Shades

by Eric Dallaire

  “I didn’t have much choice, did I?” I growled back.

  “No. I suppose you didn’t,” he replied without apology.

  “I think I know where Vanessa is. I found a trail that leads to--”

  “We’ll investigate Charon at Goliath Corporation first,” he interjected with a firm tone. A look of suspicion creased his face. “We find Dr. Okono. Then we find Vanessa--”

  “Hear me out. Vanessa was Okono’s lawyer,” I interrupted. “She’s the best clue we have. Like you said before, if our interests align, we can help each other.” He closed his eyes, mulling over my argument. Then he opened them and sighed.

  “Well…where is she?”

  “An Israeli diplomat named Shoval visited Vanessa before he kidnapped her--”

  “You don’t know she was kidnapped,” he argued.

  “True,” I acknowledged. “Though I did find evidence of her presence at Titan Technologies headquarters, which is near the embassy. We find her and maybe she’ll lead us to Okono.”

  Barnaby stroked his chin. His eyes rolled to contemplate my words. Then he nodded in agreement. “We have to proceed carefully. Titan Tech has strong ties with the Israel government. They own the Boreal Sector territory. Not only do we lack jurisdiction there, but relations are tenser than ever. I still may have a contact that can get us through the Shamar Gate.”

  We walked back to the transport platform to take an express chute to the Israeli territory. Before we entered the pod, Barnaby gave another piece of advice.

  “One more thing. If you see any robots, don’t touch them. The Israelis take their security seriously.”

  * * *

  The first ten minutes of travelling proved uneventful and awkward. Barnaby sat on the opposite side of the pod with his arms crossed and his eyes fixed on me. Watching the passing landscape, I witnessed a trio of rockets arriving. Were they bringing living or dead cargo? Either way, more money flowed from Earth to the moon. When the silence lingered too long, Barnaby reached into his sweater and retrieved the retracted handle of a stun-rod.

  “You’ll need this,” he said, handing me the weapon. I took it and let another few moments of quiet pass before he spoke to me again. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me about Colonel Spenner.”

  “What’s there to ask?” I snapped back. “You ordered me to kill him, right? Last time, he completely missed two of my major arteries, so taking him out should be a snap.” The sarcasm brought a smirk to his lips.

  “You should consider that order a favor,” he said. “Deep down, you know it’s inevitable. He will return for you and your loved ones. He’s relentless. And if you want to save Vanessa, he will have to be stopped. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about that.” he replied. This time, I heard no trace of superiority, no hint of an order, and no smugness. He looked at me with an expression of pity, like he had diagnosed me with a disease that lacked a cure.

  “Why would you be sorry?”

  “We, as a people, have a poor history of wielding technologies and machines before we understand all of their consequences,” he muttered. “In difficult times, we gave Spenner great powers to carry out sanctioned, and unsanctioned operations…”

  “You’re talking about his Crimson Gate echelons. Can we shut down his access to them?”

  “The access is a part of him, it can’t be revoked easily. Many have tried,” Barnaby muttered with a frown. The conversation triggered a memory of the Louisiana mission. While Spenner was driving, he revealed his right forearm and showed a glimpse of a red marking. If that was the key to his power, I deduced there was only one grisly solution to sever his connection.

  “It’s a biocircuit military tattoo,” I guessed.

  “Yes,” Barnaby replied with a nod. “He's the last surviving member of a special team. The last to wield weapons that need to be forgotten. After Spenner turned rogue last year, we sent our best agents to retire him and close the Crimson Gate forever. Each time, he unleashed a different hell and delivered their bodies back to us as mangled shades.”

  “That’s not very different than what he did to me, is it?” I asked. “How can I succeed?”

  “First, the new serum is already making you stronger and faster,” said Barnaby. “Second, you’re the only one who’s encountered Spenner and survived. Though I admit that term isn’t exactly appropriate. Third, your unique allies offer you distinct advantages. The White Djinn, for instance--”

  “The Djinn’s likely dead,” I interjected. “So we can’t count on his cavalry. What else do we have?

  “Well, then, Plan B,” Barnaby said with a thin smile. He rolled his right sweater cuff to reveal his tattooed forearm. The twisting, serpentine body of a green lung dragon twisted around his arm, its fanged mouth opening wide at the yellow display of his wrist-com. I recognized it as a mark of seventh-echelon mastery. While not quite at the level of Spenner's deadly Crimson Gate, it indicated an impressive level of skill. “I also have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

  Weighing the odds, I bit my lip, betraying my doubts of our chances against Spenner. Barnaby’s grin turned to a scowl. His brown eyes glistened with an intensity I remembered seeing from veteran soldiers during wartime. It was a look of absolute calm acceptance that comrades expressed when they expected to die with a brother.

  “We’ll find a way to protect the ones that depend on us. There’s no Plan C for men like us,” he said.

  * * *

  Like a bullet shot through a gun's barrel, our white travel-pod hurtled through a straight-shot chute tube stretching east from the Lunar Spire. A four-hundred-mile tract of wasteland stood between the Lunar Spire and Boreal Sector.

  While Barnaby occupied himself with a call from headquarters, my gaze followed a strange silhouette rushing towards us on the horizon. My tired eyes interpreted the shape as a spiky, monstrous sea anemone writhing on the gray expanse. I blinked, shook my head, and then looked again. With the second glance, the ‘monster’ appeared to be a hulking, oval-shaped mining ship hovering over a recently formed crater. Over five hundred floating shades swarmed over the site, tethered to the craft by flexible steel cords. They worked to extract rare minerals and valuable ores from a fallen meteor. These valuable resources would be resold to proto-matter factories owned by companies like Goliath Corp.

  Our pod veered toward a packed cluster of six dozen shades, all focusing their strength on moving a mammoth rock. The chute's path weaved between the work crew, almost close enough to touch them. I concentrated on connecting with the TauK Network as I did on the shuttle. After a moment, a digital display appeared over my sight, for my eyes only.

  <>

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  At first, I heard only a rhythmic humming. Then the sound became more distinct as the pod passed a dozen shades near the transport tube. I placed my hand on the window, drawing as close as possible to them. Then I heard the screams. Tormented howls filled my mind, almost drowning out faint words begging for help. Unable to face that agony again, I moved away from the window. As our pod continued speeding along its true course, the screams and pain faded like driving away from a police siren. After shaking my head, the TauK display disappeared from my inner sight.

  Barnaby looked over to me and noticed the beads of sweat falling from my temples. He looked concerned and reached out to put his hand on my shoulder.

  “What have you done to me?” I demanded, pulling away from him.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Tell me about the TauK Network,” I replied. “The Tau Kappa waves of the shades.”

  “H-how do you know about that?” stammered Barnaby. “That's a classified project we mothballed over ten years ago. Dr. Okono led the team, but… it never worked.”

  “It works,” I insisted, pointing to my head. “The ShadeOS you put inside of me…it lets me sense them.”

  �
��Are you sure it isn't--”

  “The serum allows me to connect with them through the TauK Network,” I interrupted. “Dr. Okono must have finished the research. I believe that's why he's missing.” My eyes widened and I pointed to my ear. “I hear them. They feel, and they hurt. They’re alive…burning alive. All of them.”

  His posture stiffened. He leveled his gaze at me, ready for the argument. But he stayed quiet. For a long while he stared at my eyes, studying my features. A growing look of horror twisted his face. A man like Barnaby, a decorated agent of multiple government agencies, interrogated many people across his career. Rigorous training taught him the facial tells exposed during human speech. His experience made him a human lie detector. His own expression told me that he sensed my honesty.

  In the distance, our station stop started to grow larger as we neared our destination. Still silent, Barnaby pulled out a small metallic sphere, like the mobile generator I used on my missions to summon the holo-judge. With a flick of his hand, Barnaby activated it, causing it to glow and float in the air. Light scattered in all directions, until a silver cloud of photons coalesced into the friendly visage of a familiar-looking priest.

  “Greetings, Director Barnaby,” said the smiling face of Erasmus. “And hello to you as well, Jonah. How can I help you?”

  “Is this a secure line, your eminence?” asked Barnaby.

  “Indeed it is,” replied Erasmus, his smile faded when he sensed the gravity of the situation. “What is troubling you, my son?”

  “Cardinal Erasmus, I must inform you, per section 43.22 subsection 23.6c of the Afterdeath Accord between our agencies, that a new development has come to our attention.” Barnaby paused to take a deep breath. “Jonah, please tell Erasmus everything you just told me. Spare no details.”

  Addressing the holo-sphere, I retold the story of yesterday's harrowing shuttle trip. I explained the TauK Network and proposed my theories. I heard Erasmus gasp when I described the suffering of the shades. Looks of pure shock and revulsion rippled across the shimmering photons of Erasmus’ digital face. Before he could compose himself, his face contorted with a look of utter sadness. Liquid, pixelated tears rolled down the contours of his cheeks.

  “One moment,” he whimpered, ducking out of view. We heard him sob. It took a long time for him to regain his composure and his holographic form. We waited in silence until he reappeared.

  “The New Church…appreciates you coming forward with this terrible discovery,” he said, his voice cracking. “We will work with the government to investigate this…discreetly, at first. It is more important than ever that you recover Dr. Okono safely,” Erasmus said. “Godspeed to you both.”

  The sphere closed, fell silent, and dropped into Barnaby's hand as the pod made its final approach to the next station.

  * * *

  We stopped at the far eastern edge of New Pharos at a junction station called Terminus Delta. When the pod doors opened, an enclosed beige corridor greeted us. We floated from the pod and reached the airlock chamber. Like most habitable locales on the moon, the station's walled interiors featured vented atmospheres and artificial gravity. We followed red pulsing arrows directing us to a bustling terminal filled with people. All of them walked between eight different platforms to ride chutes back to the western sectors of the moon.

  Following the path to Boreal Sector, we stepped onto a fast walk-platform that carried us into a mile-long transparent tunnel. The bridge spanned the craterous gap between this chute terminal and the colony we sought. Looking down at the see-through floor, I strained to see the bottom of the dark chasm. As we glided along the moving floor, Boreal’s towering outer wall grabbed our attention, filling our entire sight. The Shamar Gate, an indomitable protective barricade, made the city a veritable fortress. It had guarded its citizens from petty territorial wars and frequent micro-meteor showers for almost two decades. Flanking the central entrance, a pair of massive human-shaped metal statues stood, each with their arms raised to the stars. Their silent vigil welcomed us to the open gates. The hands of the statues each touched the lip of the settlement’s protective dome covering, as if the giants held the colony’s roof in place.

  “Gen-1 Golems,” remarked Barnaby, pointing at the nearest one-hundred-foot-tall colossus. “Titan Tech’s first and best model. Before all the big robots went haywire during the rebellion, these behemoths erected the first lunar outposts. Damn tough bastards.” His eyes gleamed while he recalled some vivid memory. “Just one of those can build you an outpost…or tear one down.”

  “Magnificent inventions,” Sasha marveled. “Perhaps one day humans will learn to trust them again.” I doubted if that would happen soon. After the Promethean Laws passed, corporations became reliant on shades. Like many people on Earth, the robots lost their jobs to cheaper labor.

  When we entered the Boreal Sector, a trio of armed human guards screened visitors. Before we reached the checkpoint, a pale man dressed in a beige business suit approached us and escorted us to the guards.

  “These are my guests from the Lunar Spire,” the man proclaimed. The guards lowered their weapons and waved us through.

  “Thank you, Administrator Bal,” Barnaby said to our benefactor.

  “We are even now, old friend,” he whispered, with a nervous glance to me. “No more favors. If you are caught, I will deny this happened. Be careful. The IRS is not welcomed here.” With that, Barnaby nodded, and Bal slunk away down a shadowed titanium corridor.

  “That was the easy part,” Barnaby muttered to me. “Stay sharp.”

  We left the security area and entered a central hub filled with hundreds of blue-collar human workers. They moved with purpose between different complexes. Unlike the green and open Copernicus Square, no gardens or luxury amenities brightened this austere place. With no windows, this area made me feel claustrophobic. Twenty feet above, countless rows of giant-sized spinning fans spun to vent the soot from multiple factories. The halls resounded with echoes of grinding cogs and turning gears.

  “Huh. No shades,” I mumbled.

  “The primary employer of Boreal Sector is David Solomon, the Israeli-born CEO of Titan Technologies. He has prohibited the use of any shade labor in his company,” Sasha reported.

  “We’ll find the headquarters in the city’s center, only a few more blocks from here,” Barnaby said.

  “I'm analyzing the architectural layouts for that building,” whispered Sasha. “As you might suspect, there are high-end security systems protecting all of the major entrances. I will continue to breach their network.”

  “What about smaller access points?” I asked.

  “There is an air ventilation shaft adjacent to the station's ceiling protected only by an antiquated infrared sensor.” Sasha paused to access her humor subroutines. “Since it's on the rooftop, perhaps you could put on a red suit and slide down the chimney?”

  “Something tells me the Israelis won't be excited to see Santa Claus,” I mumbled back.

  Flashing a look of irritation, Barnaby nudged my ribs and interrupted my conversation with Sasha. “What’s the plan for breaking in?” He looked at me intently for an answer.

  “I’m making this up as I go along. I don’t break into secure buildings every day--”

  “Technically, sir, you have broken into secure facilities on consecutive days,” Sasha corrected me. I acknowledged her with a slight grin.

  “There’s a spot on the roof we could try. Let’s scout it out.”

  Barnaby nodded and we proceeded into a more spacious city square. A higher roof accommodated a dozen thirty-foot-tall buildings, forming the economic district of Boreal Sector. Above them all, the Titan Tech’s corporate headquarters dominated the city’s center. Like an extruded hexagon, the building featured a star-shaped design. At the topmost level of the structure, the Israeli flag billowed underneath the spinning air vent. At the ground floor entrance, a quartet of guards, armored in their hulking ogre battle-sui
ts, screened a steady flow of diplomats and businesspeople.

  “The front door is a poor choice. Let's make our way to the back,” I said in a hushed tone. Barnaby followed me around to the west corner of the building. I spotted a small five-foot-wide alley between the headquarters and another building. As we edged our way along the walls, my eye caught a subtle movement at the far end of the passageway. The silhouette of a man slinked between small recesses of the passageway, stopping at a maintenance console. It looked like he intended to perform a manual hardwire hack into Titan’s secure network. As we crept closer, his wrist-com glowed with a familiar crimson energy. Fear paralyzed me as the light revealed the man’s angular face, broad shoulders, and tight-cropped gray hair cut by a telltale scar.

  “It's Spenner,” I whispered, pointing. “In the alley.”

  “Approach carefully,” Barnaby responded. We both slid our hands down to ready our weapons. “If I can get close enough, I can neutralize his Crimson Gate advantage.” With measured steps, we crept toward our new target.

  Despite our attempt at stealth, Spenner turned from the wall console. He flashed a grin before the crimson light winked out. With darkness covering him, he ran the other way deeper into the alley. We pursued, but we lost sight of him at an intersection where the path diverged to the east and west. An access ladder against the wall led up to the roof and the ventilation shaft, presenting a third possible escape route. With no trace of our quarry, we stopped to consider the next move.

  “Happen to have a three-sided coin?” I joked.

  “Damn, he moves fast,” Barnaby growled.

  “I’ll catch him.”

  “Where are you going--” Before he finished his question, I had leaped up and scaled the first four rungs of the ladder.