Eternals Among Us: Book one

by Larry W. Miller Jr.

  Marshall thought about this for a few good minutes. He paced around a bit trying to figure out what to say to this blasted computer to give him what he wanted. He moved quickly back to the terminal and started typing.

  Personnel record search: anyone not born on board but still living.

  The computer began that search and Marshall eagerly awaited his answer. The computer seemed oblivious to the heat it was filling the room with. Sweat began to bead up on Marshall’s forehead. The amber screen held his entire attention.

  One listing: Vincent Farrell.

  Listing Follows:

  Name: Vincent Farrell

  Occupation: Astrographer

  Berth status: VIP

  Boarded the ship one day before initial launch.

  Current whereabouts unknown.

  Query:

  Marshall stared at the data for a long moment. He hadn’t pictured the tall man having a normal name. He hadn’t even considered that the man had come on board generations ago, and before the ship’s initial launch. This was almost too much to be believed.

  Something in this entry stood out though.

  Define berth status: VIP.

  Berth status was used to determine who fled the planet in the Nostos and who had to stay behind. VIP status was reserved for those that either had scientifically necessary skills, or financial backing for the project.

  Query:

  Marshall felt this was important enough to follow up on.

  Which VIP status was assigned to Vincent Farrell?

  There was a long moment where the computer pulled up all relevant data on the subject.

  Vincent Farrell was a major contributor to the project. His net contribution was in the trillions of dollars. His opinions were considered heavily in the construction phases of this project and his inclusion in the boarding party had been assured from the project launch.

  Query:

  “So, he was rich before he took over this ship.” Marshall took the notes he needed and then whistled. “Trillions? He was filthy stinking rich.” He said aloud. “One last query wouldn’t hurt.” He thought to himself.

  How many credits does Vincent Farrell have?

  The computer spit out a total right away, so quickly that it seemed unreal. The total was greater than anyone had a right to possess. This man had taken his trillions of dollars and basically converted them to the new currency. He could buy everyone. In fact, it felt like he already had.

  Marshall just shook his head. “No wonder the man can hide from everybody. He had his own personal community right here and nobody else knows it.” He said, grumbling to himself.

  He shut down the terminal and wiped it down. The fact that the keyboard would be wiped would clue somebody in that he had been here, but it was better than leaving fingerprints. This man that had basically ordered the killing of his wife was so rich that nobody’s life was sacred. He would order anyone killed that got in his way. Having that much wealth always distorted one’s views. He suddenly wondered if he had set up those kids for failure. If the tall man, er Vincent, could simply order anyone removed, were they already gone? He had no way of directly getting ahold of them. He had the rendezvous instructions and he was about to use those. The fear rising in the pit of his stomach told him that something was terribly wrong. This was a fool’s errand. There would be no taking down someone that could buy the courts. He needed to stop them from performing their searches. The danger level was just too high. In fact, it was higher than he thought was humanly possible. But then again, Vincent was not likely human. He had lived way too long to be a conventional human. Even with age enhancements and surgeries, nobody lived as long as this man had.

  Marshall slipped out of the old archives through the open door and he pushed it closed again, taking care not to leave any traces behind. His paranoia was in full stride now. He needed to get the heat off of them all now. Nobody’s life was safe.

  The compound above him was bustling with traffic and he wondered if it would even be safe to try and mix in with it. After all, it was the girl everyone was after now, not him. He pulled his collar up to hide the sides of his face and then moved into the crowd. The bustling people didn’t even seem to notice him. He moved like a man with a purpose. He had a message to send. He needed to give his people a warning. It was the least he could do for what he had unwittingly unleashed upon them. He was just about to reach the communications terminal when a familiar voice spoke to him from way too close up to ignore.

  “Going somewhere detective?”

  Marshall turned slowly, cautiously towards the voice.

  “Officer Davidson, it is so good to see you again.” Marshall lied. The last time he had seen this man he was lying on the deck shaking from a Taser attack. He expected a similar fate for himself at any moment. He needed to keep the man talking so that he could formulate his escape plan.

  “I figure I owe you one.” Francis Davidson replied. His eye was still twitching, but his hand gripped the gun as if had grown there on the end of his arm. “Shall we go to a place a bit quieter to handle our unfinished business?” He asked.

  “Well, sorry about our last time. I had things to do with time limits. You understand how busy it can be when you are on a case.” Marshall pointed out.

  “Sure, sure I understand. I was an obstacle for you. You didn’t want to go down to the station.” He said with a grin. “That means that you were up to something illegal. You let me in on your action and we’ll see if I can forgive you or not.” He said and there was no humor in it at all.

  “Actually, I’m gonna level with you. I am looking for the man who ordered my wife killed.” Marshall said, laying his cards on the table without preamble.

  The shock apparent on Francis’ face was opportunity enough. Marshall reached out and grabbed the gun and pushed down hard. He heard an audible snap and then the gun went off. The bullet grazed Francis’ leg and then lodged into his foot. His wrist was broken, and his hand dropped the gun but was still pointing at the ground. Francis fell over, writhing in pain as the shock wore off.

  “I am truly sorry, but my wife needs avenging.” Marshall told him. “Besides, you are going to have trouble explaining that self-inflicted wound.” He added and then he was off. As soon as he got a couple of corridors worth away, he radioed in the fallen officer anonymously. There was no use letting him suffer any more than was necessary. He was on a mission, but he wasn’t cruel. Ruthless when pressed, yes, but not cruel.

  He still needed to inform the kids that they are in mortal danger. He would leave the message as soon as he was able. Marshall made his way back into the crowd. That communications terminal was too close to his latest crime. He needed somewhere quiet and secure. That was a tall order now, but still it was a requirement. It wouldn’t do to have someone overhear and give away the kids after all that they have been through. So, focused as he was, Marshall failed to notice that he was being watched, being tailed.

  ∆ ∆ ∆

  Imran watched his prey. It hadn’t been all that difficult to find the man. It was a shame that that idiot officer had gotten in the way or the job would already have been concluded. However, another opportunity would arise, it always did. Nobody stayed on the down low forever. Sooner or later you let down your guard and made a mistake. That was the pattern anyway. All it would take is for the artificial gravity to fail in a given location and most people become totally helpless. This one was a little more street savvy than that, but not by much. He was reckless. He seemed to be chasing an old case and disregarding the current situation. He most likely had no idea how close to death he was. It was all the better that way. No panicking and no going underground so to speak. He could watch this mark freely in this condition. Just a little accident is all it would take. His eye targeted Marshall and pulled up information on him from the ship’s database.

  There was a lot there…

  Subject: Marshall Faulkner

  Rank: Detective

  Graduated top 1%
at the academy

  Awarded cluster for meritorious service

  Awarded citation for public service

  Promoted to Detective ahead of the curve

  Married: widowed

  No children

  Disciplined for toxic behavior concerning his deceased wife.

  On suspension for random conduct and failed grief counselling.

  Currently considered armed and dangerous.

  It was an interesting dossier at least. So many of his targets were regular workers who had not one spec of initiative and nothing interesting about their lives to make them recognize their plight. Most would take the easy way out and drop off the population list. This man would be different. His loss would constitute a loss for the ship, but more than that, it would constitute a loss to the many parties that had failed him. The police force did not protect this man from himself or whatever took his wife. The psycho community had failed to bring him back from the brink and save his career. The tall man had failed to keep himself hidden enough for this man to give up and return to his normal life. Everyone had failed this man except him. The assassin would not fail to put this man out of his misery. To end his existence and his pain in one quick shot would be more humane than any of the other treatments he had received. The idea gave Imran a warm feeling inside that he promptly pushed aside before it could cost him his focus.

  Marshall walked along as if nothing was wrong, oblivious. Yet he was moving more quickly than the crowd he was trying to blend in with. Surely, he hadn’t detected Imran and his electronic surveillance.

  No, this man was in a hurry for some other reason. Something else had gotten under his skin and he was in a hurry to do something. This could get even more interesting. Whatever it was, he would do his job at the correct moment, whether or not the target achieved his goals. Curiosity only went so far after all.

  A new thought struck Imran and he made a casual search about the deceased wife. Sometimes, background checks revealed hidden things that were not in the normal files. What had his wife done and how had she died?

  Mrs. Faulkner: killed during a savage attack attributed to youth violence. The court case on her death acquitted all suspects in custody. Under direct questioning, Mr. Faulkner had revealed a possible link to some tall man that could not be produced. He was interned for psychiatric questioning over the incident as ordered by the court. An autopsy revealed that Mrs. Faulkner had died from poison injection and that the beating had been a cover-up. No additional suspects were ever sought or captured. Mr. Faulkner spent three years in therapy and chemical adjustments only to be released as a failure of the program and sent back out into society.

  Imran stared at the words. “No wonder the man went crazy. They killed his wife and then walked away scot free.” He mumbled to himself. The tall man had manipulated this man so badly that his mind snapped. Now he wanted to clean up the mess he had made.

  Imran shook his head. “Well, that’s what assassins are for.” He rationalized to himself. Soon the pain would be released, and Marshall Faulkner would be dead. The conflict within him would be over. The case would go unsolved of course, but the ruling class always wrote the history.

  His target moved. Marshall was at a data terminal. He was sending a message to someone. A quick tap told him that he was sending an open-ended message that was not addressed to anyone in particular. That was very odd. Most people wanted to send messages to people they know. This message was like a public broadcast. Since it was public, Imran pulled up the message on his pad device…

  The tall man knows who you are. Do not search, do not live, do not breathe. God save us all.

  The message was short, but it sounded like a warning to somebody. This could become more lucrative if he could find out who it was meant for. He needed to make this hit though. Time was ticking and he had been ordered to do it quickly. He moved up to the upper balcony above the commons and pulled out a twenty-centimeter tube. It had a small charge in one end that would propel a projectile almost as quickly as a standard gun would have. The difference was that it made no sound. The passing of the air was the only report. The round was special too. It was actually made from ice. The inside of the frozen ampule was a fast acting, quickly dissipating poison. The initial shot should kill the target, but if it didn’t then the job was still done. There wouldn’t be time for medical to save the man.

  The corner was busy. It was way too much traffic for a clean shot at this time. But Imran was patient. He would not rush the shot. He would not blunder this. He was a professional after all.

  He had the tube ready but steadied it on the railing. Nobody would notice the tiny protuberance. Above their heads. Marshall was still standing at the terminal as if awaiting a response. That generic message would not receive a response. Maybe it was a coded message of some kind. Perhaps it was not a response, but some acknowledgement that it had been received. No matter what the truth was, the target was a sitting duck. The crowd was thinning, and the line of sight was getting clearer by the moment. Imran could feel his pulse elevating and he took a couple deep breaths to calm himself down. It wouldn’t do to be fidgety when the moment came. That was bad business. The crowd seemed to part completely, and Imran poised his finger over the activating stud. The tube was lined up with Marshall’s neck. He took a breath and then let it out slowly. He held it out like that and then pressed the stud. The tiny device pulsed, and the projectile sailed across the distance with keen eyes following it. It was not quite as fast as a bullet, but it should do the job.

  The round glanced off of something unseen and ricocheted into another person on the periphery of the shot. The ice round when into their chest and the poison released. The poor fellow next to Marshall collapsed in a heap on the floor. Imran couldn’t believe his eyes. Marshall took off running down the corridor as the people tried to lift the fallen man. Recognition that he was dead caused a bit of bedlam and Imran took the opportunity to leave the area and secure himself away from the ruckus. He cursed his failed attempt but was more curious about what had deflected the round. He needed to get down there and see what it was that he had hit. Of course, the chaos there now would prevent his investigation until things calmed down. He had video from his electronic eye. He would download that and watch it closely. The worst part of the whole botched job was that the mark was now aware he was being tracked. That would make reacquiring the target more difficult. For now, that couldn’t be helped. But whatever had thwarted his efforts had to be investigated and eliminated. This was unacceptable.

  ∆ ∆ ∆

  Hide and Seek…

  Tina was skulking a bit as the trio of fugitives remained as disconnected as possible. Lock was getting excited about something and she just couldn’t feel that right now. She ignored him trying to get their attention quietly.

  “Look, I know you are in a funk just now, but the detective has just sent us a message.” Lock said. Mentioning the detective had been the right thing to snap Tina out of it. She was now eagerly awaiting the message contents.

  Lock looked troubled. “It says the tall man knows who you are. Do not search, do not live, and do not breathe. God save us all.” He said, reading the message out verbatim. Then he turned to Tina. “What do you think it means?” He asked.

  Tina lowered her eyes. “This isn’t good.” She declared. Mrs. Hull was close now too.

  “What is it honey?” She pressed.

  Tina looked back up and there were tears in her eyes. “It means that we cannot return to our old lives, ever. The tall man has found all of our electronic lives and ended us. He is looking for our physical bodies to complete the purge. We are not supposed to use any of the network connections so as not to give away our position. And finally, the church may be the only place we can receive amnesty for our apparent sins against the current regime. We are to go there and ask for asylum.” She told them as their mouths hung open.

  Lock broke the silence first. “How did you figure any of that out?”

&nb
sp; Tina looked into his eyes. “The first part is obvious; the tall man knows who you are.” She began. “That means that we have been found and purged from the system, essentially erased from the main frame.” She explained. “Our old lives are gone, erased as if we never existed.” She added before anyone could interrupt her. “Do not search. That one means stay off of the network because everyone is searching for all of us or they will find us. Do not live means we must assume new identities or die. Either way, our current selves must perish.” She said. “Do not breathe, this was a tough one, but essentially he is saying that our usage of anything will be monitored and tracked. That includes lavatories, air recyclers, food, everything. We must be very careful how we provide for ourselves or we will give ourselves away.” She explained. She looked at both of her fellow fugitives to make sure they understood. Then she continued. “Finally, he said ‘God save us all.’ That refers to the only place that is untouchable through normal means. The church is above the law. The church is the only place that can shelter us until we are given new identities. The police are unable to protect us because they already work for the tall man. We use something incorruptible.” She declared.

  Mrs. Hull nodded slowly. “All that from that short message, I’m impressed.” She said. “But what are the chances that you are correct on each of these points?” She asked. She still wanted to hold onto some hope despite the desperation level of their current situation.

  Tina considered the question and did some mental math. “I’d say about a ninety-five percent chance I am spot on.” She replied and Lock groaned.

  “Of course you are.” He replied sorrowfully. “I’m worried about the rest of our friends. If they are willing to erase us that easily, what happens to anyone who remembers us?” He asked.