by Madlen Namro
He took the lesson to heart and, once more, decided to forget about the past and get down to work.
He’d found strength in the realisation that he could fulfil his ambitions by helping others, as he’d managed to do so far. He had spent a lot of time among ecologists.
Mental pain comes from attachment – he pondered. Attachment which can take on many forms, greed, anger, jealousy and lust being some of the most evident. As he’d learnt suffering to the fullest, he understood that attachment is a snake shading its skin. To get a fresh start, he would have to free himself from the memory of Jo completely, but at the same time, there was nothing he desired more than to find her and amaze her with his newly discovered dignity. Although they’d been brutally separated and explicitly forbidden to seek contact, there wasn’t a moment he wouldn’t subconsciously think of a scheme to seek her out. He opened his eyes, slightly comforted at that last thought and returned to work.
Nuclear power engineering – the perfect solution – yet for the last two centuries, invariably opposed by the general public. He anxiously browsed through the report. Supercritical blocks, erected on a mass scale in the last century, were intended to allow fuel to be burnt in elevated pressure and temperature, which was to lead to a reduction in the gas emission of up to fifteen percent. The side effect, however, was that they led to some unexpected anomalies in the greenhouse effect. Alec stopped reading. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes. The information overload was starting to get to him.
He got up and left the room through a low doorway which forced him to lean forward. The austere interior, with only a mattress in the centre and a small table in one of the corners, was as close as he could get to imitating his bedroom on Atlantis. He picked a house on the outskirts, away from the urban uproar. He’d never liked Japan. It seemed like his exile had been chosen purposefully to spite him. Finding common ground with the Japanese had always been beyond him, their minds were attuned to different patterns, paradoxically simple despite all the hightech advances their country was famous for.
He felt the cold night breeze on his face. Rain beaded on the window panes forming tiny streams flowing downwards. He watched the watery streaks as memories of his past life took hold of him once more. He decided to put off the work until tomorrow. He was going to head into the field in the morning to collect some soil samples. He was carrying on the fight, but not the kind he’d wish for.
He missed actual combat. He was not tailored for the life he had been forced to lead here, in Japan. He wanted to fight for the world, but in a different way and with a woman at his side, a woman who had become his obsession, whose images haunted him and boomeranged back at him every time he closed his eyes. To fight, truly fight, he needed motivation. He needed Jo.
* * * *
For over six months of his stay on Earth, Commodore Charles Levi had been working in the archives of the Central Intelligence Agency. He’d always liked Langley, a picturesque town in Virginia and was happy to accept the decision delegating him to a post there.
He’d settled down in the very centre of the town, within walking distance of all the important government buildings and not too far from the New State base established some 159 kilometres in the direction of Washington. His apartment was rather spacious, temptingly luxurious, but Levi hardly had the time to take advantage of the privilege to use the advanced household technologies.
His initial assignment was somewhat dull. He was commissioned to sort out the terrorist database, or rather supplement it with his expertise which was far more extensive that that of chartered archivists. He could not but smile when reading about the pioneering initiatives of the agency in espionage, field analyses and research. He had been glad, some twenty years before, to hear that the CIA was to be finally closed down. It could not hold against the public outcry. It had been concluded that the agency had not been efficient in the fulfilment of its tasks, a counterproductive institution that was virtually nothing more than a money sink, growing more and more costly to sustain, while virtually helpless against the terrorist threat.
The famed CIA, armed with satellites and state-of-theart computers, with an annual budget of fifty million dollars, had failed to make a single significant advance in the struggle against terrorism.
Levi was looking through the files on computerised databanks. He tried to analyse the genesis of the CIA’s downfall. In his research, he stumbled into an archive documenting the development of nuclear weaponry by countries threatened with terrorist attacks by weapons of mass destruction.
The terrorist elite, trained in Afghanistan and connected with Al-Qaeda, had been decimated and Osama Bin Laden disappeared without a trace. A new group was formed of volunteers recruited during the American war in Iraq. Soon, a network of local terrorist groups surfaced, stronger than ever.
Within a few years, its structure was crystallised enough for the emergence of the caliph. A new, charismatic leader emerged in the Near East, a man able to unite all the Muslims under one banner. In 2050-2070 he took on the role of the people’s spiritual leader, from which there was only a step to political leadership. At that time the whole Islamic world was in turmoil. News of ethnic conflicts, revolts and coups filled the front pages of newspapers. During the 2086 Olympics, all Muslim competitors united under one flag. The event paralysed the world. 2095 was a year of fear and disbelief.
The struggle between terrorists and the West was fast becoming an everyday reality. The assailants did not hesitate to use biological weapons, even small nuclear bombs. The secret service was everywhere, invigilating everyone indiscriminately. The world was slowly consumed by chaos as terrorists continued their march towards establishing an independent state stretching from the near east and Far East, and parts of Africa, slowly taking over more and more territory, encircling the old continent.
When America, occupied with its own problems, lost interest, particular countries began to arm themselves with weapons of mass destruction in a hope of creating at least an illusion of security. Government agents, although highly trained, were surprisingly inept when it came to destroying the enemy’s nuclear installations. In 2100, the leaders of particular countries turned to the last resort available to them and established a new, common state under the name of the United Nations. They decided to join forces and together make a stand against the enemy. Soon, the first space bases were set up. A new army of trackers was created to replace the CIA and other state agencies. It was comprised of people fluent in Persian, able to infiltrate enemy territory, to make contact with the locals and recruit spies.
In 2138, the terrorists elected a new caliph. This time, to the astonishment of the world, a Russian by the name of Kaminsky, whose file Levi was regrettably not able to locate in the archives. The commodore already knew far more about the man than even his direct superiors might expect, but it was always a good idea to learn more.
Before he’d had time to really get down to his research on Kaminsky, he was transferred to the cadet school at the Washington NASA office.
At first, the new task was much more to his liking, as he was teaching again. He worked with orbital utility technicians.
After a while, however, this assignment became unbearably tedious
remaining days of
and Levi begun to count off the his torment and daydreamed about
returning to the Luna.
In his opinion, the whole thing with Jo should not have happened in the first place. The mistake they’d made was negligible and the punishment disproportionately harsh. The stripping of their badges and the compulsory transfer to civilian services made it worse, each of them ending up in a different part of the world. After all these months it still got to him. He was angry with himself. Each time he saw a new group of young students looking up to him, the images of his commandos and their faces clouded his vision. His thoughts were with them, wherever they were.
* * * *
Being a tracker is a loner’s job. It’s a job for someone who finds ple
asure in long hours of searching for fallaciously unimportant traces, studying files of future marks or rescue mission targets. One who can use his countless, seemingly almost supernatural talents and extensive expertise to swiftly and efficiently find whatever needs finding at the time. A tracker is the elite of the elite, the president’s righthand man and a secret agent of double rank. He is a warrior, ready to kill to save his life or execute an order. He is absolutely reliable. He embodies agility, sneaks in, analyses and attacks from behind, never to be as much as seen. Trackers are given missions no one else could or would perform. There are only a handful. It takes hard work and determination to become one of the elite.
Before he gained the president’s absolute trust, Victor had been through a lot in his life and his ascent to the highest military ranks had been somewhat extraordinary.
His actual background remained a secret. He’d only revealed it to the president and Levi. Released from prison, where he’d spent eight years wrongfully charged with accessory in acts of terror, he made it through the most challenging intelligence training imaginable. He was ready to take on a new personality whenever his mission demanded it; a person who would hesitate in the face of any change in his life was now a man capable of anything he desired.
He would guide commando units into any place in the world, fast and discretely, whenever the Defence Council demanded. At the slightest gesture of the president, he would kill or rescue people against even the most unfavourable odds. He was among the few operatives who flew onboard a Russian Mi-25 helicopter over Anjuman Pass towards the Panjshir Valley to the north-east of Kabul, where he secretly passed into Afghan territory and began the recruitment of spies for the United Nations Military. He established contacts, gathered information and supervised air strikes. In those days, he would always carry a briefcase of five million dollars in cash, necessary to bribe Afghan terrorists and to buy information from whoever was selling.
Impeccably shaven, wearing his favourite, slightly frayed jeans and suede, military style jacket with dozens of pockets and with closely cropped hair, Victor walked confidently into the sessions-chamber at Atlantis. The gathered senators had already been waiting for a while.
Ever since Levi had been sent back to Earth, he’d only been given one assignment not even vaguely related to terrorists. He had simply transported some secret piece of weaponry from Atlantis to another base, Exlibris. After that he’d had nothing to do apart from waiting in space, quartered in Levi’s cabin. He tried searching for details of Jo, David and Alec’s whereabouts, but it seemed all the particulars had been deeply classified. He’d made no attempts to contact anyone and didn’t sniff around. He remained discrete as always. Even so, a lot of new intel on Kaminsky had reached his ears.
The officials gathered in the comprised of the highest committee influential senators and the president. Victor was surprised by the silence that welcomed him in the room. The president tended to be a very talkative man. Files were scattered on the table. He could see in the politicians’ eyes that this time it would be something serious.
The president nodded and waved him to his seat. As he sat he caught a glimpse of the numbered files and instantly understood that the illusive information he’d been looking for had been right under his nose the whole time. They were the secret files of Levi, Alec, David and Jo.
The task he was about to receive from the Defence Council would be quite different from what he’d had to deal with so far.
“Victor,” the president started, “we have a rather unique mission for you.”
Victor surveyed the senators’ faces. Their grave expressions puzzled him for a moment.
“In a few days, you’ll be delegated to Earth.” The president handed him the commandos’ files. “Your task will be to gather all the commandos into a location of your choice and infiltrate the headquarters of the caliph.” He hesitated for a second and looked at his feet; the pressure on the senators’ faces would not let him falter for long. “You will take Kaminsky out. The commandos are at your disposal as backup. They’re your shield.”
Victor felt blood rushing to his face. His mind raced in random directions. Finally, a job to do, a chance to see Levi, but why Kaminsky? Why this job?
He had explained to the president on several occasions why he would not be the right man for the task. He could kill anyone but this man. Why him? After all the things session-chamber of the ten most he’d confessed. The president got up, uncomfortable, walked around the table and approached Victor.
“I am aware of your objections,” he went on, placing his hand firmly on Victor’s shoulder, “but we are out of options here. You’re the only one who stands a chance and should you succeed, our chances of finishing this war will improve greatly. Your country needs you. We need you. This may change the future of us all. Levi will help you through it.”
Agitated, Victor grabbed the files, rose sharply from his chair and started towards the door, when suddenly something made him stop and turn around towards the president. With sudden realisation he looked down at the files in his hands.
“Now I understand why they were exiled to Earth for such a trifle offense. A memorial erasure, nothing else really. But you’ve stripped them of their badges for it!”
He couldn’t hold his anger anymore. He had spent too much time pondering this inexplicable decision of the council. The president faced him and said, “Yes, it had to be done. By taking their badges and sending them down to Earth, separated from each other, we wanted to let them abate, to prepare them for this most important mission to date, to motivate them to look into a better future and to make them want to fight for it. When the best soldiers lose their badges, they’ll do anything to get them back.”
“I figured as much.” Victor was so infuriated; he barely stopped himself from crushing the files and tossing them back on the table. “I just needed to hear it.”
“The files specify the current location of all the commandos. You’ll find that Levi’s been working at the archives and…” The president reached into his briefcase and produced another folder. Kaminsky’s file. “You and Kaminsky go way back, so you won’t be needing this, but Levi, well... he was too close to digging up this stuff, which in part concerns him as well. That’s why we had to move him to NASA. I want you to break this to him when you feel the time is right. Everything’s in this file.”
Victor collected the folders and left. He walked briskly towards his quarters, his curiosity whetted. He’d have to make notes, learn as much as possible about the people who were supposed to be – what did the president call it – his shield?
“Since when do I need a shield!” Whipped up, he picked up his pace.
* * * *
In the last century, science had made some undeniably significant advances. Robotics, in particular, had enjoyed a period of unprecedented development. Modern robots could hear, see and analyse, and they were clothed in synthetic skin which replaced the old, metallic solutions. It allowed them to feel temperature and pressure. Robots were even given genders. Female ones were typically used for cleaning, whilst male robots were employed as drivers and worked at nuclear plants. Some models were even capable of duplicating themselves.
Some technological advances, however, greatly popular only a few years back were now banned and illegal. These included memorial erasures, cloning or brain implants, the latter of which were small electronic circuits placed in the brain to allow a direct link with a computer – to transfer thoughts or record dreams.
Those who used the technologies tended to fall on the brink of insanity, wiping their memories, breaking into other people’s thoughts or overanalysing their own dreams. Their lives soon turned into nightmares. Instead of forgetting about the war, they would start seeing enemies in every house and in the face of every neighbour.
Geneticists would return home after work and conduct private research in home laboratories, cloning animals, insects and human cells, dreaming up elixirs of eternal youth and immortal
ity. The degeneration of society was soon alarming enough for the governments to step in. The practices were eventually banned due to the adverse nature of the social side effects they caused.
Cybernetics and information technology, on the other hand, continued to flourish, constantly opening new opportunities, be it desirable or not.
David was a great supporter of these fields of study. He built the transmitter later planted in the enemy’s base, allowing access to their databases and control of the system.
He was not particularly surprised to have been sent to Freestation near Old Cairo. He’d had a feeling they would choose it for his exile, due to both the tragic death of his sister and the UN military assault. He was now quite content to have been commissioned with the task of overseeing the rebuilding works
computerised system of remote
in the city via a
control. With the programme he had written, architects were able to freely roam a virtual copy of Old Cairo, surveying construction sites, identifying undamaged buildings and erecting new ones. To his own surprise, David found urban planning a completely engrossing and truly fascinating task.
He constantly improved his innovative solutions. Soon an architect designing a garden could smell the plants he had planted a moment earlier, all thanks to a prototype device transmitting sensual data directly into his brain, a completely non-invasive method utilising ultrasound technology. All these advances allowed Old Cairo to quickly recover from its ordeal, at least when it came to a computer simulation. In the real world, the municipality now awaited funds to allow actual reconstruction of the destroyed city quarters.
David purchased a patch of land on the outskirts of the city and designed a house he was soon planning to build there. He enjoyed the dry, hot air; the climate agreed with him and, most importantly, he felt useful. There was much to be done in the region.
