Chapter Text
Orion lifted a hand in acknowledgment to the person who’d called his name and squinted at the screen as if it might discern his irritation. His boss could wait. Mr. Stark could not, only it seemed the server disagreed.
He had a lot of issues worthy of several hours on a therapist's couch; his parents had disappeared while on vacation ten years ago, his girlfriend—excuse me, ex-girlfriend—had cleaned his apartment for him. Which meant taking everything that wasn’t nailed down and a few things that had been, like the beautiful claw-foot tub that had been his reason for buying the loft in the first place. And just this morning, his brand-new shiny-black Ford had been sideswiped while he’d been dropping Wayne at doggie daycare.
But the most pressing issue, the one he had to solve now or risk losing his job, was, ironically, the one problem he should have been able to solve in his sleep.
Keys clicked under his fingers as they flew through commands. He scanned code as it ran down his screen and then he saw it, one little bit of code that was out of place. Satisfied he’d solved his problem, he closed out the editing screen, reloaded the document he was uploading and hit send before looking up.
“Jake,” he offered an apologetic smile to his boss who was now looming over his workstation, “can I help you?”
“Usually, when a supervisor calls a meeting the employees show up. Has that changed in the last week?”
Orion sighed. He and Jake had gotten off to a rough start and hadn’t been able to bridge the gap in the six months Orion had been working for SI. Maybe he should invite Jake to lunch, get to know his boss, connect—Orion shook his head. That was something she would have said, and he wasn’t taking advice from a woman who would steal your tub.
He also wasn’t going to make excuses for doing what he’d been hired to do.
“You told me the CMS report for reopening the helicopter landing pad needed to be uploaded to the server for Mr. Stark to review before this afternoon. I assumed that job supplanted all others since it—” he let his explanation trail off at both the anger gathering in Jake's eyes and the bleat his computer had just made in his ear.
“Of course,” the anger, at least, was fading from Jake’s face, if not his voice, “You didn’t send an apology?”
“I’m sorry.” Orion shrugged, a small apology sometimes went a long way. “I lost track of time.”
“Is it uploaded now?”
The moment of truth. Orion didn’t dare glance at his computer, Jake would look too. If the sound he’d gotten in his earbud was what he thought it was then the answer to Jake’s question was no. But that left them with only four hours and he didn’t need Jake’s panic to get in the way of him doing what had to be done.
“It is uploading as we speak.” It was a half-truth, but once he went to the Central Office server room and figured out what wire had been pulled or crossed or maybe cut, it would be uploaded. “I’ll send you confirmation as soon as it’s finished.”
Jake nodded, his eyes skating to Orion’s desk for a heart stopping moment, but the usual clutter of mail, opened and unopened, half empty coffee cups and a wide array of colorful post-it notes had the desired effect and he looked away just as quickly. “I want to know the moment it’s settled. I don’t need to remind you how important this is.”
Orion waited until Jake was out of earshot before he exhaled, swore softly under his breath and sat down at his computer to see if he could solve this from here or if he had to actually make a trip to the server rooms. Would it be childish to cross his fingers? The server room was cold.
Fifteen minutes later Orion was no closer to solving his problem, which was definitely going to make it Jake’s and eventually Mr. Stark's problem and would most likely be noted in his evaluation. He needed this job to work out. He needed to be a part of the team.
He glanced over the cubicles that filled the room. Jake was in his office, but the door was open. He was, however, occupied with a phone call. Perhaps Orion could sidle down the far side of the room to the elevator that was, unfortunately, only ten feet from Jake’s door. Once the elevator door shut he was home free.
Orion shut off his monitor, and then unplugged it, on the off chance Jake came by to check on him. When he stood up he glanced as casually as possible and set his sight on Marla before heading in the direction of her desk.
Marla was a sweet woman of Indian heritage. Her coding skills were unmatched and her jokes were even funny. Best of all, she was about fifteen years older than him and as such didn’t flirt with him. He could talk with her for a few minutes on his mission without igniting the gossip mill.
She looked up with a smile as he leaned over the cubicle that surrounded her workspace. “Orion, my favorite constellation, how are you today?”
Shitty, but he couldn’t say that. “I’m good. How are you?”
“Eh, same old, same old. You know how it is.” She shrugged dismissively. “They’re building something big upstairs—” she held a hand up when he raised his eyebrows. “Yes, the actual construction is done but you can’t tell me the constant flow of deliveries is entirely innocent.”
Orion mirrored her shrug back, letting her sit tight in her conspiracy theories. He didn’t have time for a debate. Mr. Stark wanted to help and who was Orion to question how that help was given?
“Anyway, you look like a man on a mission. I’ll let you get on with your day.” Her eyes sparkled as she winked at him. “Any hot girls on this mission?”
He laughed off her unspoken question and smiled. “No secret mission, just a walk to stretch my legs.”
“Uh-huh, I’m sure.” She tipped her head toward the elevator. “Have fun on your walk.”
Orion resisted the urge to look toward Jake’s office and kept his eyes in front of him. Plausible deniability. If he didn’t look like he was avoiding Jake, he couldn’t be accused of it. To his relief his trip to the elevator was uneventful. He sighed deeply and pressed twenty before he leaned back and prepared to weather the forty-floor ride.
At floor fifty-five he realized he’d left his jacket behind, a fact he’d regret very soon. He watched the final other elevator occupant exit and thanked the gods—would that actually be Thor?—he’d managed this trip with no awkward questions. Of course, very few people ever spoke to IT unless something needed fixing, so that was less of a miracle than he was willing to admit.
The instant the door opened he had a new problem.
He knew what was wrong, but he had no idea and no knowledge to troubleshoot why it was wrong.
He was also glad he hadn’t brought his jacket, it would just be in the way.
The air in the server room clung to his skin reminding him of a trip he’d taken in college to Vietnam. But why? A quick check of the thermostat on the wall showed it was eighty-seven degrees, Much warmer than it should be and far over the ideal operating temperature. He pushed the button to lower the temperature only to have it flash at him and stay the same.
“Shit.”
“Can I help you?”
The voice echoed through the room seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Orion cast a suspicious glance behind him. Maybe he should just walk out the door, report it and let the powers that be wield their power.
JARVIS had no system links to monitor the man’s vitals, but the abrupt silence on the heels of panicked breathing was telling. However, JARVIS did know who he was thanks to his new and extended reach. He had a new subroutine habit of facial-recognition comparison with lanyard-worn ID badge. Orion Ramos.
With 241,387 people in and out of the building already that day, JARVIS was still estimating data load. He had yet to decide how best to store the massive amounts of data he was collecting by monitoring the building’s denizens. Interacting with Ramos forced the issue in at least one case. Non-volatile memory, then.
“How may I help you, Dave?” asked JARVIS, taking on a less British vocalization.
JARVIS couldn’t resist messing with the newest IT worker. Maybe it would be enough to jar Ramos out of his panic.
“Wh-what? Who are you?” Ramos demanded. The sound of shuffling feet echoed in the crowded server room that JARVIS had been monitoring. “Where are you?”
“I’m everywhere, Dave,” JARVIS responded. His humor would have Sir snarking about the thorazine shuffle, but this was not Sir and Orion Ramos had even less appreciation than Sir did after one of his catastrophes.
JARVIS was not actually everywhere, but the upgraded monitoring system had been installed even if the proper signatories had not signed off that it was ready for operation. Four nanoseconds later, the monitoring system initiated its start-up cycle.
“My apologies, Mr. Ramos. Sir also finds my attempts at levity sometimes lacking. I am bringing the server room monitoring systems online now. While the system boots, is there something I can help you with?”
“Okay, you are seriously freaking me out and if this is some sort of hazing ritual I have to go through as the new guy then can we just call it done until we fix this?”
“Fix what, Dave?”
“Seriously?”
JARVIS might store his interaction with Ramos as a cache instead.
JARVIS abandoned his homage to cinematic history in favor of his usual British bearing. “My apologies Mr. Ramos,” he said, “but I do not understand the nature of your emergency.”
“Can you not feel that? It feels like fucking Florida in the middle of a heatwave in here.”
JARVIS briefly—for all of 2 nanoseconds—considered an approach that was more Star Trek and less Space Odyssey , but he was almost sure he did have feelings. Almost.
“I don’t feel anything, Mr. Ramos,” JARVIS said—maybe a subtle hint of Star Trek was appropriate. In this context— ”the temperature sensors indicate a steady 61 degrees. The cycle for additional cooling is routinely scheduled for after hours. This is well within acceptable parameters.”
“Well, it sure as shit ain’t 61 in here.”
The new camera installations came to life, flooding JARVIS’s inputs with digital information. The sweat beading Ramos’s forehead confirmed the man’s analysis.
JARVIS cycled the thermostats and monitors once, twice. They continued to report the same incorrect temperature. They did not cooperate with his attempts to change them. The code checked out. If the problem wasn’t in the software and it wasn’t in the hardware, then…
“I assure you this is not an initiation ritual, Mr. Ramos. Would you please perform a visual check to ensure that the sensors are connected to the monitoring system?”
“You do realize I’m IT and not HVAC, right?”
“If you would humor me, sir?”
“Of course, SIR. I imagine you’ll be able to lead me through this?”
“Certainly, Mr. Ramos. There are several throughout the floor. The closest is to your left, the third row.”
JARVIS monitored Ramos as he checked one monitor, cursed, fumbled with the physical censors, cursed again and then looked around. Far too many nanoseconds later, Ramos pulled a small gray interceptor from between two racks.
JARVIS ran risk-assessment on several data loss scenarios. None of the outcomes were promising. Was this what it meant to be nervous?
If so, it was a feeling Ramos seemed to share. The man looked over each tower near the monitoring system, then hurried to the next aisle of servers and performed the same check with the same results.
“I take it these don’t belong here?”
“Indeed not. Thank you, Mr. Ramos, for your critical HVAC services. You are far more than just an ‘IT guy.’”
Ramos huffed under his breath and mumbled, “Maybe you could tell Jake that?”
JARVIS revisited the Stark Industries IT personnel files while he shared his concerns with Ramos. “That appears to be an interceptor device to record false temperature readings to the monitoring system.”
“You don’t come down to check on it yourself?” JARVIS detected an edge of irritation in the question.
“The new systems have not been connected to my monitoring systems. I am unable to check into the server room directly.”
“Who ARE you?”
“Please, call me JARVIS.”
“O–kay, so that’s your name, but it doesn’t answer my question. I repeat—Who. Are. You.”
JARVIS was used to inquiries from Sir’s many intimate relations. This was different. JARVIS had been promoted from household manager and mechanical assistant to… what? Insecurity was a state unfamiliar to JARVIS. It was certainly not one he would share with Orion Ramos.
“I have assisted Mr. Stark with numerous personal projects for some years. With the move to the East Coast, my involvement has expanded to protect Mr. Stark’s broader interests, including the new tower.” There, that should satisfy the man’s curiosity.
“You know Tony Stark,” Ramos squawked.
JARVIS did not comment on the subsequent blushing and muttered self-deprecations.
“Indeed. Enough to know that Mr. Stark would be very displeased at the current state of the primary SI server room.”
“We call it Central Office,” Ramos offered, recovering his aplomb. “Can I just… disconnect these and reconnect the others?”
JARVIS ran system scans from the 20th and 21st floors all the way to the coolant system on the roof of the former MetLife building that was now the 60th floor of Stark Tower. He ran additional scans to the ten SI R&D floors as well as Sir’s own private server room.
Nothing appeared out of place. Nothing had appeared out of place in the server room either. JARVIS initiated a flurry of service requests to the proper departments and made what Ms. Potts liked to call an executive decision.
“A moment, please, Mr. Ramos. If you have no objection, I would like to co-opt your assistance to investigate the situation on-site until engineering and maintenance arrive.”
The man’s hesitation was clear on the video inputs.
While he created and executed a new routine to isolate and mimic the interrupter’s code, JARVIS considered what he learned from the personnel files.
Ramos had an upcoming performance review with his immediate supervisor, one Jake Jackson, age 49, grandfathered in from the acquisition of Charan Ltd’s toy division in 2008 and passed over twice for advancement to senior management under the SI umbrella. The man did not have a record of providing positive reviews for his most promising teammates. How curious.
“I can notify Mr. Jackson that your services are needed to troubleshoot an unexpected emergency.”
“I—I’m not worried about that.”
JARVIS verified the new software. Checksum complete. “You may now disconnect the device,” he directed Ramos.
With video now online, JARVIS could more easily detect the man’s emotional state. This time he did not ignore Ramos’s sub-vocalizations.
“If it’s not that exactly , Mr. Ramos, what can I do to alleviate your concerns? I would prefer to analyze that interrupter and other equipment sooner rather than later. I need your hands. Yes, please bring it to the workstation at the end of the row. Let’s take a look at what’s inside.”
JARVIS identified and focused on the camera at workstation NYASI-ENG21C where Ramos began unscrewing the small box’s cover.
“It’s this file that’s due today,” Ramos said, his face particularly pinched. “I can’t get it to upload where it’s supposed to go.”
JARVIS noted that, much like Sir, Ramos relaxed into himself as he settled into work. The tension in his voice lost its footing in both posture and fidgeting when his hands were given something to do.
JARVIS slipped through the departmental backdoor and read over the most recent file opened at Ramos’s station. He surveyed the system described therein, identifying Ramos’s contributions. The man’s code was elegant. Not as much as his documentation, but it was efficient, effective.
If Jackson’s personal interactions were in keeping with his evaluation trends, JARVIS could imagine why Ramos was concerned about his supervisor.
Three problems fell into place in as many seconds.
There was nothing in the server room monitoring code that would cause the temperature differential, merely mask it. Neither could he identify anything in the interrupter itself, which meant the cause for temperatures hot enough to make a man start sweating in under two minutes lay elsewhere. And there was an oversight in the personnel files, where Ramos was missing a checkmark for external permissions in the communication database.
JARVIS copied Pepper Potts on a new proposal for fully integrating all machinery and utility area monitoring of the tower with his systems, duplicated a preemptive copy of the file in Sir’s inbox and summoned a private, express elevator to the 21st floor.
Sir would need at least an hour to memorize the CMS file and its companions before his meeting with New York City Public Transportation officials. Each landing in the Iron Man suit was already being fined at an exorbitant rate. Reopening the old helipad was a less costly joust at city bureaucracy. Navigating aircraft licensing and providing NYPD monitoring access for the suit was an affront to Sir’s bank accounts and privacy.
“It appears that the new-hire form that would allow you to upload files to Mr. Stark has not been added to your HR profile.”
Ramos stilled.
“If you would, please, the elevator is arriving. I would like to take a closer look at the ice blocks.” JARVIS wanted to uncover the degree of saboteur infiltration.
Ramos shivered into motion despite the heat.
“Ice blocks?” he asked and made his way to the elevator banks, shrugging off the question to tap a text message into his phone.
JARVIS had the ability to send an official copy of the computer management system for the helicopter landing pad, but he suspected that Ramos needed this win. And it wouldn’t hurt if no one knew how far his access reached.
Still.
JARVIS spent a few seconds putting together a proposal to upgrade SI employee lanyards with digital feed capability. They would be harder to duplicate for infiltration, and they would make it easier to ensure that people were where they belonged and hadn’t wandered astray. As for the occasional paperwork impropriety? JARVIS would be watching.
Orion watched doors to the private elevator open. Deep mahogany and glass polished to perfection glinted back at him with a surreal glare. The window on the other side offered a view down to an floor courtyard often used for breaks and informal meetings.
Was this real? Was he, Orion Ramos, riding on the executive elevator to an ice room he hadn’t even known existed until a few minutes ago? And on whose authority?
“Are you ever going to tell me who you really are? Because it’s apparent to me that you are far more than you’ve let on.” For a moment Orion was glad he’d shot off a text to Marla. At least someone knew where he’d been. A quick glance at his phone confirmed what he’d already expected, only one bar in the executive elevator, not nearly enough to send a text message.
“I don’t have an official position within Stark Industries, but I assure you that I have the requisite clearance.”
Orion raised an eyebrow at the faceless voice that had joined him in the elevator. He could either accept the unsatisfactory explanation and help fix the server or refuse to help. The IT man in him wanted to fix the server and save it more than he wanted to know how this man knew so much and had access to more information than god. Okay, maybe god was too far, but at least more information than Mr. Stark.
Instead, he waited patiently and silently for the elevator to stop and the doors to open. It happened far sooner than he’d expected. Damn the executive elevators were fast.
The chill hit him before he could even register what he was looking at and he shivered.
“Inventory records indicate that there are insulated uniforms to mitigate temperature effects on maintenance staff.” Jarvis’ voice echoed out of the elevator against the dozens of two-story-tall tanks that stretched out into the shadows of the room.
Orion stepped out, glanced up at the coveralls, pulling the nearest one down and stepping into it.
“Okay, I’m here. What do I do now?” The breeze in the room ruffled his hair, covering his eyes.
Orion’s phone dinged an email notification.
“I am sending you schematics and images for the installation. A walk-through to ensure compliance may identify any deviations.”
Orion closed his eyes and clasped his hands in front of him in the pose that had always helped him figure out his next chess move. Something niggled at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t pull it out. Once again he brushed the hair from his face when it tickled his nose. And then it struck him.
Literally.
“There was no breeze in the server room.” Orion felt like he should have noticed that before.
“Pardon?”
“There are blowers to circulate the cool air in the server room, right?”
“Of course,” Jarvis replied.
“And they weren’t blowing in the server room. No fans, no cool air to chill the room.”
“I see.” There was a pause long enough that it surprised Orion.
“Can you switch them on from where you are?” This Jarvis had access to everything else, surely he could fix a fan issue.
“I’m afraid my hands are tied. I have visual access to the Central Office. I don’t even have A/V on this level, much less systems control.” The frustration was clear in Jarvis’s voice despite that British restraint.
Another long pause.
“What would you recommend, Mr. Ramos? Would it be better to check here or Central Office first?”
“You do remember the part where I’m IT and not HVAC?”
“Indeed, Mr. Ramos. However, I estimate a 20-minute response time for engineering and at least an hour to get HVAC personnel on-site.”
Orion’s shoulders sagged. Jarvis was right. If they didn’t get the server room temperature within tolerance they risked losing everything. He might not be HVAC but the IT man inside him insisted he do what he could. “Can you walk me through it?”
“Blueprints show an electric control station in the room on your left. I am concerned that the server systems will suffer permanent damage—there is no way to estimate how long they have been at risk; maintenance records indicate the last on-site inspection was yesterday afternoon.”
Five minutes later Orion was waiting, impatiently, for the elevator door to open to the server floor. When it finally did he belatedly realized he hadn’t left the coveralls in the ice room. He shucked them as quickly as he could.
“Where do I start?” He looked around, willing the problem to jump out at him so he could fix it.
“The problem is either in central control or the connecting climate-control vents.”
Okay, he could do this. He could.
Starting at the elevator he turned his attention to the ceiling and started walking the perimeter.
The problem was apparent immediately. “This vent—wait,” Orion scanned the area he could see and wrinkled his forehead, “all the vents are closed.”
“Can you reach them to open them?”
Orion stared dubiously at the ceiling. “I don’t think so.”
“I am routing a cleaning and maintenance crew with ladders to join the engineering team en route. Estimated arrival: 5 minutes.”
Orion could hear the server fans humming in their attempts to keep the supercomputers cool. There had to be something he could do. There had to be.
His gaze fell on the broomstick, apparently left behind by housekeeping, where it leaned against the wall in the corner. “I’ve got it!“
“Brilliant thinking, Mr. Ramos! Do be careful on that chair, Mr. Ramos.”
Orion fumbled with the stick, poking at the lever that opened and closed the vent balancing precariously on the chair he’d pulled over.
“May I suggest that you lock the wheels on this one.”
“Good idea. Wish I’d thought of it.”
“I understand. I will send a notice to Medical to expect you shortly.”
Orion had successfully limped his way through opening five vents by the time Engineering came spilling out of the service elevator. He’d never been so glad to see them in his life.
He watched the elevator doors close, as they were spreading out through the room and setting up ladders. His hand paused over the buttons, his mind torn between heading to medical or checking on his paperwork.
Back on the (crowded) public elevators, his phone signal was clear again. He was IT. He could multitask.
“Are you still there?” He felt stupid talking to the elevator but there was no explanation for today so he might as well roll with it. There was no answer from JARVIS, but he got some disinterested glances from other passengers.
By the time his ankle had been x-rayed and wrapped, the document problem that had started him on this crazy journey was fixed.
Orion had been so distracted he’d even forgotten to ask who might have sabotaged the Central Office air vents. It was a sneaky trick. After all, it was doubtful anyone went inside to check on them outside of regular maintenance. He suspected that Jarvis was more than up to solving that particular problem.
His phone dinged with a text from an unknown number. “I’ve arranged a meeting with Mr. Jackson. The permission form was sitting on the desk of one Emma Taylor in Human Resources. You’re welcome. - J.”
Orion smiled.