The Beam- The Complete Series

by Sean Platt

Old weapons rebooted.

  Within a minute, they all understood what Leo realized he’d known for a while — what a strong compulsion, like instinct, had been urging him to understand. His buried directive had become theirs. It was now something they shared, the decree crawling across Leo’s cortex firmly in command.

  If they couldn’t get out without making noise, Gaia’s Hammer was bound to make as much disruptive noise as it could, in the right place, at the right time.

  Leah had confirmed what Leo’s internal compass had already told him: he had a party to attend.

  And at that party, thanks to a long-buried order, Leo had a friend to kill.

  Dominic was looking at his handheld, wondering if he could get away with ignoring Isaac’s call, when he felt the strangest sensation. It was like a memory, but not quite. Like a Lunis fugue, but not quite. Like a dream, but not quite.

  There was a moment of clarity, as if something Dominic couldn’t identify suddenly made sense. He seemed to see himself standing in the middle of the prison detector, just before Omar had called with his short-lived crisis. Leah’s and Leo’s heads were turning, the device alerting Dominic to something inside himself, though he knew it was only a glitch. He didn’t have anything unnatural in his body. He was a fat, prematurely old cop. If he had rogue software somehow inside his organic, oversized frame, his many scans over the years would have detected it.

  Unless it was masked.

  Dominic got a flash of the Organas, suddenly sure they were in trouble.

  He got a flash of Leah.

  And then he was walking the street again, shaking his head, wondering what the shit Omar’s last batch of dust must have been polluted with to give him such nasty, out-of-body aftershocks.

  The handheld lit, and Isaac’s annoying voice was shouting at Dominic.

  “I can fucking see you!”

  Dominic’s knee-jerk reaction was annoyance. For a bit there, he’d felt connected to something higher, like a seconds-long epiphany. The way the Organas probably felt, based on how Leah talked. But now he was the same old working-class Joe he’d always been, like his father had been, like his father before that.

  But Dominic wasn’t sure what to shout back at Isaac for first: forcing a connection on his handheld after Dom hadn’t answered, or spying from…from West knew where…to flex his impotent party-head muscle against his supposed allies.

  Fortunately, Isaac eliminated the need to choose by shouting again.

  “You have to call me in for something, Dominic! Immediately!”

  Dominic looked around the street, wondering which City Surveillance camera Isaac had co-opted. If he could figure it out, he could flip Isaac the bird. Instead, he slowed his gait in feeble rebellion. Isaac wanted to be a dick? Fine. Dominic could be late to the station. He’d just suffered through the worst twenty-four hours of his life — the worst week of his life, maybe — and neither the stupid fucking Violet James event nor Shift was even here yet.

  He didn’t bother to reply delicately, and damn his job if Isaac had a problem with it.

  “What the hell are you talking about, asshole?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me, Isaac. You peek over my shoulder, you burst onto my handheld, you yell at me. If you have a problem with anything I’m saying, you can go fuck yourself.”

  “I’m sorry?” Isaac was trying to sound pompous and indignant, but to Dominic he sounded weak, like always.

  “You have a problem with what I’m saying, Isaac? Fine. Fucking fire me. Call the commissioner. Bust me down to booting illegally parked hovers. I don’t fucking care.”

  And the beauty was, he honestly didn’t. He was a simple man with a boring life. He didn’t need a captain’s dole to live the life he wanted. He was Directorate; he had savings; he’d always garner at least an at-the-line dole. It would be nice to be done with the stress of being captain. It’d be nice to not be hounded by Isaac and every other tinpot dickhead all day long. He couldn’t retire from Omar without fear of retribution, but Isaac was worse than pathetic. Isaac could have photos of Dominic sucking the president’s cock while murdering children and he still wouldn’t have the guts to say anything.

  There was a long silence on the line. Finally, Isaac must have spied Dominic’s expression through his co-opted cam because he said, “Should I say I’m sorry?”

  Dominic almost laughed. It wasn’t even a power jab. It was an honest question.

  “What the hell do you want, Isaac?” Dominic sighed.

  Quieter, less demanding, Isaac said, “You have to bring me in. You’ve gotta help me.”

  “Bring you in where?”

  “To the station. You know, arrest me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m going to kill the president.”

  Dominic laughed.

  “I’m serious! I can get a knife through security. Or I’ll just take one out of the cake and use that.”

  “You’re going to murder the president. Which one. Vale?”

  “Yes!”

  “Your own president.”

  “Yes!”

  Dominic sighed. “What’s really going on, Isaac?”

  “I’ve got to trust you, Dominic. There’s nobody else I can talk to. Natasha’s about to turn on me, and Micah…well, Micah won’t even turn me in; that’s the problem. He’d find some other way to torture me.”

  “And so you’re going to kill President Vale. With a cake knife.”

  “Or a meat knife; I don’t fucking know! I’m telling the truth, Dominic! I was told to kill him!”

  Dominic didn’t have time for this bullshit. Isaac didn’t cry wolf; Isaac just cried mercy. He had all the money and power in the world — everything Dominic would never have — and yet he did no real work. Even if Isaac wasn’t being his usual fool self, the premise didn’t make sense. Someone told him to kill Vale? He might as well have been commanded to find Atlantis. It wasn’t just that all major political figures were implanted with military-grade defenses. It was also that assigning anything to Isaac Ryan was a guarantee of getting it wrong.

  “I’ve gotta get to the station, Isaac.” He moved to hang up, but Isaac’s voice pulled him back.

  “Wait! Hang on. Seriously, Dom. Can I call you Dom?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t believe me. Fine. But you know my family. And I know you’ve heard about the Beau Monde.”

  That stopped Dominic’s feet. Not only was Isaac confirming what was supposed to be a secret; it was the main objective that Omar, Kate, and Dominic supposedly were after in today’s scheme.

  “Yes, it’s real,” Isaac’s voice teased. “It’s real, and I’m in it. You know I am. So is Micah. So are most of the people at this event.”

  “Okay,” Dominic said, his voice neutral.

  “I got myself into something, and I don’t know how to get out, Dominic. Help me, and I’ll tell you more.” A long pause in which Dominic got a mental image of Isaac crying. Then: “Okay?”

  “What are you into?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Goodbye, Isaac.” He killed the call. Three seconds later, the handheld woke again, also without permission to connect.

  “I can’t tell you, okay! But it’s real. It’s all real.”

  “Why? What’s behind all of this that you can tell me?”

  “Someone has leverage on me. He’s…he’s kind of a…a disruptor? Like it’s his job to make messes. Because it maintains balance between the parties.”

  “I see. So this is politics.”

  “Yes. I mean no. Sort of.”

  “You’re so eloquent.”

  “He wants this event ruined.”

  Dominic rolled his eyes. That’s what saboteurs did. They ruined parties.

  “Why?”

  “He has leverage on me.”

  “What kind of leverage?”

  “He knows something about me and Natasha.”

  “What?”

  �
��I can’t tell you that, either. Wait! Don’t hang up. I just can’t. But that part doesn’t matter. Because Natasha’s going to find out anyway, from someone else. At the party. So there goes that leverage. And I don’t think he’d have me killed.”

  “Why not, Isaac?” Dominic resumed walking. False alarm, nothing to see here.

  “I’m too important. People look to me as an important man in the party.”

  “Sure you are.”

  “I just need you to arrest me. It’s the only way. It’ll give me time. If I’m not at the party, I can’t do what I’m supposed to do, and it won’t have been my decision. And Natasha, she’s into me right now, so she’ll chase after you, all up in arms. She won’t go to the party either and won’t find out the secret.”

  This all sounded like a terrible soap opera. Dominic considered hanging up again, but the station was in sight. He would have been there already if he’d taken a cab or skipper, but he was out of shape and needed the exercise. Dominic also didn’t give a single tiny shit if he was late. Someone else could take the mantle for a change.

  “You want to get arrested, break a window.”

  “I can’t! Everything is shatterproof!”

  “Then rob a store.”

  “I don’t have a weapon.”

  “Use a cake knife,” Dominic suggested.

  Isaac huffed.

  “Look, Isaac. This all sounds like a huge pile of not-my-problem cut with I-don’t-give-a-fuck.”

  “When you see me at the event, you can take me in. You don’t need a reason.” Pathetically, he added, “Please. I’d consider it a personal favor.”

  “I’m not even going to be there, Isaac. Not at first, anyway. I’m temporary commissioner. Dick Grabel will be in charge on-scene. You know Dick, right?”

  “Sure. I like Dick.”

  Dominic dodged the obvious joke. “You want to get arrested; have him do it.”

  “I don’t know him that well. I’m not sure I can talk him into arresting me.”

  “Insult his mother,” Dominic suggested.

  Isaac started to say more, but Dominic hung up again then turned the handheld entirely off, knowing he could be fired and not caring even a little.

  Isaac had the perfect reply on his lips when the connection went dead and The Beam beeped to let him know his party was no longer listening.

  Again.

  And when Isaac tried once more to force a call through to Dominic, he was met with a wall. Dominic’s handheld was off. Entirely. Disconnected. Given his maddening lack of in-body augmentation, it meant that right now, not even DZPD could contact their captain.

  Isaac should call up the chain and have Dominic fired for this. He could do it. But Isaac felt certain that Dominic wouldn’t mind.

  And really, what would that solve? Then what would Isaac do? Who would he talk to? Who would he confess to? Who could he boss around? Officially speaking, the Czar of Internal Satisfaction could shove his big dick all the way down the throat of any state Directorate body. But practically? If he busted Dominic, and someone unfamiliar with Isaac stepped into his place? Well, that wouldn’t do at all.

  Feline hands ran along Isaac’s collarbone, then draped theatrically across his upper chest from behind.

  “Are you ready, lover?”

  Right now, the affectionate pet name only annoyed him. Isaac felt resentment bubble inside. He didn’t feel like being “lovered” by Natasha right now. She’d started this. If she hadn’t insisted on holding that little fuck-you-Isaac concert, he never would have needed to concoct his rescue. It wasn’t his fault that Natasha’s show had been stormed by genuine revolutionaries. Well…fine, yes, it was. But it wasn’t his fault that she’d held the concert in the first place, forcing him to take drastic action.

  “I guess.”

  “Aww,” Natasha purred into his neck, her immaculately styled red hair visible as a golden halo at the edge of his vision, “are you still sad that we can’t head out of town this weekend?”

  Sad? That was a laugh. Angry was closer. Because how dare this Shelly Godfrey bitch decide it was her business to blab about confidential squad deployments and how they might or might not relate to certain husbands. Husbands with motives that said bitches couldn’t possibly understand. Isaac and Natasha had been married for sixty years, and their relationship had layers of nuance. Explained correctly, Natasha might even understand the whole twisted situation. She’d known the corner she’d forced him into. But now this Godfrey whore was going to say it all wrong, and again Isaac would look like the bad guy.

  “I hate things like this,” he said.

  “Like what?”

  “Stupid political parties filled with posturing assholes.”

  Isaac forced his internal fist to unclench. His words were as bitter as he could make them, sharpened by the sting of what had just happened with Dominic. There was an expression Isaac had once heard, about people being made irrelevant: You won’t be able to get arrested in this town. That’s where Isaac was, and it sucked.

  But venting his irritation on Natasha solved nothing. He could still keep her away from Shelly Godfrey. He could still find a way to explain. Maybe he could even turn it back around if Godfrey did want to tell Natasha what Isaac suspected. He made his living speaking and swaying opinion, right? Isaac was eloquent enough to twist the woman’s words around and hang her with them. Fuck him? No, fuck NATASHA. Even Godfrey would end up sneering at her after seeing what her friend had done to force Isaac into such decisive action.

  But there was also the chance that nothing would happen. Isaac had a president to kill, after all. That was bound to cause ripples. He shouldn’t rock the boat now by speaking sharply.

  Fortunately, Natasha didn’t seem to take offense. She kissed his neck.

  “You look fabulous.”

  “It’s the same tux I tried on last night.”

  “Yes, but now you’re actually going to wear it where I can show you off.”

  Isaac turned around. He watched Natasha for a few seconds before deciding she was probably being sincere. Usually, she liked to display his shortcomings. Did you see Isaac’s socks? I told him not to wear them but he’s so unique that he insisted, ha-ha.

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  Isaac sighed. The answer was no. But she’d rejected his request to leave town, Dominic had rejected his request for jail time, and he’d gone ahead and dressed. By the book, they should be at Braemon’s place in twenty minutes, with fashionably late baked in already. So unless he planned to grab the doorframe and throw a tantrum, there was no escape.

  “I guess.”

  “And you’re ready. For Micah’s trick.”

  “No, not really.”

  Natasha brushed playfully at Isaac’s sleeve as if to say, Oh, you. “Just clear your mind. Like Jameson said.”

  “It would be helpful if he’d tell me more than my part of the trick. Or if you would. Or Micah.”

  “We’re inside the magician’s code, dear. Jameson asked me not to tell you my part, and he asked Micah the same. I don’t want to know the details of what you’re doing and won’t tell you the details of my part. We’re fortunate someone of Jameson’s caliber is willing to let us inside at all.”

  Clear your mind, Jameson had told him. Same as Natasha. It didn’t sound to Isaac like he knew more about his own part of the stage show than Natasha did because that was nearly the sum total of what the illusionist had said. He wasn’t allowed to know the technology that would take him offstage for nobody to see. He only knew that his return would happen by hologram…but that if his Beam presence at that point was too loud, Braemon’s canvas would move to fill his needs like anyone’s. Given that everyone was supposed to believe the holographic Isaac was the real one, being too present might cause problems.

  So that’s what Isaac had practiced while Natasha and Micah had been working on their parts: doing nothing, being nobody, doing his best not to exist. Just like everyday life.

  M
icah was to wave and say magic words.

  Natasha was to look pretty and show off her beautiful assistant’s legs while distracting the crowd.

  And Isaac? He was supposed to stay quiet and go away, making his mind stupid.

  For about the hundredth time, he wondered if this was really an all in good fun magic trick after all. It might have been a big middle finger to the party head that no one respected. But he wasn’t getting out of it, or out of the thing with Vale — who, based on their one-on-one meeting yesterday, really did believe in all of this Project Mindbender bullshit.

  And given Natasha’s excitement at seeing her old friend, Isaac decided he wasn’t likely to escape from Shelly Godfrey’s accusations, either. It was nothing but fun, 360 degrees in all directions.

  “James has the car ready,” Natasha said, moving toward the door. “Are you ready for a fun evening?”

  “Yippee,” Isaac said.

  Now there was a giant, faceted crystal flying around the apartment like a talking insect. Sam wasn’t sure if it was an improvement or a sign of further decay.

  It had to be a microfragment, like the one that must have passed his mind’s out-of-date firewall. It looked like a smallish gemstone grown to grotesque proportions, and whenever it spoke to him, it did so in a warbling, machine-like voice. The gem also changed shape with each syllable, as if moving some sort of a full-body mouth.

  The thing felt like a delusion.

  Watching and listening made Sam think he might be going crazy.

  But that was fine because the sanity of his apartment, in this case, was actually the lie. The microfragments causing this clusterfuck had become visible. That had to be a good sign. It meant Sam was seeing through the bullshit. Locating the truth. Maybe even climbing out of the hole.

  “I’m not here,” Sam said. “I’m at Starbucks. It’s later. Hours, days, I don’t know…but later. I’m not in my apartment. This is all a loop. An illusion.”

  “No,” said the microfragment, altering its facets and turning red.

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  The thing was obnoxious. He’d tried to swat it out of the air several times, but like the apartment itself, the microfragment wasn’t real. He was seeing his mind’s interpretation of what rogue software might look like, and the voice must be his mind’s imagination of how its words would sound. In the end, below maybe fifteen or twenty layers of platform code, it was all ones and zeros.