Ephialtes (Ephialtes Trilogy Book 1) (23 page)

Christina
perked up and she cut into the conversation.  “Dan, please don’t say what
I think you’re about to.  You know I’m a lawyer.  I can’t get
involved in anything untoward.”

Kostovich cut
back in himself.  “Christina, I wouldn’t suggest doing anything
illegal.  Of course not.  But as the technical overseer I have to
check that the system is working correctly.  And provided no privileged
information is allowed to influence any voting behaviour subsequent to it I may
review that information as part of my duty to maintain that system.”

“I think this
is very dodgy,” said Christina.

“Is it
dodgy?” said Venkdt.

“I looked
into this very carefully,” said Kostovich.  “I wouldn’t want to jeopardise
an entire election, and of course I wouldn’t want to break the law.  The
articles of the election are very clear; I may have access to current voting
information so long as I need that information to ensure the system is working
correctly.”

“Do you need
it for that?” said Venkdt.

“Well, if I
don’t know what information is going in it, how do I know if it’s the right information? 
Or if it’s working properly at all?  Look, I know it’s all okay; this
system has been around for years, it’s as good as foolproof.  But there’s
no harm in checking, right?”

Christina’s
brow was furrowed.  “Do you know what you’re doing?  Really? 
You could screw this whole thing up.”

“I checked
the articles again and again.  You must have a copy, check them
yourself.  As long as the information is not misused - as
long as the information doesn’t leave this room - I, as the
returning software systems officer, am entitled to take a peek.”

“I don’t
know,” said Venkdt.

“Dad,” said
Christina, “as a lawyer I would strongly advise you against this.  It
might be kosher but if there’s even a slight risk I would leave it well
alone.  What’s to be gained, anyway?  We’ll know the result in a few
hours.”

Kostovich
pulled out his comdev.  “I know what I’m entitled to do.  If you
don’t want to be involved, that’s fine.  I’m doing this by my own
volition.  It has nothing do with you.”  He started tapping.

“You dumb
bastard.  If we’re in the room with you then of course it’s to do with
us.  Put that thing away,” said Venkdt.

“Oh!” said
Kostovich.  “Now that really
is
interesting.”

“Put it
away,” said Christina.

“What’s
interesting?” said Venkdt.

“The turnout
figures.  Not what I expected.”

“You could
screw this up for all of us.  Put that damned thing away!” said Christina.

“What are
they?” said Venkdt.

“Well,”
started
Kostovich
.

“
Fer
Christsakes
!  Put ’
em
up on the damned wall!” shouted Venkdt.

Kostovich looked
up at him tensely.  He pressed and swiped the screen a few times and a
bare console was overlaid on the election stream on the wall.  There were
two columns, labels on the right with numbers to the left.  At the bottom
was ‘Turnout’.  The number was seventy-eight percent.  Venkdt
clenched his jaw looking angry and worried.  “It’s twenty-past seven
in the evening.  Who wouldn’t have voted by now, who was going to
vote?  Jesus, we’re never going to make it.”

“We’ve got
nearly three hours, yet,” assured Kostovich.

“I don’t like
it,” said Venkdt, “I don’t like it one little bit.  We should be in the
eighties by now.”

“We’ll get
there.”

“We will?”

“Sure.
 A couple of hours ago I extrapolated voting patterns through to ten
o’clock.  They’ll continue to decline but, I predict, you should limp over
the line sometime around 21:30.”

Venkdt stared
at him.

“I made the
extrapolation extremely cautious, too.  It’s in the bag.”

“In the bag,”
echoed Venkdt.  “There are no certainties in this world, my friend. 
Have you eaten?”

Kostovich
eyed the sandwiches and pastries on the conference table by Christina’s
elbow.  “I could eat,” he said.  He went over and took a seat next to
Christina, taking a pastry and pouring a glass of orange juice.  “What are
you working on there?” he said.

“It’s
nothing,” Christina replied dismissively, “just some corporate stuff.”

“Interesting?”

“Not really.”

Kostovich
chewed on the pastry.  “You must be pretty smart to keep on top of all
this legal stuff.”

Christina stopped
and looked up.  “It’s not interesting but it does require
concentration.  And you don’t need to be smart - not smart
like you are, anyway - you just need to be diligent, and not a
moron.  I’m trying to work, could you please be quiet?”

Kostovich
nodded.  “Okay, quiet it is.”  He finished the pastry.  “Of
course, I may let out a little shout around half-nine.”

Christina
glared at him and he moved back to his seat by
Venkdt’s
desk.  Kostovich fiddled with the console so it displayed the figures to
two decimal places.  Turnout was seventy-eight point nine six
percent.  It was a little over 20:00

They spent
the next hour in near silence.  Christina was wrapped up, or at least
pretending to be wrapped up, in her work, Kostovich was fiddling on his comdev
and Venkdt was variously sat at his desk, watching the stream or pacing the
room.  The turnout percentage crept up slowly over the hour:

20:15:
 seventy-nine point three two percent

20:30:
 seventy-nine point five one percent

20:45:
 seventy-nine point seven two percent

21:00:
 seventy-nine point eight four percent

21:15:
 seventy-nine point nine three percent

As Kostovich
had predicted the number of votes cast per minute dropped and dropped as time
went on but the eighty percent threshold inched ever closer.  By 21:20
even Christina was interested.  She pushed her papers to one side and
looked at the screen.  The terminal readout was laid over the
News
Muncher
feed, which was currently showing a party somewhere. 
Revellers were being asked what they thought about the election.  Most
made idiotic half-shouted replies, too busy partying to take anything
seriously.  The ‘yes’ vote had it by a huge margin but many were ignoring
the vital question of turnout.  The partygoers were celebrating a victory
they had not yet achieved.  The
News Muncher
anchors were pushing
the turnout question for all it was worth.  It was the only angle that
added drama to the result.

“We’re going
to do it,” Christina said quietly and confidently.

The logical
part of
Venkdt’s
brain agreed but he felt too uneasy
to go along with her, electing instead to remain with his eyes fixed to the
screen.

It was
21:21.  The turnout was seventy-nine point nine seven percent.

“I would expect
a bit of late run,” said Kostovich, “starting sometime around a quarter to ten
or so.  The last minute people, you know.  People who have been
putting it off but then suddenly panic.”

Venkdt nodded
silently as the turnout clicked over to seventy-nine point nine eight
percent.

For the next
five minutes nothing changed, then the turnout count flickered again: seventy-nine
point nine
nine
percent.

Venkdt stood
up.  “Goddamn,” he said, “how long now?”  There was a clock in the
corner of the huge screen they were watching but Kostovich answered anyway.

“The poll
will close in approximately twenty-seven minutes.”

Venkdt walked
over to the conference table and poured himself a drink.  He walked back
and stood in front of the screen, taking sips from his glass and rocking back
on his heels.  He caught Kostovich’s eye and smiled thinly at him.

“There’ll be
a surge at the end,” said Kostovich.

“I know,”
said Venkdt distantly, his eyes fixed on that one tiny portion of the screen
that said ‘seventy-nine point nine
nine
percent.’

Eighty
percent.

Venkdt
breathed out heavily and, placing the glass on his desk, he walked to Kostovich
who was rising from his chair and offering his hand.  “Congratulations, Mr
Venkdt,” said Kostovich as Venkdt grasped the hand and shook it.

“Thank you,
Dr Kostovich,” Venkdt said, with genuine tenderness.  Venkdt turned and
Christina was already upon him.  She flung her arms around him and spoke
to the side of his head.

“Well, done,
Dad.  I know how much you wanted this.”  Venkdt hugged his daughter
back and, disengaging, turned back to the screen.  The turnout had already
changed again, to eighty point zero one percent.  The revellers didn’t
look quite so foolish now.

“I’d like to
thank you two, both of you, for all the work you’ve done on this,” said
Venkdt.  “I think this is a truly historic day for this planet and you’ve
contributed to it immeasurably.”  He took his glasses off and cleaned the
lenses on his shirt front.  Kostovich thought he looked a little puffy
around the eyes but he quickly put the glasses back on and it was difficult to
tell.

“You know,”
said Venkdt, “this is just the beginning.  There is so much work to do
yet, and I’m glad to have you with me.”  He beamed at them both.

“This is going
to be one hell of an adventure.”

Maya Foveaux
was working the late shift on plebiscite day.  She wasn’t expecting any
more trouble than usual, and usual was pretty minimal.  There were parties
and other events sponsored by Venkdt scattered about and though she made sure
there was a security presence at all of them they had turned out to be very
good-natured, running without any hitches.  She was due off duty at
midnight and was in her office, running down the last few hours of her shift
writing up some reports, when a junior knocked on the door.  He stuck his
head round and called out, “Results in soon, sir, we’re watching it in the
canteen if you’d care to join us.”  He’d gone before Maya had the chance
to reply.  She had been lost in what she was doing and hadn’t kept track
of time but she was, she realised now, interested in the result of the
plebiscite.  She finished up what she was doing and made her way to the
canteen.

The canteen
was way busier than it would usually have been at that time of night.  An
aggregator was playing streams on one of the walls.  It was set to
election coverage and was cutting between personal streams of revellers and
some more highly structured pieces.  Glancing around the room Maya noticed
there was a mixture of on and off duty security personnel in attendance. 
It seemed Venkdt Security were having their own little election party. 
She felt slightly irked that she hadn’t been notified, even more so that she
hadn’t been invited.  She wondered if she might have cause to discipline
someone over it but then she told herself to forget it; this wasn’t any
ordinary occasion.

An off duty
officer bundled past her saying, “Drink, sir?” but before Maya had chance to
turn it down the officer had melted back into the throng.  Maya found
herself a seat on the arm of a sofa with a good view of the screen.  A
security officer sat on the sofa next to her sheepishly offered his place but
Maya graciously turned him down.

Soon enough
it was like New Year’s Eve.  There was a countdown, starting from thirty
and getting louder and more raucous as it got down to one.  Where
logically there should have been a zero there was instead an eruption of cheers
and clapping.  The stream flashed the words ‘22:00: Polling Closed’ on the
screen, quickly followed by the words ‘Live Result:’, but with nothing after
them.  A commentator on the stream informed her audience that, although
the vote was electronic and as such did not need counting like an old-fashioned
paper ballot, the result would need to be verified by the software systems
returning officer.  That might take anything up to one minute and only
then could the result be officially announced.

There was a
high-energy burbling hubbub in the room and a nervous excitement. 
Maya wondered if maybe she should have taken up the offer of that drink. 
She was looking away from the screen for a split second when the room erupted
in cheers.  She looked back to the screen for confirmation but her view
was blocked now by standing, jumping, shouting people, hugging each other and
punching the air.  Even though she realised the result must have been
‘yes’, she still wanted to see the screen for absolute confirmation. 
Stepping to one side and craning her neck awkwardly there it was; ‘Live Result:
YES!!!’  Someone suddenly grabbed hold of her, squeezing her tightly and
rocking from side to side.  The person reeked of beer, and Maya was
relieved when he let go.  She thought about disciplining him and again
pushed the thought away in light of the momentous occasion.  As the
initial surge of cheering revelry rolled back the screen cut to Charles
Venkdt’s
personal stream.  He was beaming in his
grandfatherly way and he looked tired but elated.  He began to speak.