Ghosts of Tomorrow

by Michael R. Fletcher

  “Teen-dream?” Griffin asked with a pleased look.

  “You stopped listening after that, didn’t you.” A thought occurred to Nadia. “What’s the boy going to look like? He’s been in a chassis for years and we have no records of who he was.”

  “He’ll be loaded into a standard off-the-shelf male teenage Skin.”

  “I read that if someone’s been in a chassis for a long time they lose all the human physical reaction stuff. They never look surprised, hurt, angry, or display emotion. That can’t make interrogations any easier.”

  “True. We’ll find out—”

  “Agent Dickinson, you ready for the prisoner?” The voice filled the room, coming from nowhere and everywhere.

  “Yes, thanks.”

  ***

  A young boy of about fourteen years of age sat in the chair across the table. There was no sound with his arrival, no pop of displaced air and no sparkling Star-Trek transporter hum. Griffin hated tech-people who added that kind of pointless garbage into these business virtualities. The youth looked unremarkable with brown hair cut short in no particular style. Brown eyes examined them and the room in a single sweep, noting the lack of exits. He wore a simple one-piece jumpsuit in soft blue.

  The boy turned his gaze to Nadia, face devoid of emotion.

  “I remember you. NATU agents. You fucked me up.”

  Nadia smiled calmly. “Yes well—”

  “You have fantastic tits.”

  Griffin tried to cover a look of surprise. “I’m Special Investigations agent Griffin Dickinson of the NATU Enforcement Division, and this is Nadia. You are charged with eighteen counts of first-degree murder.”

  The boy looked bored. “The people in the hotel.” He began counting on his fingers. “Two girls at the front desk. They were first ‘cuz I had to shut down the security system in the office behind them. The busboy was luck, right place at the right time. The four kitchen staff—the head cook hit me with a thrown meat cleaver, he was pretty cool—‘cuz the kitchens were in the basement. I didn’t want to backtrack but I had no choice. Eleven guests on floors one through five before I reached you.” He took his time looking Nadia up and down then glanced dismissively at Griffin. “You were easy. Snick. Bye-bye hand. Bye-bye Glock. I shoulda known you were just a distraction.”

  “Distraction?” Griffin could help but feel a little hurt at being contemptuously referred to as a distraction by a fourteen-year-old boy. Even if the kid was in an assassin chassis.

  Nadia leaned forward and the boy watched her with unapologetic scrutiny. “You are in a lot of trouble,” she said. “You killed eighteen people and attempted to kill two NATU operatives. You’ll be tried as an adult and, as we’re in Texas, you’ll get the death sentence.”

  ***

  Archaeidae leaned back in his chair and watched the two NATU agents.

  Death sentence. What a joke. I am the death sentence.

  “This is pretty boring, not much color,” he said. In battle, there were two methods of attack—direct, and indirect. Balance, both mental and physical, was everything. He looked at the woman. “I liked you better naked.”

  The woman looked unfazed. Damn, he’d hoped his rude bluntness would distract her. The man, however, looked like he was still distracted thinking about being called a distraction. Funny that. He also looked to be in a lot of pain. Good. That would serve to distract as well.

  “Listen,” she said, “you are in serious trouble here. You are going down for murder. Eighteen counts.”

  Was that supposed to scare him? At least she could get the number right. That rankled a bit. “My name is Archaeidae.” Tai no sen. Wait for the initiative.

  “Archaeidae, you’ve been bad. You failed.”

  He imagined Riina, seeing disappointment in the man’s eyes. This woman, what did she know? She had no idea what he’d done for Uncle Riina. “I’ve been good. I’ve always been good. Uncle Riina says I’m the best. And it’s not eighteen, it’s eight-thousand.” He couldn’t help but brag a little.

  “How many of those were real?” the man asked, finally paying attention.

  Archaeidae realized that somewhere he’d lost control of this situation. Maybe he’d never had it. It wasn’t fair, he’d been trained to interrogate, not to be interrogated. He had a sick feeling in his gut that was disgustingly biological. Was this what failure felt like? “What’s the difference?” he asked.

  “Some kills seem more real than others, don’t they,” said the woman.

  “Sometimes it’s messier than normal,” admitted Archaeidae. Things got pretty bloody in the Hilton kitchen.

  “Some of them stick with you, right? Some you remember more than others.”

  “I remember the hard ones. The ones where my chassis got damaged.” Never forget your failures, they’ll teach you more than your successes. Uncle Riina always said that. And here Archaeidae sat, having failed Uncle Riina. He deserved death and nothing more.

  “How many are more real than the others?” asked the woman.

  Archaeidae thought back, replaying past kills in his mind. There were too many. “I think I used to know. I lost track after the first few hundred. I had nightmares for a while.” His gaze snapped back to the woman. “Now I am pure of thought and action.”

  “I bet Riina is pretty impressed with you,” Griffin said.

  Archaeidae’s heart sunk. Had he mentioned Uncle Riina aloud? That was careless. Unforgivable. Nothing to do now but play this out, wait for his chance. “I never fail,” he muttered.

  “You failed this time,” the woman pointed out.

  That stung, but his off-the-shelf Skin displayed none of what he felt. He hadn’t used facial expressions or body language since he was eight years old and had almost forgotten how. They were something he had to concentrate on to make use of. Like now. He growled low and threatening at the two NATU agents, showing bland straight white teeth. Out of practice, he wasn’t sure how it looked. Hopefully threatening. “I’ll get out of here.”

  The man looked smug, like he’d won. “No you won’t.”

  Archaeidae leaned forward, hoping he’d kept his opponents off balance but suspecting he’d failed at that too. “I am immortal, forever,” He said with more bravado than he felt.

  The woman gave him a look of sad pity. “I think we’re finished here,” she said.

  ***

  88.1.365438.13841.175 watched the interrogation from within the NATUnet system. It forwarded a recording to 88.1 who viewed the video with interest.

  ***

  “You recognized that name back there in the v-cell,” said Nadia.

  Griffin nodded. “Yeah, Riina. He’s a Mafia Capo. Crime boss. Riina works out of Wichita Falls. No wonder he was on us so fast.”

  “If Riina is in Wichita, I guess we’re going back.”

  “I’ve already ordered transport for us. When Archaeidae doesn’t return Riina is going to bolt. I’ll call Phil and make arrangements for a Strike Team.” Another Strike Team. He shied from the memory of a spinning helmet.

  “Do we have time for a coffee?” Nadia asked.

  “Definitely.” Any excuse to sit.

  They wandered the concrete maze of the Dallas NATU building until they found the cafeteria. This was the most colorful area in the otherwise drab building. McDonald’s yellow, Burger King blue, Pizza Pizza orange, and Taco Bell Purple commanded their share of the space and the brains of those who ate here. The benches were hard plastic curves the shape of no one’s ass.

  Perhaps, mused Griffin, they were designed for a much fatter citizen. Like Americans used to be when everyone had cars and no one had to walk. Regardless, the bench felt like an assault on his butt and spine. Add that to the stabbing pain in his guts, his right hand itching so bad he wanted to claw the flesh off it, the throbbing knee, and a swollen nose which made breathing difficult, and his day was turning out lovely.

  Overhead a few large ceiling fans spun at high speed like they were trying to lift the roof off
the building. He took a sip of his coffee. Bitter, burnt, and cooling in the breeze.

  He shoved the coffee away. “Disgusting.”

  Nadia glanced from him to the cup and back. “Picky about your coffee?”

  “Of course. I’m Canadian.”

  She frowned in distaste. “Patriotism is kind of a dead idea, isn’t it? Doesn’t make much sense to be proud of a piece of land because you were born there.”

  “True,” Griffin admitted, shuffling on the uncomfortable bench. “But I think it’s nice to have some history. Somewhere you came from. A culture. You don’t have to be patriotic to give an area a name. NATU, the European Union, the Indo-Chinese Republic. These are still names, just a little more vague. I think of myself as a Canadian. These people around us think of themselves as Americans, and you think of yourself as...whatever you are.”

  “I’m NATU, stationed in Boston. I was born in Mexico City and grew up in South Boston.”

  “You’re being difficult on purpose. You’re a Mexican.”

  “Hardly. My father was Yaqui Indian and my mother was from the European Union.”

  “Still...”

  “The world’s a better place since patriotism got the kibosh. NATU isn’t at war with any of the other Trade Unions. We’re seeing an unprecedented period of peace.”

  “Peace? We’ve got two internal wars, we don’t need an outside enemy.”

  Nadia took his coffee, sipped, and grimaced at the cup. “They’re not really wars.”

  “They’re called the Secession Wars for a reason. Ask anyone in Alberta or Quebec—”

  “Police actions. It’s a violent minority of rabble-rousers causing the problems.”

  “And you’re ignoring the Organized Crime wars, anti-Scan rallies, and corporate conflicts spanning entire Trade Unions.”

  “But NATU isn’t technically at war with anyone,” she said shoving the coffee cup back toward him. At a nearby table two NATU managers in expensive suits argued about which competing Trade Union was responsible for the attack on the satellites. “At least not yet,” she added. “Concede the point.”

  “I’m not done arguing.”

  “Do you want to be happy, or do you want to be right?” asked Nadia.

  “I’d rather be happy.”

  She smiled at him. “Great. Shut up and agree with me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He had to admit, her smile made him happier. “Our transport should here. Let’s go. I’ll call Phil en route.”

  “What about Abdul?” she asked, rising to her feet.

  “Good idea. We’ll pick him up on the way.” He glanced up at Nadia standing over him and she touched his shoulder.

  “You sure you won’t go back to the hospital?” she asked.

  “As soon as we have Riina I promise I’ll check myself in.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yep. Now, would you be so kind as to carry me out of here?”

  ***

  Abdul was in the Vehicle Depot when Griffin and Nadia arrived. He’d been there for quarter of an hour, waiting for someone to ask him what he was doing. No one had and everyone steered well clear of him. He’d tried to lean casually against a two-ton truck with NATU markings but it groaned under his weight.

  I can’t even loiter anymore. Another theft.

  “That was fast,” said Griffin. “You beat us here.” The NATU agent looked like hammered shit. He limped forward, bent slightly at the waist and kept one hand held tight to his abdomen.

  “Where the hell else are they gonna store equipment that’s not in use?” deadpanned Abdul.

  Griffin stopped in his tracks. “Seriously?”

  The look of uncomfortable dismay on Griffin’s face was almost enough to lift Abdul’s mood. “Really? You bought that? That’s awesome.”

  Nadia swatted Griffin’s shoulder. “I had no idea you were so gullible.”

  “Thanks, buddy,” Griffin said to Abdul with a mock scowl. He glanced at the truck. “This will do. You ride in the back, smartass.”

  “Griffin,” said Abdul and the agent, hearing the difference in tone, turned to face him.

  “Yes?”

  “From now on, until this is finished, you two are always with me. If you’re in a hotel, I’m there.” Nadia and Griffin shared an awkward glance. What the heck was that about? “Next time the Mafia sends an assassin chassis, it has to go through me first. I never should have left your side. I’m sorry.”

  Griffin nodded uncomfortably. “No need to apologize.”

  How could Abdul tell these two strangers they were the closest thing he had to friends right now? How could he explain how valuable their lives were? He hadn’t understood how amazing life was until he was dead. There were no words for what he knew. At least none that didn’t sound insane even to him. He tried anyway. “I have enough blood on my hands. No more. I won’t let you down again.” If Griffin looked uncomfortable before, now he looked downright embarrassed. “When you die,” said Abdul, somberly, “do yourself a favor. Just die.”

  Griffin looked everywhere but at Abdul. “Okay.”

  He probably thinks I’m insane. Was he wrong?

  Nadia gestured toward the truck. “Perhaps we should get going.”

  ***

  Griffin requisitioned the truck and they were on the road in minutes. Nadia took the driver’s seat though she wasn’t driving. The truck informed her it was no longer receiving traffic updates but was still capable of delivering them to their destination. Griffin, in the passenger seat, called Phil back in Toronto.

  Do I want him to order me home? He wasn’t sure any more. What would he do if Phil told him to drop everything and return to Toronto? On the one hand he’d probably spend the rest of his career—if he still had one—safe in a cubicle. But then he’d likely never see Nadia again.

  “Where are you?” demanded Phil without preamble.

  Griffin didn’t bother answering. “I know who was behind the Wichita crèche. I’m on my way to get him.”

  “Make sure Nadezhda records it all. This is important. PR wise, Wichita was a fucking disaster.”

  The line crackled and kept cutting out forcing Griffin to piece together Phil’s side of the discussion.

  Disaster. Griffin flinched at the word. Another disaster. Not this time. “Yes, Sir. I have Abdul, but I need a Strike Team.”

  “Abdul?”

  “The combat chassis you assigned me.”

  “Oh. That’s another goddamn shit-show. He’s going to face—”

  “Strike Team?” Griffin interrupted.

  “Right. I’ll put the order through, but you may face a little resistance. Scans are a much touchier subject in the south. Don’t take any shit,” said the man who expected Griffin to take all his shit without question or hesitation.

  I’m not going home. Mixed feelings there.

  “Great. Riina, a mid-level crime boss in Wichita falls. I need his address and a satellite watching it until I get there. I want to know who’s been in and out.”

  “There are no satellites,” said Phil in such a way that Griffin felt soundly chastised for his stupidity.

  Griffin wasn’t sure if Phil ended the call or the connection died. At least his boss hadn’t said anything stupid like bounce to Wichita, and Griffin was too excited about making a big bust to remember he’d wanted his desk job back. Adrenalin made him feel sharp and alive. He could almost forget that everything hurt.

  The truck swerved to avoid a cyclist and Griffin’s shoulder slammed into the window sending a jarring stab of pain down his spine and making his eyes water.

  Right. Everything still hurt.

  When he felt like the pain had been locked back into place he turned to Nadia. “Abdul is right. This could get ugly.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And?”

  Phil said he wanted Nadia to record the bust. Hell with Phil. “You should stay behind,” he blurted before he could change his mind.

  “That’s sweet. Don’t be an ass.” Her expre
ssion hardened. “After I saw those children...Nothing is going to stop me from seeing this through to the end. Nothing.”

  “Right. Sorry.” Griffin hid the feeling of impending doom behind a not entirely feigned grimace of pain. No way he could keep her out of this.

  Half an hour later they sat with Abdul in a Scan piloted CH-74 Chinook transport helicopter as it passed over the town of Bowie. Griffin felt the chop of the massive rotors through his spine. His guts felt like they were being jellied. The adrenalin hadn’t given up its grip, and he thought he heard Wagner’s Flight of the Valkyries. It brought back childhood memories of old movies and jumping on the sofa screaming along with the music as helicopters machine-gunned people in rice paddies.

  The music got louder and he realized Abdul played it over a speaker system built into his chassis. He whooped and gave Abdul a thumbs up. The chemicals rushing through his blood had his hair standing on end and his pupils dilated. His whole body buzzed.

  “I’ve always wanted to do this,” bellowed Abdul over the music. “Perhaps there are some advantages to being a walking sound-system.”

  Nadia rolled her eyes and shook her head but Griffin caught the small smile before she looked away.

  Wichita Falls Municipal Airport was both a NATU and Civilian airport, flying out of Sheppard Air Force Base. Griffin paced in front of the Brigadier General, the highest ranking NATU officer on the base, who in turn glared at him. Abdul stood nearby and Griffin couldn’t tell if he watched with interest or had fallen asleep. Nadia stood somewhere behind him, staring at the Chinook they’d climbed out of. When he glanced over his shoulder he saw the rotors had slowed to a lazy spin and were creating a wind pressing her shirt and skirt tight to her body.

  Griffin gave the NATU officer his best glare. She was a head shorter than he and in her early fifties, her iron gray hair tied back in a tight bun. Flint-colored eyes pinned him like a bug, mislabeled, and placed in the wrong entomological box. He straightened his back, unwilling to wilt before her unwavering gaze. The show of spinal fortitude was ruined when he grunted in pain.