Futura: Parallel Universes. Book 1

by Valerio Malvezzi

  The rest of the group will stand up.

  “When our man calls, track him down and get him back in immediately,” orders the director.

  “I’ll take care of it,” the dark-haired man will answer.

  When the participants leave the room, the gray-eyed man will take him by the arm, pulling him aside.

  “What are you going to do now?” he will whisper.

  “I said I’m going to bring him back in,” the dark-haired man will answer, shaking him off. “He’ll come back. One way or another.”

  When the entrance bell rings in the house, the middle-aged lady sitting on the sofa will pause the program, closing the holographic panel with a gesture of her hand in the air. In the adjacent room, the robot, a yellow and black barrel with an articulated mechanical arm maneuvering a long hose will stop collecting dust over the cabinet. For a moment, the woman will observe the robot hologram closing, and get up to take the few steps that will separate her from the screen in the hallway.

  The man will look at the girl’s big breasts, getting excited from the massage, though the squeeze will be vigorous.

  “You know, Mr. Palmer, Chiyeko is just trying to apologize and be a little nice to you, after all.” The woman will suck a breath of smoke from a container with a long barrel tucked into burning embers on a table at the foot of the big bed that will occupy much of the room. A strong, spicy smell will spread through the place. The man will think the girl’s face devoid of grace, the nose too big, as well as the mouth with too full lips, dark eyes bovine. The girl will continue to squeeze his member forcefully with her hand, unsmiling and looking him in the eye.

  “Oh, I see you’re making friends, good. He seems to like you, Chiyeko,” the woman will say, standing up and looking at the member in the girl’s hand. “Unfortunately, don’t delude yourself, my dear. Chiyeko doesn’t care much for you,” she will add, caressing the man’s face.

  The woman will turn around, and her tongue will disappear into the big mouth of the girl, who will reciprocate her kiss with passion, tightening her hand even more around the member of the man, who will let out a groan.

  “She is irretrievably lesbian,” whispers the woman, wiping her lips with the palm of her hand, then turning her back and loosening her clothes.

  The man will take a gasping breath while the girl will approach the bed, still holding his member in her hand.

  “And you?”

  “Oh,” the woman will smile, removing her underwear and showing him a perfectly shaped butt. “I am a curious woman, and of wider views.”

  The girl will loosen her grip, removing her underwear and lying on the bed, on her back, with her legs apart. The woman will take the man’s member, smiling at him. Then, turning around, she will rub his penis on the chair.

  “If you like, you can stay for tonight,” the woman will say softly. “The service is included in the million.”

  Then she will get on the bed, kneeling between the girl’s legs, her hands resting on her large thighs.

  The cleaning lady will press the button to accept the call from the entrance doorbell, which will display the image of the visitor at the bottom of the lawn, in the avenue, in front of the metal gate. She will look at the hologram of the beautiful lady wearing an elegant vest, having just stepped onto the carpet of the corridor at the entrance in front of her, behind the iron bars of the gate.

  “Excuse me, is Dr. Proctor in the house?” the woman will ask politely.

  “No, ma’am. He’s been out for a few minutes.”

  “Do you happen to know where he went?”

  “He didn’t say. I think he’s coming back tonight. Who should I say it is?”

  “Oh, never mind. I’m a friend of his. I’ll look for him.”

  The cleaning lady will shrug her shoulders, watching the Vietnamese woman turn around in the driveway, and will leave the hallway.

  The man will rest his handcuffed hands on the woman’s back, looking at her butt and tucking his member from behind into her vagina. The woman’s right hand will help him, while the left will knead the thigh of her companion, who will bite her lips. Then, with a moan of pleasure, the woman’s head will bend between the girl’s legs.

  Wednesday, 12:44 p.m.

  The sun will peep out again behind the low clouds over Chicago’s skyscrapers, throwing muted rays of light at the buildings under construction at the bottom of the grand tree-lined avenue.

  They didn’t warn Richard.

  Whiley will walk quickly, exiting the avenue, headed back to the bar.

  Why?

  The man will tighten his jacket, lifting his collar against his neck to protect himself from wind, heading to the department stores on the left, near the buildings under construction.

  Richard wanted that book.

  He will climb the escalator, entering a sporting goods store.

  We need to talk about it today.

  He’ll know that he can’t go to the police or even rejoin the agency on his own initiative without caution.

  He’ll look on the shelves and choose common binoculars with image-recording lenses.

  Do they suspect me?

  All he has to do is have a basic, inexpensive model. He’ll go to the checkout and pay in cash.

  Do they think it was me?

  The mall will be full of people. Entering a second store, he’ll look for a portable communicator among the dozens of models on the shelves.

  I only trust Richard.

  He’ll take one of the least complex, and cheapest, models, paying in cash to leave no trace.

  I don’t want to go back alone, we’ll do it together.

  He’ll buy a model with a week of free communications, on sale, no personal data to record, more a toy than anything else, without special functions.

  Here, we’ll decide together.

  The man will feel a strange sense of discomfort. He’ll go up the escalators and come out of a side staircase.

  225 days earlier

  The large house of Onna Son in Okinawa will be shrouded in silence when the sun’s rays enter from the east-facing windows above the courtyard.

  The man will get up, scratching his beard and trying to clear his mind, clouded from smoking and a few hours of sleep. It will take him a few seconds to understand where he is, as often happens when sleeping in a different place. A large round bed, small lamps on the ceiling, clothes scattered over the polished wooden floor in the empty room. He will get up and go to the door opening to the outside, sliding the wooden door of decorated glass onto the balcony. A beautiful dawn will illuminate the garden below, filled with blooming trees. He will move to the bathroom and get dressed, checking on the personal display that his universal translator is still set to Japanese, and then open the dining area door. Saki, dressed in a soft traditional kimono, will welcome him with a bow and a smile.

  “Good morning, Mr. Palmer,” she will say, pouring a drink into a finely decorated cup. “Do you want to have breakfast with me?”

  “A coffee will be enough,” the man will brush a hand over his unkempt hair. “May I?”

  The woman will turn to the machine on a piece of furniture, ordering what the European requested.

  “What is she doing?” the man will ask, sitting, stretching his chin towards the girl dressed in the usual sweatshirt, pants, and white socks, sitting on the floor with her legs crossed, completely absorbed in watching a holographic advertising program. In the space in front of her, three different models of sports cars will rotate.

  “Who?” the woman will ask, pouring coffee into a cup, turning her back on the European. “Oh, Chiyeko? Oh, nothing, watching one of her usual favorite shows. She’s passionate about sports cars, you know?”

  The woman will sit at the table with the European. The girl will not bother to look at him, completely absorbed in the presentation of a new car with golden bodywork and white interior, staring at the screen with a very aggressive look.

  Whiley will take the hanging bri
dge between the two buildings, passing over the glass walkway joining the two wings of the large shopping center. That feeling will be something he’s never felt so intensely. Fear.

  What did Borman always say?

  He will look at the clock and will notice that only a few minutes are left before the appointment. He must act quickly. He will point his binoculars through the glass, observing the streets, the park, the bar at the end of the avenue, the subway stairs directly at the shopping center entrance leading in every direction, full of people.

  You always have to have an emergency plan...

  He will close the binoculars, heading to the escalators to descend to the ground floor, blending into the crowd.

  Borman’s dead.

  He’ll try to erase the image of his leg bent unnaturally in the office bathroom, and will be happy to inhale fresh air when he comes out into the street.

  “Sir, call on line two; it’s a public line.” The blond man will tell the CEO.

  “Turn it over to Daft,” he will answer, gazing at the blonde woman, the elegant man, and the muscular one. The blond man will open two screens at the same time. In one appears Whiley in the cabin, and in the other, the operations coordinator, Daft, against the background of a white wall.

  “Daft,” the latter will say, looking at the other hologram.

  The people in the meeting room will be behind darkened glass. They will be able to hear their voices without entering the communication between the two.

  “So, what should I do?” Whiley will ask.

  “Are you in the same place?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you talk to anyone?”

  Richard.

  Whiley will look into the void.

  Don’t tell him about Richard.

  “So, Whiley, did you talk to anyone?”

  “No.”

  “She’s crazy for Italian cars,” the woman will say smiling, pointing with the cup at the screen. “She would do anything to get one. I’m not kidding, you know?”

  The man will taste the coffee.

  She’d do anything to get one.

  “So, do we want to talk about business? I’d like to see your famous lab,” he will say, moving the hot drink away from his lips.

  “Honey,” the woman will answer affably, “if you saw it, then I would be forced to ask Chiyeko to kill you, and it would be a shame, after verifying your competence last night.”

  The woman will stroke his hand on the table, then go on. “I think you’ll have to settle for examining the prototype when it’s ready.”

  “And when will it be ready?”

  “If you get me the designer, a good one, three weeks,” the woman will say, sipping her drink. “A month, at most, until I have the drawings.”

  The man will nod, looking at the girl watching the advertisement for the Italian car, which promises to be the fourth fastest magnetic suspension car in the world, with a top speed of 526 kilometers per hour and an acceleration from zero to one hundred kilometers per hour in 1.4 seconds.

  “May I borrow a holographic communicator?” the man will ask, sipping coffee.

  “Whenever you want. How much space do you need?”

  “Let’s say at least five meters. Tomorrow, I’d say. Today I would like to dedicate myself to visiting the island. You know, I like to work calmly and savor things.”

  “Oh, if that’s why,” the woman will say with a mischievous smile, “I know all about that.”

  In the holographic space, Palmer will be seated in the fourth row of a university classroom amphitheater, with wooden benches and large white windows on the sides. The light will be diffused by the series of vertical windows, and the program will be so realistic as to represent the rays of sun filtering through the glass.

  “Look, Whiley, I want you to do exactly as I say. Follow my instructions literally, and everything will be fine. All right?”

  “All right,” the other will murmur.

  “Now you must tell me where you are, and I’ll pick you up. Then the two of us are going to have a good chat.”

  “What shall we talk about? I don’t know anything.”

  The blond man will be maneuvering in a third holographic space, quickly sliding onto the conference table parts of cities in three dimensions, streets, and buildings, people walking, all at possible call nodes, and dozens of blue dots going out, turning red every second, taking away the image of the corresponding street.

  “Where are we?” the elegantly dressed man will ask. “Have you found him?”

  “It won’t be long, sir,” the muscular man will answer.

  “For example, Borman’s pistol. It’s disappeared,” Daft’s hologram will say. In some blue street, in the center of the map on the meeting table, a man’s heart will run out of control, and the cabin will seem to get smaller.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” the thin woman will begin to stand, turning to the CEO.

  “For God’s sake, Meredith, he’s making him talk. He’s keeping him busy. You know the procedure,” the elegant man will say, raising his arm.

  “Don’t tell me about fucking procedures, Goedhart! It doesn’t say anywhere to put pressure on whoever you want to bring to your side.” The woman will walk around the room, pointing to the screens behind the darkened glass. “He was going to tell us something!”

  “This is not the time for your squabbling, Meredith,” the director will say. “Turn up the audio, it’s hard to hear.”

  “Do you know anything about it? Do you happen to know where it might have ended up?” Daft will ask.

  The question will be heard perfectly. Also the silence. The blond man will continue to search through the streets of the city over the meeting table. Above the table, in the holographic space, other roads will flow away, taking with them in a crazy rush the flying cars and people, things and buildings, but that accelerated heart will not be found yet.

  The sun’s rays will appear as they actually would be, according to the weather specifications, exactly at that time, in the location of the lesson, Paris. Around him, projections of students, mostly young, will take notes in their projected sheets, while the teacher, an elderly man dressed in a fancy vest, rather tall and with distinctly British speech, will be talking about binary programming. Palmer won’t hear any words of what he’s listening to, and even if he did, he wouldn’t understand much of it. At the end of the lesson, the students will get up from the places, chatting with their classmates, closing their worksheets and clipboard archives.

  “Professor Kane. Excuse me, Professor, can I talk to you for a second?” Palmer will ask, moving among the students in the holographic space on the top floor of the Okinawa house and advancing a few steps, approaching the virtual chair in Paris. The teacher in turn will put some notes in a folder, moving a few steps towards the front row, to meet the man who called him.

  “I’ve seen you for an hour and a half there in the fourth row. Aren’t you a little old to take classes, Robert?” the teacher will ask. “Or what should I call you now?”

  A couple of schoolgirls will pass by the man, greeting the teacher, and disappearing a moment later from holographic space.

  “I need to meet you. I need to talk to you about work.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “Programming. I need a student of yours. Twenty days of work. A good guy who has never worked before,” the man will say, looking around in the university classroom.

  “Where are you now?”

  “In the East.”

  “Ah. I’m half an hour from there, right in Paris. We can meet here if you want,” the professor will say, greeting another young man coming out of holographic space “How good?”

  “The best.”

  The old man will nod, fastening his vest.

  The elegant man will run a hand through his hair, looking at the muscular man.

  “We’re almost there, sir. A few more moments.”

  “Why aren’t you in the same office this m
orning?” Whiley will ask. “I hear a background noise... Where are you? Are you moving?”

  Daft’s hologram won’t open its mouth for a few seconds, too long, in the silence of the boardroom. “Yes, I’m coming to get you.”

  “Where are you coming from?”

  Silence.

  “Are you alone? How do I know you’re coming alone?”

  “Shit. That’s not right!” The thin woman will move back and forth, spreading her arms. “That’s what scares him.”

  “I’ll be alone. You and I are going to chat somewhere, and you’ll calmly explain to me what happened that morning.”

  The blond will raise a hand, making broad gestures to the muscular man.

  “Here we go, hooked! I’m transmitting the coordinates to the airborne car for aerial surveillance. The electric van is 4.8 kilometers away. It’s ours!” the muscular man will shout.

  “And how long do you think you’ll take to catch up with me?” Whiley’s hologram will murmur.

  “Maximum twenty minutes, if you tell me where you are,” the other hologram will respond at the other side of the meeting table.

  “How long for the van?” the elegant man will ask.

  “It’s rush hour, sir. Without sirens... six minutes,” the blond man will answer.

  “I’ll be waiting for you,” the hologram of the man in the cabin will turn off communication.

  “Fuck, give me the van on the three!” the CEO will yell. “And I want a scan of the bar and the surrounding area.”

  “He knows we were tracing him.” It won’t be a question, but a statement, from the elegant man. “He didn’t ask how Daft knew where to go.”