The Ruling Impulses

by Francesco Portone

  He cleaned up quickly and left. The sun was still low but bright. That slight warmth turned out to be invigorating. Carsten Square was not very close, so he preferred to hurry a little. The city was rather sleepy. The Sundays of October did not present any particular anniversaries, so most of the people probably opted for a gradual awakening. William relentlessly kept an eye on the road, fearing some danger lurking in the shadow. Everything seemed calm. If they wanted to capture me, you can bet they would have already done it.

  After the umpteenth quarrel with Lucinda, he felt a little more alone. With every argument, he lost a little piece of serenity and peace. He felt the strain of having to confront everyday with too many issues, of every kind. He moved on by inertia, hoping the passing of time would adjust things by itself. Meanwhile, life slipped away with very few chills, just a few moments for which it was worth fighting that much.

  Carsten Square. William did not know that was the place where Scarlet Militia, during the revolution, had carried out some of the worst atrocities, including street executions. The benches, the flower beds, the street lamps, everything was virtually stained with the blood of the victims of barbarism, in the darkest age that the city of East Eden had ever known. Now it was just a quite insignificant little corner of the city, a place people crossed to reach more sparkling areas of the city.

  The Pilgrim's Refuge looked a little different from William's recent memories, yet he agreed with the fact that they were not so crystal clear and he could not rely on them that much. There was not a living soul; odd to say the least, since the chaos of the previous day. Previous day which seemed to William like a century or so. He hoped that a breath of lucidity could exhale from the abyss where his meninges had fallen, and it would allow him to associate images or persons. None of that happened. The very few individuals around aroused in William feelings between indifference and unpleasantness. The chairs were sadly placed on the tables and the most interesting subjects consisted of a pair of felines that wandered beneath them.

  After a first unsuccessful approach, William went on inside the pub, looking for clues. There was a bartender drying glasses and cutlery. Blonde, short, with a ponytail. Where was the other one? They obviously did shifts, a logical answer. William moved closer to read the nameplate. “Brandy”.

  «May I help you?», the girl asked.

  «I was looking for the other bartender... Abigail, I think», William improvised.

  «Who? I don't know her.»

  William took a step back and frowned.

  «A black girl. I'm pretty sure her name was Abigail. Bobbed hair, medium height.»

  Brandy put both hands on the counter and looked astonished.

  «Don't you know your colleagues?», William scolded her, with rudeness.

  Brandy then weighed her words so as not to give the impression of answering superficially. She looked him straight in the eye.

  «Look, the only black girl who works here is Debra and, as far as I know, she doesn't call herself “Abigail”.»

  William scratched his head.

  «Maybe she works for some catering company? That's why you don't know her.»

  Brandy shrugged and bent her head slightly to the side. She didn't make assumptions and wasn't much interested in that thing.

  «Oh, another thing», William added, more and more confused. «Do you know another girl named Cassie? A customer who was at the inauguration. Tall... blond hair...»

  The bartender folded her arms and started tapping the fingers.

  «D'you think I could remember all our customers?»

  She sighed in annoyance.

  «Well, if you keep pushing it... I know someone named Cassidy. Cassidy Davenport. But I don't know if that's who you're looking for.»

  «Davenport», William noted in his communicator. «Can you tell me where I can find her?»

  «Of course not!», Brandy pointed out sourly. «Look, if you're not buying anything, you'd better go.»

  She tried to dismiss him, but William insisted.

  «Please, it's important. I got no bad intentions, I just have to... figure some things out. That's all.»

  Perhaps she was fed up or she felt sorry for him, Brandy gave in eventually and reluctantly gave him a clue.

  «On Tuesday we usually have a karaoke night. Since we opened I've already seen her on stage a couple of times. I think she's a little pitchy. Anyway, people seem to like her. That's all I can tell you.»

  «Thank you. I'll take it.»

  He turned to walk away, but stopped as he remembered he had not asked the main question yet.

  «Excuse me, one last thing. I passed near here yesterday... let's say around lunchtime... and I heard a lot of noise. Any idea what was going on?»

  «No. I mean, nothing happened, as far as I know», concluded Brandy, leaving her post to enter the back room, without even saying goodbye.

  William was at wit's end. The deeper he went into that thing, the less he understood. Had he dreamed it all? No, it wasn't possible. Some details might be unclear, yet his memories could not be so distorted. He stood dazed for several seconds, watching Brandy disappear behind the sliding door. He slammed both hands on the counter, then turned around once more and left the building. It would be hard to untangle the mystery before Tuesday night, in any case.

  Outside the pub he did not pay attention to a guy who was passing by and bumped into him. William immediately tried to apologize, but the moment their eyes met, he turned white as if he had seen a ghost.

  «Donald!», he shouted in surprise.

  «I'm sorry?»

  «You... you're Donald, right?», William insisted, stunned.

  «No, you must have me confused with someone else.»

  «But...»

  William grabbed his arm and looked him over as if to check if there were tangible traces of the scuffle of the day before. Everything seemed to be all right.

  «Let go of me, I told you! I do not know you!»

  William let go, but kept looking at him with an astonished gaze. He stammered a couple of times, then he could do nothing but surrender and watch that man slip away, annoyed. I don't know what's going on anymore, William commented as he realized that maybe it was better to go back home to stay.

  Chapter VIII

  While scanning all the knowledge present in the global network, in search of clues, Charlie had a childish attitude, with his tongue sticking out from the right side of his mouth and the shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He had to help a friend and had to give his best. He would have certainly done it for anyone, because revealing the mysteries, intrigues, conspiracies, had always been one of his favorite hobbies; but even more so if the moral and physical integrity of a friend like William was at stake. Minneman turned out to be a tough opponent, a hard safe to crack. As much as he dug deep, even using key words and heuristic algorithms, little useful results came out, above all not very usable with regard to the Deveux-Minneman-Cockroaches' dispute. He was a little disappointed because he was confident he would be able to already catch something useful at the first skimming. Besides some gossip news, rare updates on Riley Minneman's state of health, some lawsuits filed by competitors and protests promoted by consumer associations, there was nothing that could suit his purpose. However, he knew that if Minneman was really corrupt and caught up in shady activities, it was not getting through the front door that he could find vital information. The only thing that repeated itself in an unusual way was a reference to a man named Mitchell Lamontaigne, but it was not clear what relationship there was between he and Minneman, much less if he was one of their employees.

  He sank his teeth into another peanut bar. Striving to do online searches always gave him a greedy appetite. He had unhealthy eating habits, he was aware of it, yet he asserted that his brain, in order to function properly, needed generous amounts of sugar. Fortunately, his thin body did not seem to be affected by all those carbohydrates. Every now and then he ran his hands through his sparse hair and mad
e grimaces whenever some hair remained glued to his slightly damp palms.

  No news about the alleged patent theft. Very predictable, indeed. A company the size of Minneman would do everything to avoid an unpleasant publicity on the subject. Being tricked by some hacker, or having unfaithful employees, were things that the market and partners could interpret as a sign of weakness. Weakness that would have ended up undermining the solidity of a leading, competitive and, if necessary, ruthless company.

  That man, Mitchell Lamontaigne, had to be kind of a consultant, in fact his name mostly appeared in economic and financial news. Some articles also reported his friendly statements about Minneman. Too little, however, to get a picture of the situation and work out some possible strategy.

  Charlie was coming up with the idea of doing it the hard way: trying to hack into their server. He would risk a lot, but what was the alternative? He had to help William, one way or another. And the only other option? It was insane: entering the company headquarters, perhaps disguised and with a false identity, and trying to access confidential data on the spot, hoping to get something out of it. It would be easier to hope for mercy from Militia than to get away with it. In any case, he needed to find some device, better if illegal, in order to proceed. William still had an old modified Thornston decoder. After all, he had loaned it to him a few years earlier. It could turn out to be useful to accomplish a new feat, but that time for a good reason.

  He called William, finding him rather bewildered. He had probably just woken up and it seemed strange because it was working time. Did he call in sick? Charlie didn't dig into it that much.

  «Wow, Billy, your voice is more ghostly than usual.»

  «Umpf», was the only sound William was able to make. The animal noises his friend was making led Charlie to suppose he was stretching.

  «Wild night?», he inquired.

  «Charlie, give me a sec, okay?»

  William put the communicator down on the bed and went to rinse his face. He felt like having a hangover, except he hadn't touched a drop since the day he had been at Pilgrim's Refuge. He put his undershirt in the laundry hamper and changed. The fruity smell of clean clothes helped him to compose himself.

  «Okay, here we go. Speak.»

  «Hmm. Billy, I think it's time we move to phase two.»

  William had no idea what phase two was, but he had faith in Charlie's ability to improvise.

  «You should bring back the Thornston», he added.

  William paused to assess the request. At that moment, it did not seem like a good idea to walk around with illegal computer equipment, even more so with his name in Militia's black list.

  «You might want to come here», he suggested. «Better to work clear of prying eyes. If they catch me carrying stuff like that, they'll lock me up and throw away the key.»

  «As you wish. Anyway, I'll bring my PS12, we won't go very far with that wreck of yours», Charlie chuckled.

  «Oh, Charlie, please be discreet. And above all, throw away that ugly raincoat, you look like a sewer rat.»

  «Look who's talking! The famous fashion expert Jack Allister! Come on...»

  Charlie DeClerk was true to his word. He kept a low profile and avoided dressing like a fool. He and William had been friends for half their age, yet, since William moved to Numbered District, he had only visited him a few times. They usually met on neutral ground.

  William offered him some orange juice. Charlie used to drink only that, except when he played the role of the secret agent and he allowed himself the pleasures of wine. Charlie had placed his travel computer in a sports bag, as a precaution. He emptied the bulky Tygers bag, scattering its contents onto William's living room table. William's eyes widened: Charlie had done it the right way. There was everything they might need to break into high level security devices.

  «Take the Thornston», Charlie ordered.

  He saw William rummaging in a drawer, between a box of biscuits and an old packet of cigarettes which, from the yellowing level, had to be at least five years old.

  «You should take better care of such gems», Charlie chided him. William shrugged. «I didn't use it recently.»

  Charlie DeClerk looked at the mysterious item as if it were a beautiful woman or a tasty dish. «How I missed you!», he exclaimed with joy. He connected all the equipment, then started the spy program he had written and put himself in standby.

  «It may take quite a while, you know.»

  «It doesn't matter. Let's just hope to get something useful out of it», William said.

  He thought of making a cup of tea, just to kill some time. «Want some?», he asked Charlie, knowing that the reply would be negative. Charlie was a picky eater.

  William dropped into his armchair with the steaming cup. «This story will never end», he pointed out a little dejectedly. «If Militia smells blood... it goes in for the kill.»

  Charlie was not listening, already busy searching. «Here it is!», he exclaimed happily, «the Thornston decoder is making their central unit believe that we are an employee with a high security clearance. What was it you said a little while ago?»

  William sat up and stared at the screen.

  «Nothing. What did you find?»

  «Too early to say, there's so much stuff. As I suspected, the archives are not very intelligible, so I'll start from a trivial thing: a search with your name and surname.»

  Charlie typed William's data in every possible way, but did not get any result.

  «Bah, it was an attempt to do, though I knew we wouldn't get anything by searching that way. If you're on their database, they will have likely assigned you a code or a nickname.»

  «If?», William objected.

  «Okay, okay. Let's say that it is very likely, yet I think it could be just your paranoia. To be honest, I really hope so.»

  «I'd like it too. I wish it were that simple», William said, taking a sip of tea. «But I'm afraid I'm not wrong.»

  Charlie DeClerk went on for several minutes, almost holding his breath. The more he searched, the more he got irritated by the poor results. The main issue basically concerned what and where to look for, since it was clear that Minneman could not keep a secret dossier on full display, available to anyone and self-explanatory in terms of its content. Of course not. It was necessary to explore, interpret, collect fragmented data and correlate them. It could take quite a while and several search sessions.

  «Charlie.»

  «Huh?»

  «Nothing. Just wanted to tell you that I thank you, whatever happens. You're sticking your neck out for me.»

  «Stop it. Whenever I get the chance to cheat the system, I don't let it slip away.»

  «Charlie.»

  «What?»

  «Do you remember when we were kids and we tried to download videogames from the net? Good times...»

  «Bill please don't get nostalgic right now, we need to stay focused.»

  William stood there with his gaze lost in the void for many seconds. Sometimes it wasn't much of a help, his will to fight was at least equal to that of getting lulled into a comfortable inaction. Charlie tried to shake him.

  «We'll make it. There's no second chance. We'll go on all night if necessary.»

  William walked up to the window. Wind. He could not see them from up there, but the streets were beginning to turn yellow with fallen leaves. The sunlight was no longer very hot, it was lower and a bit annoying. He narrowed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. Migraines reappeared with the same damn punctuality of the social carrier. Charlie, meanwhile, got up and started muttering disconnected sentences. The challenge seemed more arduous than compelling.

  «And what if we tried to copy all the contents of the server and then calmly analyze it?», William suggested, without turning around.

  «Too much time», Charlie stopped him. «Every extra minute we spend online increases the risk of getting caught.»

  «Have you tried entering my social security number yet?», William asked, as if
struck by a brilliant idea.

  «Hmm, I think it's useless. Anyway, it costs nothing to try», Charlie reasoned. He immediately typed a few keys and pronounced K.O.

  «Yet they must have some unencrypted personal data in their archives: address, communicator number, whatever. Is it possible that it is all encoded?», William regretted.

  «Coffee, Bill. We need more energy.»

  «Coffee?»

  «Yup. I need it more than ever.»

  «Wine and coffee. Interesting», William muttered.

  Charlie gave him a little push to make him stop joking, he then snapped his fingers, ready to get back to work.