New Alcatraz (Book 2): Golden Dawn

by Grant Pies

  Ransom started to back away. He heard his brother’s feet pounding against the cement at a rapid pace. The sound shrunk down the tunnel. He kept his eyes on Ash and the attacking group. With each bulb that went out from Ash’s fighting, two more appeared from another tunnel. Ransom backed away until he could not see the actual people fighting. All he could hear were smacking of fists on skin, and the staccato grunts of those that were hit. Just before he turned around and ran after his brother, all Ransom could see was a mass of bright light bulbs flooding the tunnel and overtaking Ash.

  CHAPTER 53

  2075

  AURORA, COLORADO

  “No one knows, Powell. I can’t fault you for wanting a more definitive answer. But some things aren’t known until they are tested. We have worked on this device for years now. We have labored over formulas, compiled materials, and spent countless nights running simulations.” Whitman shook his head, we both stood outside the car and leaned against the hood. “But we don’t know how the human mind will works under these circumstances. We won’t know until we actually use the device. All I can say is we are confident in our research.”

  Our car was pulled off the road at one of the few remaining freestanding gas stations in Colorado. The tall street lamp flickered overhead. Vesa was in the bathroom changing into her TDA uniform.

  “Believe me, Powell, I wish I could tell you that we knew for sure that the device will work.”

  “What if we do all of this,” I asked, “and it does nothing? What if, whoever is the first to test this thing, places their hand on the device and nothing happens? Then what?”

  “Then it’s back to the drawing board,” Whitman said. “But that isn’t what I’m most worried about. The human mind is unpredictable. I’m not worried about nothing happening. I’m worried about what could happen, besides our desired outcome.”

  “What do you mean? Like harmed in some way?” I asked. Up to this point I had only considered that the device would simply work or not work.

  “Yes. Other than working as expected, nothing is our second best option. What if the mind is simply erased? Or trapped in the device. Like a file that can’t be extracted. It could create a hollow vessel out of a human body. Whoever tests the device could very well be pulled outside of space and time. By the time we ever fix the problem, if we ever fix the problem, decades could have passed. Or maybe each second in our time would feel like an eternity to whoever is trapped in the machine. So I can’t guarantee that your participation in this expedition will result in a functional machine. The most I can guarantee is that, if we are successful, we’ll have a fully charged device.

  “The mind is an amazing thing. These last few years have given me so much more respect for humans. All these years, the public has looked at us androids as a threat. Just because we can calculate large numbers almost instantly, or because we can read and retain information at amazing speeds, humans thought we were dangerous. But the human mind is more than any android could ever be. If we are right, the mind can last forever. It can move from one person to another. A single mind can exist in multiple people. It can travel through time, or even outside of time. Once we complete this device, I think we’ll realize that there are no limitations to your mind. And people will look at the androids as the limited machines that we are.”

  For the first time, I wondered if Wayfield was able to program modesty into an artificially intelligent being.

  “So I won’t be offended if you need to leave. I won’t blame you. I know just travelling and being out here you are at risk. Your assistance is appreciated, but the last thing I want to do is endanger someone that I consider a friend.”

  Whitman placed a hand on my shoulder. His touch felt human. His words sounded sincere.

  “Thanks,” I said. I looked down and kicked the dirt. I wasn’t used to someone caring about me, or the outcome of my life. “But to tell you the truth, Whitman, I don’t exactly have much to go back to. The Ministry ruined my life. They ruined my dad’s life. They took my mom’s life, and they forced me to kill.” I looked down at the ground again. I was ashamed of my actions, no matter how necessary they may have been. “The five years since I escaped New Alcatraz, I’ve been just barely hanging on. I’ve given out bits of advice to petty lawbreakers. Hackers, inventors, and the like. I thought that was all I could do to fight back against the Ministry, but I was wrong.”

  The haze from the Denver metropolis nearby blotted out all of the stars in the sky. Above our heads was an endless black. The kind of dark you see when you press your eyelids closed. The kind of black I saw in the Golden Dawn’s isolation tank.

  “I was wrong to think I could live like that and not have a searing anger inside of me. I was wrong to think I could put what they did to me and my family behind me. Every client I talked to. Every bullshit charge they spoke about. Every life Wayfield and the Ministry ruined burrowed into me until I couldn’t sleep at night. I knew I needed to do more. To fight more. I knew if someone didn’t get in the way of the people who run this world then they will take it over bit by bit. They will creep and crawl into every aspect of our lives until we are controlled and we don’t even realize it. Once that happens, then there is no escape. There is nothing that would stop this group from doing whatever to whomever they wanted. Maybe we are already at that point. I was glad to leave that apartment behind. I was happy to help Vesa escape those agents. And I’ll be happy to help you charge this device. I can’t sit back and do nothing.”

  A moment of silence sat between the two of us. A stray dog rummaged through the garbage outside the refilling station. His mangy coat was speckled, and his ribs stuck out from underneath his fur. The dog pulled his head out from a garbage can that was tipped over holding a bone in his mouth. After a quick glance in each direction, he scurried away into the never-ending darkness. More animals howled in the distance.

  Doc walked up to us with a folded piece of paper in his hands.

  “He had to dig around in some old boxes in the back,” Doc said from a distance, “but he found one.” Doc walked up to the car, and unfolded a large map over the hood of the SUV. “The guy says we are just a ways out from Buckley.”

  Vesa finally emerged from the bathroom. A look of disgust was on her face, and she wiped her hands across her TDA uniform.

  “Looking good, Vesa,” Doc said. He grabbed her hand and spun her around to look at her uniform. She smiled and spun with Doc.

  “What’s that?” she asked. “A map? Where did you find such a thing? Is our GPS broken?”

  “I disabled it in case we get stopped before we reach the base. No need to expose where we’re going until we’re actually there,” Doc said.

  “Speaking of our plan...what exactly is the plan?” Vesa asked. She and Doc turned in my direction, and I felt both sets of eyes pierce into me. I snatched the map from Doc’s hand, and spread it across the hood of our car. The wind whipped the corners of the map into the air. I pointed out where we currently were.

  “Here we are. Just outside of Denver. The airport is to our north. Buckley is just about thirty kilometers south of the Denver airport. We drive until we get just outside of Buckley. Since we don’t have an agency vehicle, we should park the car somewhere just off base. Travel the rest of the way on foot.” I traced my finger along a single road that led to a large spot on the map that represented Buckley Air Force Base. A long straight line indicating a runway stretched across the base.

  “What about the agent?” Vesa asked.

  “Before we go on foot, we question him once more and get as much info as we can about TDA protocol, secret distress signals, and responses to coded phrases they may ask us. Everything we can get from him. Then we tie him up and leave him with the car. Once at the entrance, let me talk our way in. It’ll be all about appearances. We have to be on the offensive. Put them on edge. Make them act quickly and decisively. Don’t ask permission for anything. Simply demand it. That’s what these people respond to.”

  “S
o we just lie?” Vesa asked. “We just lie and hope no one calls our bluff? That’s the plan? Does anyone else think this is doomed from the start?” She looked at the others.

  “It does seem a bit...improvisational for a plan,” Doc agreed with Vesa.

  “Then give me the device,” I said and held out my hand. “Give it to me, and I’ll go get the thing charged.” Vesa shook her head and gripped the bag that held the device. “We have flawless identification,” I said and held up my ID badge. “We have uniforms.”

  “The last guy had those same things too,” Vesa said.

  “Did he have critical information from a TDA agent? Did he have an android prisoner?” I said and pointed to Whitman. “We have a cover story. A reason to be there. This isn’t the same base the other guy tried to break into. Buckley is likely one of the least secure bases in existence, and the one that just so happens to have a power source capable of charging this device. It’s not the Capitol Building, it isn’t the Federal Reserve, and it sure isn’t the base beneath the Denver Airport. We’ll walk in with a story about transporting a very important android prisoner, ask to tour the facility to determine if it’s fit to temporarily house Whitman, locate a power source, charge the device, and then pull rank on them. We’ll claim the facility is not equipped to house Whitman and that we have to take him somewhere more secure. Then we walk out with the device charged.”

  “And why would we need intimate access to this power source?” Doc asked.

  “We don’t,” Whitman answered. Finally someone else supported the plan. “It’s wireless like the Golden Dawn. Just with a shorter range.”

  “We just need to tour the facility and stay close enough to the source until it’s charged. Simple. I’ll drive the rest of the way,” I said. Maybe I was asking too much from a group that I met only a few days ago, but I wished they had more confidence in this plan. My plan.

  I ripped the map off the hood of the car and folded it as best I could. The stray dog howled in the distance. My three companions stood still. Doc was the first to move. He shrugged and motioned towards the car. I climbed in the driver’s seat and started the ignition. Doc circled the car and climbed in the passenger seat, then Whitman got in the back. Vesa stood outside the car near the driver’s side window.

  “This isn’t going to go according to your plan. You understand that, don’t you?” she said and reached into the car. She gripped my arm and squeezed. “This will end badly. Maybe not for everyone, but for some of us. Do you really want to take that gamble?” She looked at me pleadingly. She wasn’t sure this device was worth the risk.

  “I’m in this now,” I said. “I’ve waited five years to find a way to get revenge on the people who hurt my family, hurt my friends. Don’t you want revenge on the system that put Whitman on trial and killed your brother? Well this is our one and only chance to do anything that will hurt them. So are you coming or not?” I asked.

  Vesa sighed and let go of my arm. She circled the car and got in the back seat. I put the car into gear and drove toward Buckley Air Force Base.

  CHAPTER 54

  2075

  BUCKLEY AIR FORCE BASE

  We arrived at the base just before the sun came up. We left our car far away, hidden off the road. I guessed the night shift workers were still on, and hopefully too tired to truly question who we were. We tied, blindfolded, and gagged the TDA agent in the back seat of our abandoned vehicle. If we weren’t out of the base by the time he was able to break free of his restraints, then he would be the least of our worries.

  The gravel road leading to the base crunched under our standard issue military boots. The new leather hadn’t stretched and formed to my feet yet, and new blisters were already forming on my heels. Whitman walked in his jumpsuit and cloth slippers, his head down. I didn’t know how much emotion an android could feel, if any, but at the moment Whitman appeared to be feeling something close to regret.

  The gate to the base was in sight. Large spotlights lined a chain link fence that stretched forever to our left and right. I still had my pistol with fourteen bullets stuck in a holster strapped around my thigh. Doc’s ancient pistol was strapped around his waist. He refused to leave his gun in the car even after I explained that a six-shooter pistol wasn’t the standard issue weapon for a Technology Development Agent. He told me to think of a reason that he would have the primitive looking weapon. Something ‘lawyery’, he told me.

  “If anything happens,” I said, keeping my voice soft and low, “if we get split up or anything, meet back at the car. Wait as long as you can.”

  From where we were, I saw two guards, one much taller than the other, standing at the front gatehouse with long rifles hanging around their backs.

  “That doesn’t sound too confident,” Doc mumbled.

  “I’m just being cautious. Worst case scenario, we each try to find a way back to the motel.”

  In the distance, an owl hooted. The sun cast an orange haze across the sky, and the moon was still visible out in space. I wondered if everyone else’s heart raced like mine did. The two guards ahead saw us and readied themselves, spinning their rifles around from their backs. The guns were pointed down toward the ground, but still well within the normal range of motion to aim and shoot us if the need arose. Doc’s hand tightened around his own gun.

  “Remember,” I whispered, “we are supposed to be here. We belong here.”

  Doc’s hand eased slightly, but it never left his gun.

  “Halt!” one of the guards shouted.

  The distance between us shortened until I could make out the most basic facial features on the guards. Their faces were framed by the high collar of their uniforms and the garrison caps on their heads. All of us stopped walking. I gripped my hand around Whitman’s arm.

  “We are in transport of a prisoner,” I shouted across the distance. My words spread in all directions; the sound was cast out and evaporated into the desert air. “An android.” The two men took several disciplined steps towards us. “We were coming from Sioux City en route to Salt Lake. Our transport vehicle broke down just outside of Watkins.” I pointed my thumb over my shoulder behind me.

  The men were young, no older than twenty. They looked at each other and then back at us. Even from this distance, I could tell they had wrinkled their brows in slight disapproval of my story. I dared several steps forward to see how they would respond. One of the men, the taller of the two, raised his rifle only slightly, a minute muscular reaction, almost automatic. The other man stood still, like he had never seen anyone approach such a base on foot.

  “That’s not the typical protocol for prisoner transport!” said the guard who had raised his rifle a millimeter in the air. I took three more steps toward them.

  “Nothing about this is typical, son.” I didn’t have to shout as loudly; by now the distance between us had shrunk. Waves of sizzling heat floated off the gravelly road. “I need to speak to your supervisor.”

  The more trigger-happy of the two guards raised his rifle so it pointed at all of us. We stopped our slow progression toward the base. I had tested his limits and found them. Doc’s hand squeezed around the worn out handle of his gun.

  “No,” I whispered.

  “They aren’t buying it,” Vesa said in an even softer whisper.

  “Lower your gun, kid,” I said and waved my hand away. I hoped my false disinterest in his silent threat made him believe I meant no harm to him. The shorter of the two guards looked at the man who now pointed his gun at us in shock. I immediately knew the shorter guard had never killed anyone. Maybe never even shot at anyone. I still couldn’t tell if the one who pointed his rifle at us was a person who had shot someone before, or a person who hadn’t but wanted to. I didn’t know which would be more of a real threat. I took two more steps toward them, contorting my face into an unfamiliar expression, trying to fake the look of both bravery and apathy.

  For a second, I imagined my plan might end here. I foresaw Doc unholstering his silver gu
n and firing off two rounds into the men’s skulls with the same precision I had seen in the winding tunnels at the Golden Dawn headquarters. From there, I would pull my pistol from its holster, and Vesa and Whitman would gather the rifles from the fallen guards. We would fire a stream of much less precise rounds toward the base, simultaneously alerting everyone nearby of our presence and killing any remaining guards outside the base. Luckily for everyone, the second guard placed his hand on the first one’s shoulder. He pulled his arm and rifle down toward the ground.

  “Let’s just call it in,” he said quietly. The trigger-happy guard stared at me with a look of disappointment, but behind it I spotted a faint expression of relief as he turned and walked toward the guard house to radio his superiors.

  I nodded to the wiser of the two guards. “Agent Kent,” I said, and approached the man with my hand extended. I quickly remembered I had left my ‘prisoner’ unattended. I turned back toward Vesa. “Keep the prisoner secure,” I said in my most convincing voice.

  The young boy shook my hand, and I wondered if a salute would have been more appropriate. I suddenly felt the weight of Vesa and Whitman’s skepticism of my plan fall squarely on my shoulders. I handed the guard my credentials.

  “Our transport van is about twenty kilometers back on route thirty-six. The damned thing stumped even our resident mechanic,” I said and pointed back at Doc, who smiled a smile that seemed both unfamiliar to him and inappropriate for the situation.

  The other guard walked back from the guardhouse. “Boss says to bring them in,” he said. He motioned to his co-worker and they both wandered a few paces away from us, whispering to each other while pointing in our direction. Eventually they came back.

  “This way,” the shorter and less trigger-happy of the two guards said. He now seemed hesitant to speak.