CHAPTER 4

At Dave's Famous Diner, breakfast is served all hours. But this evening is a special event for the members of an investment group that wants to challenge Delphi Corp. With a menu catering to people of all kinds of tastes, the thrill of a full house excites discussions when the waiter returns with a full menu. The interior of the diner contrasts with the brick-and-mortar exterior. An old-school ambiance that welcomes patrons where linen cloth highlights the Victorian décor. The waiter arrives at the long table to take orders and immediately catches the interest of Joe Hansen, a multifaceted entrepreneur in the business of making dreams come true—like everyone, these days, he hopes to strike it rich in the computer segment.

Hansen asks, "How's that working out for you?" Referencing his wrist underlay.

The young waiter finishes placing the plates he's able to accommodate before crossing an arm across Hansen's view of sight. The provincial Hansen looks intently at the foray of blinking lights under the skin of the waiter's wrist. The new wrist underlay has fresh markings of surgery, tender skin surrounds the apparatus beneath. In a hurry, the waiter pulls his attention back toward the table before pacing toward the kitchen again.

"Excuse me, sir?" the waiter responds.

"Your wrist, there." Hansen directs a head nod toward the waiter's right wrist.

The waiter looks down. "Oh yes. It's great, I love it." He puts two hands up to excuse himself. A few minutes later, he returns with the rest of their food.

Results from early assessment show that Delphi Corp. continues to retain a place atop the tech market, but all that looks set to change as the effects of CCS malfunctions are leaving only susceptible farms and conversations behind closed doors about switching their providers. The public view is admittedly skewed by the media and press. Hansen, unlike many, has no problem with Bartram as a businessperson. What he does have a problem with is his unsavory business practice, like ignoring public sentiments. The CCS navigation in his car has been replaced to avoid a functional breakdown. He doesn't want to become another victim of some unseen error. What he and his group don't know, is that something they can't avoid is percolating in the back kitchen.

In the kitchen, the same waiter tries to hurry an executive chef, but rushing isn't going to make the food any better. "Hey, we're backlogged out here!" the waiter calls.

Receiving no response, he takes determined steps through a wooden door. The chef stands with an eye toward the floor. His latest concoction appears to have exploded all over his garment. The mix of prominent colors shows the concoction of vegetables that were going to be served with thinly sliced meats. Something else worries the Chef as he places his hands to his waist covered in slime.

"Is everything all right back here? What in the world?" the waiter points to the floor.

"This shipment is bad, it's all bad," the chef informs him.

Moving away from his straightened posture, the chef bends at slender hips toward the floor. He cautiously grabs a loose leaf of smoky lettuce. Bringing the bunch of green to his face, he and the waiter look on with suspicion. After letting a handful into the pan for a slow simmer, a few pangs of heat continue to explode their way to the ceiling. He stops so as not to let off the smoke detectors.

"That's what all the commotion is about back here, lettuce?"

The waiter tries to calm himself since he's not the supervisor barges, who in after him to try and restore order.

"Get back to work, Aubrey!" he yells to the waiter's back. "What in the hell is all this mess?" The supervisor directs his attention toward the lead Chef who, unlike the others, is focused on cleaning up the spilled mess.

A clog of waitlisted customers at the entrance and front of the diner increases as time passes, but more leave the building as the backlog gets worse. The diner's appearance of procuring a big crowd isn't helping their business despite what it may seem. If people aren't eating, money isn't being made.

"Butts in seats, butts in seats," the chef recites, trained to be as efficient as possible. "I know, I know, but it isn't me." The chef turns off the latent fire that is causing noise under his pan. Moving toward a wide cabinet, he opens it to find piles of wasted food from the latest shipment. The manager only looks on in dismay at the clutter compounding. Frustrated, the chef looks out the kitchen door in a hurry. He picks up the same lettuce.

"Look, tell me what you see," he says.

The supervisor's eyes give a quick examination before catching the peculiarity himself. Freshly cleaned fingers glide over the fibers to examine the texture of the mutated green.

"Are these veins? Blue streaks or something." The supervisor removes his glasses and returns the green leaf to his head chef.

Aubrey returns through the door. "Guys! It's getting worse out here."

"I know! Just, ugh," the supervisor goes to the speaker controls while shooing him off. "Dear ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the inconvenience. Currently, our orders are going to be behind schedule for the time. We are committed to the excellence of your service. Please excuse the inconvenience, thank you." He closes the broadcast. "Well, if the truth never worked, then it isn't worth anything."

Giving themselves time to speculate, the supervisor plows through the packaging of old lettuce that the chef abandoned. Finally pulling out clear packaging from the cupboard, he rips open chunks of it in a hurry to locate the root of the issue. "What in the hell."

The strange colors and putrid smell arouse the supervisor's interest before a loud ricochet of noise from the diner distracts them. The supervisor hangs on tight to a chunk of lettuce with an unwavering concern, the urgency that provokes him from outside only heightens his senses.

Outside the kitchen, a cacophony of rattling is succeeded by a loud protrusion of slamming furniture that worries them both. The other cooks continuing service have no choice but to join the fray. Chaos in the diner draws them all out of their dishes to see what is going on with their customers. Rushing through the swinging doors, a swirl of distorted images in the vintage cylindrical window is magnified when the supervisor is met with a brawl of customers. A cascade of screams torments him as he watches like a deer in headlights at the dismantling of expensive furniture and fixtures that will need to be replaced.

Joe Hansen weaves through the commotion to a window along the edges of the diner, barely missing a flying piece of broken wood hurtling toward his face. When he ducks down, the shattered glass falls to the back of his neck. The sound pierces his ears with a screeching pain before he grabs the back of his head to check for any blood.

"Wait, wait," he raises hands in an admonition to a rushing patron. "I can fix this, just, hold on." The rushing patron is a member of Hansen's group, the bloody uproar is beginning to cease as people flee the scene, but a group of customers has forced the cooks and their supervisor into a locked utility room to avoid being attacked by infuriated eaters. Other customers rush through the swinging doors of the back kitchen, but it is empty.

"You're going to pay for this!" One man screams while holding a laser-guided pistol in one hand, aiming it toward the locked sanitation room where the workers are hiding.

Hansen joins the crowd that is blocking the door to try and restore order.

"No, I'll pay for it, just please, calm down," he says.

The crowd recognizes Hansen from his group that tried to hold the disturbance at bay, but most patrons ended up fleeing the scene. "Please," he pleads.

Incensed at seeing his wife lying unconscious at the table adjacent to a rear corner, the customer with the gun fumes at the cheeks. His bloodshot eyes bulge out of their sockets in a tired rage. The brawl seems to be taking a frightful turn.

Terrified, Hansen takes a step back after seeing the unconscious woman. "Jesus, did, did you do that?"

"Not at all! The food did that for me." The man with the gun comes to his senses, but his anger leads to more pounding at the door. "Open up!"

Hansen has inadvertently walked into the makings of a new investigation, one that may reveal the real reason behind these mishaps.

🌌

Benny's time slumping it in sickly disarray at home has come to an end. Now that he is back to his normal duties at Delphi Corp., the effects of partying are giving him withdrawals. The symptoms aren't too severe, yet he recognizes what happens when one is inundated with too many outside sources of stimulation. There is no need for Naoto to berate him about the lost device.

"I'm so irresponsible!" Benny declares at a secluded table. He goes over some protocols to refresh his memory. "Mr. Shimizu, I'm so, so sorry. You just asked me about what I was up to and I didn't even think of what it would lead to."

"It's fine, I'll have another one made for you. All I hope is that you've learned your lesson."

Naoto isn't surprised when Ben doesn't respond. Toward Naoto's left is a long line of work desks, AIS Aladdin continues to disperse updates to employees of Delphi Corp. while Naoto shows him the highly touted AIS for the first time.

"Woah, is that it? Aladdin."

"It sure is, the best we've got."

"I've got to get up close, take a picture for the social," Ben stammers.

"Hold your horses, big-timer, remember what I've been telling you about keeping work separate, we need to quiet down."

Benny regains control of his haste. "Right."

"Hello, Naoto." Aladdin shifts to one side with careful attention paid to balance. "Hello, Benny."

"Hey, he knows me by name." Ben's satisfaction breaks the silence.

"Mr. Clyde Van Dyke has requested a media interview with Mr. Bartram," the AIS informs them.

Aladdin grabs a slim tablet device with a special message directed to the staff. A video is replayed to show Van Dyke against the backdrop of the LOTRY Community Center. The AIS gently pushes its artificial hair to one side to reveal a broad forehead that hardly creases with upturned brows.

"From all of us here at LOTRY, we want to say that we hope things are changing over there for the better. If you haven't heard let me be the first to break the news." The group behind him condenses to fit the camera frame facing them. At the opportune moment when Van Dyke decides to start replaying inside footage of another incident, the group at the Community Center gawk at him like the celebrity he has come to be. "Watch this very closely, it's Dave's Diner. Enjoy your day!"

Van Dyke closes with a personal recording from Joe Hansen. The minute-long clip is torturous for the short time it lasts as Naoto and Ben watch the commotion unfold in the Diner. They assume that whatever it is, is another Delphi Corp. exposé. When the video finally gets to a climactic point, the incident at the Diner shows Hansen's face on camera, and Naoto has a jolt of memories when he sees him.

"That's Joe Hansen! It's Joe," he screeches. "Thanks, Aladdin."

Naoto rushes toward Bartram's office.

"Um, keep Aladdin company," Naoto says from the hallway.

This event is going to be spread all over the news media and is connected to the farm and labor fields Sandra warned Bartram about. When Bartram reaches his office, Naoto catches him at an inappropriate time to inform him, but he is ahead of the game.

"Sandra, can we get a word on those fields you saw back there when you were getting to the dam site?" Bartram asks.

"Let me guess, they're on your ass, huh? I'm not paying that damn insurance and no one else plans to either if Delphi Corp. keeps this up," she says. "You're lucky they stopped pumping that stuff out, but there's still tons of it on the way." A familiar accent soothes Bartram's blues, but this is no time for friendly conversation.

"Sandra! Just give me a note about the fields, why don't the farmers call me?"

Farming executives aren't likely to deal directly with Delphi Corp., but now things are different. If Bartram wants to make this right, then he will have to do it directly.

"Look, Mr. Bartram, you're a great guy and all, but this affects more than just profits. The whole CCS thing is becoming political as it is personal, and hardly anyone wants to deal with that. They're really going to dump your stuff now with that Hansen guy recording."

"I'm going to come out there," Bartram figures. "That'll do the trick. I'll come to see for myself."

"Finally, going to get your butt off the stage and come slug it out with us down here." Sandra's laugh crackles the connection. "I don't mind it much myself. Be careful though, wouldn't want to muddy up your polyester suit or catch the virus."

"I plan on it. I'll let you know what happens, but in the meantime, stop using those damn machines until I get a handle on everything," he says. As much as it hurts him to say it, the truths of this growing trend are threatening the reputation of everyone that looks up to him.

🌌

For Yasmine, the thought of total immersion is giving her an anxious fit. The raised floor of the station's platform is brightened by fluorescent lights at the ceiling that gleam to a metallic casing surrounding lively bulbs. The seats within the closed vault are in pristine condition and while she waits to give the go-ahead call for the research scientists, she savors the time she has alone, even in her irritation. In those dwindling minutes, she thinks of AIS Aladdin and considers her duties before she was assigned to total immersion.

The frequent blackouts are not boding well for their operation, but Yasmine is calmed by the isolated nature of their experiment away from the main unit. Inside the concealed vault door are multiple locks to keep out unauthorized entries. With super-enforced steel rods bolting the exterior, a metal vault keeps up to thirty well-constructed Neural-Link ports available for use. And to Bartram's credit, the motherload of all precious research. This project has the potential to reshape Delphi Corp.'s computing processes forever.

As Yasmine prepares to initiate the final authorization, Bartram hurries through a side vault door to help speed things along. He knows she is anxious. Inside the cool room, its containment by black walls, reinforced by patented padding keeps away electrical interferences. And Bartram's readiness to interfere bodes a small interruption to their grander plans. He has a habit of interrupting others, though it will pay off in the end.

"Yasmine, I'm so glad to have found you," he says. Moving her way, he stumbles across jumbled wiring along the floor before regathering his balance. "I must let you in on another sort of, well, secret." Bartram's persistence seems to diminish any secrets, and he has been upfront about everything thus far, which is expected of him. But Yasmine's a trusted confidant to the total immersion mission. Nothing is out of reach.

"Of course, you seem so riled up. I was just preparing to confirm authorization for total immersion. It's ready."

"Yeah, before we do that. There's a sort of problem about 100 million miles from here."

Yasmine makes an impromptu glance at Bartram. Concerned about the integrity of Delphi Corp., she braces for more outlandish surprises.

"Don't tell me, another blackout?" she guesses.

"Not even close," Bartram responds, though she reminds him of another issue to attend to later. "New things are being uncovered by our colonists on Mars. By the looks of things, fossils are being unburied from the red soil."

"Fossils!"

"Precisely, and many of them are identical to the very same artifacts here on Earth. We have no idea how they got there, or why. We must gather some sort of paleontology crew to assess the excavation site."

"Well, I can't say I'm familiar with any, not right now." Yasmine rises from the seat she was leaning a loose elbow on. She makes a final notation on her records. A distinct gulp rises from creases on her neck, below her chin as she readies to talk again. "This, I wasn't expecting this."

"None of us were," Bartram responds. "In fact, the only thing we know now is that we must figure out how to confirm what we do have, and by that, we have to get to the National Resource Center where the Dinosaur exhibit is on display."

"But why go anywhere, at a time like this? Can we consult with someone electronically?" Yasmine asks.

"We can't risk having any more interceptions by random hacks and viruses getting ahold of our information."

Bartram is adamant about keeping things with person-to-person contact. That way, they won't have to risk having information compromised by a trail of records. Yasmine ponders on this surprise, considering who may be able to help them.

"Well, who else knows about this?" she asks.

"There are only a few others aside from us, mostly the colonists themselves."

For a while, the flattery is well received, and the sight of blood fuming as it rushes to blushing cheeks gives Yasmine confidence, something she thought she already had. She's just now realizing how much Bartram is shifting the load of responsibility.

"Are you familiar with Dr. Rachel Adams?" Bartram asks.

"I can't say I am."

"She's the lead paleontologist of the National Resource Center, NRC, and can be our confidante. I want you to take the lead on this."

Yasmine is conflicted seeing that she has already spent so much time preparing authorization for total immersion. Truth be told, she never was comfortable with the whole thing anyway. Relegating oneself to a battering of psychological drama wasn't that appealing in the first place. If operations continue at this pace, and assignments keep shifting, things are only going to get busier.

"I think that'll be fine," she says. "For now."

Bartram squints his eyes to relieve himself of profuse, frequent blinks. He is on to something. Looking around at the simulation ports for total immersion, a natural history appeals to him while thinking.

"We're doing something completely innovative. I think you have a good opportunity to explore something that will have an outstanding effect. Millions of miles away, even." Bartram raises his chin in acceptance of their tasks. He is poised to make it all work.

"As soon as possible," she affirms.

"AIS Aladdin continues to make progress with Naoto and these media distractions will soon be old news so long as I can get to people personally. There seems to be a disconnect."

His claim only confirms what Yasmine and many others have been talking about for years. Now that Bartram finally wants to reach out to the people it might make a real difference. But the hostility isn't easily circumvented. It may take some time before people ease up on Bartram's personality.

"Are you sure about that?"