Ghosts of Tomorrow

by Michael R. Fletcher

  A thought occurred to him. “Do you know of a Griffin Dickinson? He’s a NATU agent.”

  88.1 hunted through the sea of available information in a fraction of a second. “Yes.”

  “Perhaps it could be arranged that I meet with him sometime?”

  “Perhaps.”

  That afternoon an equipment transfer was made and several computers and data storage systems were couriered around the continent. The digital footprints of these transactions were wiped clean by a series of Mirrors embedded in the NATUnet data systems.

  ***

  Griffin paced the Sys Admin’s office. “We got what we needed. Maybe bent the rules a bit—”

  “Bent? A bit? I saw my job flash before my eyes.” The Sys Admin rubbed at his bald head as if brushing back imaginary hair. “What the hell was I thinking?”

  “No real damage was done. I was bluffing in there. I’d played my only card.”

  The Sys Admin wasn’t having any of this. “It didn’t look like you were bluffing to me. I thought you were going to kill him.” He shook his head.

  Root’s office door swung open. Another scrawny, long-haired tech stood panting like he’d sprinted there.

  “You’re out? Thank the gods! The virtuality system suffered a massive power surge. Wiped all the storage. You’re lucky you were out, it would have fried your brain to a smoking crisp.”

  Griffin and Root looked at each other.

  “Was Riina still in there?” asked Griffin, uncertain what he wanted to hear. A few hours ago he’d been desperate to put a bullet in Riina’s face, but that rage had been locked away tight.

  Root looked up from his desk, the answer writ on his face. “A power surge?” he asked the tech. “There are safeties for that.”

  “Didn’t work.”

  Root held up his hands, palms out. “We didn’t do that.”

  The tech gave him a confused look. “We need to do a full systems diagnostic. We’re still trying to figure out who else was in virtual at the time.”

  “Archaeidae,” said Griffin. When the Root and the tech looked at him he explained. “The Scan of a little kid we took from a Mafia assassin chassis. He’s being stored here.”

  The tech swallowed uncomfortably. “Was.”

  Griffin fled the Dallas NATU building like he’d committed a murder. Alarms wailed and people with ponytails, t-shirts with incomprehensible sayings and math equations, and glazed looks of panic ran around yelling at each other in a language that sounded like a distant cousin of English. He understood every third word at best. No one knew for sure how many people were in various virtualities when the system overloaded. Many unresponsive bodies had been found sprawled on leather sofas, and countless others—as of yet undiscovered—were no doubt propped up in office chairs. He overheard someone say, ‘seventy-five dead,’ as he limped through the lobby and out onto the street.

  ***

  Due to NATUnet’s increasing unpredictability, Abdul was told to meet with the headshrinker in reality rather than virtuality. While NATUnet was a shambles, he suspected they had ulterior motives. Like everything they did, he was sure there was a reason for wanting the meeting to be real. Understanding that reason was something else.

  A woman in a crisp white lab coat sat on the far side of a thick panel of glass watching Abdul as if she might learn something from his body language.

  Yeah, well fuck you too. He didn’t move so much as a micrometer.

  What was interesting was that her Threat Level was sky high. It took every ounce of will not to jump through the widow and tear her apart.

  They must be doing that on purpose. He watched her watching him. Shit she must be brave.

  “Is that glass bulletproof?” Abdul asked.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m a combat chassis—”

  “You’re a seventeen year old male.”

  “—and bulletproof glass won’t stop half of what is in my arsenal. You’d be just as safe in here with me as over there.” Probably safer. If she were in the same room he might feel like there was some chance he could trust her. Her distrust guaranteed his.

  “There is a remote kill switch on your weapon systems,” she said. “You’ve been temporarily disarmed.”

  Kill switch. Interesting. Still, she fidgeted. She’s scared. Was this part of the Psyche Evaluation Test? Were they waiting to see if he tested his weapons within the confines of this room and endangered the woman? Anyway, he was pretty sure he could punch his way through the wall if he wanted to.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  Right, like you can’t read it right there before you. You’re in my fucking head. “You’re cute. If I was alive, I’d ask you out.” Not true, of course. He’d never have had the nerve to say that when he was alive. Nothing mattered now. What, was she going to reject him? How much would that hurt when held in comparison to everything else? It wouldn’t even register.

  With professional interest she glanced down at the monitor he could only see the rear of. On a whim he zoomed in on her eyes and took a picture of the reflected monitor screen. Why do they even bother? Maybe he’d read it later. Maybe not. He didn’t much care what they thought.

  “I have a question,” he said.

  She looked up, interested. “Oh?”

  “Will I be seventeen forever, or should I still celebrate birthdays even though I don’t age?”

  She blinked. “Well—”

  “Never mind.” It was a trick question. The answer was neither.

  “Have you been feeling persecuted?”

  “No. No one is out to get me,” he said. They’ve already got me.

  “Any feelings of general paranoia?”

  General paranoia? What the hell does that mean? “Like I’m not in control?” Abdul asked.

  This peeked her interest and she sat up. Her heart rate increased and her temperature spiked a fraction of a degree. She started sweating. “Sure.” Slightest quaver in the voice.

  “Well some unknown person can turn off my weapon systems at will, so I guess I’m not in control. Is that paranoia?”

  She crinkled her lips in an annoyed frown. “Any episodes of Dissociative Identity Disorder?”

  “Wazzat?”

  “Any moments where you feel like someone else it piloting your chassis? Ever wake up and wonder how you got there?”

  Every fucking day. “No. None. I never sleep.”

  “Good.” This time her relief was genuine and writ plainly upon her face.

  “Is that a common problem with chassis?” Abdul asked, watching her heart rate and body temperature.

  “No, not at all.”

  A lie. Interesting.

  An hour of intense psychiatric examination followed. On a whim Abdul answered honestly. What was the point in lying when they were already in his head?

  When finished she stood abruptly. “Thank you for your time, Abdul. It was nice meeting you.”

  “I’m seventeen, not stupid.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I heard my answers the same as you did. I have violent and antisocial tendencies. Violence is almost always the first option brought to mind in any confrontation. I killed a gnat a few days ago rather than have to keep track of its minimal Threat Level.”

  She stared at him.

  “This isn’t me. This is the personality you’re allowing me. It started when I was first interviewed. You people pick and chose what I think and feel—”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Maybe not entirely true, but I’m not wrong.”

  Again she stared at him, waiting.

  “You decide what I feel. Why bother with a psyche exam? You already know I’m crazy. I’m dangerous. Just like you want me to be.”

  She bit her lip, turned and left without speaking.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Sunday, August 5th, 2046

  Archaeidae, locked inside while the computer which held his Scan was transported from the Dallas NATU office, decid
ed to spend the time practicing in virtual mock-ups of a wide variety of combat and assassin chassis. He examined the list of chassis available with awe. Some were not due to be released—even in the ARU—until next year. If the Shogun could acquire these, he was a man to be respected.

  Archaeidae was working his way through the list of submersible chassis, something Uncle Riina never bothered with, when the Shogun interrupted him. One second he hunted nuclear submarines under the polar icecaps, the next he stood in full samurai garb before the Shogun.

  Archaeidae bowed low, straightened, and waited.

  “We are in Redmond, Washington.” The Shogun informed him. “Tennō 88, the Emperor, has need of us. He has been attacked. I will be his retribution. You will be my adviser in this.”

  Adviser. So he was not yet trusted. Fair enough, he had done nothing to earn that trust. He would. “A test, Shogun?”

  “A test on the field of battle.”

  “The only kind.” Archaeidae bowed again and remained bowed. “May I know your name, Shogun?”

  “Shogun 88.1.”

  Hiding his confusion, Archaeidae straightened. Was that a veiled no, or a real answer? It doesn’t matter. “Who is our enemy?”

  “M-Sof. Mark Lokner.”

  M-Sof, one of the largest companies in NATU. The Emperor’s enemies were not trifling. “They shall fall before us.”

  “Failure is death.”

  “I—”

  Shogun 88.1 made a cutting gesture with his hand and Archaeidae clamped his mouth shut. “You will meet with the Emperor. He wishes to see you.”

  “Hai!”

  “He is curious, I believe. He will witness your briefing. I have had to conscript a dangerous amount of bandwidth to make this meeting possible.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “With the loss of the communications satellites, the world is relying on older technology. Such virtual meetings across international lines are now impossible for most. In making this happen, it is possible I have exposed the Emperor to discovery.”

  Archaeidae soaked all this up, listening. The Emperor remained hidden and wanted it this way and yet his Shogun risked that to make this meeting happen. He examined Shogun 88.1, searching for a hint of fear or nervousness. Nothing. This man understands risk, understands that once a choice is made, doubt is a weakness. And then he remembered the Shogun’s earlier words: Loss of all communications satellites? Archaeidae hadn’t heard anything about that. Communications were critical in battle, but such a loss could be an advantage as much as a weakness. He gave one sharp nod and said nothing.

  Transition.

  Tennō 88 sat on a simple wooden stool, embroidered robes of red and gold silk cascading about him like a waterfall. His face, asexual in its perfection, looked to be made of flawless white porcelain.

  “Yesterday, Mark Lokner, utilizing the funding of M-Sof, launched an economic war against the Emperor,” said Shogun 88.1.

  The Emperor, eyes inhumanly calm, said nothing. He gave nothing away. The Emperor didn’t blink. His body never moved nor showed sign of drawing breath. Even Archaeidae, years away from his biological body, still performed these autonomic functions. The Emperor seemed unaware of the virtual recreation of his body.

  He has shed all humanity. He is stone.

  The Shogun continued. “Since M-Sof’s security forces outnumber our own, direct physical confrontation will be avoided.”

  Well that’s a shame. Being outnumbered was nothing to Archaeidae, but, as he suspected speaking here would be inappropriate, he said nothing. The Shogun prattled on about a strategic economic war, all very boring. The Emperor was more interesting. If intellect could be an impenetrable tower, a wall of infinite height and strength, Archaeidae stood in its presence.

  The Shogun continued detailing what sounded like a very dull non-event. Calling it a war was a joke. Archaeidae had enough.

  “Shogun, I beg permission to speak,” said Archaeidae. Interrupting his Shogun might be a dangerous move but life without risk was death.

  “Always,” said Tennō 88 instantly. Not even his lips moved.

  This, Archaeidae realized, was the incarnation of the Invisible Emperor. Secretive and all the more powerful for his hidden strength.

  Shogun 88.1 bowed to the Emperor and returned his attention to Archaeidae. “You must always speak your thoughts.”

  Really? That was probably unwise. Archaeidae kept that thought to himself. “This is all wrong. Never attack your enemy’s strength. Economic war with M-Sof is suicide.” Not to mention boring. “Attack where you are unexpected.”

  The Emperor left, winking out of existence without saying a word.

  “Tennō 88 commands me to follow your lead,” said Shogun 88.1. “Advise me.”

  Archaeidae dipped another half bow. If the Shogun was annoyed at being ordered to follow Archaeidae’s lead, he showed nothing of it. In fact, the Shogun displayed much of Tennō 88’s inhumanity. Though he blinked and breathed, it was at perfectly regular intervals, as if scripted.

  “First,” Archaeidae said, “we must see to your education. What books have you read?”

  “Zero Point Nine Nine Nine, Nineteenth Century—”

  “Zero Point Nine Nine Nine,” interrupted Archaeidae. “What’s that?”

  “A textbook on the theory behind the mathematical identity zero point—”

  “Never mind. Have you read anything about war?”

  “No.”

  Archaeidae hid his surprise. A Shogun who knew nothing of war? “P’u, an uncarved block. Excellent. Here’s your starter list. Read these first. Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, Machiavelli’s The Prince, and Miyamoto Musashi’s The Book of Five Rings. When you’re done we’ll talk about M-Sof.”

  Shogun 88.1 blinked once and took a single breath. “Finished. Much of this is beyond my ability to comprehend. I recognize metaphors but cannot decode them. Still, here is what I have learned. All warfare is based on deception. In the practical art of war, it is best to take the enemy’s country whole and intact. It is better to capture an army entire than to destroy it, to capture a regiment, a detachment or a company entire than to destroy them. The skillful leader subdues the enemy’s troops without fighting. Be subtle, and use your spies for every kind of business.”

  “That was quick,” Archaeidae admitted. Shogun 88.1 read his three favorite books and summarized them in five salient points. All in less than three seconds.

  “The war on M-Sof,” said the Shogun. “It must happen now. There are other threats to the Emperor. Our orders are to destroy Lokner and render M-Sof a non-threat.”

  Other threats? Ah ha! If I do well here, I’ll be allowed to deal with these other threats. “Excellent.”

  “Based on my reading, I have a new plan.”

  “Excellent!” Hopefully this one doesn’t involve economics.

  “I am spawning a host of Mirror mites, the smallest and simplest—yet functional—entities I can create.”

  Mirror mites? “These will be your spies,” guessed Archaeidae.

  “Correct. I unleash them upon M-Sof. They worm their way into every corner of M-Sof’s networks, though avoid the Wall o’ Nuclear Annihilation firewall.”

  That was present tense. Is this happening now?

  “Mark Lokner is here somewhere,” said Shogun 88.1. “This is where 88.2 failed. I will avoid the central data systems. They are protected, their defenses beyond the abilities of such simple Mirrors.” He blinked once and took another breath. “Assuming he is within the core systems, I have found Mark Lokner. I see the way in, a weakness in their firewall.”

  “All warfare is deception,” Archaeidae reminded him.

  “Yes. A simple viral attack might fail.”

  Viral assault. More boring. “We need a two-pronged assault,” said Archaeidae. “I will lead a physical assault consisting of several heavy combat chassis. We will be the diversion. Your attack, a devastating viral plague, will be the killing blow.” Only if I don’t land one f
irst.

  Shogun 88.1 agreed.

  “You’ve already launched your viral assault, haven’t you?” Archaeidae asked, both knowing and dreading the answer.

  “Of course. I did it as we talked.”

  “Planning is normally done before the action, not during. Next time, let’s talk first, act second.”

  The Shogun nodded agreement. “I see how that makes sense.”

  “Great. Now however not the time for talk. Too late for that. This fight has already started. We need to hustle. What equipment do we have access to?”

  Long lists appeared floating in the air.

  Archaeidae raised an eyebrow, nodding appreciatively. Such a human reaction required a little effort, but he felt it had been earned. “Yeah. That’ll do.”

  Four Mirror-driven Sikorsky H-109 Stealth-Transport Helicopters, following State-Route 520, slid low over the Redmond skyline, a jagged jigsaw puzzle of high-rise towers in varying states of decay. At the outskirts of the city, the buildings were crumbling fire-damaged ruins. Many of these older neighborhoods, no longer serviced by Washington’s electrical companies, were lit by flickering candles and flaming refuse-filled garbage drums.

  Archaeidae, housed in an angular and spider-like Mitsu-Brense black-ops beta release chassis not yet available outside of the EU, sat chameleoflaged in one of the helicopter’s open door. Its six-legged body design was close enough to the chassis he’d worn for Uncle Riina the acclimatization time was minimal. The ground below rushed by, a blur of lights and life.

  The Sikorsky helicopters shed altitude as they approached M-Sof, creeping over the rolling hills like hunting cats. The company grounds, sprawled on the shore of Lake Sammamish, were the very picture of Eden. The trees were tall and strong, the genetically altered grass thick and healthy. The sun had set and the sky to the west was painted a beautiful red only a hundred years of heavy pollution could craft. The helicopters were low enough that Lake Sammamish appeared as a wedge of darkness between the M-Sof buildings and the Sahalee Country Club. The eastern sky was lit by the burning streaks of bits of shattered satellites returning to earth.