After the End Times maintains two file servers for employee use. One, the so-called ?public? server, is open to uploads and downloads by every blogger we employ, as well as every blogger even remotely affiliated with the site. If you do any work for us at all, we open an account for you on the public server, and those accounts are rarely revoked unless there?s active abuse. There?s just no point, especially since we have a tendency to reuse freelancers. Why burn goodwill on a server purge? More important, why waste time by forcing your IT person to set up the same accounts more than once? When we?re a little bigger?if we live that long?we?ll need to reconsider that policy, but it?s served us well so far.
The private server is a lot more locked down. There are presently seven people whose accounts include access to that server, and one of them is dead. Me, Mahir, and Rick from the Newsies; Buffy and Magdalene from the Fictionals; Shaun and Becks from the Irwins. That?s where we keep the important things, from private financial records to stories about the campaign that still need to have their facts verified. That server is as hack-proof as it can be because one unverified story leaked under my byline would be enough to seriously cripple, if not kill, the news section of our site.
The news is serious business. If you?re not willing to treat it that way, you shouldn?t be anywhere near it.
I opened an FTP window and fed in the address for our secure server. When it prompted me for a user name and password, I typed in soundingsea, followed by the password February-4-29. Shaun and Rick abandoned their workstations and moved to stand behind me, watching as the screen flickered once, twice, and then rolled as a video player seized control of my machine. Tapping the Escape key did nothing to stop the program from opening, and so I settled back in my seat, comforted by the presence of my team. We weren?t much, and we were dwindling by the day, but the three of us were all that we had left.
The screen stopped rolling as the much-beloved face of Buffy Meissonier became clear. She was seated cross-legged on the counter of our van, wearing her patchwork vest and a tattered broomstick skirt. I recognized that outfit; she?d been wearing it the day we left Oklahoma City, when we?d barely been speaking to one another. She?d wanted us to give it up. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, they say. Well, it was a little late now, but at least I understood why she?d wanted so badly to make us all head home. She?d been trying, in her misguided way, to save our lives.
Looking into the camera, Buffy smiled. ?Hey,? she said. Her voice and expression combined to paint the picture of a woman tired beyond all reckoning, so worn through that she was no longer sure she could be patched back together again. ?I guess you guys are watching this. Schr?dinger?s video recording?if you can see it, it?s too late for you to tell me what the picture quality is like. Isn?t that always the way? It?s my masterpiece, and I?ll never see the reactions. I guess that means I won?t have to live with the reviews, either. I should get down to business, though, because if you?re watching this, you probably don?t have much time left to waste.
?My name is Georgette Marie Meissonier, license number delta-bravo-echo-eight-four-one-two-zero-seven. I am of sound mind and body, and I am making this recording to testify that I have willingly and knowingly participated in a campaign to defraud the American public, beginning with my business partners, Shaun Phillip Mason and Georgia Carolyn Mason. As a part of this campaign, I have fed news reports and private feeds to third parties, with the understanding that they would use this information to undercut the presidential campaign of Senator Peter Ryman, and planted recording devices in private spaces, with the understanding that the material thus collected would be used to further undermine the campaign.?
On the screen, Buffy paused to take a deep breath, looking suddenly very young behind her exhaustion. ?I didn?t know. I knew that what I was doing was wrong, and that I?d never work in the news again, but I didn?t know anyone was going to get hurt. I didn?t know until the ranch, and by then, I was in too deep to find a way out again. I?m sorry. That doesn?t bring back the dead, but it?s the truth, because I didn?t want anyone to get hurt. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought that when this was over, we?d be a stronger nation because of what I?d done.? A tear escaped her left eye, running down her cheek. It would have seemed overly theatrical if I hadn?t known Buffy as well as I did?knowing her, it wasn?t theatrical enough. She was really crying. ?I see them when I dream. I close my eyes, and they?re all there. Everyone who died in Eakly. Everyone who died at the ranch. It was my fault, and I?m so afraid we got this job because someone who could manipulate the numbers knew I was for sale, if you offered the right price. I?m so sorry. I didn?t mean it. I didn?t mean any of it.