The Sixth Extinction

by Bob Blink

  "Can you contact him?" Jessica asked.

  "Not in a direct sense," Rao indicated. "I can send him notes, and I can edit his memory file with new information, but there is little means for him to reply back. Dale and I are still working on a way that might be done."

  "There's two of you in the Simulation now, aren't there?" Sarah asked.

  Rao nodded. "There is the original version of myself, from which I was extracted to come here. Unlike the version I inserted in Los Angeles, he is unaware of the Simulation, the passage of time, and the Facility here. He was in San Francisco, but the Rao I inserted and the friends he has made have relocated that Rao out of the San Francisco node in hopes of hiding him. I am thinking the chances of being successful are small if Walker sets his people to looking, but it might delay them enough we could do something. We are going to try to have them relocate Dale's Simself to the same place. Maybe it will be useful to have our Sim version working together inside."

  "It might prove very useful if you can work out a means for us to communicate more easily with those inside," Ray noted, "especially if there are more attempts by Walker we want to prevent."

  "We have to be circumspect about our actions," Dale pointed out. "If we interfere too often, Walker is going to be aware that somehow he is being compromised, and there aren't very many places he needs to look."

  "We can't just let him continue to kill off people," Cindy complained. "Isn't there something we can do from this side?"

  "They cannot be killed in the Sim like the permanent residents," Dale pointed out. "Well, their Simselves can, but that wouldn't accomplish much. They appear to no longer be using those memories, and the individuals they insert go in via the gaming couches, which means if they die inside, they are simply rejected from the Sim, and wake up back here at the Facility. They would have to be killed or detained here, if they are to be stopped."

  "How would we hope to do that?" Jessica asked. "Walker is the top authority here. I can't see people listening to us that he is doing something contrary to the founder's wishes."

  "They also have access to the only guns in the facility," Ray pointed out. Walker has a small complement of rifles locked away. Those of us in Security have simple stunners, which lock up the nervous system for a couple of minutes, and only work at extremely close range. I doubt any of you have ever used a gun anyway."

  Rao shook his head rapidly side to side. "I am not a violent person. I cannot be using a weapon on another person."

  "I might just be able to do so," Jessica said, thinking about what she had just learned about her bedmate.

  "You are in a somewhat shaky situation," Cindy pointed out. "You are close to Director Walker all the time, and also inside our little group. He might become suspicious of you. That could prove dangerous."

  "I am beginning to wonder if we haven't already seen how dangerous," Ray noted. "Maybe the sudden death of Charlie Crane makes more sense now."

  "Who else do we need to be careful around?" Sarah asked.

  "I think Doctor Ho and her top assistant Jake might be candidates," Ray suggested. "If Walker is cloning himself differently he'd almost have to have their help."

  "Add Carol Meyers at the Resort," Dale said. "She knows about the modifications that have been made there."

  "Len Harris in my programming division," Jessica added. "He's always been brown nosing Joe, Walker's good buddy."

  "There have to be others," Ray said. "I think we need to be alert to who these people interact with. We also should consider how to expand our own ranks."

  "How about we get help from inside?" Matti asked. "Other than Ray, none of us are professionals at dealing with lawbreakers. Some of those the Rao you sent to Los Angeles is working with are career police officers. They might have suggestions on how we might proceed. They apparently already know a lot about their situation that had been hidden, and so would have a vested interest in helping us out."

  "I am thinking that is an interesting idea," Rao said. "Another reason to get the lines of communication open. I will be thinking how we might do that."

  Ray reached into his pocket and drew out his communicator.

  "I have the list of Walker's key group that you wanted. I added their descriptions, and where they are from. I thought that might be useful." He held it up and Rao passed his own communicator close enough to pick up the data.

  "That is good. I will be passing this to my Los Angeles self so the people inside know who to watch for in the future."

  "What do we do now?" Jessica asked.

  "Stay alert, and be careful. Any hint a group like this exists, and Walker will almost certainly take direct action against us. Whatever he is doing, he wants it to happen quietly, but if he realizes we know as much as we do, he'll be forced to silence us permanently. I wouldn't put it past him to also eliminate our Simselves out of spite."

  Chapter 20

  Chicago

  Reporter Don Russell knew he needed to get some sleep. In the past several days he'd had less than half of what he was used to, not to mention zipping across the country chasing what had to be the biggest, most important story of his career. A story he knew he could never write. A story no one would believe if he did. Not that his editor was currently expecting anything from him any time soon. After the meeting with his brother, he'd called into the paper and taken a couple of days of personal leave. Family matters, he'd told his boss. Now as he sped under the landscape, heading from Washington, D.C. to Chicago, he thought back over what in his mind was the final confirmation of the truth of the energetic Subha Rao's claims. He'd never been able to sleep on the supersonic transport, and his mind wouldn't let go of the impossible story unfolding around him.

  None of what he saw or felt was real, he realized. Then why did it seem so, and how could he feel so tired and confused if he was just part of a massive computer program? What he had learned over the last few days might at least explain the lethargy that he'd been feeling about his life of late. Even if he was consciously unaware of the passage of time and the repeating cycle Rao claimed they were living, his subconscious must have sensed it in some vague way. He wanted to hurry home to his wife and tell her what was happening, but he knew he couldn't do that. How would she react to learning that her life and dreams were nothing? He knew his wife well, and the psychologists were right in her case. The knowledge would crush her spirit, and she'd never be the same. So he'd have to lie, if not directly, by omission. He didn't know why that made him feel like a cheat. What about everyone else? He'd see every interaction with others in a whole new light now. He knew the deadly truth, and they didn't.

  He'd decided he was going to look up Rao when he returned to Los Angeles. He wanted to know everything the man could tell him about this place he called the Facility, and the people who lived there. Actually lived! Flesh and blood people, maybe the last ones that currently existed on Earth, he realized. From the brief discussions he'd had with the man, all contact with other countries and whatever plans they had made to survive the long poisonous winter had been lost centuries ago. He figured he would write a book, not that he would see it published, but it would be there for when this ended, assuming it ever did. The history needed to be recorded.

  Don had never considered himself a religious man, but now he wondered if he was dead. His body apparently was, and his conscious was being kept functional by an overblown gaming computer. Supposedly he could, and would, be resurrected once the Earth started returning to normal, so wouldn't that indicate he wasn't actually, officially dead? Purgatory, maybe? Maybe if he weren't so tired, all of this would be clearer to him. Perhaps he'd feel better if he had some idea what his role in all this was supposed to be. Maybe that was why he was initiating action on his own.

  The holoscreen in front of him gently brightened, displaying the fact that his destination was coming up, and he should be prepared to disembark in about five minutes. Chicago. He had come here alone after the meetings in Washington had broken up. He was pretty
certain that the various police involved in this strange case wouldn't approve of what he was doing, but it felt right to him. If everything he'd learned in the past few days were true, then the rules had changed, and he felt a certain kinship and alignment of the minds with those who weren't burdened by the rules their profession had saddled them with.

  He thought back to the day and a half in Washington. He'd arrived there ahead of Sgt. Sammi Donaldson, having taken the Tube Redeye to DC from Los Angeles after learning she was supposedly transporting the second Rao to the city. He'd wanted to be there when they arrived to see for himself. At that time he'd needed validation of the Indian's claims. When she didn't arrive as planned, he'd thought that the story had fallen apart, as he half expected. He'd spent much of the night trying to contact someone who knew what was going on. When he finally was able to get a hold of Lt. Rodriguez, he learned that Sammi would be coming in the morning, after an aborted attempt to bring the two Raos face-to-face.

  That had brought him to the Tube station, where he'd encountered Sgt. Mike Lee. Lee was a career police officer, and from what Don had been able to see, a no nonsense, very capable individual. He had agreed to meet with Sammi and her passenger because he desperately needed answers, and not just because his superiors had expressed grave doubts about what he and his team had insisted happened on the estate of the murdered Senator earlier in the year. Whatever his bosses believed, Lee had been there, and he'd personally witnessed events he knew were simply impossible. Sammi had offered answers, and he was at least willing to listen, even if he doubted he'd be willing to accept anything she had to tell him.

  Both had been there when Sammi and the second Rao arrived. Lee hadn't known the man that had appeared before Don and his brother, but Don had, and was startled by the similarity of the two men. This had to be a twin. He couldn't be the same man. The scar made that impossible. After securing her passenger, Sammi spent a couple of hours during which she explained everything that had happened, including personally watching this Rao simply fade away in front of her. She had convinced Sgt. Lee, and Don, that the two cases were linked, and that maybe what the LA Rao had revealed might just be the truth.

  Part way through that discussion, Rodriguez had sent her the detailed descriptions of the eight men that Rao had said were part of Director Walker's team. Don wondered how he had gotten the information, and that was something he'd added to his list of items to follow up on after his return to the West Coast. Mike Lee had immediately recognized two of the men. One he'd seen dead in the halls of the Senator's mansion, and the second, none other than Director Walker himself, had been the shooter who had somehow gotten away by mysteriously vanishing in a dead-end hallway.

  "Assuming all of this is true, there is no way to protect anyone against these men," Sgt. Lee had complained, showing the same frustration that Sgt. Morrison from Chicago had revealed.

  That simple statement had probably been what had pushed Don Russell into his current course of action. He glanced at the screen as he felt the Tube rapidly slowing, and prepared to make his way into the city. He had no baggage to worry about. He'd sent that on to Los Angeles and would pick it up later when he made the second half of his trip after delivering his message.

  The station was as crowded as he'd anticipated, and being unfamiliar with this terminal he made a couple of false starts before he was able to locate the taxi departure center. Half an hour later he was on his way to a place he knew only as an address.

  "This is your requested destination," the autocab informed him some time later. They were across the street from a large estate, the entire area surrounded by a tall wall, with a guard shack guarding the gated driveway entrance. Don didn't see any other way in.

  "Thank you," Don replied, and scanned his left index finger across the payplate to cover the charges of the cab.

  Looking uncertain, he made his way over to the guard shack wondering if he should have chased down a contact number and called ahead to announce his arrival. That might have revealed his intentions, however, and he'd not wanted to do that lest someone try to stop him.

  "I'd like to speak with Mr. Rossetti," Don said, when the two burly guards questioned him as he approached the gatehouse.

  "Mr. Rossetti isn't here," the older guard said.

  Don hadn't expected that. He'd gotten the impression in Los Angeles that Mr. Rossetti spent almost all of his time at the house.

  "I have some important information for him," Don said, hoping for some guidance from the two formidable looking guards. "Is there someone I can talk to?"

  "I assume you are unexpected?" the guard asked. "I was given no indication visitors were coming. You can leave your message with me and I'll see that someone gets it to him."

  Don shook his head.

  "That won't do. The information I have is for Mr. Rossetti personally. I don't think he'd want me to pass it out casually."

  The truth was Don didn't want the information floating around uncontrolled. He was bending their agreement enough by even being here. Letting someone outside the group have the information felt like the wrong thing to do.

  The guard shrugged. Clearly he didn't care and wouldn't be of much help. Don considered what to do. It was entirely possible that Mr. Rossetti had chosen to locate somewhere else after the attempt on his life, especially knowing what he did about the assailants. Don was starting to feel frustrated, and wondered if he might have wasted a trip. Rossetti might not even be in the city.

  "Wait," he said as the guard started to walk away, returning to the comfort of the guard shack. "Is Sal here?" Even as he asked, Don felt stupid. He'd been told that Sal never left Rossetti's side. If the gangster wasn't here, neither would his bodyguard be.

  The guard stared at him with renewed interest.

  "Sal Maggiora?" he asked. "You know him?"

  Don didn't know the last name, and didn't really know the bodyguard, having only seen him briefly. He didn't know if the man would recognize him or not, but he couldn't see that he had much to lose.

  "Yeah, that's him. I met him in Los Angeles the other day," he added, hoping the fact he knew Mr. Rossetti and Sal had been there would work in his favor.

  "Wait here," the guard said. "You better be telling the truth. Mr. Ricci doesn't like to be bothered with foolishness."

  Don had time to begin to wonder if anything was going to come of his wild gamble, when he spotted the familiar figure coming out of the estate and walking their way. Sal was here, so Don suspected that Mr. Rossetti might be as well. The bodyguard made his way toward them, his hard eyes on Don as he approached. He nodded without words at the guards, who moved away as he stepped close to Don.

  "You're that reporter from LA," Sal said, indicating he knew exactly who he was. The man must have paid more attention to events than Don had realized. "Mr. Rossetti isn't here, and besides, he don't give interviews."

  Don was now even more convinced that Tony Rossetti was nearby, but he didn't try to correct the bodyguard.

  "I have something Mr. Rossetti is going to want," Don said. "But I need to give it to him personally. It's confidential. I would appreciate it if you would contact him and tell him I am in town and have something I'm certain he will be interested in."

  Sal Ricci stared at Don for a long time, clearly considering how he was going to proceed. After nearly a minute, he stepped away speaking softly for a bit, clearly talking to someone important. Mr. Rossetti Don guessed.

  "This way," he said when he finished and returned, sounding a bit disgruntled.

  The estate showed what one could do with money. It wasn't the largest home that Don had visited as part of his reporter assignments, but it was easily the most impressive. To his mind everything had been chosen with care and taste, but there was no doubt that significant cost had been required to render such a place. He knew that a gunfight had taken place here not too long before, but could spot no signs of it.

  They made their way toward one of two wide, curving staircases that wen
t up to the upper level. Don wondered about that until he spotted a small elevator, carefully blended in so as not to be obtrusive, that the owner must use to move between floors. One floor up, they turned down a highly polished marble hallway moving toward a pair of wide oak doors, one of which was standing open.

  "Mr. Russell, I am surprised to see you," Tony Rossetti said when Sal had escorted him into the room.

  Don noted that the wheelchair had been replaced with a walker, and that the older man looked far healthier than he had in Los Angeles. Perhaps the strain of the situation then, and the travel, had been harder on him than Don and the others realized.

  "Thank you for seeing me," Don said. "I should have contacted you in advance, but I have reasons that I didn't want my visit known."

  "Very mysterious," Rossetti noted. "What then, can I do for you?"

  Now that he was here, Don had a momentary doubt that he was doing the right thing. He might be assisting the murder of the men he was here to identify. Then his perspective hardened again, and he pulled out the two sheets of paper he had transcribed the information on. He held them out to Rossetti.

  "These are the names, descriptions, along with photographs, and home cities of the men that have been pursuing the attacks we spoke of in Los Angeles. I believe you will find the men who participated in the attack on you here at your home."

  Rossetti looked at him sharply, then accepted the list and scanned it, passing it to Sal, who grunted and nodded after looking at the eight names.

  "Several of these match the descriptions of the men we killed," Sal said.

  "How did you come by this information, and why are you sharing it with me?" Rossetti asked.

  "Remember our friend Rao, the unusual man who told us what this is supposedly all about?" Don asked.

  Rossetti nodded, but said, "He said he did not know all the names when we were there."

  "A lot has changed since you left. If you remember, Rao said he was inserted into our reality by a flesh and blood version of himself currently living at this underground facility. That Rao has been in contact, and can pass information by editing the memory file of the Rao we know. He passed this information, and I looked up the people to get their pictures and locations of record. He wanted us to know who to be on watch for against future potential actions. It appears we can anticipate more attacks."