“Unthinking respect for authority is the greatest enemy of truth.”

Einstein

The faces of Lucy Lawntie, Farouk, and the other victims of the experimental trials were displayed on the wide computer screen on the wall of the office, whilst the final moments of Lt. Jessica Cooper played over and over again on a smaller monitor in front of them, her passive, emotionless features staring straight ahead as the knife cut across her throat. Print-outs of schematics and test results covered the desk.

“We can’t show that last one fully, but it’s the one that will get the attention,” said the bulky, moustachioed man who sat hunched over the desk staring at the data Trials had brought. “This is… nuts.”

The man who had introduced himself as Roger “call me Rodge” when Trials had first arrived span on his chair to face Jake. Jake was leaning against the small office’s glass walls, framed by the action of the news desks lined up behind him.

“I mean, this is almost unbelievable. I’m not sure I can report on this kind of thing without…”

“Without what?” interrupted Trials. “You have everything you need right here. There’s years of research and reports on those drives, more than enough to support publishing.”

“It’s just that plenty of people will discount it almost instantly.”

Trials cursed himself for not going to one of the tabloids instead. He couldn’t have really, he knew, as this needed to be reported on in-depth so that no one could doubt the veracity of the claims, but this newspaper guy was being unnecessarily cautious.

“So make them believe it. It’s true. Get it out there and let people know for themselves. And…” continued Trials, raising a finger to emphasise his next point, “…if you’re thinking of prevaricating, know that this information is going online tonight, and then you’ll lose your scoop.”

Chris turned back to the screen where the video still looped.

“He killed her.”

“He did. And he’s a government employee. He’ll never be able to hide from this.”

“He killed her like it was nothing. What if he..?”

The question hung in the air, unspoken.

Fuck… thought Trials.

This guy was scared.

What the hell? Trials had always imagined journalists to be like in the movies, the intrepid reporter who overcame resistance and bureaucracy to get their story out there. This guy was shaking at the mere thought of danger.

“I thought you guys had a network or something for things like this. What about that Snowden guy, or the… the Panama papers? Stuff like that.”

It was strange to be talking about those. It was accepted in the circles he generally moved in that they were nothing but the highest treason.

“That stuff takes months. The ICIJ takes it in, shares the info, everyone pores over it and shares their findings. This is different. The data’s limited, and obvious. There’s not much analysis to be done – it’s all already there.”

“So print and be damned,” insisted Trials.

“Ok, ok,” replied the harried editor-in-chief. “Look, Jake, was it? Look, Jake, just leave it with us for a while and we’ll get it out there. Trust me, we’ll publish, but I need… corroborating evidence, analysts to look over it. It’s a process.”

“How long do you need?” asked Trials impatiently.

“Three days. I can get it done in three days.”

Yeah, three days to cover your ass and get some other sap’s name on the byline, thought Trials.

It was the same at the other broadsheets he visited. No one was prepared to print straight away. Still, at the very least several papers had the story now and there was no way Matthews could get to all of them.

The videos were going up tonight, too. Marv had assured him he’d get them posted to as many sites as he could, both the major streaming services and the anonymous chat-boards that lurked in the background. It was done.

Trials could not untwist the knot in his stomach.

He wondered what Matthews would do once he found out. How far recovered were the Ministry’s abilities? Before all this, stories like the one Trials had just handed over would have been flagged almost before they were on the system, but now? Trials didn’t know.

For now, it was time to get a gun, get out of the city, and lay low. He headed for the closest drop box.