Class Fives: Origins by Jon H. Thompson Read Free Book Online

Ok, he reasoned, he’d controlled it, kept a tight hand on it, playing it out enough to just do what he needed done and that was all. He hadn’t let the anger have its way. So that was something.
    If only he hadn’t stomped on the tail ramp, so that it had crunched like a piece of tin foil into a bent mess of metal. That was just childish. He’d done it to scare the guy, and it was obvious he’d accomplished that. So maybe in the future the idiot would think twice before acting like his concerns were an excuse to trample on other people’s rights. And that was something. 
    But then the dark thought, the one that he had been pushing back and eluding ever since it had been scraped clear of all the thick layers of protest and self-justification and fancy logic tricks, was staring at him coldly.
    Did he take down my license number? If he did… what then?
    Roger suddenly realized that he’d lost his appetite.
     
    Marvin felt his stomach clench again as he entered the elevator. They’d already moved at a brisk, military pace, through what felt like miles of corridors, making the oddly angled turns in the hallway that made this the Pentagon.
    He still couldn’t believe it. It really was only a little less than a day since he’d made the call and walked the officer on the other end through as clear an explanation as he could of what he’d seen on the computer terminal, what the software was telling him.
    The return call came less than an hour later, and less than two hours after that the dark car containing the two uniformed men had pulled up in front of the university Science Building. They had gently but firmly escorted him home to pack a single small bag, then they were off to the local airport, where a helicopter had been waiting. An hour after that, he was at yet another airport being bundled onto a jet and on his way to Washington.
    A cascade of unsettling thoughts rattled around his mind at the magnitude of what he might have started.
    After landing in the nation’s capital he was hustled to a hotel where he was quickly checked in, and then carried to the building that was the beating heart and soul of the most awesome collection of power on the planet.
    And now he was riding down, far below ground level, to where a command center was already prepared for his presentation.
    He decided he would prefer it not include the President of the United States after all, considering the jangling attack of pure nerves that was threatening to turn him into a blithering, shaking mess.
    Beside him the muscular, craggy-faced officer stared straight ahead, as if allowing a human expression might get him shot.
    The door to the elevator opened to another corridor that revealed a wide alcove containing a dull metal desk and a heavy-looking door that was flanked by a pair of uniformed guards, the pistols holstered at their hips surely loaded and ready.
    Stepping briskly down the hallway, the officer moved to the desk, bent to pick up a pen and sign some document, then displayed the identification badge clipped to the breast pocket of his uniform to the Marine standing behind the desk. The Marine nodded and reached under the desk to press a concealed button.
    The heavy door rolled open silently, revealing the surprisingly large room beyond.
    The officer turned to stare at Marvin, who swallowed and stepped forward into the hidden chamber.
    Inside was a long desk, bent to form a wide “U”, at the open end of which stood a podium behind which a large screen was deployed.
    The officer snapped out an arm, the palm upturned as they moved into the room.
    “Data stick?” he said, gruffly.
    Marvin stopped, fumbled with the loose folder of notes and charts that he now tucked under his arm, and dug into the pocket of his slightly rumpled sport coat until his fingers located the little plastic object that contained his raw data as well as the brief presentation he’d created hastily the night before.
    The officer nodded briskly and moved