Kidnappers from the Future

by Gene P. Abel

“Oh, you mean the rain field?” Jeffery replied. “Just a low-intensity force field designed to work specifically against free water. That’s why I headed us for one of the sheltered benches. Okay, time to contact my friend.”

  He then placed a palm onto the flat surface of his laptop and fixed his gaze on something far away.

  “A rain field,” Claire marveled. “That is just so . . . Wow.”

  “Quite remarkable,” Ben admitted. “But, Lou, you don’t seem too impressed.”

  “We’re a hundred years in the future,” the agent replied. “I expect the fantastic. What has me more concerned is why Agent Stevens there has found such intimate interest in the structure of our shelter. Stevens?”

  Stevens paused his examination of their shelter, which currently included having a palm pressed against the ocean-blue plastic-looking pole sweeping down to the ground from his side of the roof, and replied in an efficient tone: “I felt a slight prickling in the outer housing of this structure, which could be from this protective field just mentioned, but I may have discovered other possibilities.”

  “Such as?” Agent Hessman prompted.

  Agent Stevens pointed a finger to a spot on the overhang’s ceiling just above them. At first all anyone could see was more of the blue ocean-wave pattern sweeping across the surface, but then Agent Hessman narrowed his eyes and stood atop the bench for a closer look. Agent Stevens was pointing to a single blue dot.

  “A blue dot,” he noted.

  “It looks like it was painted as part of the ocean spray,” Claire remarked. “Or maybe a stray droplet of paint.”

  “In a place as computer-exact as everything around here appears to be,” Agent Stevens replied, “I would rule that out and say it’s likely that it may be some form of observation device. Like a highly miniaturized camera.”

  “That’s sounding a bit paranoid,” Ben remarked.

  “I get paid to be paranoid,” Agent Stevens blandly stated.

  Agent Hessman took another closer look, then got down off the bench with a curt nod. “I will err on the side of paranoia. We need to move as soon as the weather permits us. Chief Duke, have you spotted anything?” he said.

  The large man was peering out into the sheets of rain, but in a far more specific direction than he had been before. He replied with a slight nod and said, “Hard to make out exactly through all this rain, but it looks like some local cops in some very unusual uniforms. It looks like they’re going from shelter to shelter.”

  “Then I’m not taking any chances. Mr. Nezsmith, if you would kindly come out of your trance.”

  He reached down a hand to gently touch the college student’s shoulder. Nothing happened at first; then Jeffery’s eyes blinked. Meanwhile, the weather outside changed as suddenly as it had begun, the rain suddenly slacking off as the clouds quickly began to clear. By the time Jeffery was back with them, it was sunny once again and the wind had dropped completely away.

  “See?” he said, glancing around. “I told you the rain would stop. Oh, my friend’s ready to help. I had to tell her this convoluted story that may have suggested a conspiracy from the future; I just never mentioned whose future. She’s a comp-sci major, but her father also got her interested in—”

  Agent Hessman dropped a hand onto the lad’s head and turned it a few degrees until Jeffery’s gaze was directed across the park to where the uniformed men were looking around. Blue-and-green uniforms with a symbol on their chests that looked like three concentric rings around a capital T. Immediately he stopped his chattering and his eyes widened.

  “Time cops.”

  “They’re really called ‘time cops’?” Ben pondered. “Nothing more inventive, or something that reduces to a cool acronym?”

  “They’ve picked up your time trace,” Jeffery quickly explained, immediately slapping closed his laptop. “They want to send you back before you see any more of the future.”

  “Not before we rescue Samantha,” Agent Hessman firmly decided. “We need to find a new place for you to work your hack.”

  “Oh,” Jeffery said, getting to his feet with the rest, “I’m still connected to my friend.” A tap of an index finger to the side of his head and he grinned. “I’m chipped, remember. Always connected.”

  “Then you can work on this hack while on the run?” Agent Hessman asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Then start running.”

  The men in the unusual uniforms looked up from their current inquiry and across the park at the next nearest inhabited shelter-bench—which happened to be the team’s own. They saw a group of people starting to hurriedly leave and immediately broke into pursuit.

  12

  Trace and Chase

  Agent Hessman saw the way the uniformed men were looking in their direction and wasted no time with pretense. He broke into a run, Chief Duke now taking on the role of bulldozer as they charged across the park. Behind them the uniforms broke into a run as well, and the chase was on.

  Over one small rolling hill, over a footbridge, then nearly colliding with a park statue. Chief Duke had one arm in front and thought perhaps to bowl it over until he discovered that it was another holographic statue. He charged right into a centaur drawing back his bow, to come out the other side just as the arrow was launched into nothingness. One by one the others in turn leaped through or around the projection, Claire passing by just as it changed from a centaur to a satyr playing his reed pipes.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, “but I think that satyr was getting fresh with me.”

  The far side of the park ended at a busy street running along its edge. Behind them they could see the group of uniforms spreading out as they raced after them, while the one in the center had taken something out of his vest pocket and was talking into it.

  “They’re trying to outflank us,” Agent Hessman said, “which means one direction left. Straight ahead.”

  Ben glanced up, looking around for some sort of intersection or crossing, but saw none. “No place to cross,” he called back as they all continued to run.

  “Like I said, straight across.”

  “And if we get hit?” Claire asked.

  “I’m betting that won’t be a problem. Now move it.”

  Chief Duke was the first to leap across the street, heedless of any oncoming traffic. Behind him raced Agent Hessman and Ben, followed by Claire, then Captain Beck huffing and puffing, and finally Agent Stevens. Agent Stevens fished something out from a pocket and tossed it behind him before picking up his speed and making a point of not looking back again.

  The brilliant flash of light that came from what Agent Stevens had thrown in the way of their pursuers was accompanied by several sets of brakes screeching. A row of cars suddenly came to a halt before their drivers were even aware of a problem. One bumper missed Chief Duke by inches, another giving Captain Beck sudden concern with its nearness. Claire ran with one hand holding down her hat and an apologetic smile for the motorists she passed by, including one elderly man who gasped in recognition of her face, then gave her a two-fingered salute off the top of his head. As they reached the other side Ben noticed that several of the cars looked to have no drivers at all.

  Chief Duke led them straight into the nearest alley, shoving one slow pedestrian out of the way with a quickly muttered, “Sorry, sir.” As they all barreled in after him, Ben shot a question to Agent Hessman: “Lou, how’d you know?”

  “They’re experimenting with self-driving cars in our century,” came the reply. “I simply decided it would be a good bet that all cars now have some form of automatic reactions against hitting things. Nezsmith, we need to lose them.”

  Jeffery was in a half trance, aware enough to keep running along with the rest, but not entirely focused on much else. When he heard his name, though, he blinked once and called out a reply: “Uh, this alley turns left up ahead and goes i
nto a sort of back-alley mall. Exit at the far side. Hopefully, the alley will be too narrow for the remotes to follow us in.”

  A glance up by Agent Hessman gave him an idea of what Jeffery was talking about. Another one of those three-foot miniature delivery drones they’d seen earlier, only this one had nothing to deliver and seemed to be trying to find a wide enough way down.

  “Good enough. Chief Duke, a straight line. Agent Stevens, we need a new obstacle course behind us.”

  “Sue wouldn’t have needed that big flash of light,” Claire whispered discreetly to Ben. “She would have found a way to take them all out herself.”

  “And I should have an answer for you shortly,” Jeffery answered.

  Chief Duke said nothing in reply to his command, simply acted. As the alley came to its left turn at the end, he shouted ahead to the clusters of people passing by, “One side. We’re in a hurry!”

  At their rear, Agent Stevens tossed out a couple more balls. When the first small business they came to was a little café with outdoor tables for two, he turned one over and tossed it behind them, then another while still running.

  To their left was what looked like some Net café; then ahead on their right, a small music shop that appeared to be dedicated to very small stringed instruments, an antique store, and a very low-key entrance down a set of stairs to a place the hovering holographic signage above identified as Alley Nights. A curio shop farther ahead on the left, labeled Through the Looking Glass, displayed an assortment of goodies in the window themed after white rabbits and curious creatures. At the end on the right was what another floating sign made out to be Harm’s Cinephile.

  The architecture throughout remained classic old London, accented of course by the hovering holographic signs and the occasional window display mixing a combination of robotics and holography, such as the Through the Looking Glass shop that had a girl in a white dress continually chasing a rabbit across the window display to a backdrop of varying scenes from the books.

  In their wake came a flash of light and sound from the first of the flash-bangs that Agent Stevens had left, then two more as their pursuers ran afoul of them. A response came in the form of a couple of shots whizzing past their ears. None of them hit, though, thanks to the disruptive flashes of light.

  “I’d still feel safer if that was Sue picking up our rear,” Claire remarked as they ran. “Though I must say that, for a converted alley, this place is pretty clean. I don’t see one speck of trash anywhere.”

  “That’s the bugs,” Jeffery replied, “same thing as cleaned up the oceans.”

  “The what?”

  “The plastic-eating bugs. Invented by some old guy from Caltech named Dillon Marshal.”

  Claire beamed. “Well, that sounds like a very good use of bugs.”

  “Enough talk, and through there,” Agent Hessman said, pointing to Harm’s Cinephile. “Looks like a theater.”

  Behind them the sound of electrified gunfire was accompanied by a crash and a curse as a blinded pursuer fell victim to one of Agent Stevens’s overturned tables. As they ducked through the entrance, they were greeted by what at first looked like a pimply-faced teen in a red-and-white concession uniform, until they saw the robotic features and the fact that his waist ended on a metal post.

  “Tickets please.”

  “The kid’s paying,” Chief Duke growled on his way past.

  “Thank you for selecting Harm’s Cinephile, delivering you the best of today’s holographic upgrades to yesteryear’s old movie classics. Today’s feature is Midway, starring . . .”

  Agent Hessman ignored the spiel as he pushed on through, as did Ben and Claire, though Claire paused briefly to marvel at the detail of the faux-human face until Captain Beck urged her through. When Jeffery was passing through the old-style turnstile, he simply glanced over at the robot, who replied with a nod of its head and cutting off its presentation.

  “Thank you for your purchase,” the robot-greeter stated. “A row of seats in continuous succession sufficient for your party has been reserved.”

  The lobby ahead of them had a concession stand of a type common to theaters before Ben or Lou might have been born, complete with popcorn maker, and all manned by another smiling robot on a stick.

  “They try to mimic the old theater-going experience of about a hundred and fifty years back as much as they can,” Jeffery briefly explained as they headed across the room, “which in some places includes sticky floors and a noisy robotic patron in the rear of the theater.”

  They spotted a curtained-off entry, ignored the pleas of the concession-bot as to what manner of popcorn they might like, and hurried across to the curtain as Agent Hessman called to Jeffery, “How’s the hack?”

  “Just confirmed that Russia had the place rented out and recently used it, but not much else. We have their chip IDs, though, and are starting a worldwide trace.”

  “Good. Stay on it.”

  They entered what at first looked less like a theater and more like a World War II war zone, complete with shells screaming through the air, bombs exploding, gunfire everywhere, and sweaty, grimy men charging at one another. Claire gave a sharp yelp and leaped into Ben’s arms, who himself was looking for somewhere to run to. Chief Duke started swinging a fist at the nearest approaching soldier, and Captain Beck reached for something in his pants pocket that looked roughly pistol shaped, while Agent Stevens slipped into a martial arts stance. Agent Hessman, however, remained calm and carefully eyed the situation for details.

  Such as the rows of heads sticking up above the seats the people were seated in as they all quietly took it in.

  “Hey, I haven’t seen this one in ages,” Jeffery whispered as he calmly walked down the beach, or, as the rest now began to perceive it, the aisle.

  “You mean, this is only a movie?” Claire hesitantly asked.

  “One we’re not staying to watch,” Agent Hessman told them. “Chief Duke, find us a rear exit. I’ve no doubt our pursuers have other ways of still tracking us.”

  As the battle raged on around them, it seemed as if they could hear some fresh voices back in the lobby. This only quickened their pace until they found the exit sign and hurriedly left the theater.

  They came back out into daylight and a small alley just off a busy street. A few steps later they were quickly making their way into the crowds, trying to become one with them.

  “Got it!” Jeffery enthusiastically announced.

  “The trace?” Ben asked.

  “Found them through their gamer tags,” Jeffery explained as they picked up their pace. “One of them is a player on GOW.”

  “Huh?” Captain Beck remarked.

  “What’s a ‘gow’?” Ben asked.

  “What’s a gamer tag?” Claire asked.

  “GOW,” Jeffery eagerly explained, “stands for Galaxy of War and is the most popular game on the planet. It currently has over a billion players involved. Why, at last update, just the number of options alone—”

  “We get it,” Agent Hessman cut him off, “you have their location. Now let’s get off someone’s radar long enough to make use of that fact.”

  “I’ll see if I can get my friend to do something about putting off the tracker network a bit,” Jeffery offered. “In the meantime, just head for someplace with a lot of signal traffic; that always confuses the system. Uh, plenty of people and lots of animated signs. A lot of people are getting off work and school, which means many of them will be logging on to GOW, so any large crowd—”

  “We get it, lots of signal traffic,” Agent Hessman stated. “Chief Duke . . . ?”

  To the unspoken question, Chief Duke pointed ahead of them. They were coming to an intersection that was crowded with not only people but a small herd of little cafés, all of which were filled with young people.

  “Perfect. Everyone, pick it up but try not to loo
k like we’re running. First crowded café we come to in the middle of that and we’ll stop to assess our options.”

  While Chief Duke led the way toward what looked to be a particularly crowded café, Agent Stevens was glancing over his shoulders in search of any pursuers. They were about a block away from the alley they had left, with a crowd of people between them and it, when Agent Stevens’s sharp eyes caught sight of a couple of the same uniformed men as before emerging. They paused at the edge of the alley, one of them taking out a handheld device to briefly consult it before heading off across the street and away from the group.

  “We lost them for now,” Agent Stevens reported in a low tone.

  “Good,” Claire said with a sigh, at last bringing her hand down from its place in keeping her hat from blowing away, “because I did not come dressed for another chase. We had a few of them back in 1919. Jeffery, you’re my biggest fan. Do all my trips involve chases like this?”

  “Do they,” the young man eagerly replied. “Why, they’ve made some of the most exciting ones into 3D movies. My favorite is this—”

  “Enough,” Agent Hessman cut in. “Time to look inconspicuous. People, I hope you like Persian food.”

  He led the way into what lay immediately ahead of them: a bright yellow storefront with equally bright holographic signage proclaiming both its Persian specialties and the claim “Now in Our Hundredth Year!”

  13

  Sabotage Attempt

  Back in the year 2020 the clock was just hitting 10:30 p.m. in the hidden New Mexico base when Agent Harris and Dr. Weiss came hobbling out of the infirmary, with respective canes, Agent Harris’s pace looking a little uncertain at first.

  “Maybe you should wait a bit longer before trying to walk, Sue,” Dr. Weiss was saying. “It’s only been a few hours.”

  “Which is a few hours too long of just laying on my ass,” she replied. “I can out-hobble you any day of the week.”

  “Then may I challenge you to a cane race? First one to the end of the hall springs for the next pudding cup at the cafeteria. The workout should be good for you.”