by Chris Ramos
Terrible old relic, if you ask me, Cole thought.
He found it would not wind, and flipped it over. A fabricated piece of plasteel was covering the back. Cole pried his fingers around the edge and popped off the panel. He discovered another book, this one well used and titled Diary. Intrigued, Cole flipped through and randomly read a journal entry. My neighbor always goes to the park. Their whole family goes to watch the Collectors play with the children, allowing them to hang off their arms and racing them across the fields. I never really liked them, there’s something in their eyes. Something behind their eyes if that’s possible. I call them Montgomery’s Mumblers because if Dr. Montgomery made them, you would think he could help them talk better.
He had only heard one person EVER call the Collectors Montgomery’s Mumblers, and that was his mom. He realized with astonishment that this was her handwritten diary. He tucked it under his arm and quickly collected some of his more personal objects throughout the house to throw into his bag.
A chiming blip came out of his digiscreen. He took it out of his inside pocket. The message was from LifeSpan.
Cole Jenkins: For efforts related to the apprehension of known threat at 455 Moling Way, you have been selected for immediate training and clearance in LifeSpan Division Four.
Report in 48 hours to your new post.
Confirm Message for acceptance.
The digiscreen sounded an ending ‘blip’ indicating a response was needed.
Great, Mother would be so proud. The irony was not lost on Cole.
More importantly, why would his mother keep a diary from him all these years? Cole flipped through the pages again. Jon is the most caring man I have ever met. We talk about marriage . . .
Confirm Message for acceptance. ‘blip’
. . . I have followed the Collectors. They joke. Their guard is down. We know their methods.
Confirm Message for acceptance. ‘blip’
. . . finally accepted by the Movement. Jon would never understand
Message Confirmed.
Welcome to Division Four.
Mary was totally defeated in body and spirit as the vehicle pulled away from her home. She knew it was the last time she would ever see Cole. There was no help coming from LifeSpan. They knew her role now.
Her mind was replaying the past few years. She remembered Cole and her husband, Jon. Their time together, all three of them, was the best time of her life. How did it come to this? Cole resented her more than she planned for. He wouldn’t understand the truth, so she kept it from him. This was a moot point now. Her future was not important. The Movement must endure.
Mary focused on her surroundings, trying to weigh her options, as slim as they may be. She did not risk moving her head, and only looked from side to side in her peripheral vision. She was in a smooth vehicle, traveling quickly. She was kneeling on a bench. Her hands were bound behind her back and attached to slots built into the plastique walls.
Well, let’s not forget one of them are in here with me, Mary thought.
She could feel his anger pouring into the cab, washing over her.
Mary raised her head, and met him eye to eye.
The Collector was disgusted and did not back down, his rage growing even more heated from her insolence. He smashed her head back down.
Finally, the transport stopped. Mary assumed they had reached their destination, and hopped off of the bench, trying to stand as best she could. The Collector was upon her, throwing a fibersteel bag over her head, which began shrinking, constricting her ears and pulling her lips tightly to her teeth. Mary’s eyes shut on instinct, convinced this bag was crushing her. The bag continued tightening over every plane, inside her nose and under her chin. She tried to scream out, and the bag wrapped into her teeth and pinned her tongue at an awkward angle. Mary could breathe through the fabric, but could not see or hear.
The Collector dragged her by the front of her shirt, and when that ripped, he carried her by the waist of her pants. She kicked at the ground, trying to find a foothold. The Collector continued along with his human suitcase, using Mary’s body to push obstructions out of the way.
He ripped off the bindings at her wrists and placed his hand against the side of her head. A small electric charge pulsed into the bag, and it fell slack against her face. The Collector tossed her onto a marble floor, and Mary slid, unable to see, before she hit hard against a solid pillar. She tore the bag off and squinted against the sunlight, raising her free hand to block the light and get her bearings.
“Sire,” the Collector announced, “this is the variant. She has been disconnected.”
“Very well. You may leave us.”
Mary could feel the power in that voice. This was him.
Not good. Get out of here, Mary thought. Get up, and get away.
She leaned heavily on the pillar for support, gasping at the pain still in her side. Her body felt terrible. How could she still be hurting? It felt like the nanos had abandoned her.
“I don’t care what you can do. You don’t scare me. We are on to you.” Mary tried her best to sound convincing, and then she saw him.
He moved with a deadly grace, each step carefully chosen and in perfect balance. He rushed for no man or woman. He watched her, calculating, no doubt ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Mary realized she was grossly overmatched. If she tried to run he would catch her, she knew. She was mesmerized, as prey is entranced by the hunter.
Nimbus stopped a few paces away, his silk clothing settling around his impressive frame. Mary shrank back, letting out a breath she only now realized she had been holding in.
“Please, continue,” Nimbus prodded.
“We will win,” Mary forced a whimpering reply. She desperately wanted to believe her own words. She wanted to scream out, but had no courage for such an action.
“You are here before me, after a decade of observation. I have you in my house. Therefore you have failed. I will not . . .” Nimbus staggered back, slumping. He wavered, and raised his hands to his temples.
What is happening? Mary was shocked. I didn’t know he could stumble.
She watched as Nimbus leaned back, and then lurched a few shaky steps towards her. His jaw clenched and fell slack. His eyes widened, softened, squinted. His mouth smiled, then grimaced, and settled half open. His shoulders slumped, his hands raised palm side up and he stared at Mary.
Nimbus looked . . . misplaced.
“Hello, Buttercup,” Nimbus said, his voice soft. His inflection was unmistakable.
“Jon?” Mary asked.
PART TWO: THE FATHER
For the third time, Cole checked the number on the digiscreen that LifeSpan had given him and stood before room 1462 on the fifty-second floor. The small nameplate on the plasteel door stated simply, “Mr. Stratus, Scheduling Director.” After a deep breath to still his nerves, Cole raised his hand, palm open, and set it on the plate next to the door. The door chimed and swished open.
“Hello, Cole. Thanks for meeting with me today.” Blocking the doorway and standing before Cole was Mr. Stratus. He was a squat, greasy-looking man with unkempt, wispy white hair. His mouth hung lackadaisically as he spoke, the words only seeming to project from the back of his throat. His hand moved in a wide sweeping gesture and he stepped aside for Cole to pass by him.
The success or failure of the entire Scheduling department sat on Mr. Stratus’s shoulders. He orchestrated the employees, time schedules and flow of the offices. More importantly, he scheduled the Collectors.
Despite the power and wealth of his position, Mr. Stratus smelled like overheated electronics and cologne as Cole walked by and entered his expansive office. Briefly glancing around the long room, Cole noticed an almost complete lack of furnishings. The room was completely devoid of artwork or plants of any kind. Since only a desk and a couple chairs attempted to fill the room’s space, the office felt cold and unwelcoming.
“Thank you. I understand you are a busy man,” Cole nervously replied. “I, ummm,
I think you have an impressive office here. Great view.” Cole looked around, eager for something to comment on, to make up for the awkward reply. Truthfully, the office was giving him a stale taste in his mouth, but as his gaze fell to the huge windows, he could see his entire neighborhood spread before him.
There was Norway Park, where he learned to ride a bike. His parents would walk him down to the park after he had finished his homework, which was usually pretty quickly after school. He never had trouble in his studies. They seemed to come easily to him, which afforded him more moments outside of the house. He smiled, remembering his dad spinning in the field with him, mother watching on, always so cautious. Finally, when they were both dizzy, they would come spinning to the ground, lying there, looking at the sky twirl around them. Like the entire universe was orbiting around Cole and his Dad. That was the . . .
“Cole . . . ,” Mr. Stratus emphasized.
Cole blinked, and realized it wasn’t the first time his name had been called.
“I was informed of your daydreaming,” Mr. Stratus calmly stated from a few paces away. He walked over to stand behind a large desk with one chair pulled up to the front. Mr. Stratus motioned for Cole to take the seat. As Cole approached, he jumped as he noticed they were not alone in the room. Standing at the corners on either side of Mr. Stratus were two Collectors. At first, he thought they were robed statues, and as he continued to stare, he could see their eyes move to him. Cole immediately dropped into his chair and noticed a silver pen standing straight, balanced on its tip. Opposite Cole stood Mr. Stratus, holding a digiscreen. A few moments passed as he swiped through the information on screen.
“In reviewing your personal information, I am very impressed with the speed in which you have climbed through our company. It seems your attention to detail is unsurpassed among your peers.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stratus. I have always placed LifeSpan ahead of my own schedule,” Cole replied with the truth. He was quiet among his coworkers and rarely spent time with anyone after his shift.
“Your commitment to sensitive materials and the secrecy involved is . . . admirable. Our staff can entrust you with any amount of detailed work and you finish the task.” Mr. Stratus leaned back and grinned. “Now, there is no question about your work ethics, but it is no secret you have begun to show signs of boredom. What are we to do about that?”
“I apologize if that is reflected on my record. I have a . . . problem, daydreaming,” Cole admitted, feeling anxious. Was this meeting making a turn for the worse?
“Relax, my friend, you are a company man.” Mr. Stratus rounded the table.
“Then can I ask why you have brought me here?”
“We’ve had our eye on you, Cole. How would you like a challenge?”
“Yes?” he nervously replied.
“How much do you know about Division Four?”
THE NIGHT
Contrary to popular belief, the night was an active time for the city. Animals and insects came out to start their day after the lumbering humans ended their own. An easy sleep came to those who felt safe. After all, why would the populace feel anything other than total safety when their lights turned down?
The moonlight stretched the buildings’ shadows, and the night took on the silhouette appearance of a large spider’s web, ready to catch those who did not know how to move between its weavings.
Luckily, Emma knew how to keep to the shadows. She knew where people would look, what would cause second-guessing. With time to react, most of the population will flee, the Father told her. She constantly replayed his many lessons over in her head. Every night, every mission. She walked with a practiced gait, like a coiled spring, ready to move in any direction at a moment’s notice.
Emma frequently went on scouting missions for the Movement. Most often, her missions were conveniently at night, which didn’t bother her at all. She was more comfortable in the dusk hours. She easily dodged the dreamy-eyed couples out for a nightly stroll and the exhausted late worker, squeaking in a midnight jog, dog loping beside him as reward for so patiently awaiting his master. These busybodies of the night were never aware of their surroundings.
The truth of the matter was Emma never understood how people could be so oblivious. How they could be so self-absorbed that they hardly noticed her until she wanted them to see her? For the last few months, she had been walking the streets, memorizing the land, the people and the cars, and always ended her night staring at the same building. The LifeSpan office of Division Four.
Emma kept to the shadows, just as she had been taught. “Stay hidden. Stay smart.” She could hear the Father’s voice. A quick glance skyward helped her judge the advance of nightfall. Perched in the treetop branches, she watched the entrance to LifeSpan about fifty yards away, just as she had watched every night. After tracking the man for weeks on end, tonight she would confront him.
Last night, the Father told her to act on the next phase in their plan. Not entirely sure of how the other Movement members felt about his actions behind their backs, she knew the real reason he was ready to begin. Cole was in trouble.
The LifeSpan offices began emptying. She kept her eyes tuned onto every face, every haircut, to spot Cole. Finally, his shaggy brown hair came into view as he walked down the street. She remained in the tree as he walked under and beyond her perch, gangly traipsing home, oblivious to her green eyes boring into him. He went directly home, just like he always did, never joining the other employees for a party or a drink. The same route every day.
You would think he could change it up once in awhile, Emma thought.
Ultimately, he would make it home, but tonight she had to talk with him first. Slowly arching her back and lowering her right leg, she felt for the branches below her. Lowering her weight onto her leading leg, she alternately grabbed and reached down the tree, careful not to disturb a single leaf. Never taking her eyes from Cole, she descended branch by branch, working her way to the ground, as silent as a shadow, avoiding detection. Stay hidden. Stay smart, the mantra repeated in her mind.
Cole hung his head, thinking as he was walking. It was a wonder he didn’t bump into fences and trees. He failed to realize someone else was on the sidewalk in front of him until he slammed into her.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there!” Cole reached forward in a poor attempt to pat at the stranger’s shoulders, realizing it was a she, not a he. He lost his nerve, and took a step back. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”
Hardly, she thought.
“I am fine, thank you.” The girl wasn’t blinking, only staring intently at Cole. “I was just out for a walk. You should be more attentive.”
“Oh, no, I was just thinking about . . . ,” Cole began. “Are you out here alone?”
“I prefer it that way.”
“Well, then. You could walk with me, if you want, not that you have to, or if you prefer to stay . . .” Cole stopped to actually look at her.
She had long, waist-length red hair, haphazardly thrown into a loose braid that rested over her left shoulder. Her clothing was of a cut more popular a few years ago than any modern trends. Most likely some sort of hand-downs. Cole noticed the mud stains around her boots and unpainted fingernails cut short like a man’s. He imagined her as some sort of nature biologist. Despite her rough edges, Cole was mesmerized.
“On your way home?” she asked softly. “My name is Emma.”
“Well, Emma, it’s very nice to meet you, and, umm, I’m Cole.”
“I see we are going opposite ways after all. How about I come find you tomorrow?”
“I would like that very much. I work at Division Four. Meet you out front, say 19:00?”
“I’ll be there,” Emma replied.
As Cole walked away from her, she called back to him “By the way, Cole, Happy Birthday!”
He stopped mid-stride and turned back to face her. “Happy what?”
Emma was nowhere to be seen.
Cole continued along t
he street, trying not to look as obvious as he checked over his shoulder every few minutes. He had a feeling Emma was still following him. Maybe he was hoping she was still there. Who was that girl? He was definitely intrigued.
He glanced one last time over his shoulder as he arrived at his aunt’s front gate. Her house was two stories and in a great neighborhood. Compared to his mom’s house, Aunt Hester’s looked brand new. Her husband had expired almost twelve years ago, but she fancied herself quite handy. Cole tried to take up most of the basic duties, but he became so busy with work, there never seemed to be any progress from him.
He stopped to check the mail screen on the street side. Current Status: No new digipost messages. Cole had thought if today was his own birthday, someone should know about it other than a girl on the street.
Crazy Emma. That brought a smile. At least I can’t forget her name. Maybe I just need to meet more crazy people in my day.
Entering his aunt’s house, he was greeted by the permeating smell of beef stock, vegetables slowly roasting and gravy thickening. His aunt was still one of the stubborn cooks who preferred to make dinners by hand. Culinary dinosaurs, he called them, unable to really quit the habits of home cooking and replace it with LifeSpan’s ready-to-heat meals the rest of the city used.
“Cole?” Aunt Hester’s raised voice called from the kitchen. “Are there any digipost messages?”
He took his time removing his jacket, hung it in the front closet, and made his way back to the kitchen. His aunt was standing with her back to the door, dropping scraps from a laser slicer into the compactor. Turning to face Cole, she was wearing a red and white polka dot apron tied over her crisp outfit. Cole thought she looked ridiculous. Something out of an ancient digiscreen history lesson.
