by Ryan Rinsler
Fortunately, after a few moments, the tracks merged and Connor was just five GyroPods behind Andrew.
Suddenly Andrew’s Gyro took a right turn onto a different track, to which Connor instinctively shouted “Turn right!” To his surprise, his Gyro obeyed, slipping seamlessly onto the next GyroLane, a couple of pods behind Andrew. I never knew you could do that, he thought, smiling to himself, and for the rest of the twenty minute journey, it was a simple case of mirroring Andrew’s movements and guiding his own GyroPod to the same destination.
Eventually Andrew entered an exit lane in a wealthy area of Stockton, with high rises as far as the eye could see. His Gyro slowed, and with a quick glance around he disembarked. Connor’s Gyro pulled up a few moments later — enough time for Andrew to make his way up the steps to his apartment block. Connor swiped his thumb and jumped out, then strode toward the entrance, the revolving door spinning as Andrew disappeared inside. He barged his way through and into the modest lobby which, to Connor’s advantage was unmanned, and caught up with Andrew as he entered the elevator.
Andrew acknowledged him as he stepped in, flinching a little in surprise. He was tall, taller than Connor, clean shaven, with short, grey hair in a side parting. His tailored suit jacket hung neatly from his muscular torso, and his large feet moved casually as he slowly maneuvered his large frame to allow Connor stand beside him in the cramped elevator.
Connor was instantly intimidated.
“Floor?” asked Andrew as the doors closed, his deep, booming voice echoing off the stainless steel walls.
“Uh, same as you I think,” replied Connor, shuffling on the spot.
Andrew looked confused, then, with a wry smile, swiped his card to ascend. “Either you’re wrong, or you’re here to see me,” he said, revealing a hint of a Brooklyn accent.
“The, uh, the second one.” His adrenaline was now surging through his body, his extremities numb with fear and excitement.
“Okay…” said Andrew, an inquisitive look on his face. The doors opened and they stepped out onto the small landing, facing the only door on the floor. Andrew turned to him. “Are you gonna tell me what this is about?”
Connor whipped out his pistol and pushed it into his chest. Andrew jumped and raised his hands slightly, staring at the barrel of the gun pointing directly at his heart.
“Turn around, go inside,” said Connor calmly. After Andrew’s submissive reaction his confidence was peaking. Andrew turned and pressed his thumb to the pad, and the door unlocked.
“Look, I…”
“Shut up. Go inside.”
He pushed open the door and Connor followed him in, the gun now pressed into his spine hard, so he wouldn’t forget it was there. As they entered, he couldn’t see a thing, Andrew’s huge frame obscuring everything apart from the walls either side of him.
Connor stopped walking and closed the door behind him, holding the pistol at waist height. As Andrew turned, to Connor’s horror, he revealed his wife and child sat at the dining table in the next room.
“Not here,” said Andrew, quietly. He shook his head, pleading with him in silence.
Connor was a little dazed by the situation, his mind switching off in response to having been completely unprepared for this outcome. As his wife entered the room, he snapped out of his trance and quickly hid the pistol behind his back, smiling awkwardly.
“Hello darling,” she said as she glided toward Andrew. Her arm softly wrapped around his torso, her feet stretching onto her tiptoes as she pecked him on the cheek.
“This is a work friend of mine,” he said.
“Oh, are you staying for dinner?”
Connor shuffled awkwardly.
“I’ve got some things to give him from my office, then he’s leaving,” said Andrew, nodding in Connor’s direction. His wife responded with a polite smile, then returned to the dining room.
With a sigh, Andrew stared at Connor for a few seconds, then began walking. “Come.”
As they entered the moderately-sized office, Connor closed the door behind him, slipping his pistol back into the holster under his jacket. The room was only three or four meters square, with a desk in the middle accompanied by two chairs. Around the room were books and ornaments, mostly military paraphernalia, with a series of photos on the wall, presumably of himself. A lamp in the corner of the room was the only source of light, creating an almost comforting ambience.
“Drink?”
“Uh, whiskey.”
“I’ve got a feeling I know what this is about,” said Andrew, pouring two glasses and handing one to Connor. “Take a seat.”
They sat facing each other, Andrew pausing with a look of contemplation between sips. His eyes were soft, a gentle smile licking the corners as he stared at Connor. “Don’t I know you?”
Connor’s heart sank to his feet, a cold sweat hitting the back of his head like he’d been hit with an ice block. “You don’t know me.”
“Maybe. I can see you’ve no idea what you’re doing.”
Connor was afraid, his knees jiggling behind the desk as his mind raced for something to say. “OK, why am I here?”
“I said, I know what this is about, not why you’re here.”
“And what is this about?”
“Well, it’s easy to assume it’s my part in the GPP, but you’ve got to understand I’m just following orders. You know that, right?”
Although Connor knew Andrew was one of the front-runners in the development of the Global Pacification Program, he hadn’t been briefed on the specifics of his involvement. The brief and callous introduction he’d been given by David, the man who had provided them with Andrew’s identity and location, he had to take on trust.
“I guess you didn’t,” said Andrew.
“I’m just here to do a job.”
Andrew leaned forward with an exasperated grin. “Do you even know who I am? What I do? Do you know why you’re even here?”
“I know what I’ve got to do,” replied Connor coldly. “And nothing's gonna stop me from doing it.”
38
Connor’s whiskey sat untouched on Andrew’s desk as they shared an uncomfortable silence. Andrew’s relaxed demeanor had disappeared, replaced with a look of contempt directed square at Connor. He’d sunk low in his chair, holding his glass to his mouth without drinking, staring over the top.
Connor’s phone rang, breaking the silence. He didn’t realize it was his until three rings in, due to it being one of Jacob’s old devices, but when he did he whipped it out and answered.
“Yes?”
“We’re a block from you now, do you need the MedKit?” said Kate on the other end. They had been given Andrew’s address by Connor via text message a short time before, and had made their way to his location.
“No, it’s OK, I need to stay here. Stay where you are, I’ll come to you.”
He hung up and sighed.
“Was that your boss?”
“Listen, Andrew, I don’t want to have to do this anymore than you want me to, but I’m here to do what has to be done.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small device, like a tubular pair of scissors, and held it there tightly.
Andrew glanced down at it, then snorted with laughter and shook his head. “Can’t you see? Silk Corporation is nothing but a puppet here. Black Alpha is a kid’s playground. The product of greed, of vanity. Everyone here’s following orders, a blueprint. A prewritten guide.”
Connor was taken aback by this honest outburst. They’d been skirting around the elephant in the room for some time, and to actually hear him — anyone — speak so openly about Silk Corporation and the truth behind Pure Reality was shocking. He opened his mouth to speak, but found no words.
Andrew snorted again. “Nobody makes decisions,” he said with a shrug. “I’m here because that’s how he likes it — everybody the same, fitting in neat little boxes. The same people, the same roles. We don’t have a choice — it’s their choice. Anybody above a level six he
re is following orders, with their strings being pulled right from the top. You’re here because you think taking me out, or, I don’t know, talking to me is gonna change something. Sure, it’ll mess with his neat little boxes, but know this, kid: nobody’s irreplaceable, not here. Look at Dr. Chen.”
Stanley?
“The most gifted technician in the world, in any world, replaced by some... asshole from homeland. No, there’s no changing what’s happening here.”
“I’m not here to change this world.”
“You’re here to take this slug out of my head,” he said, tapping behind his ear. “Then what? Sabotage the program? You take me out and someone else will just slip right in my shoes.”
“Do you know what you, or the alternate you, is responsible for?”
“Do you?”
Connor gritted his teeth.
“I thought not. Some grunt sent to do the dirty work of… who exactly? Who’s pulling your strings?”
He didn’t answer.
“No one here, that’s for sure,” he said, quietly to himself. Returning his attention to Connor, he continued, “The resistance is dead. You doing the dirty work of someone who doesn’t even belong here? Who probably can’t even come here? Or are you actually from someplace else and using this helpless fuckin’ office-boy as your host?”
His accent was becoming more apparent as he became more animated, and with every sentence Connor was becoming increasingly distressed, the openness of the discussion and his inability to counter his arguments making him shrink into his seat. His sweaty palms rubbed at the device so hard it was taking skin off, the stinging almost soothing him as he received Andrew’s glare.
“So? Do you even have a plan? You’re gonna have someone connect to me and take down Silk from the inside? That it?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
Connor sat silently, his eyes locked on Andrew’s.
“Look, kid, I can see you’re way outta your depth here, like dog swimming the wrong way to get to land. It’s only gonna end one way, and that ain’t good. You sit there like you’re in control ‘cos you’ve got that tool tucked in your pants, but your eyes tell me what’s really tickin’ up there. I can see you suffocating like a fish on the dock. I’ve seen those eyes a hundred times, and I’ve also seen the eyes of a man who knows he’s about to die.”
He opened a drawer in front of him and took out a pistol, aiming it directly at Connor’s chest, snatching his breath away.
“There they are.”
With every passing second his plan slipped further and further away from him. Get him into a private place, hit him with the horse tranquilizer he’d been given by Jacob, remove his Jammer, then instruct Nolan to contact Mana. It sounded so simple.
He contemplated his options. Comply and the plan is dead, but could he convince Andrew to help them? Having made the grave error of trusting him, and holstering his own gun, he could think of no way he could bring that back into the equation without Andrew simply pulling the trigger before he could even get his hands on it. He’d neither the skills nor the experience to pull it off, and would surely come out second best.
“Look,” he said, his eyes transfixed on the weapon in front of him, “I don’t think you understand what’s going on here.”
“I’m gonna cut you some slack, kid. You got sand, coming in here, threatening me in front of my wife and kid when you’ve probably never even fired that thing in your pants.”
“I have!”
Andrew smirked again and shook his head. “I’m gonna need you to take it out, remove the clip and place it in front of you, right here,” he said, tapping his index finger on the desk in front of Connor, his condescending tone reminding him of his altercations with the Caltrinos back in the 1920s.
“Put that De-App on the desk as well.”
Connor looked at him blankly.
“That thing in your hand?”
Connor quickly placed the scissors-like device on the desk, to which Andrew gave a disapproving shake of the head.
“Anything else in your pockets? Action figures? Buttons?”
Connor’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, the shame of being so unprepared and clueless bringing him down to earth with a thump. He shook his head, trying his best to look thoroughly defeated as he squeezed the syringe of horse tranquilizer in his pocket, before reluctantly taking hold of the pistol beneath his arm and sliding it from the holster.
“Slowly!” said Andrew, catching him before it was fully removed.
Once it was in the open he fumbled with it for several seconds before managing to remove the ammunition magazine, then placed the two items gently on the desk.
Andrew stared at them with a look of astonishment. “It’s not even loaded?”
Connor shrugged. “I’m not a killer.”
“Well, clearly not!” he exclaimed with a burst of laughter. “Morality isn’t useless after all. OK, now we know who’s in charge here, you’re gonna listen to everything I tell you and do nothing other than what you’re instructed. You’re now my pet. We’re going for a ride.”
“A ride? A ride where?”
“I’m taking you to see someone who’s gonna find out what you’re about. Now, stand up.”
Connor obliged, his arms hanging loosely by his side.
“Now go and stand facing the door.”
As he stepped over, Andrew made his way around the desk and stood directly behind him. He reached for a jacket hanging on the back of the door, and pulled it toward him, dragging it over Connor’s shoulder as he did. He could almost feel Andrew’s breath on his neck, his smugness oozing from his grin and sliding down Connor’s spine. He gripped the syringe tightly. He needed an opportunity.
Andrew slid his gun into the large pocket of the jacket before swinging it on. “You try any shit, I’ll put one in your skull before you can blink. And don’t think I won’t in front of those two in there either,” he said casually, grabbing a large bag from the floor and sliding it toward him. “They need to see this stuff. Too many kids these days grow up without even going to the dentist.”
He crouched and began rummaging in the bag, his back turned.
This is it. His hand in his pocket, he surreptitiously slid the cover from the needle, adrenaline surging with a force he’d never before experienced.
His eyes widened. He took a breath.
“When I was y—”
He swung around and jammed the needle hard in Andrew’s shoulder, depressing the plunger immediately. Connor hesitated, Andrew lurching to the side as he was knocked off balance. He swung at him with his foot, hitting him awkwardly with no force, almost falling over himself. Andrew grabbed at Connor’s standing foot and pulled, bringing him down to the ground with a hard thump, then staggered to his feet, bent double with his hands on his thighs. He glared at Connor, who was now lying on his back beneath him, his hands in front of his chest submissively.
Andrew dropped to his knees and grabbed the scruff of Connor’s jacket. His eyes were flicking around randomly, as though he was trying to focus, and before Connor could react, Andrew swung a punch at him hitting him square in the cheek.
It was hard. His head snapped violently to the side, his neck feeling like it was about to split in two. His eyes flashed with a cloak of darkness before the light slowly crept back, bringing the pain with it. He instinctively grabbed his face, clutching at his jaw as the swelling quickly began.
Andrew was swaying. Still on his knees his focus was now nowhere, least of all on Connor, until after a few moments he slowly toppled forward, banging his face hard on the carpeted floor.
Connor breathed a sigh of relief. A sharp headache had set in, and he lay there for a few moments to collect himself before looking over at Andrew. He was face down, his arms lying awkwardly beneath his torso, his breathing heavy, flapping his cheek noisily. Connor quickly jumped up and rearranged him into the recovery position, carefully checking his airways and scanning for an
y injury. The altercation hadn’t been particularly loud, and the room was some way from the dining area, but he couldn’t rule out the possibility of Andrew’s wife overhearing and coming to check on them.
Still clutching his painful jaw he grabbed the Jammer removal device from the desk and knelt beside Andrew. Under his breath, he muttered Nolan’s instructions to himself, “Behind the left ear… squeeze and release to make incision… slide in… ugh… slide in four centimeters, press… press button…”
CLICK.
A red light appeared on the device. He quickly withdrew it, and on the end of the bloodied scissor-like prongs was a tiny, teardrop shaped appliance, no larger than a grain of rice. With a squeamish grimace he placed both items in his pocket and wiped his hands on his jeans. Thick, dark blood was seeping from the small wound — not quickly, like syrup dribbling down the side of a glass — but he felt the need to deal with it. He grabbed a napkin from a box on the desk and wiped it clean, holding it down for a few moments to try and stem the flow, then slumped back and sat cross-legged, looking at him.
He was at a crossroad. The baby-steps he had been teaching himself to take had meant he’d not fully considered the consequences of what would happen once Nolan received the nod that the Jammer had been removed. David, the man from whom they received Andrew’s details, had patently stated that, even if they had access to a Primer, one shouldn’t be used, his atrocities apparently so egregious in the alternate timelines that the sentence was just.
But is it?
As he sat there, legs still crossed, eyes resting on Andrew’s serene expression, his blood ran cold. Not more than ten minutes ago he’d uttered the words ‘I’m not a killer’, yet here he was, about to be a major part in the death of what was, at this point, a potentially innocent person.
He held, in his hand, the device that would set the ball rolling to end this man’s life. One call to Nolan and within an hour someone from Red Oscar would have connected to him and would be on their way to Silk, with fatal consequences for Andrew, no matter the outcome of their mission.
