Shades

by Eric Dallaire

  “So…I was…am…a shade?”

  “Yes--” Barnaby started to respond until Erasmus stepped in front of him.

  “No,” Erasmus interrupted. “You left us for a short time, but through miracle and science, our team revived you. You are not a shade…exactly.”

  “You are the first test subject for experimental Lazarus serum 45.3B,” Barnaby continued. “Remember, most of the shades out in the working world still have twenty-two-year-old serum sustaining them. We've been working since then to improve it.”

  “This serum represents the original intent of the first formula. It was supposed to be a regenerative solution for our soldiers,” added Dr. Bellows. He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “We believe this iteration is closer to achieving that goal and is…reasonably stable.”

  “R-reasonably?” I stuttered. My face went numb and there was a strange tingling sensation rippling across the muscles of my legs. “I f-feel different. What’s happening?”

  “Starting infusion of immunosuppressants,” reported the nurse. She stuck me with another needle.

  “He's fading again,” said Dr. Bellows. “He will need a stronger dose of the serum and after that we will have no more.”

  Barnaby shouted for him to do it and I was relatively sure I heard Erasmus utter a benediction over me.

  * * *

  “Sir?” The feminine voice was familiar to me. Fluttering, my eyes drank from an ocean of pure florescent white. A soft cushioned bed supported my back at a twenty-five-degree incline. Twin tubes hung over me, ending in needles stuck in my forearm. Blinking my vision into focus, a fuzzy blue shape faded into view. Sasha stood over me, caressed my cheek, and smiled. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I died and didn’t go to heaven,” I quipped. My eyes watered and then cleansed the film over my sight. More details came into focus. They moved me to a hospital, judging from the gurney beds, white walls, and abundance of medical equipment. Barnaby, Erasmus, Dr. Bellows, all waited nearby, observing my progress.

  “Not entirely inaccurate, sir,” Sasha replied.

  “If you’re feeling better, may we continue our conversation?” Erasmus asked. “Doubtless you have questions.” Truer words never had been spoken. I was drowning in a sea of questions.

  “Did I die?” I asked. Erasmus took a moment to look up and consider his words.

  “No, son. Your soul did not pass, though many parts of your body failed,” Erasmus replied.

  “Dr. Okono’s experimental serum regenerated the extensive damage to your spinal cord, heart, and limbs,” explained Dr. Bellows. He pointed to a four-foot-high monitoring device. The green-hued monitor displayed a looping recording of the procedure. Starting from the injection of the serum, the glowing screen showed the course of the medicine spreading through my circulatory system. Complex data and formulae annotated the science of the serum, though the arcane symbols and chemistry far surpassed my basic understanding.

  It was almost too much to rationalize. A dizzy spell made me wobble. As a reflex, my hand grabbed the side railing of the gurney for balance. Tightening my grip, the metal bar bent and snapped.

  “You will notice certain…changes in your physiology,” added Dr. Bellows, his beard rising from a wide smirk. “Your strength and durability have been augmented, even more than the strongest shade. You differ in several critical aspects. Most notably, the retention of your mental faculties, memories, personality…”

  “Your soul, son,” added Erasmus.

  Two fingers on my carotid told me that my heart still pumped blood. A deep breath told me that my lungs still pushed air through the pulmonary system. A rumble told me that my stomach still needed nourishment. There was, however, an unmistakable, indescribable sense of otherness about me.

  “Why?” I asked. “Barnaby said earlier the serum was expensive. Why would the IRS use a multi-million dollar serum on me?” The question was rhetorical. They needed something. I needed them to keep talking.

  “Millions?” scoffed Barnaby. “Try billions. The stuff in your veins is the hardest stuff on the planet to make. What little we had of it is now in your veins. Since we saved your life with it, I think it’s fair to request a few favors back in return.” Great, another debt added to the tally.

  “I appreciate your generosity, but I don’t have time for favors. I need to find Vanessa,” I said, getting up from the bed. Still in a hospital gown, I looked around the room and spied my black shirt, leather jacket, and pants in an open closet.

  “Please, hear us out, son,” asked Erasmus.

  “Call me later,” I replied while putting on my clothes. “Sasha, I need you to--”

  “Stop. Listen,” Barnaby barked. His words echoed in my head and a compulsion to stand in place came over me. I stood rigid, waiting on his next word. More alarming, a digital heads-up-display, like a computer terminal prompt, shimmered over my sight. Text streamed across my retina. My body stiffened, awaiting further instructions.

  <>

  <>

  <>

  At first, shock froze a curse-filled response on my lips. Then burning molten anger thawed away that hesitation.

  “What…the…what am I?” I demanded.

  “We would prefer not to use the obedience system to have your cooperation,” Barnaby replied. “However, you represent a significant investment. You now work for the United States government.”

  “What have you done?” I yelled.

  “My son, our interests are aligned,” the priest said softly. “We can help you find Vanessa and keep her safe. By helping us you will serve a greater good for the Earth.”

  “God-damnit, you did make me a shade!” I saw Erasmus wince at my curse.

  “Shut up and listen,” Barnaby commanded.

  Again the digital display covered my eyes. Then my mouth closed involuntarily.

  Knowing that I would have this kind of response to any command from Barnaby frightened me. It made me question how much of my humanity remained. I wanted the serum out of my system. And that made me wonder if I would survive if I did have the serum removed.

  “You want to find Vanessa. We want to find Dr. Okono. He went missing days ago, no explanation,” Barnaby stated. “We believe they are together, but our investigation is at a dead end. You can help.”

  “Me?” I asked, surprised. “If I knew where Vanessa was I would have already--”

  “More specifically,” Erasmus interjected, “we believe your AI Sasha has the clue of where to look next. The transmission you mentioned during your report, the one Spenner received while you returned from Louisiana, may hold critical information. Perhaps the identity of our mutual enemy...”

  “Your AI won't upload that video,” Barnaby added, frowning. “She's quite stubborn. I could order you to make her release it, but I suspect she would still refuse.” When he pointed at Sasha, she winked at me. “Yes, she's quite special. Possibly special enough to have the fire of sentient intellect. I'd be curious to have her code investigated by our technicians for Promethean violations...”

  What did they think was in the message? This could be leverage for me. Recalling that day, I remembered that Spenner used ocular-encryption, meaning it would be almost impossible to break.

  “Sasha does not violate any Promethean laws,” I insisted.

  “We have no desire to harm Sasha,” Dr. Bellows answered. “In fact, we think she's a marvel. However, we need the source video to extract the contents--”

  “Not long ago, Colonel Spenner worked for our team before…he turned. His prior military records contain his retinal scans,” Barnaby added. “So, it seems you have the locked treasure box and we have the key. That makes us partners.”

  “Trust your instincts, Jonah,” urged Erasmus. “Help us. We will aid you.”

  They waited while my gut and my brain argued over few options. With the sh
ade operating system, I would not be able to run. Further resistance might provoke Barnaby to attempt an unspool operation of Sasha. Also, the priest presented a valid argument about the connection between Okono and Vanessa. If the doctor was Vanessa's client, and he was in trouble, she would go to the moon and back to help him. With my decision made, it was time to negotiate terms.

  “I don’t have much choice here,” I begrudged. “We can be partners…on two conditions. Sasha gets permanent amnesty provided she continues to adhere to the current Promethean laws. And you remove the serum and the obedience system inside me.”

  “Sasha is safe. We welcome her as an ally--” said Erasmus.

  “But the ShadeOS remains until we are done with our mission,” stated Barnaby. “It’s our insurance that you comply with the deal.” Sensing my concern that I could be controlled like a marionette, he sighed. “I won’t invoke the OS, as long as you’re working in good faith.”

  “Sasha, please upload the video to their network,” I said to her. She nodded.

  One of the monitors in the room flickered with snowing static. The ocular encryption prevented the true message from playing. Then Barnaby raised his yellow wrist-com. With a few movements of his finger, he accessed classified government files. I leaned over to peek. Spenner’s twenty-year-old dossier photo stared back at me. Back then, his jet black hair lacked the telltale bullet scar across his temple.

  NAME: Spenner, Colin. RANK: Lt. Colonel. Security.

  CLEARANCE: TS SCI (revoked).

  ECHELON CLEARANCE: Crimson Gate (Access revoked. Termination ordered). MOS: 0370, Marines Special Operations Command (MARSOC).

  SKILLS: Ambidextrous. Eidetic memory. Martial arts master. Omni-survival. [Redacted]. MEDICAL REPORT: PTSD. Mood enhancers prescribed. [Redacted].

  Before I gleaned any more information from the file, Barnaby zoomed into the display of his wrist-com. Scouring through the military records, he found Spenner’s retinal pattern, flicked it toward the monitor, and unlocked the encryption.

  The static on the monitor faded and a mannequin-like head formed. As the encryption dissolved, more distinctive features of the face revealed the speaker to be a fair-skinned man, young-looking despite his middle age. Styled black hair parted in the middle, marked by twin streaks of white locks. Gabriel Charon, the newly appointed CEO of Goliath Corporation, smiled in the recording. His long fingers came into view, adjusting a shining lapel pin attached to his tailored black suit. The jewelry bore the galactic insignia of his company, a set of eight precious gems surrounding a center of amber. The cynic in me knew this represented their worldview, that our solar system was one large mine for them to exploit. The room hushed as the message started and Charon spoke.

  “I trust the mission went well, Mr. Spenner. What did you think of Jonah?” Gabriel asked. My stomach knotted. A man with Charon's vast resources, accumulated from his family's lucrative space mining rights, would be capable of getting anything he wanted done. With the wealthiest man in the known galaxy financing the deadliest man on Earth, my situation downgraded from rotten to holy-shit-horrible.

  “Yes, we have the target,” Spenner replied. “We encountered mild resistance, nothing serious. Jonah handled himself like a pro. No casualties.” My mind connected the dots between Spenner and Charon. It was not a coincidence that they hired me to collect Jebediah and Mr. Grand.

  “Excellent,” purred Charon. “There is one more item to discuss. Dr. Okono evaded our agents and went to see Jonah's girlfriend, the lawyer Vanessa. We have to assume that he told her about this supposed 'Exception 366'. That would be…an undesirable outcome.”

  “I understand. That shouldn't be a problem. That will be an easy job. Anything else?”

  “Continue to recruit Jonah. Tomoe believes he will be useful to us,” answered Charon. “Find out if his girlfriend knows anything. If she does, apply your persuasion to keep her silent.” Tomoe, Charon, and Spenner, all conspiring against me. It would be difficult to name three more dangerous opponents.

  “Thank you, sir, we'll do our best,” concluded Spenner. His voice trailed off and the video monitor faded to black. My hands balled to fists and my lips trembled. Erasmus noticed my anger.

  “If it's any consolation, we do not think they have Vanessa, though admittedly we cannot be sure,” said Erasmus. “What is for sure is that you have attracted some powerful enemies. We will help you, Jonah.”

  Barnaby crossed his large arms and stroked his chin with his index finger. The folds of his brow creased with troubled thoughts. “This is more complex than we anticipated, Erasmus,” he said. “Technically, there is nothing incriminating on that video. Charon was careful. And I don't need to remind you about the delicate relations we have with the moon-based corporations--”

  “Indeed, Barnaby,” Erasmus acknowledged. “Perhaps we should proceed with careful, subtle steps?”

  “A small squad then,” Barnaby agreed, nodding. His fingers danced across his yellow wrist-com. “I'm making travel arrangements now.” Then he returned his attention to me. His unblinking stare locked onto me with the interrogator’s intensity, seeking answers from my expressions. “Jonah, while you were in Dr. Okono's lab, did you discover anything about this 'Exception 366' that Charon mentioned?”

  Thinking back to my encounter at the university lab, I recalled the solitary female shade. Labeled as subject number two, she walked a frustrating, unending loop into the glass tank. Then the haunting image of two other test subjects came to mind, numbered three and four, staring at each other. They waited for orders that never came, or for something else.

  “He seemed to be researching some kind of bug within the programming of defective shades,” I answered. “There were two in particular he was studying, a former married couple that showed some weird behaviors.”

  Barnaby and Erasmus both regarded each other with concerned looks.

  “Gabriel Charon and his Goliath company purchase more shades than any other corporation or nation,” Barnaby noted. “If there was a defect with shades, it might affect his business…”

  “I did not have time to mention this earlier,” Sasha whispered to my ear, “but there are significant gaps in the files we downloaded from Dr. Okono's lab. Many of the more recent files were stolen and then deleted.” I bit my lip, thinking about Sasha's information. It sounded like it could be simple corporate espionage, but my instincts suggested deeper motives.

  “Or maybe Charon’s covering it up?” I suggested. “I got the feeling that there was more to Dr. Okono's research than I was able to see. Unfortunately, Spenner’s wisp deleted many of the lab’s files.”

  “We’ll find out. Tomorrow, I’ll be launching on the next government shuttle to the Lunar Spire,” Barnaby announced, punching more commands into his wrist-com. “When I land, I’ll contact you for a rendezvous, Jonah.”

  “Rendezvous?” I asked. “What do you mean? Won't I be coming with you?”

  “Spenner and his allies believe you are dead, my son,” replied Erasmus. “We should let them continue to believe this. We will release a convincing and touching obituary for you. They will be watching the shuttle manifests. Barnaby's travel to the Lunar Spire will not raise any eyebrows. You, however--”

  “You’ll be riding on the next shade transport for the moon tonight,” said Barnaby. “No one checks those manifests, just the body counts. We’ll be in touch after you land.” Seeing my look of discomfort, he made a rare attempt at humor. “Don’t worry, I’ll suffer too. I’ll fly coach.” His smile was an awkward expression made crooked from lack of use, like a cold car engine struggling to start.

  I’m sure the American taxpayer appreciated his frugality. Still, the thought of him choking on his peanuts flitted through my mind.

  CHAPTER 16

  The Belly of the Whale

  “The sense of death is most in apprehension;

  And the poor beetle that we tread upon,

  In corporal sufferance f
eels a pang as great

  As when a giant dies.”

  - Excerpt from “Measure For Measure”

  William Shakespeare

  >> TIME: 10:02 AM.

  >> LOCATION: Federal Hospital ICU.

  Barnaby forbade me from going back to my house or my car. He assumed that some of the hospital staff would be in the pocket of the Charon family. It was a safe assumption that one of their agents kept eyes on me. To turn this possibility into an advantage, Barnaby suggested a plan.

  “Stay and play dead,” he said, trying another joke. This time I smirked before laying down on a gurney. Closing my eyes, my body stiffened to mimic rigor mortis. Then two white-clad orderlies entered, pushed my wheeled bed out of the room, and paraded me through the winding white hallways. Walking alongside, Barnaby tapped his wrist-com and signed my death certificate, releasing it publically to the datanet. The final part of the deception required the Director to read my post-mortem rights aloud.

  As we passed a crowded Emergency Room lobby, he spoke in a booming tone.

  “Jonah Adams, having died in a state of insolvency, you will be required to serve thirty-eight years of afterdeath labor. We pay our debts now and forever,” Barnaby said, reciting the IRS version of last rites. To complete the charade, he raised a syringe filled with yellow colored saline that looked like serum. The needle flashed and plunged into my chest. Scattered gasps from the crowd told me that they believed what they saw. Knowing the shade conversion process, I waited a few moments to build the drama. Remembering the classic film Frankenstein from my childhood, I channeled the memorable reawakening scene. My arms raised first, my vacant eyes opened, and then I rose from the bed with stiff, robotic movements.

  “Most impressive performance, sir,” Sasha mocked. “In addition to cat burglar, we can also add theatrical actor or mime to your growing list of new professions.”

  It took all of my will not to crack a smile and break the expressionless countenance of an undead shade. I considered talking to Sasha later about almost blowing my cover, but thought the better of it. Her sense of humor was an anchor of sanity amidst a turbulent sea of troubles.