Red

by Ryan Rinsler

  He’d made it to within a few steps from the door before one of the interns turned around and saw him.

  “Dr. Chen?” she asked.

  Still crouched, he pretended to tie his shoelace. “Hello Lisa,” he said confidently. “Who were those men?”

  “They were looking for you.”

  “Really?” he asked, jumping up quickly and tiptoeing over to them. “What did they say?” he whispered.

  She leaned in with a smile on her face. Lisa loved gossip. “They asked where you were, we said we didn’t know, then one of them started talking to someone on the phone. He said he couldn’t get a location on you because your BlackBook was out of range or something.”

  Phew.

  “Have you done something wrong?”

  “Yes I walked through town with lab covers on my shoes,” he whispered, pointing to his feet. “Fashion police.” He stood up and headed over to the door carefully. “You haven’t seen me,” he said with a wink. The three of them nodded cheekily.

  He dived into the stairwell once more, heading down again, clearing five steps with each jump. He had a long way to go this time, into the depths of the building to the Pure Reality booths. After passing the tenth floor he began jumping whole sections of stairs, thirteen at a time, until on the third attempt he landed awkwardly and twisted his knee, falling into the wall with a thump. He turned himself around and sat against the wall, panting with exhaustion and pain.

  He took a few minutes to compose himself. This is my moment, he thought, it’s just me. No one else. There’s no one else to do this, and it could change everything. This is on me.

  He clambered to his feet and took off again, this time only jumping three steps at a time, and limping as he did so. As he reached the ground floor he puffed out his cheeks in relief, as he only had another ten floors to go. He hadn’t seen a single person on his descent, the stairwells being unofficially reserved for fire drills and resistance members trying to avoid detection. There was surveillance equipment installed all the way up and down, but as so few people used the stairwell they were often ignored by the security teams monitoring the cameras.

  He had no time to lose — he couldn’t predict how long Connor was going to last in his Pure Reality session. For all he knew he could be out now, maybe shot within the first hour of the session. He could be there for six days, or two days. He had no idea, he just needed to get someone to contact him as soon as possible to have any chance of success. He had planned to talk to Connor himself, pull him to one side, find a surveillance blackout point and tell him everything he needed to know, but it was too risky. If he approached Connor in this world, with his obvious likeness to Aaron Voss, the authorities could have ended it there and then. It was dangerous anyway, with the possibility of Connor being recognized by those in the know. Contact needed to be through a back door, and Connor needed to leave the Pure Reality HQ without anyone suspecting a thing.

  He reached floor B10 and casually stepped through the door into the Pure Reality corridor. Looking up and down he scanned the control panels on the outside of each of the booths for a green light, which would indicate the room was free. Spying one nearby he walked quickly, looking up and down the corridor nervously as he entered. The door closed behind him and he hit the switch to lock it, then jogged over to the large, round, white donut-looking Pure Reality rig, and crouched beside it. With his thumbnail he undid four loose screws holding on an access panel and removed it, placing it on the floor beside him. Inside the small compartment there were a number of connectors, a small screen, and a keypad, and sliding out the white device he’d acquired from his office he fumbled with the wire as he tried to insert it into its slot. Eventually, after numerous turns and repeat attempts, he slid it home and a small blue light appeared on the white box in his hand.

  The keypad in the compartment lit up. “Enter source,” flashed on the screen. He removed a wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket and began dialing into the keypad.

  BH573996J8714.

  “Enter host,” it prompted.

  He carefully typed in a thirty-two character number and hit the enter key. After a few moments the screen indicated a successful connection, and referring to the paper again he began typing into the keypad.

  BG776651434U8711. VIPOI, now, contact immediately. No Silk. Connection possible. Host details to follow. Urgent.

  He then gingerly typed in the thirty-two character code linked to Red Gambini, his hands shaking as he desperately tried to hit the correct keys, then, after triple-checking it, he hit the enter key to send the message, breathing a sigh of relief as he did so. His work was done, at least for now, and after carefully replacing the cover back on the access panel he hid the device in his pocket.

  Suddenly the door swooshed open revealing the two Scouts that were previously looking for him in his lab. Stanley stood up as calmly as possible.

  “Dr. Chen?”

  “Yes?”

  “Come with us.”

  5

  Her eyes opened. She was alone. It was daylight, the breeze licking the thin curtains and tapping the light fly screen rhythmically, the background hiss of crickets seeming to get louder with every second. It was hot, beads of sweat dripping down her neck, forming small puddles in the crevices of her collarbones.

  She sat up and examined herself, turning her hands over one by one and checking for injury or ailments. Running her hands up and down her legs, she felt for ridges, imperfections, signs of bone weaknesses, scars, digging her thumb into her muscles one by one.

  Climbing out of bed she stood upright, her nightdress tickling her shins as she surveilled the room. It was bright, light blue walls, flowery wallpaper, the kind of decor an adult girl would have should she live alone, stuck in her childhood. She picked up a purse lying on the dressing table and flicked through the contents, and pulling out a police ID card she checked the photo, then read the name.

  Mia Del Fuego.

  Looking in the mirror Mia compared the photo with her face, then placed the license back in the purse. She was twenty-two, athletic, dark-skinned. Her deep brown eyes stared at her own reflection for more than a minute, and then opening the dressing table drawer she rooted through the sewing kits and makeup until she found a pair of scissors. Looking back to the mirror she took a handful of her long, dark hair and without hesitation cut all but three inches off, then worked her way around until the majority of her hair was lying on her feet. She grabbed a set of nail clippers and cut each of her fingernails and toenails down to the nub, then cleaned them meticulously.

  She stripped off and dug through her wardrobe, finding black jeans, a tight black t-shirt, and a long, dark grey hoodie. Once dressed she returned to the dressing table where she found a pen and paper, and on it she wrote a note to herself, then tucked it into her jeans pocket. Reaching under the bed she pulled out a pair of rugged black boots. She slid them on, laced them all the way up to the shins, then sat up and took a look around the room.

  She stood up and rummaged around inside the wardrobe. She opened and closed drawers and cupboards, checked on top of the wardrobe, inside air vents, until eventually, she found what she was looking for under the bed — a small metal box with a gun holster resting on the top. She opened it up and sighed heavily as she found that was empty, save for some dense grey foam with a hole cut into it. With a huff, she slammed the box shut, and grabbing the holster walked swiftly out of the room.

  The heels of her boots thumped on the bare wooden floorboards as she went from room to room, looking for a weapon or anything else of use. After a fruitless search she came across a laptop in the kitchen, and opening it up she immediately searched for the location of the nearby police station. Santa Barbara Sheriff's Office, thirteen minutes. After studying the directions for a few moments Mia walked out of the house, grabbing an electric car key on the way out, and into the blazing sunshine of Santa Maria. The grand house was nestled in acres upon acres of fields, and as she marched toward the blue seda
n in the driveway she held down the large button on the electric car key until the hazard lights flashed to indicate that fingerprint recognition was disabled. She jumped into the car and started the electric motor, and with a spin of the wheels took off silently toward Santa Maria town.

  Pulling up outside the Sheriff’s office she could see just one person inside, and an empty parking lot, save for two cars. She climbed out of the car and marched toward the office, the automatic glass doors opening smoothly as she approached. There was a lone police officer sat at a desk, with no one behind the counter. As the police officer looked up Mia checked to see if he was armed — nothing, not even a gun belt.

  “Oh, hi Mia!” said the police officer. “What can I do for ya’?” He looked close to retirement, his grey mustache drooping over his bottom lip and puffing outward as he spoke. Mia dismissed him and began marching down the only corridor, toward a closed door at the end.

  “Can I help you?” came a call from the officer behind her as she burst through the sheriff’s door. In front of her, sat behind a large desk was a well-built man, who flinched heavily as Mia thumped open the door.

  “Uh, hello Mia,” he said with a stutter. “Everything OK?”

  She walked up to him slowly, making her way around the desk, checking him up and down. He laughed nervously, more confused than afraid, and pushed himself back on the castors of his chair.

  “Is there… something I can help you with?” he asked quietly. Suddenly Mia lunged at the pistol by his side. The sheriff wasn’t quick enough to react, grabbing at thin air as she pulled the pistol from his holster, and without a second’s thought she stood upright and fired two shots into his chest, then one in the center of his forehead.

  The sound of viscous liquid pouring onto the floor like an upturned paint can immediately followed as she grabbed a ring of keys from the sheriff’s lifeless body. She unclipped the magazine from the pistol and checked the count of ammunition, before bursting back through the door into the corridor. She stormed toward the police officer with the pistol aimed directly at him, who immediately raised his hands in defense as she approached. Without warning she unloaded the same three shots, throwing his head violently backward as his limp body fell heavily against the wall and onto the floor. After a cursory glance up and down the street, she made her way calmly back around the counter and into a small office at the rear. There she found a locked gun cabinet, and after a few attempts found the correct key and opened it up. Inside there were two shotguns, a silenced rifle, and two handguns. She picked up the rifle and ammunition, and pulling her large grey hood over her head made her way quickly back out to her car, the door still open. Throwing the rifle onto the back seat she slammed the door shut and pulled up the satellite navigation system, then, pulling out the crumpled hand-written note from her pocket, dialed in her destination.

  Cecil Avenue, Bakersfield.

  6

  “I packed you some pies,” said Jacob as Connor stepped into the kitchen the next morning, after preparing to leave the night before. “I figured you’d be off soon.”

  Connor smiled. “No sign of Matt?” he asked, checking his watch. He looked around as Jacob nodded toward the open door behind him, Matt stomping slowly into the kitchen scratching his head.

  “Breakfast?” asked Jacob. “I can get some bacon on.” Matt’s face turned to confused anguish as Connor smiled and shook his head.

  “No, thanks Dad, but we need to be hitting the road.” He walked over to Jacob and rested his hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know what much of this means, or what I need to do, but I want to make sure you’re safe.”

  “I don’t think anyone is going to be interested in an old fart like me,” he replied. “Besides, it’s only you they want so I’ll just tell them where you are to spare my life.”

  “Always so selfless,” he said with a chuckle as he picked up the bag of food from the table and handed it to Matt.

  Matt looked at the bag and then back up to Connor. “I can sleep in the truck, right?”

  “Get your things.”

  Jacob’s pristine, five-seater pickup truck had already been taken out of the garage and emptied of anything Connor didn’t need for his trip. As Matt loaded the bags into the covered pickup bed, Connor approached Jacob to say goodbye.

  “I’ll speak to you on the road,” he said, “but in the meantime, I need to know more about what I’m dealing with here. The technology behind it and, I dunno, you know, the basics. I need to know what I’m dealing with.”

  “I’ll make a start the moment you leave,” replied Jacob, the aged droop of his heavy eyelids doing nothing to hide the youthful excitement showing in his eyes at the thought of a new project. Connor’s heart warmed as he saw his exuberance, and despite the risk involved he was delighted to have something to occupy Jacob and work on together. Although he had steered him in his early years at the ranch, Jacob had not been involved in Connor’s life for many years. They hadn’t shared any interests, and any updates on his love-life or career would be nothing but a brief synopsis in a rather brief email, once every six months or so.

  “I’m not sure what use I’ll be,” said Jacob with a humble shrug.

  “More use than him,” replied Connor, pointing to Matt who was already in the passenger seat, head back, mouth agape. “I don’t have any way of you contacting me, but I’ll try my best to keep in touch.”

  “Good,” said Jacob. “I’ll find out what I can and by the time I next see you, maybe I’ll have something for you.”

  “I don’t doubt that.”

  As he got into the truck he took a long look at Jacob, completely awake to the fact he put him in danger by simply turning up at the ranch. I could have done this without him, he thought, but deep down he knew he needed him, not just to help progress his scientific knowledge of the situation, but as a level head, a responsible and wise oracle, someone he could tell the facts to and would give an unbridled and unbiased assessment of the problem. Matt was a good friend, and he needed him too, but he wasn’t someone Connor could really talk to. He couldn’t open up to him, not as he could with Jacob, and with their relationship being what it was, Matt would rarely take Connor too seriously. Sure, they would have their serious conversations, but a lot of emotion between them would be hidden behind a shroud of humor and bravado, and in a situation like this Connor needed straight talking and sobriety.

  Jacob stood and waved until they were out of sight, and as Matt wearily typed in their destination from a crumpled piece of paper, Connor puffed out a sigh as he drove.

  Matt looked up. “Don’t be nervous, bro.”

  “I don’t know if I am. It’s just, we’re in this with both feet.”

  “Yeah, about that word – ‘we’. This is all on you man, you’re the big supervillain here, I’m just gettin’ dragged along for the hell of it.”

  He laughed a little as he said it but Connor could see there was an element of truth behind his jest, and he couldn’t deny the fact. “Yeah I get it, buddy,” he said. “I know this isn’t anything to do with you, and I appreciate you being here.”

  “Hey, I appreciate the hundred and fifty grand,” he replied facetiously. “On the payroll.”

  “Oh yeah, I keep forgetting I’m paying you to be here.”

  “Na, in all seriousness bro this kinda stuff excites me. A mad mission to find some crazy crackpot who’s gonna send us to an alternate dimension? Right up my street.”

  Connor laughed, his smile dropping quickly.

  “Baby steps dude, one at a time,” said Matt sleepily.

  Connor breathed. “We have to find Nolan.”

  He woke himself up a little, suddenly taking notice. “So who is this guy anyway?”

  “So you met Mana, right?”

  “Briefly.”

  “Mana is the main guy in the resistance, like the head dude. He was the one who set it up and he’s the guy who’s leading the fight against Silk.”

  “You.”

  C
onnor looked at him, puzzled.

  “You mean leading the fight against you.”

  Connor frowned with a smile in his eyes. “So Nolan is like this tech guy. Mana doesn’t know much about how it all works, he just relays what other people tell him, but Nolan is the guy. He’s a real science nerd.”

  “I like him already. And what’s the deal with going to find him now?”

  “Mana said he’ll help us get back into their world again so we can work together.”

  “We can’t do that already?”

  “How would we do that?”

  Matt thought for a second. “Oh yeah, we’d have to go back through Silk.”

  “Problem is no one’s heard from the guy in like twenty years or whatever. He’s off the radar.”

  “How do we know he’s still alive?”

  “We don’t, but it’s all we’ve got to go on.”

  “So literally all we have is his last known address from years ago?”

  “You got any other ideas?”

  “Hmmm, yeah, nap.”

  #

  After around ten hours of driving, Jacob’s truck traveling a meager 150 kmph on the underground highways, Connor pulled into a PodMotel just outside Bakersfield. These were completely unmanned buildings no more than three kilometers apart on all major highways, comprising hundreds of single or double person sleeping pods, payment for which was taken by thumbprint, and served as quick nap-stops or overnight stays for travelers going across the country. The absence of commercial flights heightened the necessity for PodMotels due to the increased time drivers would be behind the wheel, and although much of the underground driving was automated, it was still illegal for a vehicle to be operating for more than ten hours straight, an automatic alarm signaling when the limit is reached.

  Before exiting the truck Connor thumped Matt on the arm, who awoke violently. Connor laughed heartily, knowing he would never get bored of the way he would burst out of sleep. He stepped out and grabbed the bags from the back, and after Matt dragged himself from the passenger seat they made their way inside. After a few minutes of searching the empty corridors they found two pods with green lights on their access panels, and Connor scanned himself in with his thumb. The door swooshed upward revealing a tiny room, no bigger than a large closet, with a bed on one side and a small area for getting undressed. No bathroom. A reading light shone down onto the bed, and apart from that, the room was bare. Connor handed Matt two pies and stepped into the room, ducking due to the low ceiling, and while Matt climbed into the pod above, Connor slipped off his shoes and socks as the door slid closed.