Red

by Ryan Rinsler

  Bathroom. St. Michael’s. GET OUT.

  8

  “And you handed your BlackBook to the agent?”

  “Yes he was very pushy,” lied Stanley, his voice reverberating around the small, empty interview room. After being escorted from the Pure Reality booth, where he’d sent a message to Red Oscar, Mana’s world of the location of Connor Cooper, both his future and that of his mission was uncertain. Of course, it was only a matter of time before the Scouts learned he was being economical with the truth, but right now he was buying time. He had sown the seed in the hope there would be contact with Connor via an interception through Pure Reality, but he couldn’t be sure of this. Even if he knew the message had been received and understood, he didn’t know how long it would take to make contact, nor whether that contact would be successful. There was no way of knowing if Connor would even stay alive long enough for them to find him. All of this would be answered later, but for now, he had to work his way out of this interrogation. “He demanded he take it from me immediately and I had no choice.”

  “And what were you doing in the Pure Reality booth?”

  “Umm, maintenance.”

  “Maintenance?”

  “Maintenance.”

  The Scout sighed. “On…”

  “My job is very difficult sir,” snapped Stanley in as much of an act as in frustration. “I have to deal with complex processes and make sure that all our hardware and software is running smoothly to provide a seamless and safe experience for our customers. When I say I was doing maintenance, would you prefer me to tell you I was running diagnostics on the Razor encryption algorithms and performing secondary aegis definition checks to ensure minimal packet breach when connecting via the AU gateway? Would that help your investigation?”

  The Scout looked down at his BlackBook. “No.”

  “Would that be all?” he asked, pushing his chair out.

  “Of course, Dr. Chen,” said the Scout, flipping through his BlackBook.

  Stanley breathed an inconspicuous sigh of relief as he stood up, and nodding defiantly at the two men he took a couple of steps toward the door.

  “Oh, Dr. Chen. There was one more thing.”

  He stopped in his tracks and turned around slowly.

  “Actually, you know what, it can wait. Just don’t leave the center for a day or two.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Just a couple of things we need to check out before we speak to you again.”

  Stanley smiled nervously, almost curtseying as he slipped out of the door before it had even opened half way.

  I’m dead. That’s it, I’m dead. They got Neil, now they’ll get me, he thought on his way back to the lab, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he fumbled with the door handle. His interns were still at their stations, glancing up briefly as he tiptoed quickly toward his office.

  “Lisa!” he said in a loud whisper, gingerly gesticulating for her to follow him. She jumped from her seat and rushed into the dark office behind him, closing the door quietly behind her.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered, a glint of excitement in her eye. She was barely into her twenties and loved drama and secrets. She had dark bobbed hair and a bubbly, cheeky looking face. She always spoke directly, either not really knowing why people aren’t ordinarily so forward with each other, or simply not caring. Stanley knew he could trust her.

  “I need your help. I need sixty cc of fat tissue from one of our Pure Reality hosts downstairs. I can’t go, I’m drawing too much heat.”

  Her eyes widened in excitement as he spoke.

  “Take a 100cc sharp down to 112 and draw it off his butt.”

  “OK,” she said excitedly with a nod.

  “Then bring it back up here. Go!”

  She exited the office quickly yet quietly, grabbed a syringe from a cupboard and left the room without speaking to anyone. Stanley slumped down in his chair, placed his elbows on the desk and dropped his head into his trembling hands. His stomach churned, cold sweats rippled from the top of his head all the way down his back.

  “What am I doing?” he asked under his breath. I can make it out of here. If they had anything on me they’d have me by now. This thought was the only thing keeping him from a complete breakdown at this point. Although he had been a part of the resistance for a while he had never been exposed to such risk as he was now. His head was well and truly above the parapet and he had to make sure he secured Connor’s anonymity and safety before anyone else go to him.

  His wife and two children flashed into his mind. This is for them.

  Suddenly he remembered he’d not replied to a message he’d received from his wife the day before. He had not been home for over a month, choosing to stay on the compound to help guide the interns daily and nurture them before they were assigned to their first Nanotech projects, and now, more than ever, he was missing home. He closed his eyes and pictured his happy place — relaxing in the garden, a glass of wine in hand watching his children play in the pool. They were the reason he was here, and the reason he had to act right now.

  The world was only going one way, and he had seen it with his own eyes. He always knew deep down that the major project on the horizon, for which he was the lead technician, would somehow become the foundation of Silk Corporation’s global control initiative. At the time nobody ever spoke of the reasons behind the development, but they most had an idea. It was impossible to work on a system to manipulate every cell in an organic subject without coming to conclusions of your own.

  The public-facing story of the project would say that within six years Silk Corporation were aiming to create the first NanoHive — a ‘brain’ formed by trillions of NanoBots capable of communicating with each other like the synapses in the human brain, allowing complex decision making and artificial thought even when deployed in something as basic as a goldfish bowl. The usage for this technology, they would say, would be to provide computing and calculation at speeds never thought achievable outside of the human mind.

  Once the more sinister motivation for the research and development was discovered through the accidental deployment of a Pure Reality test engineer to one of these worlds, the resistance in Black Alpha, Stanley’s world, was then formed.

  Having spearheaded what had now become the fundamental foundation for the project, on which everything technological and biological was now based, the fact he immediately stepped down from the role had little to no effect. The wheels were already in motion, and although they’d only scratched the surface of the technology in terms of applying it in a real world, organic test subject, it was only a matter of time before they were up to speed with the other, ‘default’, timelines.

  Since he stepped down from the role, and more so now with all the hubbub surrounding his BlackBook, he was being watched. He didn’t dare speak openly to anyone about Connor, nor attempt to find any details about him through the database, least of all his address. Even sending Lisa down to Connor’s Pure Reality booth was a major risk, but he had no choice. Having interns withdraw samples from clients was not uncommon, and with plausible deniability Lisa was in no particular danger, but with all eyes on Stanley he didn’t want to draw any more attention to Connor than absolutely necessary. It was a simple matter of time — all he had to do was secure Connor’s safety, somehow communicate the details of someone he needed to speak to, and the job would be done.

  Right now, as Lisa entered the room, he had work to do.

  She opened the office door softly and handed Stanley the syringe, within it a thick red and yellow fluid swirling around like custard and raspberry sauce.

  “Nice work,” he said with a nod as he took it from her. “I owe you one.”

  She stood motionless, eyes wide, an excited grin. “What’s it for?”

  Stanley paused. “Come with me.”

  They left the room swiftly, Lisa walking one step behind him, almost on his heels. He was painfully conscious of every footstep or moving shadow, wonderi
ng if it was a Scout looming around the corner ready to take him underground. There was nothing else he could do, so they pressed on throughout the network of corridors and stairwells until they pushed open the door to a large bright room, around the walls of which were several large items of machinery, each varying in size and form. There was no one else in there but them, and Stanley made sure it remained that way by locking the door behind him and drawing down the blind, the window in the door being the only viewport into the room.

  Lisa stood still, her expression focused, ready for orders. Stanley nodded. “Take this, fire up that machine over there and wait for me.”

  He handed her the syringe and made his way over to the metal door of a second, smaller room, and taking a glance through a narrow vertical window he peered inside. He pulled down on the lever and with a cloud of vapor the door hissed open slowly, revealing an ultra-cool storage facility, with ten tall, white, cylindrical storage units each stretching from floor to ceiling. With a shudder, he stepped in and closed the door behind him, and blowing into his hands to eke a little warmth into them, he glanced at each of the cylinders. After carefully examining each one he found what he was looking for, and with the press of a button a draw slid out with a pop of decompression. Inside were hundreds of small black cube-shaped blocks, each labelled with various codes, which he checked carefully. After a few minutes he grabbed one of them and stuffed it into his pocket, before closing the drawer with a slight push and hastily leaving the confines of the freezing storage unit. The door closed behind him with a hiss and he made his way over to Lisa, who had initiated one of the machines as ordered, and was waiting, ready. Stanley pulled over a wheeled chair and sat in front of it.

  The machine was a contained unit, with a viewing window into a small chamber, accessed only via fixed rubber gloves. In the chamber there were various robotic arms that could be operated from the outside, and at the side a screen with a complex looking interface and a window with the view from a powerful microscope deep inside.

  He took the syringe of fat and pushed the needle through a tiny membrane on the machine, then with a squeeze emptied the contents inside. He took out the glossy black cube from his pocket and held it in his hand for a second.

  “What’s that?” asked Lisa.

  Stanley looked up. “That’s 250 million dollars,” he said, pressing a button on the screen which opened a tiny flap by his knee. He slid the cube into the machine, closing the flap behind it, and the screen burst into analysis. He rapidly dialed various commands into the computer and eventually hit a large button to start the process, causing a low hum to reverberate around the room.

  “This will take about ten minutes,” he said, swinging his chair around to face Lisa.

  “Can you tell me what it is?”

  He thought for a moment. “Plausible deniability, Lisa,” he said with a wag of his index finger. He knew that she could be trusted, but right now it was too dangerous for her to know too much. I don’t even know why I brought her down here, he thought, deciding only that he wanted a bit of company to take the edge off his anxiety. “There is a lot that goes on here that you don’t know about, Lisa.”

  “So… tell me.”

  He chuckled at her brazen confidence. “You’ll be good here,” he said, wagging his finger once more. “All in good time.”

  “I know there’s like a group of you that have secret meetings and that,” she said with a shrug.

  Stanley jerked with surprise. “Say what?”

  “Everyone talks about it, no-one knows for sure but it’s kinda, you know, like, people know.”

  “They do, huh?”

  “Sure. Well they do up here.”

  The screen beeped and Stanley gladly ended the conversation and spun around to check the status. “Grab me a fresh sharp from that cupboard over there,” he said as the machine ejected the black cube. She handed him the syringe and he pressed it slowly into a small opening, carefully drawing out a thick black liquid.

  “OK… what… is… that.”

  “This, my young apprentice, is going back into his butt.”

  9

  Connor sat motionless, the piece of paper screwed up tightly in his clenched fist. What am I supposed to do, make a run for it? As real as the threat had become, he wasn’t about to take the advice from some woman he just met, least of all someone whose husband just took him captive.

  “You gone quiet all a sudden.” The man sat chewing, leaning back in his creaky chair, a half-grin stretched across his dirty face.

  Or maybe she’s the exact person I need to take advice from.

  “May I use your bathroom?”

  “If y’all thinks you’re makin’ a run for it y’all’s got another think comin’,” he snapped in reply.

  “A run for it? I just need a piss.”

  “Ya can sit there n’ drink your tea,” he said with a purposeful enunciation. “An’ when you finished doin’ that y’all can transfer me the money and leave.”

  To hell with this. He pushed his chair out and stood up. The man jumped from his seat and reached for a baseball bat a few feet away, before swinging it up and staring menacingly into Connor’s eyes.

  Connor didn’t have a plan — not before he stood up, and certainly not now.

  “No!” screamed the woman, striding toward her husband, one hand reaching to touch his cheek, the other downward to shield the bat from swinging.

  “Stay outta this woman!” he shouted, pushing her out of the way. His focus flashed back to Connor, a fire in his eyes and a look on his face of sadistic enjoyment. “Don’t try nothin’. You make a move I’m gonna smash your whole body and take what you got anyhow.” He swung the bat up once more and took a batting stance. Connor panicked, and looking outside for help he was shocked to see Matt had gone. He’d best be mounting a rescue attempt. By now it was growing dark, the crickets surrounding the house beginning their evening chorus.

  Connor raised his hands in defense. “Look man, I just came here looking for my friend. No-one needs to get hurt here.”

  “He’s right Chad!” shouted his wife, stepping toward him once more. He glared at her, causing her to take a couple of steps back, then brought his fiery stare back to Connor.

  The room fell quiet.

  “So, what’s it gonna be?” asked Chad. “You sittin’ down or am I sittin’ you down?”

  Suddenly, something caught Chad’s eye through the window.

  “What the hell?” he shouted, taking a closer look. He turned and strode forward, grabbing Connor by his jacket and dragging him clumsily out of the front door. He threw him hard off the porch, where he landed on all fours, the dust of the driveway puffing into his face. As he rubbed his eyes he noticed an orange glow emanating from Chad’s pickup truck.

  Suddenly, a flash of flames barked as the fire burst into life, causing them all to flinch. Connor jumped to his feet, staggering back slightly. As he did, Chad raised the bat and struck him hard on the back of his leg, taking him off his feet completely and causing him to hit the ground hard on his back. He screamed with agony, clutching at his knee.

  “Stay here!” shouted Chad, threatening him with the bat. Connor shielded his face in expectation of another strike, but instead the man ran toward his pickup truck, pulling at each of the doors frantically. After failing, he took a step back and smashed a window with the bat, the flames raging even more, then ran to the greenhouse where there was a hosepipe roughly wrapped on the floor. “Get over here woman n’ switch this thing on!”

  His wife made her way over to the greenhouse as fast as she could, shuffling her feet erratically, her large frame making it difficult for her to keep to a pace. Chad dashed to the pickup, the end of the pipe in his hand, and screamed for her to hurry.

  As she turned the tap, the hosepipe gurgled and spluttered, Chad shaking it violently in an attempt to free whatever was blocking it. Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows, racing up behind him, and with an overly dramatic leap, no more
than a foot from the ground, Matt brought a plank of wood down onto his head with a hollow thud. Chad stumbled sideways, clutching at is scalp, before staggering slightly. He checked his hand, the thick blood glistening in the light of the flames, before righting himself and turning toward Matt.

  Regret instantly dawned on Matt’s face. He clutched the piece of wood like a child would clutch a musical instrument, rooted in fear in front of a huge audience. He stepped backward, wilting in Chad’s flickering shadow.

  Hit him again, thought Connor, willing him to take another strike. Hit him again. Still Matt hesitated, moving back even further as Chad staggered forward slowly.

  “Fucking hit him again!” screamed Connor, which grabbed Chad’s attention. As he looked around, Matt seemed to jolt into life, and taking a single step forward he swung and struck him once more in the head, this time knocking him backward onto the flaming car which was now becoming even more engulfed. He scrabbled at the side of the hot car in an attempt to keep himself upright, but after a few seconds he slipped unconscious and fell to the ground.

  “Get outta here!” screamed the woman as she ran toward her husband. “Get!”

  Matt ran over to Connor and helped him to his feet. “Can you put weight on it?”

  “No,” he replied. “I think it’s broken maybe.”

  Matt hooked Connor’s arm around his neck and the both of them made their way up the driveway, Connor grimacing as they went.

  “Few more steps bro.”

  They reached the truck and Connor slumped into the passenger seat. He carefully dragged his injured leg into the foot well and shut the door with a sigh.

  As Matt dropped into the driver’s seat he looked over to him. “Saved your ass again didn’t I?”

  “Shut the hell up and drive,” he said, clutching his knee.

  Matt slammed the door shut and they set off into the night, as far away from Chad and his wife as possible.

  “What a psycho,” said Matt, relaxing as they reached the highway.