Lawrence Watt-Evans: The Spartacus File

And so far, he had not picked up any new techniques or knowledge that he was aware of-but then, the new software wasn't running yet. This was Friday, and it would go in over the weekend.

He was also supposed to have been given improved techniques for handling the old stuff, though, and any improvements certainly hadn't made themselves obvious.

His office nemesis, Mirim Anspack, was among the first to return from lunch, and for the moment the two of them were the only people in the main room. She was Cecelia's roommate, and in fact Casper had only met Cecelia when the latter came to the office to pick up Mirim. Even before that momentous occasion, Mirim had delighted in teasing Casper; once he started dating Cecelia he had become the target of endless double entendres, and now that the imprinting and Casper's bad reaction were common gossip she had a new topic to tease him about.

Casper didn't really mind. He was used to it. He could take it, and even dish out a little in return. If he hadn't been able to, Mirim would have left him alone after awhile; she wasn't cruel, just playful.

She loitered near her desk for a few minutes, plotting her mischief, before approaching him.

“So how's our new super-operator doing?” she asked.

“Plodding along, like the rest of you. Wouldn't want to make you look bad.”

“Oh, you needn't worry; none of us would think of competing with you! No, we'll let you do everything, shall we?”

“From the job list, I believe it. Can anyone do anything around here without me?”

“We manage, although how…”

A heavy rumble interrupted her; they both looked up, startled. The first rumble was followed by a second one several seconds later; the building shook, and a window blew out, scattering glass across the floor. Mirim and Casper both ducked down behind the desk.

They remained there for several seconds, not coming out of cover until they heard sirens.

Cautiously, they crept out, side by side. Mirim was first to stand.

“What was that?” she gasped.

“Sounded like an explosion-probably something commercial, not military.” Casper cocked his head to listen. “And that's small arms fire. Pistols, shotguns, maybe a submachine gun. I'd guess it's the police.”

Mirim looked at him, startled. “Where'd you learn anything about weapons?” she asked.

“I don't know,” Casper answered, puzzled. “I just seem to know it.” He shrugged the matter aside and added, “Let's go take a look.”

Step by careful step they crossed the room, and together they peered out the shattered window.

The street was covered with broken glass and litter; windows on other floors had gone, as well as their own. A few people lay on the sidewalk, apparently injured, and a car had gone out of control and run up onto a flight of steps.

“What the hell is going on here?” Casper demanded.

“I don't know. Maybe we'll get some answers soon, though-look there.” Mirim pointed towards the end of the block. A police cruiser with its roof-speakers up had just turned the corner and was driving toward them. They leaned out the window to hear better.

“The area west of Twentieth Street between Chestnut and Arch, all the way to the river, is being evacuated,” the speakers announced. “If you have someplace to go outside of this area, please go there immediately. If you have no place to go, you should go to the Thirtieth Street Station at once. The area west…”

Casper and Mirim looked at each other. “What the hell?” Mirim asked.

“Must be terrorists,” Casper suggested.

“Must be,” Mirim agreed. The two of them stared for a moment.

“Want a ride?” Mirim asked. “The subways will be hell.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Casper said. “Let me get my jacket.”

“Would you like to come over to my place?”

Casper hesitated. “I don't think so,” he said.

“Oh, come on. I don't have any vile purpose in mind, I'm just being sociable. Cecelia will be there.”

Casper considered that. “You're sure?” he asked.

“Of course I'm sure. Her office is in the evacuation zone, too, right?”

“Well, yeah,” Casper admitted. “All right, then, I guess it's safe.”

“It's safe, it's safe.” She paused, then grinned. “Well, mostly safe.”

Casper groaned.

Cecelia was already home when they arrived, and the apartment also held a very large, heavily muscled man named Leonid-Mirim's current bedmate, Casper knew.

Leonid greeted Mirim with a passionate kiss, coupled with some indelicate pawing of her body; he then seemed to take sadistic delight in squeezing Casper's hand until it hurt. The first chance he got, Casper checked Leonid's knuckles to see if they were calloused from dragging on the ground.

A TV feed was on their main video screen, quietly burbling CNN's usual line. “There was a news bulletin about five minutes ago announcing the evacuation,” Cecelia said as she brought in a tray of snacks. “Other than that, nothing.”

Nibbling on celery sticks and tortilla chips, the four of them settled down in front of the video; Mirim found the remote and began switching from one channel to the next.

After nearly twenty minutes of nothing-CNN and al-Jazeera USA were covering the fighting in Siberia, while FoxNews had yet another congressman defending his record-she found a placard announcing a special bulletin on the city-mandated local news channel. She put down the remote, and a moment later the card was replaced by a man in light body armor, with a microphone in his hand.

“This is John Covarrubias speaking to you from the corner of Market and Twenty-First. Just a few blocks from where I'm standing a construction worker by the name of Lester Polnovick has apparently gone berserk, and committed acts of wanton destruction. The situation is still confused; details remain vague. No known terrorist organization has claimed credit, nor has Polnovick made any demands.”

John Covarrubias was replaced by a view of the construction site. The partially-completed structure near the center of the lot had collapsed against a neighboring building. Police and rescue workers swarmed over the rubble.

“As we understand it,” Covarrubias continued as the camera panned across the site, “Lester Polnovick, a crane operator, blew up the partially completed structure of the Volcker Financial Center, using explosives from the dynamite shack and causing it to collapse against the neighboring Takeuchi building.” A closeup of the tangle of girders piled against the buckling wall of the Takeuchi building flashed onto the screen. “Most of the construction crew had gathered here for lunch. At last count, seventeen were killed by the blast or the subsequent collapse; twenty more were seriously injured.”

Another shot, this time of a half-crushed police cruiser. “Officers Santiago and Hojaji of the city police were the first on the scene. Their vehicle was demolished by several steel girders dropped from Polnovick's crane. Officer Hojaji was killed instantly. Paramedics removed Officer Santiago from the scene, and we have no information on his whereabouts or condition.”

Covarrubias appeared on the screen again. “After this, Polnovick apparently used his crane as a battering ram on the surrounding buildings; because of the lunch-hour break few people were in the areas assaulted, and no injuries have been reported. The area has now been evacuated. Polnovick is still in the cab of the crane, and is believed to be armed.”

“I wonder what made him do it?” Cecelia mused.

“Who knows?” Casper said, “If he was already a bit over the edge, it could've been anything that set him off.”

“There's been a lot of that sort of thing going on lately,” Leonid said authoritatively. “Incidents taking place all over the country. The continent, even.”