by A J Blanc
By the look of what was on the numerous screens and holographic projectors, there was a recap of the first round streaming across the entire restaurant. Even though it was still fresh in Milo’s mind, watching Hyde defeat McCone with pure guile was an impressive sight to behold. Although he still felt a twinge of guilt for not fighting to keep the man in his custody a little harder, there was a certain level of satisfaction in how Hyde dispatched the experienced policeman and hunter. He tried to convince himself that he could react with equal cunning in a similar situation, but he was having difficulty believing it.
Almost as if Rosen read his mind from across the street, the broadcast changed to introduce the next hunter chosen for the second round, which caused the pride he was feeling to wane markedly. Five minutes into the program the night before was the most he’d ever watched of the Game, but he somehow knew the selected hunter wasn’t announced beforehand in the first round only. Nevertheless, it came as a shock to him when he realized the man being introduced by lead announcer Joram Bachman was known to him. Milo would occasionally be asked to provide remedial courses on the importance of chain-of-command to those who had disobeyed orders one too many times, for domestic and foreign soldiers alike. The face on full display around the room was one of those students, before he found his niche and didn’t have to worry about taking orders much anymore.
“While his real name is of course Jack Ridton,” Bachman announced in his incessant rant-style of speaking, “he’s known to most around here as Wraith because of his seamless way of blending into his environment, and striking completely without warning. He can make himself look like literally anything. One of our intrepid contestants could be leaning against a rock wall, or so he thinks. As everyone watching relaxes in a moment of respite, the rock comes to life, and strikes with the precision of a surgeon… if a surgeon had any inclination to actually doing harm that is,” he joked.
That pronouncement motivated the handful or so present to cheer loud enough to equate the noise of a crowd twice its size. The slow trickle of bystanders into the café was also increasing due to the enthused shouting. Milo’s confidence in Hyde continued to dip however, when he saw the so-called hunting grounds for the next match. Marcus would now be out in the open, and going up against a foe he had neither trained for nor had experience against, as far as Milo’s comprehension of the training regimen of Colonial Cavalry went anyway.
Once again, as if the show’s producers had a direct link to his mind, another reveal made his apprehension for Hyde’s victory continue to descend.
“Another well-known… idiosyncrasy shall we say, about Wraith,” Bachman continued, “is that he likes to switch up his weapon of choice. To stay fresh in a variety of tools of the trade, as it were. For this hunt, Wraith has decided to arm himself with an auto-bow; a fascinating fusion of an antique crossbow with modern reloading and targeting technology. While it may not be as crowd-pleasing as the flamethrower he used during his last match, or as unique as the pair of black powder musket-style pistols from last year, Wraith always seems to find ways of livening up the match. So without further adieu, the Game is afoot!”
The displayed image drastically changed to what looked like a satellite view of North America. There was another shift to show the sun peeking over the horizon, near where the International Dateline sat Milo assumed, to signify a new day. Then, as if to project the sensation of casually falling from the heavens, multiple cameras seamlessly zoomed in to a vast expanse of eastern Nevada. In a mesmerizing, awe-inspired display of live camera feeds, the trek from space to Zone Jupiter finally landed to show a serene Marcus Hyde carefully preparing a field ration kit as if it were a gourmet meal. Despite the depressingly dire situation, Milo couldn’t help but smile at the young man as he continued to amaze.
Milo’s grin must’ve been much larger than intended, because it stopped Hal dead in his tracks upon returning from the fresher. Hal looked around with heavy suspicion for several seconds until landing on one of the many holoprojections, instantly becoming equally impressed.
“Is he doctoring up a K-Ration?”
“Looks like,” Milo answered reverently.
“Damn, that sure takes me back. Some of my best meals to this day came from one of those little bricks… well, most memorable anyway.”
Hyde looked to be just finishing his peaceful meal when he was startled by a short, booming noise. The sound was similar to that of a cannon firing, indicating the start of a new round with the arrival of a hunter. Hal noticed the immediate change in his demeanor, which transitioned from a sobering contentedness to one of focused determination.
Marcus quickly, yet meticulously, packed what little gear he had lying about and moved at a fast clip in the opposite direction of the noise made by the landing craft. While he knew the craft carried someone there to kill him, he was completely oblivious to who it was and what skills he or she may be carrying with them; exactly the same as with the previous hunter wearing the World War II-era jacket and helmet.
Like most soldiers, sailors, marines, and airmen who received specialized training, his instincts had taken over and it had all come down to who had the sharper mind on their feet. Marcus would’ve been perfectly gratified with surviving the designated twelve hours, or making it to one of the two safety rings within each zone, the only two other ways to end a match, but he saw an opportunity to significantly delay his opponent and took to it with no regrets… or at least none that would’ve made him proceed differently if given the chance.
The camera angle changed to show a man casually descending the ramp of a landing craft, wearing a highly sophisticated, adaptive ghillie suit. Even with the simple task of stepping into the dirt and rock that made up the natural environment of Zone Jupiter’s outside arena, the suit’s bio-matrix composite material modified itself to meet its new surroundings in a ripple-like effect. As the craft departed, the hooded figure surveyed the quiet area; a perfectly balanced region of sand, greenery and rock formations. Now alone, standing in front of the recently vacated landing pad, he peeled back his cowl to reveal a man so unkempt it looked like he had just fought a bear in a stream after years of living in the woods.
Despite his lack of any semblance of grooming standards, Ridton still received some random cheers from the morning audience faire. Milo, on the other hand, audibly scoffed at the holographically-projected image, which prompted a chuckle from Hal seated adjacent to him.
The hunter referred to as Wraith bent to one knee; the auto-bow slung tightly to his back moving ever so slightly. From pouches sewn into his flanks, he pulled two pairs of miniature seeker drones and released them to search out his prey. As the spherical devices buzzed away like angry bees, in all different directions, he freed the auto-bow from its sling on his back and began to walk toward one of the drones’ pre-determined flight paths. Milo wasn’t the least bit surprised by that cocksure attitude, and was genuinely hoping he had chosen the wrong drone to follow.
Projections and screens around the café split into three views: Marcus fleeing from a seemingly nearby Wraith at a composed pace, bisected by an animated Bachman unnecessarily describing what everyone watching had just witnessed, adding his predictions of what was to come. The scene was visually grating. Milo and Hal looked to each other and rolled their eyes.
“This could go on for hours before they even catch a glimpse of one another,” Milo said optimistically. Hal mumbled his concurrence as he turned back to the nearest screen. Almost on cue, Milo’s smart watch alerted him to a priority message, which prompted a dubious look from Hal.
“That’s funny,” Milo announced, contorting his brow slightly in thought. “We got a potential hit on your wayward contact from NIC. Seventy-three percent match for one Alena Sarne. Right here in Reno no less. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“What!?” Hal interjected, practically falling out of his chair. “When did you send out her alert? I hadn’t received approval for you to do that yet!”
M
ilo leaned back and folded his arms; a satisfied smirk broaching his neutral façade. “While we were walking back from the carport, after losing Watson… I did see him by the way, even if you didn’t.”
“So you created an alert out of spite, because I wanted evidence of my own before chasing someone through a casino?”
“In those words… yes. But additionally, it was clear she needed to be found, based on what she likely knows about this case. No offense, but I don’t want to be chasing escaped prisoners for years, or even weeks. It’s sometimes better to ask for forgiveness than permission for things like this, trust me.”
“Oh brilliant. Was ignoring your chain of command a popular subject in your training classes at Leavenworth?”
“We’re not ignoring anything. I’m sure you’ll brief your higher-ups, like the good little spook you are, in due time. You’re taking initiative on a road we would’ve eventually gone down anyway, since you were looking for her before this whole thing even started. What could go wrong?” Milo concluded with a sly grin.
“Yeah. Sure. Ask me again at my congressional hearing. So, mister daredevil. Where might this potential match be?
“The library, downtown. I’ve arranged for my car to be delivered at the south exit,” he said getting up and stretching a bit.
“You don’t want to see how Hyde fares for a bit first?”
“I’m not too worried about him. Besides, he has more room to distance himself from the hunter this time. I have a feeling we won’t miss much.”
“Eh, you’ve already gambled on one thing today. Why not pile on more?”
~
Alena was beginning to think she had picked the wrong place. Had she missed another obvious location to access the ComNet, or was Watson actually going to try and break into a military base? She knew all too well that desperation led to errors, often fatal ones in her former line of work. Somehow, that life has caught back up to her, and she understood that dozens of lives might hang in the balance. She had no intention of meeting with Watson in the manner that now befell her, considering they still had large strides to make in building trust, but one had to play the cards they were dealt, she regularly told herself. Besides, time was running out for one man as she sat waiting, and she was confident Rosen had already selected their next ‘volunteer,’ whomever that may be. The data Watson pulled from their archives was vital to how she would proceed, assuming his infiltration was a success.
Their method of communication to this point was via a secure, but seldom used, network designed for little more than text and short voice messages. Following the events at the Isard estate, they had agreed not to communicate until he was ready to transmit his bounty from the Network. Although she had been following the man, they had never met face-to-face, or talked live through voice or video. While the network could feasibly handle larger transmissions, she wasn’t sure of the limits, and it would almost certainly tip off someone with the DOD, FBI, or Homeland Security, or all of the above. She couldn’t take that risk, and she didn’t have the luxury to wait for him to randomly portion off the data to suit his own agenda… assuming he had one.
Alena ran the scenarios in her mind for what seemed to her to be the hundredth time, and again came to the same conclusion. The only other possible way Watson could clandestinely access the military’s ComNet in Reno, outside of a DOD installation, was from the public library. This wasn’t a well-known fact, even in the upper echelons of government, though it did come in handy for field operatives in a pinch.
A great many libraries around the world had closed in the past few decades, usually those in smaller communities. However, the few hundred or so that survived made a concerted effort to become exceedingly innovative in a world that no longer maintained printed books. Alena tried to appear relaxed in the expansive, ultra-modern foyer of the downtown library, but that was proving difficult with the virtual librarian appearing every few minutes to offer assistance.
She found a modicum of success easing her agitated mind by focusing on the amenities available there. Apparently, aside from its vast digital archives, that particular location specialized in genealogy and migratory history of the entire western United States, rivaling museums and universities of the surrounding states, as well as the genealogical organizations in Utah. There were of course the standard conference rooms, web centers, and entertainment cubes that beleaguered most remaining libraries, but they all seemed to have an additional theme to set themselves apart from traditional facilities of generations past.
Her consideration of the mapping out of her family tree nearly caused her to miss two passersby entering the foyer. One was a middle-aged Latino woman in beige business attire; most likely going to a meeting in one of the state-of-the-art conference rooms, Alena guessed. The other was a somewhat younger Filipino man, who was noticeably fit, and wearing a muted gold-colored jacket with a Vegas Knights cap pulled low to his brow. Despite his subtle, yet effective-enough effort to conceal his identity from recognition scanners, Alena recognized Raymus Watson immediately.
Once both had passed through the open foyer, she let out a sigh of both relief and pent up angst. She was relieved to validate her long idle anticipation skills, proud they were still sharp. Conversely, she was apprehensive about how she was to approach the man she had only been messaging for a few weeks so as not send him underground again, or worse. She waited two full minutes, gathering her thoughts and mettle, then followed him to the web center pod on the sixth floor.
Chapter Fifteen: Dead Stop
Hal and Milo exited the car and exchanged furtive looks as they gazed upon the monumental building before them. “This is a library?” Hal wondered aloud.
The Reno Public Library was a tasteful amalgamation of old and new, though it ceased to give the impression of a traditional library long ago, Milo suspected. The first few floors of what appeared to be the original building, were an inexpensive, mid-twentieth century brown-brick, offset by narrow rows of vertical windows. More recent renovations added several more stories of mirrored glass in a triangular shape, placed on its side, giving it a semi-typical office building look.
They entered through the brick sides’ main doors and were taken aback -- it seemed they had just stepped into the future. Nearly every horizontal and vertical surface had interactive displays, which were all the more pronounced by the soft mood lighting emanating from the floor and undersides of the plush form-chairs in each corner of the hexagonal room. Milo ventured farther into the foyer and a man appeared in front of him, prompting both men to reach for their sidearms.
“Good morning. My name is Vishnaré. I am your virtual tour guide at all public libraries in Nevada. How may I assist you today?”
Both hesitantly removed their hands from their respective gun handles and straightened back up. The male projection had a distinctly Native American look, but his name and complete lack of accent were somewhat of an enigma to the two men.
“Uh, hello. I’m Deputy US Marshal Milo Durron. I’m following up on a potential match of a Justice Department alert to a person of interest at this location, received approximately twenty minutes ago. Here are the details,” Milo declared somewhat abashedly as he held up his folding tablet to the full-sized simulacrum.
Vishnaré shimmered some but didn’t noticeably move. “Yes, Deputy Durron. That person shares a striking resemblance to a woman who sat in that chair, then proceeded to our web center through this door,” he answered with a curtsy toward the appropriate door. “Shall I notify her of your arrival Deputy?”
“No, thank you. In fact I would appreciate you not communicating with or about her at all until further notice.”
“Very well. Thank you for your patronage of the Nevada Public Library System.” With that, Vishnaré vanished, and the lift to the web center opened conveniently with a soft hiss.
They arrived on the sixth floor and exited the cramped lift into a vast room surrounded entirely by windows, apart from the small entry alcove they s
tood in. The lift bank and restrooms were the focal point of the triangular floor layout, with only a customer service desk and sophisticated vending machine at the front to break up the dozens of rows of user cubicles. Milo quickly realized that doing a search of the massive floor on foot with only two people would be far too time consuming, until he looked to his distant left and observed what looked to be Watson having a heated conversation with a short-haired blonde woman.
“Excuse me,” Milo boomed to the bored Indian teenager behind the customer service counter. Based on the hair and clothing style, he was taken aback to see a girl slowly look up, seemingly unimpressed by Milo’s large stature. “Police, ma’am. How many exits are on this floor?”
The messy-haired girl wasn’t interested in verifying Milo’s credentials apparently, nor standing up while pointing out directions. “Besides the elevators? Um, there’s stairs in each corner of the sono-cone… that’s what we call the shape of this building.”
“Good to know. Is it possible to block use of the lifts to and from this floor, temporarily?”
“Uh, I’ll have to ask facilities management about that. Or maybe security…?”
“Do that, now please. There is an escaped prisoner on this floor and we need to limit his exits. Understand?” That revelation finally stimulated a mild emotional response, in the form of tented eyebrows. The inconvenienced girl nodded and turned to make the call. At the same moment, Milo spun to address Hal, but his partner was no longer behind him. For several manic seconds, he scanned the area searching, and his eyes finally landed on the man cavalierly making his way down the row closest to the glass wall on his left. He excitedly tapped behind his ear to reactivate his subdermal communicator.
