The Enthusiasts

8

"Set your firearm in the cage to your right." The check-point officer offered this as a greeting to Emerson, with the point of his own automatic rifle aimed squarely yet casually at Emerson's chest while he approached Spectra's secured entry gates.

Complying astutely, Emerson opened the door to a chain-linked cage which stood on a well-worn metal base roughly his height a few feet in front of the counter Victor was stationed behind. Emerson set the rifle inside, somewhat surprised he was still carrying it given his negative disposition toward guns. He then closed the lock-up door, latched it shut and approached the officer, who was decked out to the nines in Spectra security attire. He wore all black with a Spectrarmor vest poking up underneath his puffy jacket; company insignia symbolizing the organization's apparent ownership of land, sea, and air stitched proudly over the left breast; along with a black knitted toque sharing the same, centered patch of honor covering his head. Emerson noted a name tag sown into the right side his jacket: "Victor – Urban Security Sector." Both men's breaths were visible in the cold air as they spoke to each other though the cold weather was turning milder in the late afternoon.

"What's your business at the site today?" Victor asked in a stern voice.

"I'm an engineer." Here we go, Emerson thought. No turning back now. "I was asked to create a mock-up for some future improvements on the site. Just getting a feel for the location so I can make a report for the powers that be on the costs of upgrading the site... You probably aren't aware of any of this; it's just in the early planning stages right now."

The officer made no offer to be cordial toward Emerson as he squinted with inquiry, his eyelids tightening around Emerson's entire get-up. So much seemed obviously wrong that the officer couldn't really begin to question him. He didn't know where to start... but he would; he would confirm this man's true identity.

"Oh, actually we were just discussing it," Victor motioned, looking toward check-in, where two other identically dressed men stared back in their direction through a large pane of glass set in a small, heated check-in office booth next to Emerson. "Can I see your ID?"

"Of course." Emerson reached down to his left breast pocket which he noticed had a peck of tomato sauce underpinning an off-white noodle shaped in the letter O pressed into its fibers, likely transferred from the lunatic he had encountered in the alleyway moments earlier. Quickly, he brushed it off as the officer also took notice of the outsider delicacy, and its urgent removal. Emerson reached into his pocket, pulling out an ID card with credentials securely locked and coded using the company-patented I-Dent-I-Fy algorithm that was capable of interweaving one billion POR (Points-Of-Reference) to confirm the existence and/or relevance of any person, place, or thing logged in company inventory. All this personal information was held on an easy-to-carry Holo-Emblazoned ID card for Spectra employees. On this particular card an entire history of work done at Spectra facilities around the country was fabricated. The name on the card was Gerald Humbaldt BSCE. The guard plucked the card out of Emerson's hand, eyeing it closely, and then he looked back at Emerson with a stare of deeper inquiry.

"This is an old card." Victor turned it over, checking its expiry. It was up-to-date of course, not set to expire for four more years, and the issue date was only seven months ago. The officer squinted at the back of the card as if he needed glasses to read. "Just a minute while I get this checked out."

Emerson realized it had been a while since he had maneuvered through a facility with these IDs. They'd changed styles, and probably new encryption sequences, he thought. Emerson didn't panic yet, as he still felt confident in his abilities to create accurate forgeries well enough to pull one over on the gatekeepers of the company he had helped create. No fear of being recognized for his efforts here either, he thought. There would be no one who knew him in North Garrison anymore. A couple of remaining board Executives may have recognized him, but they weren't anywhere near the city. Nope, he was Gerald Humbaldt, and he was stationed in Dallas, but he traveled all over doing engineering work for Spectra. Nothing to worry about here, just a little overzealous security officer acting neither partial nor impartial toward his subject, as trained, which meant he felt obligated to act somewhat cold toward Gerald during the check-in procedure.