a soft pop from the machine and a green liquid suddenly splashed across the floor. The little group, still laughing, high stepping, attempted to avoid the small flood.

As Catti and her guards passed the cube of blank display screens, whose sole purpose had been to display the events at the World Enhance Games Stadium, they blazed into life, depicting an external view with dark, lowering clouds riven by sudden flashes of lightening that caused them to temporarily white out. Puzzled faces were turning towards the screens when they began to rise on their flying cables, the attached speakers slowly dragged across the floor and then tilting as they too lifted. There came shouts and startled orders from the sound crew as various pieces of valuable kit began to fall noisily to the deck as the connecting cables gave way.

Catti ignored the confusion, unlike her guards who were now keeping a careful eye on their surroundings and exchanging questioning glances. One was speaking urgently into his throat mike. She increased her pace, very slightly, until she was just in front of them.

A light show started up, chasing around the interior of the dome, the many spotlights pulsing coloured light in turn, casting shadows that rotated around them as they walked. The music switched suddenly to a hammering rhythm, pushing up toward two hundred beats per minute and the fog of dry ice machines issued from several locations. Then the fire alarm kicked off, a strident siren, its high wail phasing in and out. Catti gave up trying to hide her smile.

She was a pace ahead when they hit the moving ramp to the lifts, and kept walking when the guards stopped. As she stepped off, the ramp reversed direction; one of the guards took a tumble, the others staggered, giving her just enough time to enter a lift and get the door closed, cutting off much of the noise of confusion beyond.

In that relatively calm, contained interior, she breathed easier. The smile remained on her face. She had some time now. With her left hand in her pocket, she was still tapping binary codes, disabling the lift door. After all, she had designed all the connectivity for the main deck, had selected and supervised the installation of all the kit, even the vending machines. It had seemed prudent to include various fall back routines, just in case. She'd only just started; she started tapping out a long series of binary commands.

For probably the first time in the many years since she had begun her employment with the multi-billionaire, Standish Manson, Catti Trueman felt real enjoyment. Her only disappointment was that she wouldn't be there to see it all as it happened. She'd have to wait to watch the recordings.

She couldn't indulge in her enjoyment though. She had other things to do. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then sent the lift down, to the lower levels.

Thanks for reading and welcome new subscribers. I am wondering now, if rather than popping bits of Catherine’s story in every now and then, whether it would be better to lump all her episodes together and maybe switch to them at a critical point in Trueman’s story, making for a longer break. Any thoughts anyone?