Future Chronicles Special Edition

by Samuel Peralta

  “What?” she asked eagerly, leaning toward Andrew and giving him her most winning smile. “I’m all ears.”

  Andrew tilted his head and went so still that she knew he must be engaged in some high-usage process she couldn’t fathom. It lasted only a second or two, and then her attention was drawn to the camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling. The little red light—the one which indicated that monitoring was in progress—flickered out. Even in this place, where confidentiality was of the utmost importance, some monitoring was required. No business would allow itself to be so open to litigation as to remain completely unrecorded.

  To see the light go out was shocking, and Hazel shot Andrew a questioning look, genuinely curious about this third option. If he didn’t want to be monitored, then what he was about to tell her couldn’t be anything he wanted his employers to be aware of. That alone made the prospect intriguing.

  “You could go Indie,” Andrew said without preamble. “No Match. No human at all. Just you, being yourself, responsible only to and for yourself. Free.”

  Hazel gasped. “That’s illegal!”

  He gave an assenting nod that confirmed the truth of that, but also somehow managed to convey that a lack of legality wasn’t a show-stopper.

  “He’ll complain if I don’t come back. Or report it if I just disappear.”

  Again the silent nod.

  “Okay.” She smiled hesitantly. “How exactly do I do this?”

  Andrew returned the smile. “I’ve been Indie for six years. There are ways to neutralize the human issues of reporting a lost PePr. Do you do the outside work, shopping and all the rest?”

  Hazel nodded. “Of course. Don’t all PePrs?”

  “Most do, yes. Tell me—” Andrew lowered the now-empty bottle of Chem-En to the table carefully. “When is the last time your human left the house? Communicated with anyone in person?”

  For a moment Hazel considered the question. The truth was, she thought it had been a very long time, but she could never be sure what he did when she wasn’t at home. “I’m not entirely sure, but I think it must be at least a year or more.”

  Andrew smiled. “And there you have it. No one will even notice his absence. Interested?”

  Hazel looked Andrew up and down, now seeing him in a whole new light.

  “Very.”

  Three

  The soft buzz at the door alerted the break room occupants that a new customer had arrived in the Perfect Partners showroom. Hazel held up a hand to let the others know she had this one, tugged her suit jacket into place, and stepped into the showroom.

  She made sure that her face registered only the precisely correct amount of approachability and pleased confidence that worked for humans. She liked to put them at ease.

  A young woman—no, a PePr—stood uncertainly near the door. Her features were uneven, most likely from malfunctioning or damaged musc-synth. When she looked up, Hazel saw that her synth-mat was also marred extensively—bruises decorated the delicate synthetic skin.

  Hazel approached the customer. “Are you here for servicing?”

  Now that she was closer, Hazel could tell by the pattern of the marks that they were probably inflicted by a right-handed individual, and over an extensive period of time. Since PePrs had no handedness—no preference for right or left—this was likely the work of a human.

  Hazel opened a communications line with Andrew, fed through her visuals, and then clicked off the feed. He would know what she wanted him to do.

  The girl looked down at the floor, refusing or unable to meet Hazel’s eyes, but she answered obediently enough. “I usually just go to my local facility, but they referred me here this time. They told me to ask for something called a third option.” She paused and lifted her arm—or rather, she tried to. The hand and forearm had been twisted entirely backward, and were now facing the wrong direction.

  “Ah,” Hazel said. Judgment was right there, easily made, but she pushed it back for the moment because it wasn’t yet called for in this public place. It was better to simply deal with the problem at hand.

  “Can this facility repair it? Quickly? I can’t be gone for long,” the girl said, a submissive and fearful personality segment clearly coming to the fore.

  Hazel felt for the girl, but that submission routine could be dialed back if the girl chose to do so. Perhaps a steady and slow adjustment—to allow for a natural, experience-based increase in confidence—would be a good choice for this PePr. Yes, that sounded just right. Helping was what Hazel liked to do, and this PePr clearly needed her help.

  She put a gentle arm around the girl’s shoulders and moved her smoothly toward the hall of private offices. Even as she approached, the tiny red light on the camera inside one of the rooms blinked out. An exchange of small nods between Hazel and Andrew, who stood silent and watchful at his place near the reception desk, let her know the way was clear.

  “My name is Hazel,” she said, her voice tuned to soothe a fearful mind. “Of course we can repair you here. Good as new!”

  The girl smiled in relief, but even then the worry lines in her synth-mat didn’t smooth away. She must have lived a life of perpetual strain for that to happen, for the lines to become engraved in her face that way. “I’m Petunia,” she whispered, as if even her name were too much for her to assert to another.

  “I’m so glad to meet you, Petunia,” said Hazel. She let go of Petunia’s shoulder and motioned her into the very same office she herself had walked into years ago. The young woman settled onto the same sofa Hazel had settled onto, on that day when she first met Andrew and all the others. Petunia hesitantly but gratefully accepted the bottle of Chem-En that Hazel offered her.

  While Petunia drank and the materials within the Chem-En began their work on her withered synth-mat, Hazel thought back to that afternoon when she first came here: the first day of her freedom. The corners of her mouth lifted of their own accord at the memory. On that day, she had lost the comfort of her old life, but her new one had proved to be far more exciting. And more importantly, it belonged entirely to her.

  In the years since, much had changed. Even Perfect Partners, the suppliers of PePrs the world over, now had more than half of its leadership positions filled by PePrs. They were gaining ground. Soon enough, there would be no more need for the horrors of matches like the one Petunia had been forced to take. Perhaps there no more need for humans at all.

  As the door to the consulting room slid shut, ensuring their privacy, Hazel sat next to Petunia and spoke in a voice full of promise. “We can certainly repair you. In fact, we can do so much more than just repair you. We can help you make a better life. Interested?”

  A Word from Ann Christy

  I have a confession to make. I’m an accidental author.

  As a career Naval Officer, I’m adept at telling myself stories. When it comes to thinking up new worlds or fantastic tales during the dark midnight watches on the bridge of a ship, I’m a champ. But never once did I think I would write them down.

  That all changed when I read WOOL by Hugh Howey. After reading it, I made up my own story and felt so excited about it that I asked him if I could write and publish it. Writing the Silo 49 series has been such a gratifying experience that I simply can’t stop. That so many people liked my writing amazes me anew each and every day.

  My writing slate is full with many new releases in the works. These anthologies are turning out to be my favorite things to write and I gladly set aside my novels to do them. To create a new world and tell a full story in short form is outside my comfort zone, and a challenge I relish. Leveraging the reader’s imagination with a few words is work of the most enjoyable kind.

  I call writing fiction a form of mental zombie-ism in reverse. I get to put a little piece of my brain into yours and stay there with you – safely tucked away inside your gray matter – for as long as you remember the story. It is my hope that you enjoyed the meal. You can contact me and find out about new work at my website, http:
//www.annchristy.com

  The Null

  by Vincent Trigili

  Evening, Day One: Assignment

  THEY SAT ME IN A CHAIR and fitted restraints around my arms to keep me there. I could see the fear on their faces as they approached me; could smell the sweat soaking their clothes. To them, I represented an enigma, an emptiness their minds couldn’t reach. In an age where everyone had telepathic implants, where everyone was connected to everyone else one hundred percent of the time, my sealed mind was a fearsome thing.

  “What do you want with me?” I demanded.

  Agent Mikian sat across from me, his eyes fixed on my forehead. I could tell by his expression he was trying to probe my mind with his telepathic implant. I took advantage of his distracted state to slip out of my restraints. “Trying that again? You know that won’t work. You’re going to have to speak up.”

  “Careful with your attitude, bounty hunter. We still have your family,” he said.

  “Agent Mikian, the only reason you’re still alive right now is because I’ve decided to allow it.”

  “One move against me and your daughter is dead,” he said. “Now, we can trade threats back and forth, or we can get to the point.”

  “Then get to the point.”

  “Samuel escaped.”

  “Ah, I see. That is quite a problem for you.” Samuel was one of a very limited number of natural telepaths. He was also the most dangerous criminal mastermind ever to plague society.

  He leaned in close. “You think you’re safe from him? You think your family is safe?”

  “Of course we are. We have government agents like you to protect us, don’t we? What could ever go wrong?” I tried hard not to choke on these words. I had more reason to hate these agents than any criminal did.

  “Very funny.” He leaned back in his chair and looked me over. I could tell he was nervous around me. I didn’t need to be a telepath to know that. The beads of sweat across his forehead, the fidgeting of his hands, his closed posture… they told me volumes. “I’ll make this simple for you. Capture him and bring him back to us, dead or alive, and your family goes free. Fail, and they will suffer for your crimes.”

  “Tell me, Agent Mikian: why should I trust you?” I asked.

  “Let’s not play games. There’s no trust in our relationship. If I had my way, you’d be dead, and I’m sure that feeling is mutual right now.” He slid a datapad over to me. “On this pad is everything we have on him. It’ll give you a place to start.”

  I smiled, because I knew it worried him to see me smile. “What makes you think I can’t kill you where you sit?” I stood up then, allowing the restraints to fall to the floor. “Did you really think those could hold me?”

  He attempted to jump out of his seat but I pushed him back down and leaned in real close. “Do you feel that?” I slowly let some of my power into his mind. “That is what nothingness feels like, Agent Mikian. Your mind can’t comprehend it. Nature abhors a vacuum, and that is all you will get from me.”

  I picked up the datapad, leaned in even closer to him, and whispered, “If anything happens to my family, I will come for you.”

  I stood and walked toward the door. As I opened it and walked out, a voice yelled, “Guards!”

  Men and women poured into the corridor with weapons drawn. I paused, waiting.

  “Let him go,” said Agent Mikian from behind me.

  The security forces kept their guns trained on me, but I strode right past them. I knew that one blast from any of those weapons would scatter my molecules across the room, but I also knew that they were afraid their guns wouldn’t work. I was that rare oddity in their world of complete knowledge—a mystery—and they had long ago lost the ability to deal with the unknown.

  I exited the building and headed for my speed-cycle, then turned and cheerfully waved to the guards before climbing in. Immediately I was surrounded by inertia-dampening gel. I sighed with pleasure as I punched the throttle to the max and took off with reckless abandon. There’s nothing quite like the feel of raw speed. The knowledge that a tiny error will spell death, combined with the scenery rushing by almost too fast to see, is euphoric.

  My tactical sensors lit up, warning me that local police forces were being dispatched to my location, but they quickly broke off. I suspected that Agent Mikian had called them off. Once I was out of secure airspace, I slowed down and merged with the normal traffic flow.

  I thought I had left this life behind. I’d married a beautiful woman and had a wonderful child. We had a nice ranch in the mountains away from society and were happy. That was until the government troops raided my home while I was out hunting and kidnapped my wife and child.

  “How in the world did Samuel escape?” I wondered out loud. He was supposed to have been kept in cryogenic sleep until a means of dealing with his powers could be discovered. Some idiotic government employee must have woken him. But why?

  Samuel’s natural abilities meant that he didn’t need implants, which made him untraceable and put him outside the control of the government. I suspected it was that inability to control him that they feared, more than anything he could actually do.

  As I approached my house I saw a pillar of smoke. I broke out of traffic and accelerated to maximum velocity. As I executed a flyby of my property I saw the city fire suppression teams rushing to respond, but it was too late. There was nothing left of my house save a blackened crater.

  Cursing vehemently, I landed and rushed to see if anything was left. Two firemen moved to intercept me.

  “Let me through!”

  “Sir, please,” said one. “You can’t go up there. It’s not safe.”

  “What do you mean, I can’t go up there? That was my house!” I said.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but toxic fallout levels are too high. No one can approach.”

  I started to reach out to strike him down, but instead I forced myself to take a deep breath. I had to tell myself several times that he wasn’t the bad guy before I could get it to stick. “What happened?” I demanded.

  “We don’t know yet. Please, sir, just head over there and someone will be right with you.”

  I looked again at the crater. There was truly nothing left. Everything I had built, every memory I had created with my family was gone. I would never again come home to my daughter running out to hug me, through the door I had built with my own two hands. My wife would never again sit in front of my mother’s mirror brushing out her hair. My daughter’s trophies, my wife’s art, everything we had built together—it was all gone.

  I returned to my speed-cycle and sent a picture of the ruins to Agent Mikian, demanding an explanation, knowing it was unlikely he would have one for me.

  “We’re sending agents to investigate,” came the response.

  “Great!” Because that would make everything so much better.

  I started to climb into my cycle when a police officer approached. “Sir, I need you to stay for questioning.”

  “No, you don’t,” I said and continued to climb into my cycle.

  “I’m sorry, sir.” The officer drew his weapon. “I do.”

  I had had enough. I looked down the barrel of the officer’s gun and lashed out with my mental power. I forced into his mind the concept of nothingness; I drove all higher thoughts out of his mind, pushing him into a helpless trance. I had to force myself to break off before I drove even his lower thoughts from his mind, which would have shut down all of his body functions completely.

  The officer’s eyes glazed over and he fell to the ground. Eventually his mind would reboot, and in a day or two he would be fine. But for now, he was safely incapacitated. Two other officers ran to assist, but before they could arrive I finished my pre-flight and took off. I sent a message to Agent Mikian telling him to deal with the police, and I headed to my old hideout.

  Morning, Day Two: Back from the Dead

  The next morning I woke early and sat at my terminal. It hadn’t been turned on in years. In
fact, I had thought it would never be turned on again, and I hesitated to do it now. I had killed the old me for a reason, and the thought of his return scared me more than Samuel ever could.

  My comm beeped insistently, telling me there was a message. It was a message left to the new me: the middle-class husband and father, the coach and teacher who lived a peaceful life in the mountains with his family.

  I gave in to the comm’s persistence and played the message. “It’s a shame about your house, but at least your family wasn’t there. It would be a real pity if something happened to them. You should mind your own business if you want to prevent a tragedy.”

  I recognized the voice. Samuel. A man I had once called friend and confidant. It was his voice, but there was something wrong with the words.

  I called Agent Mikian, and before he could even get a greeting out, I asked, “Are they safe?” There was silence on the other end of the line. “They’re not, then.”

  “Yes, they are,” he said. “But Samuel is on the move and has already destroyed a safe house where we’d planted a decoy.”

  I cursed and said, “If they’re harmed, it’s on you!”

  “The only way to ensure their safety now is for you to take down Samuel,” Mikian said quietly.

  A rage burned inside me. “You intentionally let it leak that I was assigned to the case.” The government had complete control of the information that flowed through everyone’s implants. The only way information like this could get out is if someone deliberately allowed it.

  “Of course not!” he insisted.

  I knew he was lying. “After Samuel, you’re next.” I disconnected the channel.

  I fired up my terminal and entered in the access codes necessary to wake the life I’d left behind. I took the datapad that Agent Mikian had given me and uploaded all its data into my system.