by Jack Heath
There was a pause.
“Feel better?” Grysat asked finally.
Six did, strangely enough. But he didn’t reply.
“Okay, I’ll buzz you in,” Grysat said. “And I’ll put John Doe in the Visitors Center until King calls him, right?”
Six nodded grimly as the steel elevator doors opened. He would feel a little more at ease with Kyntak in the lockup—out of the way, for the moment.
“Good-bye, Six!” Kyntak called as Six walked towards the elevator. Six glared back at him, but didn’t say anything. He stepped into the elevator, and the doors closed behind him.
He was alone this time. No irritating chatter, probably because it was noon and no one else was arriving. His vertical journey was a lonely one. There was nothing to distract him from his thoughts, but at this point he might have welcomed an interruption. He glared at his reflection in the stainless steel doors.
No one else really knew what had made Six the way he was. Most people, of course, didn’t know that he was a Code-breaking genetic experiment, but even King couldn’t pinpoint the cause of his contempt for the human race. Six himself wasn’t sure, either—he had never really thought about it in great detail; he just lived his life in what seemed to be the easiest way. He had no friends or family, apart from King. He spoke when he had to, and trusted no one. He disliked sports except for fitness purposes. He had little use for money other than to sustain his existence for another day. Everyone else did things to be happy, but Six did things for no reason at all. He kept himself alive because it was better than the alternative. The only emotion he had ever really felt was fear, and even that didn’t come very often.
Perhaps a man who doesn’t believe he is human will never do the things that humans do. Six had known since he first awoke that he wasn’t a part of society, because right from the start, he had been alone with others looking in at him. He was in his glass enclosure and everyone else was a part of the real world. He was an experiment of humankind, not a part of it.
The elevator doors slid open for him. Six stepped out into the corridor and turned, his slightly damp shoes squeaking on the linoleum.
This was why Kyntak seemed so alien to him. Kyntak smiled and joked and talked like humans, even though he was no more human than Six. If God had intended us to be humans, Six thought, then he would have given us parents.
He smiled wryly at that. He wasn’t religious, of course. Only humans were religious. But somehow the idea of God having any say in his life seemed amusing. God created humans, and humans created Six. No matter how far above the rest of the world Six believed he was, humans had created him—they were his gods.
Imagine trying to get through the gates of heaven, Six thought, when you’re not God’s creation. But hell requires a soul, so I’m not headed there, either.
I’d be headed for limbo, he thought.
He touched the handle on King’s door and waited for the buzzer.
“So who is he?” King asked. “And why do I have to meet him?”
“The name he gave me is Kyntak,” Six said. “He’s obnoxious, loud, stupid, and seemingly suicidal. He was one of the guards at the Lab, but he helped me escape, and he says he has the evidence and information we need about Code-breaking activity in the Lab. But with all these things aside—”
“Excuse me!” King interrupted. “You were captured? And then you needed help escaping? You?”
“They were shooting on sight,” Six said bluntly. “No ‘who’s there?’ no ‘freeze,’ no ‘put your hands on your head.’ I’m lucky to be alive. I might have been able to get out on my own. It doesn’t matter whether I needed help or not; he gave it anyway.”
“I thought that having any company at all was a liability in your view,” King said.
“In many ways, he was a liability. But physically, he could do everything I could do, and more.”
King leaned forward. “What?”
“He claims to be from the same experiment as me. Apparently I wasn’t the only creation of the Lab—Kyntak says his DNA is identical to mine. I think he’s telling the truth; there’s no way a normal human being could’ve done the things we did this morning.”
King looked stunned. Then he put his face in his hands. “Another Six hanging around the Deck,” he groaned. “That’s all we need.”
“No!” Six said, tensing up. He had half lifted his body out of the chair, every muscle taut. He saw King staring at him and tried to relax.
“Kyntak is nothing like me,” Six said coldly, his composure regained. “He is unprofessional, uncontrolled, unpredictable, and possibly very dangerous. I do not trust him, and I advise you not to trust him, either. His motives are extremely questionable. Even if he’s not a ChaoSonic spy, he sure needs to grow up.”
King sighed. “Six, maybe it’s you who needs to grow up.”
Six’s eyes narrowed. His hands clenched. But he said nothing.
“I blame myself for the way you’ve become,” said King. “You believe that you’re better than everyone else, and that’s understandable given that, in many ways, you are.”
You’re right I am, Six thought.
“But unfortunately,” King continued, “you seem to believe that no one besides you has any value at all, and that’s not as easy to forgive. Physical and mental superiority does not give you the right to show contempt for those you feel are inferior to you. A lot of people in this City can’t run as fast as you can—and if you hate them all, you’ll never be happy.”
Six was silent.
“I know you understand what I’m saying, Six. As a consequence of your persistent efforts to avoid the rest of humanity, you have no purpose in life—and I think it’s time for you to decide whether or not that’s a worthwhile sacrifice. We are brought into life upon this earth, then we exist for a comparatively short period of time, then we die. In the meantime, many of us enjoy ourselves. And if you don’t like it, well,”—he shrugged—“tough. You’re stuck with us, so you might as well try to grin and bear it. And as for Kyntak, I know what qualifies as ‘unprofessional, uncontrolled, and unpredictable’ for you—it’s the same as your description of everyone you’ve ever met. The reason you’re so upset now is not because Kyntak is psychologically abnormal. It’s because, physically, you think you may have met your match.”
“You can’t trust him!” Six said loudly. “The Lab is up to something big, something worth killing for—and he is working for them!”
“I have no intention of trusting him—until I meet him. But given, as you say, the Lab is up to something big…” King clasped his hands together and put them on the desk. “I think we have more important things to worry about than your personal dislike. Don’t you?”
Six glared at him across the table.
“In fact, here’s some food for thought,” King continued. “If Kyntak has the same ‘perfect’ DNA as you, but he’s ‘obnoxious, loud, stupid, and seemingly suicidal,’ on what grounds have you declared your own superiority?”
“My actions speak for themselves,” Six protested.
“Indeed,” King said evenly. “Now sit down. Your next mission is lined up. We need to find out where the Project Falcon lab is.”
Six sat.
“Good. So let’s look at Kyntak’s disk.” King put the disk into his computer.
Six gasped as images appeared on-screen.
“What the hell is going on here?” he breathed.
MISSION FOUR
LONG LIFE
“I’ve been all over the City, Six,” King said, “and I’ve seen a lot of things, but I’m at a loss to explain this.”
The pictures were all of faces. But, Six thought, such strange faces.
They were creased, crinkled—like the wrinkles of old people, but much deeper and more widespread. Their skin sagged, their hair was thin, and their flesh was loose and pockmarked.
The faces were like clay, covered in water and melted slightly before going into the kiln and erupting in tiny cracks.<
br />
“Who are they? What happened to these people?” Six asked.
“These are old people,” King said.
Ridiculous, Six thought. No one lives to be that old.
“Average life spans have been dropping sharply since Takeover, Six,” King said. “But people used to be able to live to eighty or even ninety years old, before the fog came down on us. You’ve probably never seen anyone older than sixty, but I remember people approaching their eighth decade.” He tapped the screen. “They used to look like this.”
“This bad?” Six asked.
“Well, never this bad,” King said. “These people would have to be…at least a hundred or a hundred and ten years old, but it’s hard to tell without a comparison—I’ve never seen pictures of anyone over about ninety-five. One way or the other,” King continued, “I’m very curious to find out what this is all about.”
“Could the photos have been taken before Takeover?” Six suggested.
“No, the pictures were taken with a ChaoSonic camera.”
Maybe so, Six thought, but I don’t trust Kyntak as far as I can throw him.
“Could these be photos of rich recluses?” Six frowned. “People live longer if they’ve got expensive air-purifiers in their homes, particularly if they never go outside.”
“It’s certainly possible,” King said. “But if the Lab has been kidnapping ancient millionaires, why? And why haven’t we heard something about it? A dozen rich people vanishing, particularly ones who’ve been around for a long time, doesn’t happen without somebody noticing.”
“Perhaps it’s…” Six paused, thinking. “Perhaps it’s not a matter of kidnapping. Perhaps the Lab is approaching these people for funding. They make pharmaceuticals, right?”
“Ah, I see,” King said. “You think that maybe the Lab has developed some kind of life-span extending therapy, and is selling it to these people in order to fund Project Falcon?”
“It’s possible,” Six said.
“It certainly is. Have you ever heard of Chelsea Tridya?”
“No.”
“She was a Gear research scientist. For the past few years she has been working on exactly the kind of therapy you’ve mentioned. She was interested in the science of life and aging. She claimed she’d made a breakthrough quite recently, wherein she’d been able to control the rate of cell division and replication in mice, effectively slowing down their rate of aging.”
“You think she could be helping the Lab?” Six asked, not quite convinced. In his experience, different branches of ChaoSonic were too greedy to cooperate.
“If so, I doubt she’s doing it willingly. She vanished, along with all her data and equipment, about six months ago.”
“That sounds more like Crexe’s style,” Six said.
“It all seems to fit,” King said, “except for one thing.” He frowned. “If the Lab has had her data for months, that’s certainly long enough to perfect the technique. But look at these photographs!” He tapped the screen.
Six looked down at the saggy, wrinkled faces. They all look miserable, he thought. Desperate.
“These people haven’t had their natural lives extended for six months—they’re much further gone than that. No matter how rich, no one lives beyond seventy these days, and these people are well past a hundred. So the treatment has to have been going on for at least thirty or forty years.” He sighed. “And if the Lab has had this treatment technique for that long…”
“…why steal it from Tridya,” Six finished. “I see.”
There was a long silence.
“Perhaps they just wanted the exclusive,” Six suggested. “A therapy that makes people live longer is worth a fortune, and they abducted or killed Tridya so they could keep the edge.”
“Possibly,” King responded. “But if they’d had the treatment for thirty years, why haven’t they released it before now?”
“Maybe there’s a limited supply,” Six said. “Highest bidders only.”
King raised an eyebrow. “Maybe so,” he said. “But they don’t look like satisfied customers to me.”
Six looked back at the screen. The desperate, lonely eyes of twelve men and women stared back at him.
“Perhaps it’s nothing,” King said. “Or perhaps it’s everything. Either way, bear it in mind when you’re on your next mission. You remember the pictures I showed you last time?”
Six nodded.
“In that case, I only need to show you this one.”
King slid a photograph across the desk. It showed a short, plump man in his forties, with thin black hair and large grey eyes.
“This is Ungrelor Ludden. He’s in charge of providing weapons and allotting pay to the soldiers in ChaoSonic security. He’s our ticket to catching the Lab. He’s arranged to meet Methryn Crexe at sunset tomorrow.”
“What interest does a security official have with this project?” asked Six. “If Ludden wanted someone killed, why couldn’t he just hire someone, or use one of his own strike teams? Why take an interest in the assassin project?”
“I don’t know what Ludden wants with Crexe,” King said. “But he’s connected somehow. We need to find out how. I want you to be at that meeting, using a digi-mike to tape the conversation. If we can’t find out from the conversation where the Project Falcon laboratory is located, then we’ll just have to arrest him.”
“How did we find out about the meeting?”
“The information came from Kyntak. He called me just before you arrived.”
“I thought he was in the lockup.”
“Visitors Center,” King said reprovingly. “And yes, he was, but they let him out, on special orders from one of the Jokers.”
Six’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“You mean he’s only been in the cell for half an hour and one of the Jokers orders us to let him go?”
King didn’t blink. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
Six’s eyes were wide. “That has ‘ChaoSonic spy’ written all over it—and one of the Jokers is involved!”
“I know, Six,” King hissed. “But if the Spades get wind of it, they won’t just check out Kyntak and start looking for the Joker—they’ll snoop around everywhere. And Kyntak will lead them straight to you.”
Six’s palms were sweaty. “So what do we do?”
“I keep my head down. And tomorrow, you go to that meeting. Find out what Crexe and Ludden are up to.” He leaned forward, eyes narrow. “We can’t act when we don’t know what’s going on. It’s up to you to find out.”
Six nodded. “Is that everything?”
“Almost. Here are the coordinates for Crexe and Ludden’s meeting. Go and see Queen. She’ll brief you for this mission.” King handed over a sheet of paper. “Be careful out there. I know this is hard for you.”
“It’s not,” Six said, turning away.
“I’m serious. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Six grunted and walked towards the door. “Incidentally,” he said, pausing, “Grysat’s been practically insubordinate to me lately—he often seems to forget that he’s just a receptionist and I’m a Heart. Is there any chance you can get one of the Jokers to talk to him, and let him know that his behavior isn’t appropriate?”
“Grysat is one of the Jokers,” King said without looking up. “He sits on reception to keep an eye on everybody—and he’s not the one who bailed Kyntak out.” He put his papers in a desk drawer and locked eyes with Six. “I hope you can keep a secret.”
Six gulped. “Of course,” he said, and left, embarrassed.
“So,” Jack said, “you’ll need some surveillance gadgets?”
Six nodded. Jack beamed happily at him.
“In that case,” he said dramatically, “you’re in luck! I’ve just whipped up something that I think you’ll love!” He dodged Six’s cold glare. “Take a look at this!”
In his hand, Six saw a small, silver mp3 player. Jack waited for a reaction
, but received none, so he explained.
“This is many gizmos in one. It’s a two-way radio, an audio recorder, a digi-cam, a beacon, and…well, an mp3 player. I know they’re ancient, but some of the lower-class civilians kept them from pre-ChaoSonic times.”
Six was silent. He had seen mp3 players before.
Jack was fiddling around with the buttons. “When this memory stick is inside, all of the special functions are activated. The ‘radio’ button is self-explanatory—it turns on the radio. Convenient, yes?” He looked up at Six.
Six didn’t reply.
“Yeah, I know. ‘Get on with it,’ right?” Jack sighed. “Okay, Six. The play button activates the microphone, which is inside this ridge here. Push it again to turn it off. The stop button takes a picture with the digi-cam through the hidden lens here. Just point and click—there’s no flash. A screen lifts up out of the lid here so you can see the picture you’ve taken without a computer. The fast-forward button turns on the beacon and sends a help signal to the Deck. I doubt that you’ll need that. But if worst comes to worst, push the rewind button three times. That’s if you think you’re about to get searched—it melts all the secret gadgets inside but leaves the player itself intact. And finally, if you flick off the stereo switch, then you’ll get a perfectly innocent music recording out of the disk. In mono, I’m afraid. I hope you like funk!”
Six grimaced.
“Hey, come on.” Jack sounded hurt. “It’ll do the job, and it’ll do it well. It’s inconspicuous, efficient, safe to use, and glitch-free. I’m sorry to hear that you don’t like the music, but you shouldn’t need it anyway.”
“No makeover this time?” asked Six.
“Well, I think you’ll be fine without it. When you’re out on the streets I doubt you’ll need one, especially since the people you’re watching will never have seen you before anyway. Most people enjoy having a makeover, and I certainly like helping them out. Why not you, Six? You’re so…different.”
