by P. F. White
Hank hesitated a moment, then walked over and took the gun from where it lay.
“If you will follow me please,” said John Smith as he indicated a direction down one of the blank halls. Hank took one last look outside .He was surprised to see that already the streaks of blood upon the glass had largely disappeared. As he watched what little remained seemed to evaporate off the glass and leave behind a sparkling clear exterior once again.
“What is this place?” asked Hank quietly.
John Smith laughed to himself. The noise was strange and it suddenly occurred to Hank why: it was exactly the same laugh he had heard before. The man seemed to only have a few different laughs and he used them at random. They were as fake as the canned laughter on a sitcom television show.
Who are these people, thought Hank to himself, and what have I gotten my family into?
John Smith was leading the way now. He stood as tall and proud as he could, his every feature seeming to beam with pride for the surroundings around him.
“The future my friend,” he began. Hank looked at him as the man explained: “This place I mean. This place is nothing short of the future.”
Chapter Five:
The woman approached Adriana with obvious hesitation. Her face looked friendly, and a little young for the obvious responsibility that she wore. Still, her experience was obvious. She had the easy manner of a person who was used to being in charge. She might still be “under 30” but her eyes said “Authority” just as easily as a much older person.
“Please,” said the blond woman, “Can you lower the gun? You don't need to put it down, but I think I speak for all of us when I say it makes us uncomfortable.”
“I dunno,” said one fellow with really long curly hair, “Back in college the police would raid my group house pretty frequently. They loved pointing guns at you. I have to say I got kinda used to it.”
“Shut up Kyle,” said a slim black woman beside him, “She is already freaked out enough already.”
The black woman smiled at Adriana and Claire.
“Please,” repeated the blond haired executive type, “If you don't mind...”
Adriana lowered the gun.
“What's going on here?” Asked Adriana. Her voice quaked quite a bit.
“Monopoly,” said the long haired man with a goofy smile- Kyle seemed to be his name.
“Goddamnit Kyle,” hissed the skinny black girl. She then began to playfully attack him. He giggled and, oddly, this all made Adriana feel more at ease. They had the playful familiarity of real friends or even lovers. A lot of the other people weren't at ease though, she could tell that instantly. To them she was just a strange and wild eyed woman with a gun, coming in to break up their game of monopoly for some reason. For a moment she looked down and saw herself. The effect was pretty ridiculous, she had to admit.
“We can go into my office if you like,” said the executive woman, “My name is Miriam by the way. What's yours?”
“Adriana...”
“Well Adriana, if you would just follow me it is this way,” Miriam said. She motioned towards a nearby office of some significant size. Adriana and Claire followed her. Claire even shut the door behind them. You could almost feel the tension break as that door closed.
Inside: it was a really nice office.
“Wow,” said Claire as she looked around. There were awards on the walls and a few framed diplomas. The furniture was spotless and looked expensive. “You must be important,” she said as she went to inspect one of the awards.
“Eh, I largely just make sure the boys get to design what they want,” said Miriam as she went behind her desk to sit down in a comfortable leather chair. Behind the desk was a window taking up the entire wall, but you couldn't see anything except fog now. It looked like a gray sheet had been drawn across the whole building.
“The boys?” asked Adriana as she sat down opposite the woman. She kept her gun in her hand, but didn't point it at anyone. Claire bounced the baby on her hip as she inspected the various awards. The baby liked this game and tried to inspect them himself, alas to little avail.
“Yes,” said Miriam, “It's what I call them. A little old-fashioned I know but, On this floor at least, I run-”
“Holy shit!” called out Claire in surprise.
“Hoolvy shit!” mimicked the baby while giggling and clapping to himself in excitement.
“Claire now look what you've done,” scolded Adriana, “This is exactly why we don't curse around the baby. My parents said that I swore like a little sailor whenever my father got home from the navy, and I'm not going to-”
“But Adriana, look!” said Claire excitedly. She was pointing to an award beside a picture of the group of nerdy looking office workers standing around Miriam. Kyle and the skinny black woman were front and center, along with a wide variety of different people all smiling in various fashions. Miriam's smile was very forced looking. The award was apparently for selling a million copies of something called “Golden Imperium”.
“Very impressive sweetie,” said Adriana dismissively, “But I was-”
“They made it here didn't they?” asked Claire excitedly. She was addressing Miriam directly and showed real excitement in her eyes. Even the baby seemed interested in the executive's answer.
Adriana looked at Miriam hesitantly for confirmation. The blond woman only shrugged modestly as if she was used to such reactions.
“They sure did. They were insufferable after that award though. I even asked the folks upstairs to not give it to us, but they didn't listen. You should have heard them each bragging about their little contributions-”
“-I'm sorry,” said Adriana as she shook her head, “What's-”
“Golden Imperium,” said Claire quickly and speaking rapidly, “Is probably my favorite game of all time! It's a computer game that takes place in a fictional and idealized Rome. It's kind of like a role-playing-game except it's not all killing-death-combat and stuff. You basically just get to design a person to live in this beautiful city, and then go around living your life. You can fall in love, get involved in conspiracies, get hired to do jobs- whatever you want really. The game reacts to your decisions and uses complicated algorithms to see what aspects you prefer, then adds randomly generated new content and even stories based upon the type of game it looks like you want to play. It's absolutely insane!”
She was practically jumping up and down with excitement now. Adriana wasn't so impressed.
“So...you make computer games here?” she asked in confusion. Miriam shrugged.
“Here, as in this floor, yes we do. Other floors do different things. The floor below us basically just downloads giant portions of the Internet, for example, and stores them in progressively more complicated hard-drives that some other department makes. We also have a medical research floor above ours, one of a few here I think. There are a bunch of floors based on computer tech, and other engineering things I'm not sure of...there is an awesome culinary development floor on twenty six where you can usually go to try really weird new foods...”
She smiled as she tried to think of some more to add to the impressive list.
“Basically there is a lot going on here,” said Adriana. Miriam smiled and shrugged.
“There is a ton going on here. More so than I know, at least, but then I'm really just middle management with a fancy title. I can't even say I've spent much time at all in any of the sub-basements. What did you say your last name was again, Adriana?”
“I didn't,” said Adriana. She hesitated a moment before she added: “It's Fletcher though. Adriana Fletcher.”
“Good to meet you Ms. Adriana Fletcher. I'm Miriam Monroe. Believe it or not my sister was actually named Marlyn too.” She laughed again, “No relation of course but, eh, my parents still couldn't resist for some reason.”
Adriana found herself smiling at that.
“Can you please put away your gun now? I promise no one is going to hurt you here. In fact, I think
here is one of the safer places you could be.”
Adriana's face hardened.
“Not until I get some concrete answers I won't. What is going on outside? We saw...well...”
Miriam's face fell into one of sad, but understandable, disappointment. She nodded slowly.
“I can only imagine,” she said softly. She leaned forward and added with a conspiratorial tone:
“Do you need a drink or something? Christ I can't even...you were out there weren't you?”
Adriana didn't know exactly what to make of that but nodded anyway. Claire went over to sit down next to her stepmother, obviously still excited about the prospect of where she was.
“We were out there nearly all day,” said Adriana. She hesitated before adding: “We were attacked on the highway while on our way to the beach.”
Miriam was obviously very concerned about that.
“Jesus I can't...wow...just...” she took a moment to compose herself, “Do you, that is: did anyone-”
“We're fine,” said Adriana a little more forcefully than she needed to. Miriam looked a little hurt at that, but Adriana smiled and added: “Really, we were very lucky. My husband either killed the thing that attacked us or-”
“Big Monkey!” said the baby and clapped his hands again. Miriam looked at the baby.
“Was he...”
“Oh he's always like that,” said Clair as she tickled the boy. “Nothing seems to bother him. We had him checked to make sure he is okay, but the doctors said he is just naturally brave or something. It's actually kinda weird sometimes but, well, that's how he is.”
Miriam raised an eyebrow and looked at Adriana. Adriana just shrugged.
“What can I say: we are a weird family.”
Miriam laughed.
“It seems so!” she stood up and walked over to a small bar near the corner of the office.
“You sure you don't need a drink? After what you've been through-”
“I could use one,” said Claire mischievously. Adriana glared at her and she just rolled her eyes and pouted.
“I'm fine,” said Adriana, “But I would like some answers please. Anything you know that might help would be-”
“Of course, of course,” said Miriam as she went about pouring herself a glass.
“Well...” she seemed to pause before she put the glass to her lips, “Where do I even begin...”
# # #
John Smith led Hank into a little office with a bunch of monitors showing what appeared to be different parts of the building's exterior. The sign out front said “Security” and it looked about the same as any security office that Hank had ever seen before. He couldn't see much on the screens through the fog of course, though on occasion he did see a few signs of movement. Whatever it was: he doubted it was human.
“Sit down if you please,” said John as he took a seat in a comfortable leather chair in front of the monitors. Hank sat down beside him, but kept the magnum ready just in case. He had learned long ago that dangerous situations are rarely over quickly.
“I saw a newscast,” said Hank, “Or part of one at least that-”
“Yeah,” said John, “They have been coming in every once in awhile all day. For some reason a few of the antennas can get through the reflective fog every so often- though never for very long it seems. Just enough to scare you right? Yet not enough to inform you about anything I bet. I wonder if that was planned or-”
“Reflective fog?”
John just shrugged.
“That's the nice name for it anyway. Horrible Elder Fog From Beyond the View of Reality seems a bit heavy doesn't it?”
Hank didn't like the man's tone. He frowned at him.
“Tell me exactly what is going on,” he said with a hard voice. He gestured at a screen where one camera could see another long claw-like appendage scratching tentatively at one of the large windows. It appeared very hesitant for some reason, almost as if it were scared of the building itself. “Can they get in?” he asked.
John Smith turned to look at the monitor in question, and then shook his head decisively.
“No. I can tell you with absolute certainty that nothing they throw at us has a very high chance of getting in. When they tested this building they determined that even a mid-yield nuclear explosive wouldn't have a good chance of breaking our exterior. They also tested that glass with bullets, bombs, and all kinds of weirder things too...We are safer here than almost anywhere else in the world right now.”
He leaned forward.
“You are very lucky you found us Mr. Fletcher.”
Hank snorted.
“Oh yeah, I've had loads of luck today.”
“You have,” said John Smith without catching the sarcasm, “But them: we thought you might. That's one of the reasons you were on the list.”
“What's this list? I heard you saying something about that to those poor people outside...”
“Well you see,” the man leaned back and folded his arms behind his head, evidently at ease with what he was about to say, “Awhile back, when we were first setting up this building you see, those in charge made a list of everyone viable within about a thousand miles of one of the towers. These people had to have unusually high intelligence, resourcefulness, leadership potential, survival skills, or just plain luck. They didn't discriminate, mind you. They didn't want everyone with a PHD or who had a million dollars in the bank. They listed poor, middle class, and even the wealthy- thought it might surprise you to know that almost all candidates in that class scored too low on some of the criteria for survival benefit. Too many old men and lucky gamblers there. Anyway: they then uploaded that database to all our towers and ensured that when...well...when something like this eventually happened: those people would be allowed inside regardless of other circumstances.”
Hank shook his head in disbelief.
“You are saying you somehow knew to let me in?”
“I'm saying, Mr. Fletcher, that there are a very few people that I would be allowed to let in when the time came. Only those who would help the species to survive, or beyond that: to thrive. Everyone else would be...well...I don't want to sound callous but-”
“Bullshit,” said Hank.
“What part?” asked John with a ready smile.
“There is no way that the world is coming to an end out there. And there is even less of a chance that my family just so happens to have stumbled upon-”
“You didn't stumble upon anything,” said John. He pointed to one of the monitors where a long dark antenna stood against a sky mostly clouded out by the fog.
“Do you see that antenna? It is even now broadcasting a very low grade subliminal message that is calling those specific people on the list towards our location. Of course: it is doubtful that more than four or five percent of them will actually make it. So far we have had only six other people aside from you today, though I'm still hopeful we might get a few more before conditions out there degenerate beyond a reasonable chance of survival.”
Hank said nothing. He was thinking. John Smith continued on:
“Of course the technology for such things is far from perfected. I'm told there were a lot of promising trials regarding sending these sort of simple messages to directed targets but, unfortunately, they do tend to get intercepted by others besides the target pretty often as well.”
“So the people outside-”
“Probably a few of them were actually on the list, unfortunately,” said John, “The rest were either accidents, or they just followed the people that seemed to know where they were going.”
“I didn't feel like I was getting led, or that I was getting any sort of message or-”
“Of course you wouldn't,” said John Smith, “why would you? Do you feel anything when your subconscious mind makes a decision? I don't think so, or if you did: you probably wouldn't be on the list for reasons of insanity. The same thing applies here. There was simply a direction implanted somewhere in your thoughts, and you did t
he best you could to get here...and now here you are!”
Hank still looked skeptical.
“Okay fine, we will table that for another time. What about the place itself? Where am I exactly?”
“Ah, well, that is the question isn't it!” the man laughed a little and pressed a few buttons on the console in front of the screens. Something like a building diagram rendered in 3D appeared and slowly scrolled upward while rotating ever so slightly.
“So this building is known officially as Nodencorp Tower Six, or as some of the more nerdy folks here like to call it: The White Tower of Gondor. Heh. Sorry, it's kind of a stupid joke. Initially there was going to be another tower within sight and- you don't care. Moving on then.”
