He slipped the flashlight back into its holster, reassured to have its comfortable weight back at his side. Eyeing the security station, he discovered that only a single seat sat behind it—the one currently occupied by the older guard.
Nice.
Turning, he surveyed the lobby. About a dozen or so chairs were situated in various locations throughout it, sometimes clumped in groups of three or four. Most of them looked nicely padded and very comfortable. He could sit in one of those, he supposed, but it would not look very professional.
Assuming that anyone ever shows up . . .
“Don’t get comfortable, son,” the older guard said from behind him.
Josh stiffened for a moment with the momentary shock that the old man had seemed to be reading his thoughts. He turned slowly back to face the security desk.
The older guard was writing on some on the desktop. He straightened, allowing Josh for the first time to be able to read that the last name on his badge read “Benton”.
“Go patrol Building 3” he told John, holding out a printed map. “It’s under a lot of construction.”
He settled back into the chair.
“It’s a hard-hat area,” he went on. “You can get one at the site there,” he instructed John. “Wear it.” He nodded in the direction of John’s belt. “And you’ll need that.”
John’s eyes turned toward his flashlight.
“No one’s supposed to be in there,” Benton said.
John looked down at the map in his hand, trying to make sense of it.
“Fastest way there is through the main spine,” Benton told him.
It took John a moment to recognize that “spine” meant one of the three main enclosed bridge ways. He peered at what seemed to be a random collection of numbers dotted across the map before identifying Building 3 and then traced back to the main lobby to find the path that Benton had suggested. He was less than thrilled to see that Building 3 was almost the furthest location from where he stood now.
“Better get moving,” Benton prodded him gruffly. “We need to hit the data center before midnight.”
John glanced up at the clock mounted on the wall behind the security station.
It was not even ten-thirty yet. Although his destination was some distance way, John found it difficult to imagine that he would not return well before midnight. Looking down at the map as he walked, he tried to locate the data center, certain that it would be the furthest point in the complex from Building 3.
He turned right at the first corner and then continued toward the next main juncture. He glanced down at the map several times, reassuring himself that he had, in fact, gone the right way. It was much further that it seemed on the map.
These damned things are never to scale.
He finally reached the intersection and stopped. Checking the map again, he compared them to the signs posted on the wall. He was in the right place. According to both the signs and the map, he needed to follow the corridor on the right. It would take him through the middle of Building 2, leading him to the next main bridge way.
Spine, he reminded himself. Then, a moment later: . . . whatever.
He crossed the suspended corridor, glancing through the windows that ran from floor to ceiling on either side. Yellow-white streetlights dotted the night, casting small pools of brightness on the street below. He paused, half expecting a vehicle to appear out of the darkness. None did, and he continued on.
He remained on the upper level as he entered the building. It really made no difference, as the first and second levels converged at the glass stairwell that also led into the next building. He liked the view from this floor, as it often overlooked wide expanses of the bottom level. Below him now was the second of the complex’s three cafeterias. Dark discs marked the floor like enormous polka dots. John knew these were the large circular tables where the employees sat and ate, or held impromptu meetings.
Continuing on, he entered a row of glass-walled offices and conference rooms. From the latter, he occasionally saw the faint blue glow coming from the power button on the large monitors mounted on their walls. He then passed through a section of uniform cubicles, and then through set of offices. It was not dark here, but the lighting had been reduced to only a few overhead banks, and those had been dimmed. The space did not feel eerie or threatening; it just felt empty.
He left that area and entered one that seemed more open, similar to the space near the cafeteria. The air felt different here. It seemed stale and dry. John rubbed absently at his hands, noticing that it also seemed colder here. When he saw the sheets of frosted plastic hanging down from the levels above, he remembered that the old man—Benton, he corrected himself—had told him that this area was under construction. He saw the door that led to the glass-enclosed stairwell ahead. He did not need the stairs, as he was just using the alcove to pass into the next building.
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