Story code: ST-001315
Part 2: The Disconnect
Julian remained leaning over the counter, his hand firmly pressing the phone receiver back into its cradle. The silence in the lobby returned, save for the steady, slow pulsing of the blue indicator light on the titanium access token docked beside my terminal.
“We do not need outside engineering,” Julian said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. He did not remove his hand from the phone. “I told you, they will force a grid shutdown. We can handle this right here if you just comply.”
“You have just blocked a call to the emergency response team during a claimed core collapse,” I said, keeping my posture rigid. I did not attempt to pull the phone away from under his hand. “That action is automatically flagged on the lobby security recording.”
Julian’s eyes darted toward the black camera dome mounted in the corner of the ceiling. His hand slowly slid off the phone, dropping to his side, but he did not step back from the desk. He wiped his palms down the sides of his trousers, leaving faint damp streaks on the fabric. “I’m trying to save the project, Jesse. Sarah’s entire career is tied to this run. If the engineers shut it down, the data is wiped. I am asking you to help me protect her work.”
“If Dr. Vance requested this, she would have called the lobby desk directly to authorize the release,” I replied, pointing to the empty digital queue on my monitor. “There is no authorization code in the system, and her token is still locked in its slot.”
“She couldn’t get through to the desk line,” Julian stammered, his fingers twitching. “She’s in a shielded basement auditorium at the convention center. She barely had enough signal to send me a text message.”
“A moment ago, you said she called you on your personal line,” I said.
Julian paused, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He adjusted his collar, which was damp with sweat. The hum of the servers behind the security doors remained quiet and even. “She texted first, then called. The call dropped twice. That’s why she told me to hurry. Every second we waste arguing about phone logs is bringing the core closer to thermal failure.”
I looked down at the titanium access token. It remained securely seated in its slot, its polished surface reflecting the cool light of the monitor. According to the laboratory’s administrative rules, any unverified discrepancy in system reports must be resolved through a formal live diagnostic test before any manual overrides are permitted.
“There is a standard procedure for unverified telemetry errors,” I said. I placed my hand over the secondary keyboard housing the diagnostic controls. “I will initiate a live system test from this terminal. It will query the cooling core sensors directly and record the results in the permanent archive.”
Julian froze. The color drained from his face, and he took a slow step backward, away from the desk barrier. “A live test? No, don’t do that. That takes the main sequencer offline for a full sweep. It will write the logs directly to the off-site server.”
I kept my hand poised over the interface. Why would a man claiming an active emergency panic at the prospect of the system testing itself?