Firebolt

by R. M. Galloway

  “They will be superior to all previous virtual reality headsets,” Ujjal said. “I have no doubt about that. But I am still unclear on why you want the glasses to all get their content from a single satellite. Would customers not prefer to be able to select their own content through downloadable apps?”

  “Everyone else has downloadable apps. But nobody else has the type of content we will have. Quod Glasses are not for mere diversion; they will not be used to play video games or simulate life experiences the customer cannot afford to enjoy in real life. They are much more than that. The fortunate man with a set of Quod Glasses will easily experience deep meditative states, effortlessly achieving the highest levels of spiritual fulfillment previously available only to those with the good karma to become Buddhist or Taoist monks. Incidentally, they will just as effortlessly become more successful in all fields of life, including career and love and all the things of this world.”

  “It is your decision of course,” said Ujjal, and went back to work. Vitalius paid him enough not to need his own opinions.

  Chapter 10

  We finished our conversation with the virtual reality team, and went into a room marked “Flying Cars” and protected from casual examination by a security keypad, like all the other rooms. The Quod Corporation was not really developing a flying car. The door actually led to a private elevator, which took us down to the underground bunker. And by underground bunker, I mean as deep as Hades – or at least it felt that way. The heart of the Quod Corporation, the secret projects, protected by military-grade countermeasures against anything less than a direct nuclear strike.

  When the elevator stopped, a uniformed man with a NATO submachine gun greeted us at the doorway with a sharp salute. The security team in the bunker was controlled directly by Kohl, and was different from his personal bodyguard unit. These guys were soldiers, mercenary contractors with combat experience, and their job was not to protect Kohl himself but to ensure his absolute authority within these walls. I had no authority over them at all, as my duty was strictly to lead Kohl’s personal bodyguards. As so-called executive protection specialists, we were mostly needed when on the road – but Kohl insisted we live with him anyway. I had my own room in the underground bunker, just one door away from the room where Vitalius lived with his wife Theresa. Father and Mother, the twin pillars of Ultima Thule. No one ever saw Mother, though. Not even me.

  The engineers and tech geniuses upstairs had no idea, but the bunker was bigger than the building itself. It had its own hydroponic farm and its own medical clinic, its own movie theatre and its own library. The people upstairs weren’t really the elite – you had to pass a lot of screening tests to work for the Quod Corporation in any capacity, but you had to pass even more to work downstairs.

  There were nowhere near as many work areas down in the bunker as there were upstairs, but other than the farm and the other living necessities all of the work areas underground were top secret. Despite my security functions, I had no idea what they even did. Quod Glasses might indeed be the first product the Quod Corporation brought to market, but they weren’t what the company was really about. That was somewhere down here, protected by security keypads and men with guns.

  As I escorted Vitalius Kohl to his private quarters, he continued to talk. That was really what Father liked most of all. He needed an audience, and it was better for him if his audience could at least partially understand him.

  “This place is remarkable; don’t you think? We could survive a nuclear war down here. We could repopulate the Earth. Isn’t that a comfort, Gavin?”

  “Not really sure I see the point in it.”

  “Have you become a nihilist, then?”

  “Maybe I’m just returning to my punk roots.”

  “Ah, yes. Chaos Factor, the young Gavin Holder’s preferred means of aesthetic and emotional expression. Do you ever miss it?”

  “Singing for a punk band? After the things I’ve been through? The wildest Cramps gig, the most violent Fear show… they don’t compare. My life is punk enough.”

  “Well said, my friend.”

  We reached his room, and he punched in the numbers on his keypad. I gestured to one of the other bodyguards, a man named Kenneth, and he took up his place beside the door.

  “We’ll talk later, Gavin,” said Vitalius Kohl, and disappeared into his room. I sighed with relief, gave a few instructions to my subordinates, and went to the bunker’s underground bar. I could have gone to the cafeteria – it was about time for lunch – but the food in the bunker was all vegetarian, in honor of the Ja Lama’s Buddhist beliefs. Lunch could wait a little. Alcohol could not.

  “What’ll it be, Gavin? The usual?” asked the bartender, a Quod Corporation drink dispenser with its own facial recognition software and the ability to insert the right name into the same sentence more or less consistently. It was just a big machine behind the bar, looking something like one of those soda dispensers where you pick out your drink on a touchscreen. Not the sort of bartender you’d share your troubles with, though maybe they’d add that feature in the next update.

  “The usual,” I said, and it got to work, dropping some ice cubes in a glass and then dispensing some vodka. I happened to know it was Grey Goose, because I had personally insisted on it. It tasted good, and helped to round out the sharp edges of my existential nausea. I started to think a little, which was definitely something I would rather avoid. But the vodka kept it from being too traumatic.

  I was here with Father, I knew exactly where Father was, and I hadn’t killed him. I watched my bank balance go up and up, without much of anything to spend it on. I did his bidding, even when it filled me with despair and dread. I was trapped underground, with a wealthy megalomaniac and his private mercenaries. I might as well be buried, buried so deep I would never be able to claw my way back out.

  “You’re looking a bit noir, Gavin,” said my buddy Kumar, running one hand through his curly hair. He must have guessed I would be there. Kumar knew my habits, but that was only one of the ways in which he was a sharp guy. In fact, Kumar was a genius, smart enough to ace both levels of the screening process. One of the engineers on one of the top secret projects.

  “What’ll it be, Kumar? The usual?” said the robotic bartender.

  “It’s barely noon,” said Kumar.

  “I don’t understand,” said the bartender. “Please select a drink.”

  “No drink,” said Kumar. The bartender shut up.

  “I really hate that thing,” he said.

  “Careful,” I warned him. “You’ll hurt its feelings.”

  “It doesn’t have any feelings, it’s a machine. Don’t tell me you’re an animist.”

  “I have no ideology at all. How’s the work going?”

  “Not too bad. I can’t talk about any of it, of course!”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not testing you. I don’t think I have the authority to anyway.”

  “How was the TED Talk?”

  “Straightforward. I don’t know why the boss even did it, though. He doesn’t seem to think there was much point in it.”

  Kumar shrugged. “Do you maybe want to play some chess later?”

  “You’ll obviously win.”

  “I don’t really care. I need someone to play with.”

  Before I could answer, Jesse Spindrift came in the room. It was almost enough to put me off my vodka.

  “You’re needed upstairs,” he said. “They’ve caught a spy.”

  “What are you taking about?” asked Kumar loudly. “A spy?”

  He looked disgusted, or maybe nauseous.

  “It’s nothing to do with you,” said Jesse. “Just get back to your lab.”

  Kumar scurried out. Poor guy was frightened of Jesse Spindrift. Can you imagine that?

  “Come on, Holder,” said Jesse.

  “I’m coming.” Even though I was suddenly going back on duty, I swallowed the rest of my vodka in a single gulp. Jesse threw me a disgusted look. It was a
day for everyone to be disgusted about everything.

  Chapter 11

  It would have been my preference to go upstairs for the interrogation, and there is at least a chance it would have saved a brave woman’s life. But the elevator door opened just before I could get into it, and two guards hustled the suspect out. She seemed nondescript, a cafeteria lady with no apparent personality beneath the intense fear she was displaying now. Her eyes were huge, staring around the bunker in silent, desperate panic.

  “Here she is,” said Jesse Spindrift – as if that wasn’t obvious. I didn’t know where she was from, or what the guards had caught her doing.

  “Please…” she said, her voice half-strangled with fear. “I don’t understand this… please…”.

  “Come on, Maria,” said Jesse scornfully. “You were caught in the virtual reality room. Caught red-handed. How did you even know the security code? Who do you work for?”

  “I don’t understand,” she whimpered, terrified.

  “I need to interrogate her,” I said abruptly, seeking to establish my authority over the situation quickly. It wasn’t at all clear that interrogation of suspected spies was even part of my official duties.

  “Shouldn’t that be done by…” Jesse started to say.

  “It should be done by a person trained to do it,” I said. “And that means me. Take her to a private room where I can talk to her alone.”

  “That’s not a good idea, boss,” said one of the guards. Her name was Barbara, a former MP if I recalled correctly. “If you question her alone, it might give some people a reason to question it.”

  Some people like Jesse. “Good point,” I replied, mentally noting her as potentially loyal. “You should sit in with me.”

  She nodded back at me, and Jesse directed us to a nearby office. He probably would have given anything to get the opportunity to accuse me.

  “What is your name?” I asked her.

  “Maria Guttierez. I work in the cafeteria. Please.”

  Her eyes darted from side to side, as if she was looking for any possible escape. But we were far underground, and no escape was even conceivable. Barbara didn’t show her any hint of sympathy. As far as Barbara was concerned, a potential vulnerability had been exposed and eliminated. Her team was safe now. The only thing that remained was to gather intelligence on the enemy.

  “Who do you work for?” I asked.

  “I work for FMS,” she replied.

  “Who’s that?” I asked her, assuming this to be acronym of some rival corporation or perhaps an armed faction. Front for Militant Subversion, maybe.

  “It’s Food Management Services,” said Barbara, flatly. The cafeteria.

  “Yes, yes, Food Management Services!” said Maria, as if this explanation accounted for everything.

  “What were you doing in the virtual reality work area?” I asked.

  “I got lost,” she said. She looked down at the floor, as if embarrassed at her own stupidity.

  “Then how did you get in the room?”

  “The door was open. I thought maybe someone important was in there, someone who could tell me where I was.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “Those doors are never open. You cannot have accessed that room without a security code.”

  She squirmed a little, then suddenly looked up and stared directly in my eyes.

  “I could do something for you,” she said. “Something good.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “You know what I mean, sir. Something fun. Como en el burdel.”

  Like in a brothel. She said it gravely, looking directly at me as she said it. Or maybe “like in the brothel.” The brothel where I once met a masked anarchist woman from an underground cell devoted to the destruction of Ultima Thule and of Father. She couldn’t be the same woman – different voice, different shape – but she could just possibly be from the same cell. Is that what she was trying to tell me? With Barbara sitting right next to me, I couldn’t ask.

  “You don’t seem so stupid anymore,” said Barbara.

  “I’m not,” said Maria. “But I had to try.”

  “Do you realize you’re in a lot of trouble?” asked Barbara harshly.

  The door opened, and one of the mercenaries came in. “You two get out of here,” he said, gesturing at me and Barbara. “This is our job, not yours.”

  “I’m in charge of security,” I insisted.

  “You’re in charge of Kohl’s personal security.”

  “I’m in charge of security upstairs, where she was caught.”

  “She’s down here now.”

  “I’m a trained FBI interrogator.”

  “This woman isn’t. If you want to interrogate the suspect, one of us should sit in with you.”

  “That’s fine with me,” I said.

  Barbara stood up to go, and the mercenary followed her out. “I’ll be right back,” he said as he left. “Suspend the interview until I return.”

  The door shut, and Maria leaned forward and started whispering urgently.

  “There isn’t much time! Which side are you on?”

  “Which side are you on?” I asked.

  “You know who I work with! The woman you met before, she told me all about you. Now I need to know, and know quickly. Which side are you on?”

  “I can’t get you out of here,” I said. “There’s nothing I can do. This is an underground bunker, completely fortified.”

  “I’m not asking you to help me escape from here. I know what will happen to me. But you have to look into the Quod Glasses, do you hear me? The Quod Glasses are the key!”

  “The Quod Glasses are the key. I hear you.”

  “Don’t interfere with our mission!” she said urgently. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but don’t interfere or it will all end badly. Try to keep them from figuring out what we’re doing, if you get the chance.”

  “Why are you assuming I would help you at all?”

  “She said you were a good man in your own way, just very stupid. So was she right or not?”

  The door opened, and the mercenary returned with three of his friends.

  “Kohl over-ruled you,” he said. “He needs you with him. Her interview will be handled by the Ja Lama.”

  That made no sense, to have a suspected spy interrogated by a Buddhist monk. But there was no chance of getting it overturned without talking to Kohl, so I had little choice but to go to my master. They took Maria away, and that was the last I ever saw of her. Well, almost.

  Chapter 12

  “The Ja Lama is back,” said Vitalius Kohl, as if that was supposed to tell me something.

  “Yes. And? Why would you put a meditation master in charge of an interrogation? I’m the one with the training here!”

  He was sitting at a huge oak desk, the centerpiece of his personal office. There was a door behind him, leading into his private bedroom. That was where Mother was, or at least where she was supposed to be – Theresa Shaara Kohl, his wife. The one who gave the kill order when there was killing to be done, at least according to what people said. What was the phrase I was told? Something like, “If Father wants you to do something, you will do it. If Mother wants you to die, then you will die.”

  I was standing in front of Father’s desk, or more accurately I was pacing. The unknown fate of Maria Guttierez was making me nervous.

  “He is much more than a meditation master,” said Vitalius. “And much less, too. There is little or no benefit to be gained from traditional meditation training. It’s too slow, and in any case we beings of the Kali Yuga do not have the discipline for it. His true skills are much more esoteric, much more effective.”

  “And he can conduct an effective interrogation?”

  “More effective than you can? Yes. He will look in her eyes, but what he sees there will not be what you would see. He will see her soul, her inner self in all its nothingness. And he will have the truth from her.”

&n
bsp; I certainly hoped that would not be the case, because she might have a thing or two to say about me.

  “Why did you need to speak with me?” I asked him.

  “It is just as I told you, I needed to speak with you because the Ja Lama has returned. Didn’t you wonder why he didn’t come back with us?”

  “Not really. I assumed he had big plans with one of his favorite mantras.”

  “I suppose he did, but not in the way your flippancy suggests. He was consulting oracles, asking his spiritual allies to tell him something. The answer to a question I’ve been wondering about constantly.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Whether I could trust my inner circle, or whether there were traitors right here in the throne room. Especially you.”

  “How can I possibly be a traitor? I work for money, to earn a living. Loyalty in the abstract sense of the word isn’t really part of it.”

  “Is that truly so? And if it is, then doesn’t that mean that someone else could buy you out from under me?”

  “No one’s interested,” I said. “You’re all I’ve got. You pretty much made sure of that, didn’t you? But what did the oracles say anyway?”

  “They said that you hate me, that you harbor a deep-seated grudge against me. And they also said to beware of spies.”

  “Two separate statements,” I pointed out. “Not linked together.”

  “Not explicitly decoupled either. Are you a spy?”

  “Of course I am. I’m a spy for you, whenever and wherever you need that particular service from me. I’m a trained FBI agent, after all. I can do the same kind of work for you.”

  He stopped and stared at me, looked in my face as if trying to read me. Then he shook his head. “I just can’t tell. I’m usually so good at this sort of thing. But there are spies here nonetheless, and if we do not stop them, they will derail our work.”

  “My team caught the spy already.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Gavin. There are clearly more, that woman was nothing other than a low-level sneak-thief. You will find these spies for me.”