by Rob J. Hayes
I can see Langdon inside the Ark. Big glass windows allow me to see almost the entire lobby. I suspect the windows are bullet proofed. Langdon is talking to a man with a bushy black beard and a suit that looks a size too small for his substantial frame. It’s Dr Brant. The man behind much of the emotional harvesting technology that exists in the world today. He must have access to harvesters. He has to.
The stage microphone switches on and the speakers hum to life. A few moments later the presenter starts talking. I assume it’s the man in the fedora. He looked important. Probably a higher-up, one of the business executive types. He starts off by greeting the crowd, a few of the press he even greets by name. No doubt every professional reporter here has been paid by Arkotech. Nothing but glowing reviews. The professional integrity of main stream journalism.
After a short speech about how Arkotech are leading the way in emotional intelligence and understanding, the man asks the crowd to give a thunderous round of applause to Rain From Mars. The band dance up to the stage in their street clothe costumes and the crowd intensifies to uncomfortable levels.
I look back into the building and see Langdon standing next to Dr Brant. The doctor looks nervous. Langdon looks nervous. He nods at me once and I hear his voice come through on the group channel.
“Band’s set is just twenty minutes, people. Brant is on straight after. Look lively.”
Again I find I don’t envy Iago or Petros. It’s not just because of their position on the stage, watching the crowd. It’s also because, as Langdon had said, the band are awful. Pop music has never been my thing. I try to phase it out, to scan the nearby crowd for any undue attention. It’s been four years, but it’s surprising how quickly it all comes back.
As the band finish, I hear them shout thanks to the crowd, and they jog down the steps of the stage and straight towards us. Again they pay us no attention, only disappear into the Ark. Langdon pushes open the door and leads Brant through. We form up around him. A protective shield of flesh and kevlar.
The man with the fedora is back on the microphone. He thanks the band and then starts building towards the big reveal. Langdon gives the order and we start forwards. He’s all business now the job is on. That’s always been Langdon’s way.
We walk Brant up to the stage and then he’s out of our hands. Iago and Petros are up there. It’s their job now. We spread out a little. Our view of the crowd is limited from this position though.
Brant steps up to the microphone. His voice is deep, fitting for a man of his size.
“Arkotech has always been at the forefront of emotional technology. Since our early days we have strived to achieve breakthroughs into emotional intelligence. Into understanding emotions. Into helping people deal with their emotions in a healthy and scientific manner.”
The crowd is almost completely silent, waiting for Brant to reveal the purpose for the conference.
“The recent change in laws has allowed us to make leaps and strides in our technological pursuits. Advancements we never even realised were possible.”
I smile at the blatant lie. Arkotech made its fortune on illegal emotional technology. The laws were changed just a few days ago, there’s no way they could have made a technological breakthrough so quickly. They’ve been sitting on this one for a while, whatever it is.
“Without further ado. I present to you all the first method of non-invasive emotional harvesting.”
The billboard on the Ark flickers to life and shows a video of the latest harvesting technology. It’s a promo flick. A short story about a woman, clearly in emotional distress. It shows her in tears. It flicks to a man in a war zone. Looks a lot like Mars. The man is writing a letter to his wife. Then it shows a hand, covered in red mud, not moving. In the hand lies the letter. Unsent. War zones are never so poetic. The video flicks back to the woman and she’s still crying. Then she’s at a clinic, a kind-looking doctor trying to console her. Then the screen shows us the new technology. It looks so simple. A touch screen pad connected to nothing. The woman presses her hand to the pad. She stops crying. She smiles. The video cuts to the tech again.
“Yes.” Brant says loudly into the microphone. Many of the crowd are clapping. Not all of them though. “Yes. With this new technology, it has never before been so easy and painless to help those in emotional distress.”
They’re billing it as a way to deal with grief, despair, fear brought on by emotional experiences. They’re advertising it as a way for people like me who don’t know how to cope with the things they’ve done or had done to them, the things they’ve seen. That’s how they’ll sell it, a tool for shrinks to help people get over trauma. That’s only a part of it though. Never before has been so easy for Drones like me to sell ourselves. I can finally get the implant out of my head.
Some Drones have problems with the implants we have to have drilled into the base of our skulls. Something to do with their bodies rejecting invasive tech. I’ve heard horror stories of aggressive rashes, seizures, even internal haemorrhaging. It’s never bothered me though. I’m one of the lucky ones, I guess.
“With this, psychiatrists have a new tool at their disposal to help people deal with trauma. With depression. With anxiety.” Brant continues. He’s an emotional speaker, one who truly sounds like he believes in his speech. That’s the angle I’ll use. I have trauma. I need it dealing with and I can’t wait for mass distribution of this new tech.
A shout goes up, somehow louder than Brant across the speakers. “INTERNAL SANCTITY!”
Gunshots follow, four of them. Chaos breaks loose.
The crowd starts milling and churning. Screaming and panicking. The security won’t stop them fleeing for the gate. Too many people. Too few guards. A stampede is coming.
“Wait here!” Langdon orders and charges up the steps to the stage.
Another gunshot rings out. It’s about the only thing that I can hear over the roar of the crowd.
“Coming down,” I hear over the channel. I can’t tell whose voice it is.
A moment later I see Iago charge down the steps to the stage, pulling Brant behind her. Petros is there too, stumbling along and grimacing. Langdon appears behind the man, ducks under his shoulder and lifts to support him. I see a dark red stain on Petros’ white shirt, underneath his jacket.
“Back to the Ark,” Langdon orders.
Another gunshot rings out.
We form a shield around Brant and move backwards towards the Ark. I find myself on the rear side of the shield, facing the crowd. Right where I don’t want to be. Langdon is moving faster, almost running as he drags a quickly fading Petros towards safety.
My gun is out. I don’t remember pulling it from its holster, but it’s in my hand now as I backstep quickly. Muscle memory. There’s a hand on my shoulder. It’s one of the other members of the detail, keeping my retreat to their pace. Making sure I don’t get separated by moving too slowly.
I see a member of the crowd step out of the crush. He’s wearing a bright red jacket, staring our way, something in his hand. I raise my pistol, but there’s no way I can take the shot. With the crowd behind the man, I’m more likely to shoot a civilian than the attacker. I keep back-peddling in time with the detail. We must be near the Ark now.
Two more gunshots and I see the flash from the man’s pistol. Neither hit and I count myself lucky.
I hear shouting behind me but can’t make out the words. The crowd is good and panicking now, many fleeing for the exit. I see a security guard charge the man with the pistol. He turns and fires, dropping the guard instantly, then turns backs to us. We’re almost in the building now, I hear the door pulled open and…
Pain. Sudden and excruciating. My chest feels likes it’s being crushed. My lungs can’t remember how to breathe. I feel my legs collapse and I start to fall only to be caught before I hit the ground. I’m dragged backwards through the open door of the Ark. I pull at my jacket, at my shirt. Still can’t breathe. The world is either too dark or too light, I ca
n’t quite tell.
I’m pulled out of the way and dumped on the lobby floor, flopping like a fish out of water. I see a spark against the window nearby. Bullet-proof glass. The shooter can’t get us here.
There’s chatter all around. The roar of the panicking crowd is a distant thing now. I pull a short breath into my lungs and its sweet relief spreading throughout my body.
I roll my head and see Brant being ushered away by building security. My one chance at ridding myself of my emotions torn away from me again.
“Breathe,” Dansen says, crouching over me. “Breathe.” He tears at my shirt. “Well at least you wore your old vest. I’m amazed it did anything.”
I suck in some more air and focus on Dansen’s face. He looks concerned. “How bad?” I ask.
Dansen grimaces and pulls at something. I feel a sharp stab of pain. He holds up the bullet.
“Mostly bruising. Went in a bit though. You’re bleeding, Garrick.”
I lift my head and look at my chest. There’s some blood, but not a lot. I lower my head again and let out a sigh. I can still hear some gunshots outside. They sound distant through the glass of the lobby though.
“We’ll get you seen to after Petros.” Dansen pauses and shakes his head. “He doesn’t look good.”
I don’t know Petros. I shouldn’t care. But I do.
“What the hell is that?” I hear someone shout.
“RPG. MOVE!”
Dansen grabs my shoulders and drags me away from the window of the lobby. I see the flash and smoke as the man outside fires the explosive rocket.
The world erupts in fire and debris.
Chapter 12
Surprise: Shocking. Sudden. Bursts of adrenaline. Surprise is one of those emotions that can be considered both positive and negative, at least in the method of attaining it. The buyers don’t care where it came from. They just lap it up.
The world is bright and ringing. Light shining through dust. Screams over the din. Pain in my chest. In my head.
I roll onto my stomach and wince at the agony in my chest. I cough and that brings on even more pain. There’s so much dust in the air. Dust everywhere. It takes me a moment to remember what has just happened. The explosion. The armed assailants outside.
I glance around the lobby. It’s no longer pristine, no longer sterile. There’s scorch marks blackening the floor. Glass and concrete shards everywhere. Bodies, some moving, some not, on the ground. Over near the shattered windows, I see figures, shapes move through the dust. They’re armed, I can see it in the way they move.
My gun is gone. Likely dropped and forgotten when I was shot. I roll over again and find Dansen. His face is covered in blood, shards of glass sticking out of his eyes and neck.
Sadness. Grief. I knew Dansen once. Considered him a friend. He saved my life. Now he’s gone. The second friend I’ve lost this week.
I don’t have time to mourn. Don’t have time to indulge my unrelenting emotions. I reach into Dansen’s jacket and pull his pistol free from its holster. There are others moving now, others getting to their feet. I see a lady over by the elevator, frantically pushing at the button to call it down, eyes wide and unseeing.
The first of the figures emerge from the dust. He’s no security guard. He’s wearing jeans and a shirt with a harness over the top and he’s carrying a rifle. I fire Dansen’s pistol twice in his direction and see the man drop. I fire at a couple of the other figures and scramble to my feet, running towards the elevator.
Bullets start to rip through the dust. The assailants aren’t aiming at anything, they’re just trying to kill anyone left alive in the lobby. I duck down, crouching as I run. I pass Langdon and can’t help but stop to check his pulse. He moans as I press a finger to his neck.
“Shit.” Langdon isn’t small, and the elevator is still a good ten feet away.
I fire a few more rounds into the dust, bullets answered by more bullets. I tuck the pistol into my own holster and grab Langdon’s hands and pull, dragging him across the rubble strewn floor towards the elevator.
Langdon starts coming round, but I ignore him, pulling hard on his arms. The woman is still by the elevator, crouched down and weeping as she presses the button repeatedly. She’s no security guard. Probably the building secretary. She’s wearing a knee length skirt and a white blouse, spotted with blood and dirty from the dust in the air.
The sound of the elevator doors opening is sweet relief over the sound of blind gunfire tearing into the lobby. Bullets burying themselves into flesh or concrete. I drag Langdon inside, pulling his legs free of the door. I press the button for the top floor, then reach outside and drag the crying woman into the elevator as the doors shut, leaving the carnage of the lobby behind.
Finally away from the action, I can’t keep the fear back anymore. I crawl to the back of the elevator and into the corner. My heart is racing, blood pumping so fast I almost think I can hear the ocean. I’m shaking. Every bit of me. And I hurt. I’m still bleeding, not badly, but it doesn’t have to be bad.
The woman is crying, huddled in the elevator and muttering something under her breath between sobs. I draw in a ragged breath and feel tears on my cheeks. I quickly wipe them away.
Some people think Drones can give away so much that they damage their ability to feel. They think regular harvesting turns us into robots. It’s not true. Quite the opposite actually. We feel everything as if it’s for the very first time. A person can give away all their emotional attachments to other people or places, destroy the feelings associated with that person. I’ve given away so much of myself and Susan, I don’t love her anymore. She certainly doesn’t love me. But no matter how much fear I give away, I still feel it and every time is like the first time.
“Garrick,” Langdon croaks. He’s staring at me, his head lolled to the side and his eyes unfocused. He blinks rapidly. “That you?”
“Yes,” my voice is quiet, weak.
“What happened?”
I laugh, there’s no humour in it though, only bitterness. “They blew up the lobby.”
“Shit. What about the…”
The lights in the elevator turn off and it stops moving. A moment later the back-up lights, a dim red tinge, come on. The elevator looks eerie now. The woman intensifies her sobbing. Langdon pushes up onto his elbows and then winces. I pull him back so he’s sitting against the wall.
“They cut the power?” he asks.
“Or Arkotech did.” I give a shrug. “Delay them until the military arrive, maybe.”
Langdon grunts. He looks in pain, but I can’t see any injuries. Concussions can be tricky things. “The others?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Dansen is dead. I didn’t have time to check any of the others. They were coming into the lobby in force. Grabbed you and pulled you into the elevator and…”
“This is Langdon,” he says, pushing the button on his microphone. “Iago, Bridges? Anybody still alive down there?”
We wait for what seems like forever. There’s no answer. Langdon buries his head in his hands.
“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!” Langdon growls and thumps a fist on the floor. “The whole detail. Everyone. How did this happen?”
I shrug. “They had RPGs, rifles, numbers, surprise.”
“We had a small army worth of security out there. Fine damned job they did of searching the crowd. Who’s she?”
“I don’t know. The only other person I could get into the elevator in time.”
Langdon sighs. “Well I wish she’d stop crying.”
The woman looks up at Langdon, fear plain in her eyes. I’ve seen that sort of fear before. It’s the type that turns a person’s brain off, stops them thinking clearly. One moment she might cower from the people who rescued her, the next she might leap at them with teeth and nails. I have no idea how to deal with her. She could do with having that fear harvested.
“We have to get out of here.” Langdon struggles to rise and stumbles back against the wall of the elev
ator. “Either the Arkotech lot are waiting for the military, or they’re heading for the roof to catch transport. I don’t fancy being the only one left in the building with a bunch of terrorists.”
It makes sense. The Ark is breached. The terrorists will either be slinking away to disappear into the city, or climbing the building to kill as many Arkotech employees as possible. We aren’t employees, but I doubt the distinction will matter to them.
I get to my feet and step up to the elevator door, digging my fingers into the gap and pushing, pulling it apart. My chest feels as though something is tearing inside. The ache of the bruising, along with the bullet wound. The door starts to shift and then it’s open. I let out a deep sigh.
We’re on the twenty-second floor, or close to it anyway. I can see the door above us. I reach up, digging my fingers into it and push again.
“You OK?” Langdon asks.
“No,” I breathe just as the door opens. It’s a good five feet above us, but we can get onto the twenty-second floor and from there find a stairwell. Hopefully we’ll be able to ascend faster than the terrorists.
I hold out my hands and give Langdon a boost up. He’s still unsteady on his feet. With a bit of climbing and a lot of pushing he makes it out of the elevator. I turn back to the woman. She’s stopped sobbing. Now she’s hugging her knees and rocking back and forth.
“Can we just leave her?” Langdon says. I think he’s joking. I sometimes struggle to see the distinction these days, but I can’t imagine he’s serious.
I crouch down in front of the woman. She doesn’t look at me.
“What’s your name?” I ask. She doesn’t reply.
“Hurry it up, Garrick.”
“My name is James Garrick.” I have no idea how to bring her out of her stupor. I can only hope talking to her works. I don’t like the idea of having to carry a struggling woman up stairs. “I know you’re scared. I am too. Terrified actually. I can’t seem to shake it at the moment…” I trail off. I don’t know what to say and talking about my own fear isn’t helping, only making matters worse. Like giving voice to them is finally admitting they exist.
