A Question of Will

by Alex Albrinck

  The Assassin’s face was a mask of confusion. “What was the punch about?”

  “There were two reasons. First, it was the best way to ensure you’d instinctively want to attack me, and I needed that to make sure that your reprogramming is working correctly.”

  “And the second?”

  “You’ve ruined the lives of a lot of people dear to me. Consider it a small payback for what you’ve done to me and my extended family.”

  The Assassin sneered. “You’re pathetic. Your emotional attachments will get you killed, and your effort to ensure it won’t be me who does it simply means someone else will do the job. Truly, now, are these long lost dead people really worth losing your life over?”

  “They’re my reason for living, and if it takes my life to save theirs, I will gladly pay that price. That said, I’d just as soon not pay that price if I can avoid it. Therefore, now I can use you.”

  The Assassin looked modestly confused. “And what is the plan on that front?”

  “You will return to Aliomenti headquarters. I will teleport with you to get you close enough to be detected and walk; at present it is quite a significant distance. They believe you died in the fire you set the night you and the Hunters attempted your various assaults on the Stark family. You will tell them the truth, to a degree; that you were so excited at the prospect of the deaths of the Stark woman and the boy that your pyrokinesis erupted, igniting an explosion that knocked you unconscious and, you suspect, also killed the family of Will Stark. You were kidnapped by the Alliance, which fed you various drugs to keep you in a state of deep sleep.”

  “And why would they believe that?” The Assassin asked.

  “They know that there was an explosion because the Hunters were camped out in the Starks’ back yard when it happened. They have not seen you since. They most likely assume you dead, and reasonably so. To a degree, we have given you drugs, but the intent has been to heal the injuries you sustained in the fire and your encounter with the Starks. Your story is consistent with both what they know, and what you experienced, and as such they’ll detect no lies from you.”

  “If I was drugged, how did I escape?”

  “You had enough lucid time to understand that you were being given the drugs. You figured out how to stop swallowing the drugs and as such your alertness returned. There came a day when you were out of your cell, and the bindings securing you to your table were removed for a change of clothes and washing. You feigned still being addled until that point of freedom, and then rose to the occasion, killing several of the Alliance with their medical knives and instruments. Please, mention me as one of the dead.”

  The Mechanic smiled at his request. “In the chaos that followed, you found your sword and escaped the camp, gradually working your way back to Headquarters. You note that the camp is fairly small and basic and easy to move, and so given the time it took you to escape and arrive at Headquarters, it is probable that the Alliance moved again following your escape, figuring out that your next step would be to report to the Leader all that you learned.”

  “And what have I learned, Master?” The last word was said with a sneer. The Mechanic smiled. The Assassin couldn’t fight him, or what he said, but it certainly hadn’t altered his charming personality.

  “You have learned that Will Stark has been in this camp.” He smiled.

  The Assassin glared at him. “Clearly they already know this, as you already indicated. How is this useful to me? I need something showing that my time spent here was not wasted.” He frowned. “Drugged or not.”

  “Will Stark is still working his way through the ailments that plagued him during their Hunt for him at his home. His Energy is quite low and he has forgotten how to do much of what he once did. He is better than he was at the house; however, he is unlikely to be able to withstand a well-planned and executed Hunt at this time. This is the time to strike to get Stark if that is still something they wish to accomplish.”

  “Of course it is something we wish to accomplish. Will Stark is the worst example of a traitor to his Aliomenti Oaths. He must be captured and tried for these crimes. Nothing has changed that.”

  The Mechanic smiled. “Perhaps. I dare say much has changed at Aliomenti Headquarters since you left to execute Will Stark’s family. But that is part of what you are going to find out for me. What are the priorities with the Leadership, with the membership as a whole? Who are they tracking for possible Hunts, and why? Once I have that type of information — which you will gather for me — then I will determine how you will act.”

  “Act?” Concern showed in The Assassin’s blood-red eyes.

  “Yes. You see, I am giving you this order today: you are never to kill another human. Nor may you kill an Alliance member. You may be asked to kill a member of the Leadership, by me, but I am issuing no such order at this time. You may not directly refuse an order by the Leadership to violate any of these rules, but you must use your cunning to fail to successfully complete these orders in manners that seem plausible. You are not to mention or even give hints that you are operating under my instruction and control, or the control or instruction of anyone else.” He looked The Assassin straight in the eye. “Is that clear?”

  The Assassin winced. Every fiber of his being rebelled against the order, for he lived to kill humans in particular, and yet whatever magic this man had performed was overwhelming that desire. He had no doubt that he would perform as ordered because he was incapable of choosing to do otherwise. “Clear.”

  The Mechanic smiled and slapped The Assassin on the back. “Wonderful! We’ll need to arrange for your escape, gather some supplies, and provide you a map to help you return.”

  He paused. “Ah, yes. There’s one more very important detail you need to be aware of.”

  The Assassin’s eyes widened as the Mechanic related the story. It was impossible. It had to be. But he had no choice but to believe.

  He’d been given his orders.

  XIX

  Initiation

  Michael Baker pulled his car into the parking lot at The Diner, enjoying the sight of the giant Pleasanton Dome in the background. It had been six weeks since he’d last been here. That visit had been far more ominous, for it involved an investigation into yet another murder the night of the fire. A young woman had been found dead in her apartment, a young woman Baker had called to tell of her fiancé’s death in the murder and arson assault on De Gray Estates. Her time of death suggested she’d lived with that horror only a short while. The woman had worked here, at The Diner, and they’d needed to come and interview employees and guests about enemies and possible motives.

  Today, though, Baker was at The Diner to enjoy the cuisine and to meet with someone who had no relation to those murders and deaths. He walked in and glanced around. He spotted his lunch companion in a booth in the far corner, walked over, and sat down.

  “Thanks for joining me,” Adam said. “How’s your wife doing?”

  “Remarkably well,” Baker replied. “Her doctors are genuinely surprised at how quickly her wounds healed. It’ll take a long time for her to get over the emotional aspects, but physically she’s back to normal.”

  “And your son?”

  “You’d never know he’d seen his mother attacked. He’s back to being a regular boy.” Baker glanced at the man. “It seemed to start when you took him for a walk that day in the hospital. What did you say to him?”

  “If memory serves, I asked if he preferred his candy bar with or without nuts.”

  Baker laughed. “I guess that’s exactly what he needed to hear, then. Thank you.” Adam nodded in acknowledgment.

  The waitress came over, and both men placed their orders. After she returned with their drinks, Baker resumed the conversation. “Millard told me that you’re claiming to be a third member of our little group, and that the two of us share some unique piece of knowledge about the Starks that will convince me of this.” He took a sip of his drink. “Can you elaborate?”


  Adam nodded. “I appreciate your skepticism. I probably would have avoided even having this meeting without some type of proof ahead of time, especially given the nature of the claim. I will tell you something that Millard knows. The Starks kept their will on file with me because it is my job to protect the most sensitive data that their companies deal with. Millard came to my site to retrieve the will after their deaths.”

  “Why come to your site if he had a copy of his own in his office?” Baker asked.

  “Will liked to have multiple copies of anything important to help ensure nothing was changed without his approval. With each official change, Millard kept a copy on file in his office and gave two copies to the Starks. One was kept in a safe in their home. The other came to me and was stored in a secure manner, as a check copy. Obviously, the fire prevented a comparison with the copy stored by the Starks. Thankfully, the two copies in existence matched, and as such prevented a rather nasty dispute resolution process.”

  Baker nodded. That level of foresight didn’t surprise him. He’d heard tales of other wealthy people storing their wills in a very insecure manner, enabling unscrupulous individuals to modify the documents to their liking and helping themselves to portions of an estate they were never intended to inherit. It was another manner in which those who survived through the economic depression in a prosperous manner were attacked, a more subtle approach than the kidnappings, blackmail, and extortion that were now commonplace. Will Stark, of course, would know this, and invent a means to prevent those types of criminals from succeeding.

  “Okay, I’m convinced that you were part of the process of storing the will. But that doesn’t mean that the Starks intended for you to be part of the decision-making process for disbursing funds.”

  Adam chuckled. “Of course not. But Will told me something at one point that leads me to believe he wanted me to be involved. Not directly, day-to-day, mind you, or deciding who gets what. Given the nature of my role with his companies, he probably wanted my involvement to be involved in ensuring the security of the process, theft and extortion prevention, and so on. Or perhaps another voice to weigh in on some of the more difficult cases, to help ensure the guidelines the Starks set are followed.”

  Baker rolled his eyes. “Neither Millard nor I would go against their wishes.”

  “I’m not saying that you would. But this Trust is large enough that it’s likely to outlive all of us. Having a hidden third party, not subject to outside pressure as you might be, is a shrewd maneuver. Will and Hope picked three people they knew they could trust to continue their work. What happens when we’re gone? Who replaces us? We will do our best to replace ourselves with others true to the beliefs and tenets the Starks set out. With each replacement, though, you run the new risk of finding someone who will be overcome with greed, or who lets others pressure them. This structure helps.”

  Baker shrugged. “I’m not concerned about that part of your story, Adam. What interests me is understanding why you think there needs to be a third wheel on this bicycle, and why that third wheel is meant to be you. Do you have some way to convince me?”

  Adam leaned in closer. “Tell me this, Michael. Were there ever times you talked with Will when he seemed...different?”

  Baker blinked, his breath catching in his throat. He recovered quickly. “Different? What do you mean?”

  “Like he was a different person. Much more direct, more forceful. His face seeming...I don’t know, harder. Different like that. As if he were some type of undercover agent, putting on his alternate career face, as opposed to the easy-going, jovial family man the world knows.”

  Baker stared at Adam.

  How could he know?

  Baker knew Will mostly as the world knew him...driven, to be sure, but with a gentle spirit, full of laughs and good cheer, generous with a smile or a story or a large amount of money for a good cause. But on a few occasions, always in one-on-one circumstances, Will seemed different, older and wiser. A man who had been through hell and back. In those circumstances, Will steered conversations away from the usual fodder, such as the odd crime scene Baker investigated, or the best way to coach a troubled youngster. Instead, Will spoke of the life-altering changes cutting-edge technology could bring, about the ability to truly unleash human potential. That he’d personally and secretly spent much time researching those types of technologies. And he spoke of the lengths to which those controlling such capabilities might go to prevent those concepts and ideas and technologies from reaching the general public.

  Even murder.

  He’d thought of those conversations on the night Will had died, wondered if Will had truly discovered what he’d spoken of, and run afoul of those who would do him harm. If so, his gamble on that research had cost him, his family, and two or three others their lives.

  “Will spoke to me in that...different way,” Adam said, his voice quiet. “Talked about life-altering technology he was secretly working on, things we can’t even imagine. Evil forces who would stop at nothing to suppress it. But he told me his philosophy on dealing with that, and really about life in general, that he summed up in a short Latin phrase. Exsisto change vos volo obvius universitas. To him, it meant that you work on the important things, things you believe in, regardless of what others think, without fear.”

  “Be the change you want in the world.” Baker translated the phrase he, too, had heard Will Stark proclaim during these alternate personality episodes. He looked Adam directly in the eye. “I know that wasn’t something he spoke about on a regular basis. I truly felt when he spoke to me that he meant those musings and messages to be for my ears only. If he told you the same thing...I can only suspect that he meant for you to be part of the team.” He held out his hand. “Welcome aboard.”

  Adam clasped the offered hand and shook. “Many thanks.” He sat back as the waitress delivered meals to the two men, and then resumed the conversation. “What’s strange for me is that while I’m convinced Will wanted me in this role, I’m not exactly sure what he wanted me to do. Clearly I’m supposed to be the hidden voice in the shadows; everyone knows who you are, and can figure out rather easily that Millard is, and would be, involved as well. Yet I don’t have a job description.”

  Baker chuckled. “I rather wish I did at times. I seem to be inventing the job as I go along.”

  Adam raised his glass of water. “To poorly-defined problems, then?” He smiled.

  Baker laughed, raising his glass as well. “Indeed.”

  “So, since I don’t have a role description, but I’m supposed to help, let me ask you a question.” Adam paused a moment, considered, and then continued. “What is the biggest issue or concern that you have? Perhaps I’m supposed to get rid of the obstacles, move them into my world of hidden and secret data and documents, and make everything work more simply.”

  Baker thought about this question. “Making decisions isn’t a terribly large burden for me. There are two basic concerns I have. First, processing everything simply takes a lot of time. The amount of mail we get — paper and electronic — is pretty staggering. Millard and I spend hours each day just tossing out the communications from the obvious panderers. Then we have to weed through what’s left and figure out which requests mesh best with the guidance the Starks provided. Once that happens, there’s the laborious task of actually responding back to everyone, either explaining our rationale for denying their request for funds from the Trust, or congratulating them and sending a check, which both Millard and I have to sigh. Very cumbersome.”

  Adam frowned. “I thought paper checks disappeared twenty years ago?”

  Baker sighed. “Sadly, no. The Trust has a checkbook and a checking account with a very large balance. We have to keep a record of all funds disbursed and both authorize and record each payment. It’s time consuming, to be sure, but...”

  “Why don’t you set up electronic payments? Most everyone has the ability to receive funds electronically, and surely whatever bank is holding funds of su
ch magnitude for the Trust can send payments out at your direction, or provide any reports on payments that you’d need. Just make sure that people know that if they send in a request to send a canceled check or bank account numbers. Better yet, make sending that type of information something done after they’ve been approved. Tell those who are receiving money now, for example, that they will get the funds but that we are moving to an electronic system to help us with our tracking of payments.”

  Baker shook his head. “Our current system is working okay. Besides, we don’t know how to set that up. Yes, I know it’s pretty old school by now, but the paper check approach has been working.”

  Adam shrugged, and paused for a moment, as if in deep thought. “It’s something I can do if you’re interested. Think about it, and let me know. Now, on the communication front, we should look to automate that as well. We can establish a website—“

  “But...,” Baker interrupted, seeming to have second thoughts. “Come to think of it, I do find writing those checks tiresome, and I dare say that the amount of paperwork is only going to grow over time. We really do need to figure out a better system. If you know how to do this, perhaps we should consider it. The paper we get is wasteful. I’d rather set something up that could pre-screen everything, and then have those requests that pass the initial automated screening come to us. Perhaps we could tie in payments to that as well...”

  “Well, you’d need a website with a form for the entry, some coding on the logic to use, and then workflow management to make sure that nothing gets paid out until the two of you formally approve. Once that happens, you can have the people who are approved log back in and provide electronic funds transfer information and we can execute the payment.”

  “That sounds perfect,” Baker said, and he was sure Adam could sense the relief in his voice. “How long would it take to get that established?”