by Shawn Davis
About three quarters of the way toward the bow, he reached a set of steps leading to a raised portion of the deck. He climbed to the top and leaned against the rail. He noticed the four-foot railing encompassed the entire perimeter of the vessel to keep the happy passengers from tumbling overboard. He saw a tall, reflective glass structure at the vanguard of the central boat cabins, which must have housed the controls where the captain sat at the wheel.
Rayne sat down on the topmost step near the bow and looked back toward the mainland, which appeared to shrink as the ferry traveled toward the island. From a distance, he could still see the buildings, skyscrapers, and the gleaming Breechlere Corporate Tower rising high into the billowy clouds. The wind felt good on his back as the boat continued to accelerate. The bright blue sea looked like a roughly carved landscape as the ocean swells rose and crashed against the boat. Streams of salt water sprayed lightly over the craft as a slight scent of seaweed permeated the air.
Peter tried vainly to control his wind-blown hair, but unlike his new pal Ken, he was unsuccessful. He stared up at the crystal blue sky, leaned his elbows against the deck, and crossed his legs for a more comfortable ride. He was startled when he felt someone tapping his shoulder. A young waiter dressed in a white tuxedo was standing above him.
“Sorry to surprise you, sir. Would you like a drink?” the waiter asked.
“Sure, bring me a Pina Colada,” Rayne replied, returning to his comfortable position on the stairs.
“Right away, sir,” the waiter said, giving him a slight bow before turning smoothly on his heel and walking toward a nearby service cabin.
If I’m going to impersonate an Executive for this assignment, I might as well enjoy the fringe benefits.
Glancing around, Rayne saw a number of white-tuxedoed waiters serving the boat passengers. The waiter returned less than a minute later with his drink.
“Thank you,” Peter said, handing him a fifty-dollar bill for a tip.
Now that he was an Executive, he had plenty of money. He might as well spread it around a little. He leaned back on the stairs and took a long, slow sip of the delicious drink.
This is the first time I’ve had a chance to relax in days, he thought, leaning back and staring upward at the wide blue firmament.
An instant later, Rayne gazed ahead and spotted a blue-armored Shock Trooper turning the corner from behind the rear deck cabins. The sudden shock caused him to recall the contents of the computer disc Campion gave him. He had the entire layout of the command bunker beneath New Washington stored in his head. He knew every passage, every duct, and every room of the entire complex by heart. The date of the architectural designs was July 2049. If there had been any revisions within the complex in the past nine years, he might have to alter Campion’s plan.
The details of the mission flashed through his mind as he watched the armored Shock Trooper patrolling the nearby deck. Using his Executive wrist code, he was supposed to enter the main robotic attraction in Virtual-world called the Powerdrome, posing as an Artificial Intelligence expert. He had memorized a thirteen number and symbol access code, which would allow him to gain access to one of the Virtual-world computer terminals. Then, he had to find the proper computer schematics describing the layout of the maintenance tunnels leading from Virtual-world to the underground nuclear reactor next to the command bunker under New Washington.
Rayne had to travel through the underground tunnels from the Powerdrome to the nuclear reactor to the bunker complex. If he was lucky enough to make it there, he had to hack into a computer terminal and locate the proper government defense programs.
Then, for his final act of sabotage, he was supposed to introduce a computer virus into the system, which would render all the automated defenses on the island inoperative. After that, he had to figure out a way to escape.
Not the easiest thing in the world to do.
Rayne had the option of traveling upwards through the bunker until he reached the city or making his way back through the maintenance tunnels to Virtual-world.
Both ways will be treacherous.
After he introduced the virus to the government computer system, the security forces in the capitol city would be alerted. They would know that a saboteur was somewhere in the underground complex. They would probably try to cut him off both ways. He figured that his chance of escaping was minimal.
Why, then, continue the mission? It was simple. Twelve hours after he sabotaged the computer systems on the island, Campion told him a massive strike force would invade the capitol city. They were going to overwhelm the city’s security forces and capture or eliminate all high-level government officials. Including the president.
Glancing around, Rayne noticed another Shock Trooper stationed at the bow of the boat. In his mind, the Troopers on the boat symbolized the many dangers he would be facing on the island. Peter tried to put all thoughts of future danger out of his head. He needed to concentrate on the here and now. He needed to pretend he was just a regular passenger taking a week’s vacation at the world’s greatest amusement park.
Rayne looked away from the Trooper patrolling the bow and faced forward again, trying to concentrate on the other passengers enjoying themselves. He turned to his left and found himself facing the radiant smile of Ken Baxter.
“Hey, Peter,” Ken said, barely moving his lips from the ear-to-ear permanent grin he had spread across his face. “I know what you’re thinking.”
Rayne’s face turned pale and his body went rigid. He stared at Baxter as if he were an apparition appearing from the void.
“You’re thinking those Troopers are hot inside those metal suits, aren’t you?” Baxter continued without noticing the sudden change in Peter’s expression. “Believe it or not, those Shock Trooper suits are all air-conditioned. They’re temperature controlled like a space suit. Those guys have got it made – except for an occasional air conditioning malfunction. Also, their skin is probably as pale as paste under those faceplates.”
Ken rubbed his hand gently over his own excessively tanned cheeks and sat down next to Peter on the steps to the upper bow. Despite the constant wind caused by the boat’s acceleration, Baxter’s hair still hadn’t moved a centimeter.
“You know, Rayne, it took me years of training to be able to maintain a tan like this. A person can’t just lie out in the sun for a couple of hours a week and expect to have bronzed features. Tanning is a twenty-four hour adventure. I own three tanning booths in my home, Peter. I have one for each member of the family in case we all want to tan at the same time. How about you?”
Rayne hardly heard a word Baxter said. He had turned toward the bow to see the great black wall of New Washington becoming clearer in the distance like a mountain looming ominously on the horizon. He saw that Ken, too, had turned his gaze toward the approaching land mass. The wind and salt air made them shield their eyes as the colossal gleaming structure of the Presidential Tower came into view above the gigantic black wall. The building itself was like a tremendous mirror, reflecting the deep blue afternoon sky and seeming to disappear into the sky backdrop.
“So I guess you’re going to the Powerdrome, Rayne?” Baxter inquired.
“The Powerdrome? Sure, I guess so,” Peter replied.
“You don’t sound too sure about it. Have you ever been there before?”
“Actually, no. This is my first visit to the park.”
“What’s wrong with you? Are you out of touch, or what?” Ken asked. “You haven’t truly lived if you’ve never been there! It’s the most technologically advanced attraction in the park! They recently added Artificial Intelligence modifications to make it even more realistic. This will be my fourth visit to the ‘drome and I hear this year it’s better than ever.”
“I hear it’s pretty good,” Rayne said, absently.
Baxter’s mention of the Powerdrome brought his mind back to his mission. Tomorrow, he was supposed to infiltrate the Powerdrome using his Executive wrist code. Maybe Ken had
a good idea after all. If he visited the Powerdrome attraction today as a tourist, it might give him a heads up for tomorrow’s mission.
“So tell me more about these recent modifications,” Rayne said.
“Have you been in a shell, or what? The Powerdrome’s modifications have been all over the Corporate Newsletters for the past year and a half! Where have you been?”
“Too busy to read that crap!” Rayne exclaimed, losing his composure. “I have more important things to do with my time, Baxter, than to sit around reading about the latest modification in a theme park attraction!”
“Okay, okay. Don’t get so defensive, Rayne. I’m sure you have an important job,” Ken said, raising his hands in a “surrender” gesture.
“That’s right, Ken,” Peter said. “I’m an Executive for the Breechlere Corporation. I shoulder quite a bit of responsibility. I’m sorry I haven’t found the time to dabble in trivialities like amusement park rides.”
“Okay, okay, Rayne, I get the point,” Baxter replied. “I’m busy too at my sales job at the Oriontech Corporation. The bottom line is you’re going to love it. The place is incredible and I’m basing it on last year’s standards. All the robots in the ‘drome have been updated with the latest AI technology to make their actions more realistic. This year is going to be the best year yet!”
“It sounds great. I’m psyched to try it out,” Peter said.
“You should be, Peter.”
Ken paused for a moment as the armored Shock Trooper patrolling the bow walked by them. Rayne always felt a nervous tinge of dread whenever one of those android-like officers came nearby. Baxter continued his speech unhindered as soon as the Trooper ascended the steps to the upper deck.
“The Powerdrome is the park’s latest, most advanced robotic attraction,” Ken said. “It was built about a quarter mile from New Washington’s western wall, so it would have access to the same underground power source that provides the city with electricity.”
“Oh, okay,” Rayne said, pretending he was interested. He already knew this information from the schematics Campion had given him to memorize.
Baxter pulled a small paper pamphlet out of the breast pocket of his beige suit jacket and handed it to Rayne. It was an ad for the Powerdrome. The words at the top of the pamphlet read: POWERDROME, A WORLD WITHIN A WORLD. Below that was the word FEATURING and then the page was divided into five rough squares containing the descriptions CRIME WORLD, GAMBLING WORLD, PREHISTORIC WORLD, DARK WORLD, AND SPACE WORLD.
Pictures of realistic-looking 1920’s style mobsters, ancient armored knights, prehistoric cave men, and futuristic astronauts frozen into dramatic poses could be found in each box under the appropriate world.
Rayne was becoming annoyed. While Executives like Ken were spending all their time salivating about the Powerdrome’s new AI upgrade, millions of so-called grunts were laboring at their miserable poverty-level jobs worrying about paying bills for necessities. His mischievous side was begging to come out and set Ken straight.
“The government must have invested billions into the construction of Virtual-world, Ken,” Rayne commented. “Where do you think they got all the money?”
“Where else?” Baxter replied. “Taxes.”
“That’s true, Ken, but what programs do you think they cut to appropriate all that cash? Do you think they took money out of the country’s national defense budget to construct the Powerdrome?”
“Of course not! Not this administration!” Baxter replied with a slight trace of anger leaking through his casual demeanor. “This administration isn’t weak on national defense! The War on Terror is still going strong and it won’t be long before we have the Middle East under control. The investment money was probably taken out of the program we spend too much money on already: welfare.”
Baxter paused for a moment with a thoughtful expression on his face as if he was carefully considering his statement. He leaned forward and looked intensely into Rayne’s eyes like a mesmerist.
“Don’t say it, Rayne. I know what you’re thinking. When you’re driving your anti-grav to work, you don’t have to look down too long to find the poor and the unemployed walking the streets or living in some old ground vehicle carcass. But the fact is there will always be poor and disadvantaged people in the world. It shouldn’t be the government’s responsibility to care for those who do not wish to care for themselves. The only way the government can help those people is to invest in businesses to create more jobs. Some businesses are simply too big to fail and need to be bailed out by the government when they run into trouble. If it wasn’t for the latest trillion dollar bailout of the technology sector, my company would have gone under and thousands would have lost their jobs.”
“Ken, don’t take this personally, but I’m going to play devil’s advocate for a second,” Peter said, suppressing a grin. “Do you mind if I offer a slightly different opinion?”
“I don’t mind at all, Peter. We used to debate the plight of the poor in college all the time for fun. Please continue.”
“Well, Ken,” Peter said, feigning mock confidentiality in his voice. “The trillion dollar bailout of the technology sector was put into effect by the Frump Administration over eight years ago in 2047 and the unemployment rate is still over 20%. It hasn’t changed a single point for eight years! Don’t you think the bailout would have made a difference by now?”
“Rayne, you know you can’t trust those liberal economists. They intentionally inflate the unemployment rate. All the major news commentators say the private economists are exaggerating and the rate really isn’t any higher than 18%. That’s over a million jobs saved since the bailout was put into effect.”
“Ken, don’t you think it’s hypocritical for the government to give lip service to the sanctity of the free market and then give out billions of dollars to companies that fail?” Rayne asked.
“Peter, I told you before, the major technology companies are too big to fail. Too many jobs are at stake to let them go under.”
“The billions of dollars in bailout money would be better used if it was turned into tax breaks for the working men and women of this country,” Rayne said. “Ordinary citizens could then purchase more technology products, which would stimulate business growth. I’m not saying we give people handouts, Ken. I’m just saying we should let working people keep more of their hard-earned money rather than taxing them heavily to pay for massive bailouts. ”
Ken Baxter appeared to be baffled by the speech, as if he couldn’t believe another Executive was actually saying these bizarre things. He stood, flustered, and glanced toward New Washington’s great black wall looming on the horizon. He composed himself and sat back down, but the smile he gave Peter was not as wide as before.
“Rayne, are you running for office, or what? You’re really great at playing the devil’s advocate. The simple truth is that over the last fifty-eight years, the citizens of this country must have had some faith in the Presidents they elected. Let’s face it. The twentieth century had more than its share of incompetent liberal Presidents, who brought us to the edge of ruin. The twenty-first century is different. We’re not a pathetic group of whining victims demanding their rights! We want a government that supports our largest businesses so we don’t lose our jobs to overseas competition! We want a government that keeps the economy going strong by investing in industry! That’s why we elect Presidents who share the same values. Do you understand what I’m talking about, or are you simply a grunt masquerading as an Exec?”
Baxter paused to let his wayward student take in the information. Rayne wiped the incredulous expression from his face in favor of a neutrally considerate one. But at the mention of the word, “grunt,” and the idea of assuming someone else’s identity, all the color drained from his face. He sat tensely on the boat steps, staring into his acquaintance’s wide smile.
Rayne decided that his only chance to avoid suspicion was to change his demeanor. Using all his willpower, he suppressed his di
sgust. He forced himself to grin while the wheels turned in his head for something relevant to say.
“Ken, are you kidding me?” Rayne asked. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out we’re living in the best century in history. Technological progress has never been more impressive. American industry has made huge advances thanks to the government bailouts.”
Now it was Ken’s turn to look surprised. He had not expected this 180-degree turn from a person who he guessed was sympathetic to the enemy. His face started to light up when he realized he was in the company of a true believer like himself.
“Then, why’d you say that stuff before?” Baxter asked.
“I was just taking the other side to see how you’d respond,” Peter said. “I agree with you completely. It’s common knowledge among the educated citizens of this country that the Presidents in the twenty-first century have been the greatest in our nation’s history.”
“You’re right, Peter!” Ken exclaimed. “We started the century with one of our nation’s greatest Presidents. He was able to get a significant tax cut passed for the most successful people in the country who had been paying more than their fair share of taxes. Then, he saved the financial sector from collapsing by giving them the first 750 billion dollar bailout. His actions paved the way for President Newhouse and his 800 billion dollar bailout of the pharmaceutical industry in 2029. Without Newhouse and his successful policies, we never could have had President Frump and his trillion dollar bailout of the technology sector in 2047. The policies shaped by our twenty-first-century Presidents have kept our economy from collapsing and saved millions of jobs!”
Ken paused in his speech at that point and Peter jumped in to fill the gap.
“Absolutely, Ken! The government has to keep big business afloat to keep the economy sailing smoothly! Otherwise millions of jobs would be lost at sea!”
Rayne decided to frame his behavior on shows he had seen on television where people proclaimed their beliefs to smiling televangelists.
