Story code: ST-001238
Part 3: The Backup Feed
I kept my finger pressed lightly against the cold metal button of the HDMI switcher. The auxiliary console at the back of the room was tucked behind the soundboard, giving me a clear view of Gregory’s profile. He remained standing by the presentation table, his shoulders squared, though his gaze darted twice toward the backup monitor on my desk.
Laura sat perfectly still. She had stopped tapping her pen, leaving it resting on the open page of her notebook. Beside her, Marc sat forward, his hands resting flat on his knees. The quiet in the Grace Fellowship Church Hall was absolute, save for the low, rhythmic ticking of the wall clock.
“If the security system automatically flagged the post,” Marc said, his voice level and steady, “the activity dashboard will have recorded the specific error code. We can pull up the log right now and see what formatting error Laura made. That way she won’t trigger it again.”
Gregory did not look at Marc. Instead, he kept his eyes on his laptop screen, his fingers hovering over the trackpad. “The curation log is encrypted at the admin level to prevent unauthorized access to API keys. Opening the console without clearing the cache first could trigger a secondary security block.”
“I’m logged in on the backup terminal,” I said from the back of the room. My voice sounded flat in the small space. “The church’s master account has access to the full audit history. It doesn’t require clearing the cache.”
Gregory’s chin lifted. He turned his head slowly toward me, his eyes narrowing slightly behind his glasses. “Mara, you are here to monitor the audio levels for the fundraiser presentation. You don’t have the technical background to interpret database queries. If you disrupt the connection while the database is syncing, we could lose the entire mailing list for the fall donor drive.”
“The mailing list is hosted on a separate server, Gregory,” Marc said. He stood up from his chair, taking two slow steps toward the center of the room. “And Mara runs the network updates for the parish office every Tuesday. Let’s just look at the dashboard.”
Gregory took a step closer to his laptop, his right hand flattening against the top of the screen assembly as if preparing to shut it. “This is not a matter for group speculation. I have spent three years managing this page. If you start changing inputs and overriding security measures, I cannot be held responsible for the integrity of our digital outreach.”
Laura looked up from her notebook. Her eyes were fixed on the back of Gregory’s hand where it rested on the laptop. “Gregory, if the system deleted it, there’s no reason we shouldn’t look at the error log. It would show us exactly what went wrong.”
Gregory’s knuckles turned white against the plastic frame of his screen. “It is a matter of administrative protocol, Laura. If we allow untrained volunteers to audit the system settings every time a post doesn’t appear, we undermine the moderation structure of this entire committee.”
He leaned over his keyboard, his fingers moving rapidly. The projector screen behind him flickered twice, the digital communication policy document disappearing to be replaced by a static blue screen. “The connection is temporarily down anyway. The local network is buffering.”
I looked down at the backup monitor on my console. The live connection was perfectly green. I reached for the input toggle switch, my thumb resting on the metal lever.