Story code: ST-001335
Part 2: The Override
With his hand still blocking the intercom receiver, Donald leaned over my console. “We don’t need a full bio-containment audit stalling the entire launch window. If they lock down Gate 14, the departure is scrubbed for the next six months. Clara has to get on that ship today.”
Clara stared at Donald’s hand resting flat over the intercom panel. Her fingers tightened around the physical boarding pass, bending the edges of the stiff cardstock. “Donald,” she said slowly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “If there is a real toxic leak, why would you block the containment team?”
“Because they’re bureaucratic nightmares, Clara!” Donald turned to her, his gestures wide and erratic. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “You know how the port authority works. They will tie us up in administrative quarantine for weeks. I spent three million credits securing your passage on this vessel. I am not letting a minor sensor glitch ruin your chance to get off Earth.”
I kept my hands visible, resting them on the edge of the metal desk. “Sponsor Vance, terminal regulations dictate that any manual override of a bio-hazard alert must be validated by the port authority’s safety team within five minutes of the flag, or the gate locks down automatically. If I do not summon them, the system will assume a security breach.”
“Then bypass the validation,” Donald demanded. He tapped his slate against the console, attempting to force his sponsor clearance code into the gate’s reader. “Use my administrative override. Force the gate open.”
“I cannot bypass the validation log,” I said, speaking in my flat, professional gate tone. “The system requires an outside agency response once the hazard flag is active. If I don’t call them, you are locking us all in this terminal under quarantine.”
Donald’s chest rose and fell rapidly. He looked at the red warning light on the console, then at Clara. “It’s fine. We don’t need the containment team. Cancel the alarm, Sam. Just clear the alert on your terminal.”
“I cannot clear an active hazard flag without a diagnostic sweep from the bio-containment team,” I said. “You initiated the flag, Sponsor. The system now requires their physical authorization to reset.”
Clara took another step back, her boots clicking against the polished floor of the departure lounge. She held the boarding pass flat against her chest like a shield. “You lied,” she said, looking directly at Donald. “There is no leak in Sector Three. You fabricated the alert to force me through the door.”
Donald let out a sharp, dry laugh, his eyes scanning the terminal lobby, where other passengers were beginning to stop and look in our direction. “Don’t be ridiculous, Clara. I’m trying to protect you. The sensors are just acting up. I saw the reading on my slate.”
“Then let the officer make the call,” Clara said. She stood perfectly still, her face pale. “If the air is safe, the containment team will verify it in two minutes. Call them, Sam.”
Donald moved his hand from the intercom, but instead of stepping back, he reached directly for the manual gate release lever behind my console.