A Chronetic Memory (The Chronography Records Book 1) by Kim K. O'Hara Read Free Book Online Page A

to clear certain parts of the building for specific purposes.
    It was one of those purposes that led him to the repository now. The investigation he had requested yesterday would be completed, and the information it provided would be instrumental in acquiring more essential funding. Despite being near the top echelon of a research institute, he himself was no researcher. If truth be known, he despised the researchers, except for what they could provide him. They had no idea of the goldmine they sat upon. Morons. He was satisfied to let them do the work for him. Except, of course, for this part. He needed to do this himself, to ensure there were no witnesses. And he had to do it with no one nearby, because the process itself made a very distinctive noise, and it would interfere with his goals if someone heard it.
    He removed the investigation results from the rack. It would need to be converted to a playable format for his purposes. He had learned that the investigation records were pointers to the real data. Pointers were helpful, because they were so small as to be almost undetectable, and they allowed the real information to be kept intact. The Video-Audio-Olfactory converter allowed him to access the raw data and edit it judiciously to remove any evidence of its source. The same device would then convert the edited information to a format that could be accessed, through another pointer, by a holographic VAO projector. He had never bothered to learn exactly how it worked, but he was pretty sure the noise came from reading the chemical signatures of the scents.
    The multiple steps required to produce the incriminating evidence, any of which were quite innocent on their own, enabled him to obscure his tracks effectively, and the resulting holograms, carefully trimmed and edited, could be very persuasive.

8
Confrontation
    WEST SEATTLE HIGH SCHOOL, Seattle, WA. 1235, Tuesday, June 6, 2215.
    A few clouds drifted lazily overhead as Dani found a spot in the high school parking lot. Visitors got preference here, with a cluster of spots open near the front entrance marked to deter students and faculty from their use. Transporting all her materials in would be easy.
    Her first clue that something might be a little more challenging was the abundance of political posters along the entry hall under the heading “PRO or CON?” She saw posters arguing both sides of environmental issues (harvesting energy from the sea, protecting endangered crustaceans, global cooling), civic issues (lowering the voting age to 16, protesting the city curfew), economic issues (working hours for minors, raising the minimum wage), and international issues (balance of trade, involvement in the Asian wars).
    Surprised, Dani had to admit that she was impressed. She didn’t remember anywhere near this level of involvement in the issues of the day when she was in high school, and that was less than ten years earlier. She looked forward to some interesting questions on her presentation, and wondered whether the giveaway items she had brought—really little more than toys and busywork—would find any takers after all.
    The school office was on her right, and she was spotted immediately.
    “May I help you?” asked a student office aide with no name tag.
    Dani introduced herself. The student asked her to wait in the reception area. It took several minutes, but finally a woman in a sharply tailored suit came out to greet her. Her tone was businesslike, with no trace of warmth, when she spoke.
    “Good afternoon, Ms. Adams. I’m Ms. Harris, the principal at West Seattle. I’m sorry to make you wait.” She brushed aside Dani’s reassurances that it didn’t matter and continued in that crisp tone of voice. “I asked them to have you stop and talk to me so we could be sure we had the same … goals … in mind. Please step into my office.”
    Dani’s eyes opened a little wider. This was new. She followed the principal to her office, then offered, “I’m