Emergence

by David Haskell

  Sam crossed his arms, growling a protest humff, but giving Liam the nod he was looking for a second later. He knew better than to push when the leader had made his call.

  “What if we negotiate with the human?” Alixs said.

  Both of them looked over at him. He shrunk back as it dawned on him that he was cutting in, not at all sure he’d been properly invited.

  “Negotiate for what?” Liam asked, turning to face the younger xeno. “He made it clear he wasn’t going to sell, never mind give it up for free.”

  “No, he made it clear they worked together. What if we hired both of them?”

  “Oh, come on!” Sam protested, working himself up again.

  But Liam put a hand up, urging Sam to stay calm.

  “You think he’d be willing, Alixs?”

  Alixs thought for a moment. “Well, he did help us once before. But then again, that was before we threatened to take away his friend.”

  “His property,” Sam said.

  Liam frowned at Sam, then turned back to Alixs. “Feel him out, see if he’s willing.”

  “Okay,” Alixs said, “but I’m afraid he’s not going to agree to much of anything unless Sam comes along.”

  “What, are you serious?” Sam argued, raising an eyebrow. “You want me to talk to him?”

  “No, Sam,” Alixs answered, “I want you to apologize to him.”

  “You must be out of your mind, if you think—”

  “He’s right, Sam,” Liam cut in, “he’s not going to make any agreements with us if he thinks you’re still out to get him.”

  “What if I am?” he spat back, crossing his limbs.

  “Then fake it,” Liam said, ending the conversation.

  THEY FOUND J.Z. CROWD surfing with his drone. At first, he didn’t even want to talk to them, casting a wary eye on Sam and looking around for whatever reinforcements they might’ve brought.

  “Look, J.Z., we’re sorry about what happened before,” Alixs said, trying to get him to at least calm down enough to talk to them. “Right, Sam?”

  Sam couldn’t bring himself to utter a reply, but he did nod slightly before looking away.

  “See?” Alixs said, deadpan, making J.Z. laugh a bit. “We’re getting along better already.” He lowered his voice, “Look, can we at least talk? We really could use your help here.”

  J.Z. looked over at Sam, who avoided eye contact. But for Sam, the simple fact that he wasn’t glaring, or displaying any other kind of negative body language, was telling in itself. He was working hard to follow the wishes of his comrades, even if he wasn’t emotionally capable of going full bore. Realizing the human was watching, he managed to mumble something impossible to catch, but the sense of agreement with his partner was evident. To J.Z.’s credit, he didn’t ask the xeno to repeat himself, or demand any apologies.

  “Truth is, I was hoping we could work it out. I know what you guys are fighting for. And some of us — us humans, I mean — some of us think it’s worth fighting for too. Allies and all that...”

  “Wow,” Alixs said. This was going better than he’d expected. “Thanks for saying that. I really appreciate it—”

  “But,” J.Z. continued, “just to be clear, I’m not going to be a doormat.”

  Alixs nodded, at the same time moving instinctually to block the lines of sight between J.Z. and Sam. He was worried where this was going, but so far Sam hadn’t reacted at all.

  “I want a working relationship that’s based on respect, and trust. A partnership. No more accusations.” At this, he looked at Sam, who was listening intently. “I’m no slave owner, and I’m not your enemy. Agreed?”

  Alixs was shocked to see Sam extend the first hand of friendship. J.Z. smiled as he grasped it. They actually made eye contact as they shook, warily at first, but warming up to each other.

  “Agreed,” Alixs said, reaching out to take J.Z.’s hand as well. Just then Shooter swooped in to join them, making Sam duck in the process, which reddened his face.

  J.Z. laughed. “He wanted to see you again, too, but I told him to stay out of sight until, well...”

  “Hey, Shooter,” Sam said, addressing the drone by name for the first time, “still hanging out with this loser, eh?”

  The drone swung back and forth, looking slightly put out, but J.Z. was still smiling. Sam was just being Sam, and he seemed to recognize that. A good sign, Alixs thought.

  46.

  The coffee shop was around the corner from where Alixs had been accosted. Gripped with feelings of insecurity and fear, Alixs hated even being back in that same neighborhood. He’d much rather have stayed clear, but Liam and Sam insisted that he not vary his routine. That he stick with his coverage zone, same as before. He didn’t like it, but he knew they had good reasons.

  Plus, meeting J.Z. here made sense. Since he knew the area and was potentially valuable to the freevos, he had to be made to feel comfortable. Alixs arrived a few minutes late, and they found seats on the patio.

  “No trouble finding the place, then?” J.Z. asked.

  Alixs wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic, so he didn’t reply.

  The quizzical look must have clued J.Z. in, because he added a quick, “Sorry. Guess you’re not too comfortable with my neighborhood anymore.”

  “It’s okay. So you’re going to be helping us out now?”

  “Looks that way.”

  He looked down at his companion’s coffee, chiding himself mentally for neglecting to order one for himself. This covert stuff was still so unfamiliar, he kept forgetting to act more human in public. Suddenly preoccupied with keeping his cover intact, he excused himself to use the restroom.

  The bathroom was empty, so he didn’t have to fake it at least — that was the most humiliating thing he’d ever had to go through while posing as a person. With nothing to do while he ran out the clock, he mentally ran through the checklist of things he was supposed to be working with J.Z. on.

  The first and most important element Liam had insisted on, was the identification of all the third-way ringleaders. That splinter group of extremists was nothing but a headache, and the freevos had to figure out a way to eliminate them. Or at least render them ineffective.

  The second concern had to do with roving street thugs, and that was where the groundwork came in. After they finished talking, he was to take J.Z. out for a spin around the crowd. It was all too fast as far as Alixs was concerned, but Liam was on a tight timeline, and they needed all assets on the ground before Leap Day.

  ALIXS TOOK HIS NEW friend to the edge of the protest zone, pointing out the various uniformed and plain-clothed patrols that were holding their usual positions.

  “I had no idea there were so many cops in there,” J.Z. said in an astonished voice, “all that time I was looking for xenos, I figured the rest were just sympathizers and looky-loos.”

  “Yeah, well it took us a while to figure out who the agents were,” Alixs answered. “We’re pretty sure about most of them now, at least the ones on regular assignment. A few of the feds have been spotted out and about, too. We figure they’re homeland security, or FBI.”

  J.Z. nodded, moving fast to keep up, who wasn’t about to get caught flat-footed like he’d been that dark day not long ago. At gunpoint down a dark alley was something he’d never forget; the awful sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, the weird tunnel vision where only the barrel of the gun was visible, the dingy odor of wet pet he’d smelled when he was forced into that tenement building. Just the memory of it evoked a strong sense of self-preservation, his eyes landing on each person around him, his guard up the whole way around.

  Moving out of view, but making sure nobody could sneak up, he pulled out the tab-com and ran through one of the simulations. He focused on common patterns they’d seen the past few days. Then he pointed out what third-way types he recognized, and they both identified several of the street kids they’d need to keep an eye on. Mission complete, they headed away from the crowd and parted ways.
/>   47.

  Unannounced changes to J.Z.’s blogsite were implemented over a period of several days, which didn’t escape the notice of the xeno blogging community. Given the sort of minutia they concerned themselves with, major website adjustments were big news. Beyond such circles, though, it barely registered, which was exactly what J.Z. and his new xeno allies were hoping for. As far as the world at large was concerned, the site was no different than it had ever been — conspiracy theories notwithstanding.

  The more obvious, mostly cosmetic adjustments on xenotracker.com provided cover for the more important, though much less noticeable changes. The revamped site went back to its normal update routine, with one significant addition, inserted into a seldom accessed back page. Under the heading ‘New Recruit?’, a pretty young protester went on file, shot from various angles in various locations, looking the picture of youthful petulance.

  Her name, address, known aliases, known associates, and all the rest of the details under the photographs was a fiction, made from whole cloth. Not one bit of it true, unlike previous entries on the site that had been carefully researched and verified. Because J.Z. had taken such pride in his work, his site was considered the most reliable, which was why Liam had known it would serve the free evolutionist movement so well.

  The woman in the pictures was no xeno. She was a federal agent, though they’d never been able to pin down exactly which agency. Bureau of Xeno Affairs was a possibility, though the freevos knew who most of them were already. She could’ve been from any of the alphabet agencies though.

  Thanks to xenotracker.com, she could no longer appear at random protest events with impunity, without attracting the attention of xeno enthusiasts. Her cover was blown. And she was just the first to fall.

  The reason J.Z. was so enthusiastically recruited wasn’t simply because he ran a website of his own, but because of his influence over the social media blogosphere at large — which was where his new status as operative would come in most handy. With carefully crafted private messages and public blog comments, he began to shift the discussion. From highly accurate observations and assessments, to a carefully crafted disinformation campaign. A few of the nitpickers took notice and tried to call J.Z. out, but they were such distempered malcontents to begin with, nobody paid them much attention. The new media offensive was underway.

  THE SURPRISE ADDITION to xenotracker didn’t escape the notice of NSA liaison Jonathan Samuels. He was in a desperate race to pull the page down, or the entire site if necessary, before his agent was completely compromised. But the safety features guarding that particular site had been significantly ramped up. Even his best analysts were unable to crack it, nor could they explain how exactly it had become so unbreakable.

  It was as if the site was using NSA’s capabilities against them, though that should’ve been impossible. The NSA machines were locked up tight, and there was no supercomputer anywhere that could match them for sheer brute force processing power. Only other governments had comparable capabilities, but they were just as carefully guarded as those of the United States.

  “You’re telling me there’s no possible way they’re getting overseas help, either?” he barked into the secure line, intimidating his third analyst in a row.

  ‘No, not possible. We’ve got backchannel confirmation on all possible enemies. None of them are helping a guy in Florida with his website.’

  “Lose the sarcasm. I’m about to take an agent out for this, and if you think I consider anything about this situation amusing—”

  ‘You’re right. I’m sorry, sir.’

  Damn well better be. He decided to ignore the apology and keep the pressure on.

  “So foreign powers aren’t in play. Are there any private sector possibilities you might have missed?”

  ‘Nothing powerful enough to keep us out. The only possibility...no, forget it. Nevermind.’

  “What? What the hell is it?”

  ‘I don’t even really want to speculate, it’s such a longshot.’

  “Speculate away, I’m listening.”

  ‘Well, it’s Tera-Prime, sir. It’s nothing we’ve been able to get access to, but they’ve got a mainframe there that’ll knock your socks off.’

  Samuels felt like someone had kicked him in the gut. It made sense. The damned xenos. They were behind this. Working with the terrorists, right under the noses of law enforcement. And they had help in high places.

  “Get me all the info you’ve got on that system.”

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  “And I want it yesterday.”

  He hung up without listening for an answer. Shaking his head, he drummed his fists on the desktop until his knuckles hurt, then he got up and started pacing. If they had help from Tera-Prime, it was a whole different ballgame.

  NSA LIAISON SAMUELS and Director of Internal Security for Tera-Prime Cain. Two powerful and busy men, rarely given to lengthy chats. They were nonetheless involved in an extended conversation via secure videoconference that had run well past its allotted ten minutes, threatening to spill into the next half-hour block. This alarmed handlers on both sides, waiting in the outer offices, but the power players were unconcerned. Unfortunately, their conversation had been going nowhere since the very start.

  “I’m telling you, Mr. Samuels, the free evolution terrorists have never received assistance from Tera-Prime, and anyone who says otherwise is a liar. They are a lethal threat, and we consider them to be enemies of the people.”

  “I believe you, Director Cain. Honest to Christ I do. But if they’re not getting aid from Tera-Prime, how else do you explain what they’ve been able to do? It defies logic.”

  “Maybe it was one of your people,” Cain said, his voice a sneer that he somehow managed to keep off his physical expression. “Have you considered that?”

  “Of course, director,” Samuels replied, remaining calm. He knew he couldn’t afford to piss off his closest xeno ally. “We’ve conducted a thorough investigation, and as you know our internal failsafes are—”

  “State of the art. I know.”

  The two spooks sat silent, each expecting the other to sign off. There was nothing left to say, really.

  The NSA agent swallowed and took a long breath. “Director, I could use your help on this.”

  Cain smiled. It could almost be taken for genuine. “I’ll put my best people on it. We’ll sort it out.”

  “Thank you. I can’t afford to have any more of my men compromised. And once the week of the launch comes around...”

  They both knew the significance of that. For law enforcement to be caught with their pants down on such an important day would be disastrous; not only for the NSA, but for the whole American security apparatus. But Agent Samuels was left wondering, with a sense of profound unease, just how much that mattered to his counterpart.

  48.

  Watching his captive stagger out of the examination room, the hulking agent-in-charge gave a nod to the mirror. An inmate cleaning crew walked in, giving the room a quick once over and mopping up soiled spots on the chair and floor. Behind the glass, the warden of the facility stood with First Administrator Rois and his chief of peace, both of whom had been observing the sessions.

  The supermax facility for the rehabilitation of hardened criminals, special accommodations for xeno inmates included, was located just outside the city limits of Tera-Prime. This provided convenient access for officers of the court, including xeno officials and select visitors, including xeno prosecutors. It was conveniently out of xeno jurisdiction, however, thus able to work around all those by-the-book judicial requirements Tera-Prime was so famous for.

  The first administrator looked thoughtful, leafing through the compiled dossiers, comparing them to the results of the interrogations. The volume was impressive, but how much of it was actionable, or truthful even, was another question. It would take time to corroborate. In the meanwhile, Rois wanted to know how far he was sticking his neck out.

  “These...inv
asive techniques of yours, have they been challenged? How safe are we to be using them?”

  “First Administrator, I assure you,” the warden answered, “the prisoners are never in danger. It’s a perfectly safe technology.”

  “If it’s the mind restorations you’re worried about,” Chief of Peace Cain added, “they’re untraceable. It’d be their word against ours, even assuming they ever worked up the guts to talk.”

  Unlike the warden, Cain had understood the question. The first administrator wasn’t concerned with inmate safety, but safety in a legal sense. Or, just as likely, political protection.

  “Just because we can get away with it, Cain—”

  “First Administrator,” the warden interjected, “for the record, the free evolutionists make use of the same techniques.”

  “Two wrongs don’t make a right,” Rois replied in a frosty tone. “Anyway, it’s my understanding they do so voluntarily.”

  “Perhaps,” the warden continued, sounding doubtful, “but there’s no question they use it to further their aims. Nefarious aims.”

  “In any case, it’s imperative we know what they’re planning,” Cain said, “vital to the security of our people. Or did you want your administration to go down in history as the one that failed to quantum leap?”

  The first administrator bit back a retort. They both knew this show of force had little to do with information gathering, but was more a means of intimidating their prisoners, to soften them up and turn them. But it was impolitic to say so, and far easier to claim urgent need, — and so Rois had no choice but to swallow Cain’s cynicism for the moment.

  THE PRISON WASN’T A xeno-only facility. But the majority of the longterm inmates were xenos, and dangerous ones at that. Most of the incarcerated humans, on the other hand had been selected for their ability to infiltrate a population. They were there to retrieve valuable information, in exchange for certain privileges. Late that night, after count, one of those humans began screaming for the warden. And he wouldn’t shut up until the guards gave in.