Not peaceful. Not calm. Quiet in the way a building gets quiet before the fire alarm goes off.
Jake was already at his desk when I arrived, staring at his monitor with the posture of someone trying to determine if the next click would electrocute him.
He pointed as I set my coffee down.
“Howard,” he whispered. “There are… emails.”
There were indeed emails.
Not from BiOnyx.
From Corporate Licensing.
The breadcrumb trail of dread began with the subject lines:
- Licensing Inquiry Acknowledged — Pending Review
- Follow-Up Required — Subcontractor Terminology Constraints
- Reminder: Municipal Entities May Not Be Bound to Non-Licensed Addenda
Jake’s voice dropped into a haunted register. “That last one. Howard. That last one sounds… angry.”
“It isn’t angry,” I said. “It’s annoyed.”
“Is that better?”
“For us,” I said.
Valeroso County, We acknowledge receipt of your inquiry regarding subcontractor terminology requirements.
Please provide contract identification numbers for all BiOnyx deployments currently operating under AGPI-licensed architecture.
This request is routine.
Jake read the last line twice. “Routine my foot.”
“Yes,” I said.
He lowered his voice. “Howard… what did your email do?”
“Triggered a database,” I said.
“Oh.” He thought about that. “Which database?”
“One that tracks licensing compliance.”
“Oh.” He thought about that longer. “Oh no.”
Please confirm whether BiOnyx has provided your office with:
- Architecture lineage disclosures? Operational exemptions? Limitations on permissible municipal language? Documentation of terminology restrictions
If these items have not been provided, please refrain from signing or acknowledging any subcontractor-origin messaging requirements until Licensing review concludes.
Jake slapped both hands over his mouth.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“They’re telling us not to sign anything,” he said from behind his fingers. “They’re telling us not to sign anything they sent yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“And that means…”
“That BiOnyx sent us documents they weren’t authorized to send,” I said.
Jake made a sound like air escaping a balloon. “Ohhhh noooo.”
This one had weight. Not through tone. Through formatting.
Licensing emails never used italics unless something was serious.
This one used italics twice.
Please be advised:
Subcontractors may not impose terminology constraints exceeding those defined in the originating architecture license.
No subcontractor may restrict municipal communication in ways that imply altered operational behavior not supported by licensed functionality.
If BiOnyx has attempted to do so, please forward the relevant correspondence.
Jake stared at me.
“No,” he whispered. “No. We can’t do that. We—Howard—we can’t just hand them the emails. That feels like tattling.”
“It is,” I said.
“But—like—government tattling.”
“Yes.”
He pressed his palms into his cheeks. “Are we… in trouble?”
“No,” I said.
“Is BiOnyx in trouble?”
“Yes.”
Everyone filed in again: Administrator, Legal, Risk, Budget, McCready, and Jake, who looked like he was holding onto consciousness by gripping a can of Mountain Dew.
Administrator projected the Licensing email on the wall.
Budget read it aloud slowly, as if hoping each word would transform into something less expensive.
“So…” he said at last. “…they’re telling us not to listen to BiOnyx?”
Risk clasped her hands. “They’re telling us BiOnyx may have violated their licensing agreement.”
Legal added, “They’re telling us to hand over the evidence.”
Administrator put both hands on the conference table. “We need to think carefully. What are the risks of complying?”
I said, “None.”
Budget said, “What are the risks of not complying?”
Risk said, “More.”
Jake raised his hand. “I would just like to go on record saying I would like to live.”
Administrator looked at me. “Howard? Interpretation?”
“Licensing wants copies of the messages,” I said. “They will compare them to the terms of the AGPI framework. If BiOnyx restricted terminology unlawfully, Licensing will intervene.”
Administrator exhaled. “Intervene how?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
Everyone turned to Jake.
He shook his head. “Don’t look at me. I know nothing. I’m a baby.”
Administrator paced three steps, then three steps back.
“Alright. We cooperate. Legal compiles the messages. ICT forwards them. Risk stays on standby for the fallout.”
Legal nodded. “We’ll redact internal notes but send all external correspondence.”
Jake whispered, “Are we the good guys?”
“No,” Risk said. “We’re the accurate guys.”
Jake slumped. “Good enough.”
Administrator clapped his hands. “Fine. Let’s get it done.”
The meeting ended.
No one looked happy.
Except Risk Management, who looked like she had finally been given permission to open a second folder labeled If This Ever Happens.
Jake watched me assemble the email packet.
“You’re being very calm,” he said.
“Yes.”
“You’re not usually calm when someone threatens to take our Hoppers.”
“They’re not taking the Hoppers.”
“How do you know?”
I clicked Send on the Licensing packet.
“Because,” I said, “they can’t.”
Jake waited for me to elaborate.
I didn’t.
He sighed. “I hate when you do that.”
Licensing replied almost immediately.
Not a form letter.
Not automated.
A real person wrote it.
Thank you.
We will review this immediately. Please do not acknowledge any further subcontractor instructions until we contact you again.
Jake stared.
“That’s… fast.”
“Yes.”
“That’s too fast.”
“Yes.”
“Howard,” he whispered, “who did you email yesterday?”
“A friend,” I said.
Jake leaned slowly back in his chair, eyes narrowing in dawning comprehension.
“…Oh.”
A new email popped up.
Not from Licensing. Not from BiOnyx.
From an address Jake didn’t recognize.
He leaned forward. “What’s that?”
I opened it.
It contained one line:
Reviewed. They’re out of bounds. Will handle upstream.
No signature. No footer. No department.
Jake inhaled sharply. “Howard… is that from…?”
“It’s handled,” I said.
He swallowed. “Should I be scared?”
“No,” I said.
He pointed at the screen. “Should they be scared?”
“That depends,” I said. “On how carefully they can read.”