Submission

The platform was supported by a slender silver column. Around him, the faint hum of electricity was a counterpoint to the distant dripping of condensation from a cooling fan. The static on the screen wavered into the shape of an impassive face, wide-mouthed and thick-browed.

“PASSCODE?” The rumbling voice echoed among the dangling wires.

“I have none,” he admitted. “I am here to see the Intelligence. There are no other options; he’s seen to that. You can check,” he added hurriedly. “I don’t mind waiting.”

The screen went dark. The water dripped. After a time, the face returned. “PASSCODE ACCEPTED.”