The Last Nukyi: Fear Cosmic Annihilation

  *****

  He soon reached her office. His hands were sweating buckets, his muscles were raw and stressed; and his fingers were cramped into a square knot as he tapped ever so faintly.

  “Come in Tom,” McBridle ordered.

  He cracked open the door.

  She fanned him in.

  He eased into a chair in front of her desk. He felt like telling her that last night was enjoyable, and how he had barely escaped death on the way home but he wasn’t sure how she’d react to the mixed news so he kept the story quiet. Anxiously, he walked the floor all night and wore the sleep monkey on his pale face. He looked like hell.

  She looked at him for a moment. “I think you need some scheduled time off,” she noticed.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You don’t look well today.”

  “No, I’m fine. I’m alive and ready to work. So let’s get down to business.”

  “Just for the sake of it, I’ll ask Human Resources to check the date of your last holiday; then they can get back to you.” McBridle rose to her designer heels and crossed the office. Her motion was calculated long, lean strides designed to turn heads. She leaned close to him, her snowy-white blouse fluffed open in the front. “This security breach is a very sensitive matter so we’ll have to be very careful about where and when we discuss it. I was talking to Doctor Carravecky this morning. He admitted the computer system did monitor some strange activities a few weeks prior to the second breach attempt.

  “And he admitted that without falling over laughing as if he had a jackrabbit peeing on his head?”

  “Yeah, it sounds fishy doesn’t it?”

  He rubbed his itchy eyes for some relief.

  “House security investigated but found nothing. The cause was documented as ventilation problems, which triggered a series of malfunctions, recorded as oddities in the data control system. You might be interested in viewing them.”

  “No need. They’re probably data fabrications; I’d just be wasting my time.”

  The telephone rang.

  “I told Stella no interruptions. Excuse me,” she said, and picked up the call. Her conversation was obviously professional, and she didn’t seem trilled.

  Tom scanned the office, which appeared to possess no executive design or feminine personality. There were no one-of-a-kind paintings on the walls, no cute knickknacks on the shelves, and no photos of family members on her plain oak desk. Her office was like an empty shell with a fantastic view of Seattle.

  She hung up and sprang out of her chair, “Are you ready?” she asked.

  He hesitated, “Yeah. Why? What’s going on?”

  “We’re leaving for Carravecky’s. Have you forgotten?”