by Piers Platt
“It’s just an award. I don’t understand,” Vina said, edging away from the desk.
“I don’t expect you to,” Rauno said. “Neither did your father. And he just discarded it. He left that award here, like some kind of consolation prize for me. Except it wasn’t any consolation. And neither was the liquor in my cabinet, not anymore.”
The liquor …? Vina thought. Oh, right – he had just gotten his artificial kidneys … that are designed to rapidly metabolize alcohol, so you can’t get drunk. He lost the award, and his coping mechanism, all at the same time. She shook her head.
“But … kidnapping?” she said. “I know you were angry, but—”
“It was never supposed to go as far as it did,” Rauno said. “That idiot Tevka was supposed to wait until I was with your father to send the ransom note. I would have stopped your father from calling the police, and then handed off the money myself. Tevka would have disappeared, and your father would have learned a valuable lesson.”
“Lesson?” Vina asked, incredulous. “What lesson?”
“He would have learned some humility,” Rauno said. “And when I rescued you, the rest of you would have remembered that I was still the head of this family, and a man worthy of your respect. And that’s exactly what happened, when I actually rescued you.”
This was all over an alcoholic’s wounded pride, Vina thought, shaking with anger and shock. A stupid prank, basically, that spun out of control. My god. He just wanted to scare Dad, and make us forget about his drinking problem.
“You asked a drug addict to abduct us,” Vina pointed out. “We could have been killed!”
“You were never in any danger,” Rauno scoffed. “The gun I gave Tevka was empty, and I warned him that if he even thought about harming you, I’d kill him myself. Which is a promise I ended up keeping, as it turns out.”
Vina stood stock still. Her eyes glanced down at the datapad in her hand, briefly. “Then my father is innocent,” she said. “And you let him go to jail for a crime he had nothing to do with.”
“Better him than me,” Rauno said, his voice cold. “Tevka was losing his grip, with the police out hunting for him. I met him that evening, outside of town, and he was a wreck. I tried to calm him down, but he pulled a knife, and told me he was going to kill the three of you. I had no choice. I killed him, and saved all of you in the process.”
“You saved us … and then you went straight to our house, and planted the tools in Dad’s trunk, and the other evidence in his trash.”
“I did what I had to do,” Rauno said.
“And then you left us in that bunker, for another three weeks,” Vina said. “You wanted to be sure Dad was well and truly gone before you got to play the hero.”
Rauno shrugged. “It wasn’t how I planned it, but in the end, it worked better than I could have imagined.”
“You cold-hearted bastard,” Vina swore, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. “I loved you once. We all did. We loved you even when you were sick. And you betrayed us. You tore this family apart, for your own petty bullshit.”
Rauno stood watching her, silent. The book still hung in one hand at his side. His other hand had disappeared into his coat pocket.
“You’re going to go to the sheriff’s office, and you’re going to tell him what you just told me,” Vina said.
“The hell I will,” Rauno said, and Vina could hear the menace in his tone again. “And neither will you.”
“If you don’t tell them, I will,” she promised.
“Don’t try me, Vina,” he said. He pulled his free hand out of his coat pocket, revealing a squat, black pistol.
She stepped back as if struck, eyes locked on the pistol. “You’d kill your own granddaughter, too?”
“I might,” he warned.
They stood in silence, eyeing each other as the seconds dragged on. On her arm, Vina’s wristpad suddenly sprang to life, piercing the tense standoff with the loud ringing of an incoming call. Vina started in surprise, and some survival instinct spurred her into action. She took advantage of her grandfather’s sudden distraction, and threw the datapad at him. He held his hands up protectively in front of him, but Vina was already moving. She dashed out of the study, through the sitting room, and hit the front door at a dead sprint, scrabbling at the handle. Over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of her grandfather – he turned, and lined up the pistol on the back of her head. Then the door opened, and Vina burst outside. She sprinted down the walkway and across the street, flying headlong across the neighbors’ lawns until she reached her car. She peeled away from the curb a moment later, heading back into town at full speed, her heart racing, her cheeks wet with angry tears.
*
Rauno Korhonen watched as Vina disappeared across the street. When she was gone, he lowered the pistol and sighed. He took a step toward the front door to close it, but his toe bumped against something hard on the floor – the old datapad that Vina had thrown at him. He stooped and picked it up, flipping it over to see the screen. Then he frowned.
The datapad’s camera app was open, and still recording a video – the counter stood at nearly four minutes long.
She was recording me the whole time. But she didn’t take it with her.
He stopped the recording, shaking his head. But a message appeared immediately, popping up over the camera app:
>>>Video recording stopped. File transmitted to Vina Weaver via EncryptChat message.
Rauno’s eyes went wide.
Chapter 31
“Forgive me,” Falken said. He met Weaver’s gaze. “I was wrong. I was trying to help, but … I should have just listened to you, and believed you from the beginning.”
“Do you believe me now?” Weaver asked.
“Yes,” Falken said, with conviction. “I do.”
Weaver sighed with relief. He held out his hand, tentatively. “Friends?”
Falken took his hand and pulled his friend in close, slapping him on the back. “Friends. I’m sorry,” Falken said. “And I’ll never doubt you again.”
“It’s okay,” Weaver said, his voice muffled. “You’re the only person that ever believed me. I’m just glad to have someone believe me.”
They moved apart, and Falken heard Saltari clear his throat.
“This has been … interesting,” the old doctor said. “To say the least. But we’re still left with the question of what to do with this escape pod.”
“If Weaver can convince us he’s innocent, perhaps he’ll be able to do the same with the public back on Earth,” Ngobe said. “Perhaps he’s still the right man for the job.”
“I don’t know,” Falken said, his mind racing. If we put Weaver on that pod before Oz thinks he’s ready to leave, I don’t know what’s going to happen.
“Why not?” Ngobe asked Falken. “You think there’s a better man to send back to Earth?”
“A better man? No. I … I don’t know,” Falken said, shaking his head. He slid the keycard back into the wall, and the panels folded away. “Ngobe, there’s a box of tools on the floor in the bridge, and an escape pod maintenance checklist on the computer. Can you start running through it?”
“Of course,” Ngobe said.
“I’ll help,” Saltari volunteered. “What are you going to do, Falken?”
Falken, distracted, rubbed his hand through his hair. “I just need to think for a moment.” While the other three men made their way onto the bridge, Falken walked back into the lounge and sat on one of the couches, head in his hands.
Think it through, Falken. Peshai said that Weaver needs to confess before Oz will release him. But he can’t confess to a crime he didn’t commit! And Oz is a program … there’s no way Weaver can convince a block of code that he’s innocent. So that means … escaping here is impossible.
Falken exhaled slowly, his frown deepening.
If we put him in the pod, it will malfunction or something. Oz won’t let him leave. In a few days, Peshai will pull me out, and Weaver will s
tay stuck here for another year or so, and then they’ll transfer him to the permanent facility. Forever.
He’s innocent, and there’s nothing I can do to save him … because he’s innocent!
Falken shook his head in chagrin.
“Are you okay?” Weaver asked.
Falken started, and looked up. “They didn’t need your help with the diagnostics checks?” he asked.
“No,” Weaver said, sitting down on the couch next to Falken. “Ngobe said he wanted to do it himself, and only needs Saltari to read him the instructions.”
“Ah. Right,” Falken said.
“Are you okay?” Weaver repeated.
“Just frustrated,” Falken said.
“Frustrated? Why?” Weaver asked. “We’ve got a reason to be optimistic. For the first time in years.”
Falken could see the hope in his friend’s eyes. This is going to shatter him. The pod’s going to fail, and he’s just going to slip deeper into depression.
“Weaver, I’m worried the escape pod’s not going to work.”
“Well, that’s why Ngobe and Saltari are running the checks,” Weaver said.
“And I’m pretty sure they’re going to find something wrong,” Falken said.
“Why?” Weaver asked.
Because Oz isn’t done with you yet. You haven’t “reformed” enough yet. “I can’t explain it,” Falken said. “I just know it.”
“Then maybe we’ll figure something else out,” Weaver said. “With all the electronics on this ship, there’s gotta be a way we can build something to communicate with Earth.”
“We could try. But I have a feeling we’ll always be one part short,” Falken said. “Something will go wrong. It won’t work.”
Weaver frowned. “A few minutes ago you were absolutely certain we could get back to Earth. Now all of a sudden, you’re convinced we’re stuck here. Why?”
Falken opened his mouth, but before he could answer, a loud hissing sound erupted from the entrance to the bridge.
“Ah! Damn it!” They heard Ngobe exclaim.
Falken and Weaver leaped up and hurried to the escape pod. They found Ngobe standing in front of the pod, brushing at a pale blue stain on his uniform, frowning with frustration.
Saltari appeared in the doorway to the bridge a moment later.
“Are you okay?” he asked Ngobe.
“I’m fine,” Ngobe said angrily. “But … god damn it! The very first step!”
“What? What happened?” Weaver asked.
“The first step in the checklist, it said to stir the liquid oxygen tanks. So I flipped the button to activate the stirring mechanism, and one of the tanks burst and vented out into the launch tube.”
“What does that mean?” Weaver asked. “Can it still fly?”
“Can it fly? Sure,” Ngobe said. “But that was the main tank. There simply isn’t enough oxygen in the auxiliary tanks to last the trip. Anyone that takes off inside will be dead within hours.”
“Can you repair it?” Saltari asked.
Ngobe sighed. “I don’t know. We’d have to find a replacement tank somewhere on board and install it. Or weld the broken tank to re-seal it. And then figure out a way to refill it, at high pressure, from a liquid oxygen source here on the ship, assuming we can find one. It all depends on what parts and tools we can scrounge from the rest of the ship.”
“How long are we talking?” Falken asked.
“A year or two?” Ngobe guessed. “This is a daunting task, even assuming we can find the right equipment. I think it’s very likely this pod is beyond repair.”
Weaver looked at Falken, his face crestfallen.
“You were right,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” Falken said.
“How did you know?” Weaver asked.
“I … I just had a feeling,” Falken said, avoiding his gaze.
Weaver looked hurt. “You’re hiding something, Falken. I may not be a good liar, but I can tell when people are lying to me.”
Falken shook his head. “I can’t say.”
“Is there any way off this planet?”
Falken bit his lip. “No. Not for you.”
“Why?” Weaver asked. “How do you know?”
“I …” Falken shook his head, biting his tongue.
“If there’s no way off this planet, at least you can tell me what you know,” Weaver said.
Falken eyed Weaver. There’s nothing you can do, he thought. And I can’t tell you why. Because if I do, they yank you out of here, and put you up in front of the Corrections Committee … Falken frowned, thinking. … the Corrections Committee. Where you would have a chance to argue your case. A slim chance, but … more chance than you’ll get here. The only catch is, I’ll be in a boatload of trouble.
“Weaver, tell me you’re innocent,” Falken said, quietly.
“I have,” Weaver said, frowning.
“Tell me again,” Falken said. “Tell me you didn’t kill Tevka.”
“I didn’t,” Weaver said, his expression full of honest confusion. “I’ve never killed anyone.”
“You give me your word on that,” Falken said.
“Yes,” Weaver said. “Why?”
Falken took a deep breath, steeling himself. “I believe you,” Falken said. “Now listen closely. When you wake up, there’s gonna be a hearing.”
Ngobe grabbed Falken by the arm, his grip shockingly strong. “Falken …” he growled. His tone was cold, and full of menace – Falken had never heard the kind old man speak like that.
“Let go, Ngobe,” Falken said, shaking him off with an effort. “When you wake up–”
“Wake up?” Weaver interrupted. “I don’t … what are you talking about?”
“Listen!” Falken said. “You’re going to wake up, and go before the Corrections Committee. You need to convince them you’re innocent, just like you convinced me.”
“That’s enough, Falken!” Saltari warned. He turned to Weaver. “Our friend Falken has clearly had a psychotic break with all this excitement. He’s babbling.”
Falken pulled the pistol out of his pocket, and pointed it at the doctor. “Another word, and I shoot you and Ngobe, both. Weaver, don’t listen to them, just focus on me. I’m not insane, and neither are you. When you wake up, and see the committee, you need to fight like hell for an appeal, or a retrial, or whatever. You understand?”
“No,” Weaver said, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Say it back to me,” Falken said. “When I wake up, I’m going to remember this. I’m going to convince the Corrections Committee I’m innocent.”
“Falken!”
They turned, and Falken saw Archos stride into the lounge, scowling, with half a dozen burly inmates in his wake. He flexed his fingers, and blue electricity arced and crackled between the pads of the stun-glove.
“No more lies, Bird-man,” the warden said. “That’s enough.”
Falken put his back against the ship’s bulkhead, keeping Saltari, Ngobe, and Archos in his line of sight. He held the pistol up in both hands, ready to fire.
“Say it,” Falken urged.
“When I wake up,” Weaver said, “I need to convince the committee I’m innocent.”
“Stop it, Falken!” Archos shouted, taking a step closer. “You’re upsetting my friend.”
“He’s not your friend,” Falken told Weaver. “None of them are.” Here goes. “Because none of them are real.”
“Falken …” Saltari said, edging toward him.
Falken swung the pistol toward the doctor, and he stopped in his tracks.
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Weaver said.
“You will, soon. Your family is safe and sound, it’s true. But right here and now, you and I are the only things that are real,” Falken told Weaver. “Weaver, you were right all along. Oz is a simulation.”
“Nooooo!” With one voice, Saltari, Archos, and Ngobe cried out, eyes wide in fear and an
ger. The scream continued, their voices joining and rising to an impossibly high pitch.
As Falken and Weaver watched, the men began to disintegrate, the individual pixels of their horror-stricken faces coming apart at the seams. They collapsed to the floor in a pile of jumbled colors, and then the walls and ceiling of the ship began to rip apart, too – tearing away in great strips to reveal the trees and ocean of Oz. The destruction seemed to spread, accelerating, across the ocean and sky. Tiles of clouds and water and earth slid away, and where the sky and landscape had been, only great patches of pure, deep black remained.
“Falken, what’s happening?” Weaver cried.
“You’re going home,” Falken yelled, as the darkness encircled them. He smiled sadly at his friend. “Tell Vina I’m sorry. Tell her … this was the only way.”
“Vina?” Weaver asked, and then everything went black.
Chapter 32
Sheriff Buckniel stopped the video on his computer. The frozen image showed Rauno Korhonen, holding a pistol aloft, pointing it at the camera. On the other side of his desk, Elize Weaver sobbed into her daughter’s chest, her shoulders heaving.
“It’s okay, Mom,” Vina said. “You didn’t know. None of us did.”
“Including me,” Buckniel admitted, grimacing. “I’m sorry I missed the signs on this one. I got it completely wrong.”
“I’m sorry I accused you and your brother of being out to get my Dad,” Vina replied, patting her mother on the back.
“Forgiven,” Buckniel said, waving his hand. “You had every right to be upset.” He tapped a button on his computer. “Deputy? Get your patrol car, and meet me out front.”
“Yessir,” Vina heard the reply.
“He’s armed,” Vina reminded Buckniel.
“So are we,” the sheriff said. He stood up, and settled his gun belt into place around his hips. “You two stay here, now. I’m going to go take care of this myself. If you need anything, just see one of the other deputies.”
“Thank you,” Vina said.
