by B. Wulf
***
The inside of the mansion looked like a time vortex had hit. The main hall had suits of armor on one side and Scientists in white lab coats on the other. Lots of delicate looking visages hung on the walls, painted by Da Vinci in my opinion. They sat right next to a giant LCD television screen that was showing CNN. A butler in full regalia, white gloves and all, greeted us at the door. He took our bags and directed us through a stained mahogany door.
“Now it starts getting interesting,” said Cole, nudging me with his elbow, “You're gonna like this.”
In the corner of the room, across a very miserable looking lion skin rug was an elevator.
“Time for a surprise,” said Cole as he swiped a card and entered.
I had already decided, as I got into the elevator, that I wasn't going to be surprised. It was pretty obvious what was under here. I would get a surprise if it was Chuck Norris having a tea party with the Seven Dwarfs. That’s a plot twist worthy of enshrinement.
The doors slid open and I was mildly surprised. We stood on a balcony overlooking what looked like the pentagon's main floor. Flashing screens and serious old men and women with determination and healthy work ethic painted on their well-groomed faces filled the room. They looked like ants scurrying about, following the hive mind's orders.
“This,” said Cole, “Gesturing out across the expanse, “Is CANA Research Center A21. This is where the really groundbreaking stuff happens.”
I didn't respond, being too engrossed with the display. I thought I detected a hint of sarcasm in Cole's words. He was smiling without his eyes, like most people I had met lately, and gripping the rail that prevented us from falling and squishing the ants below.
“Why is it hidden?” I asked finally.
“They all are, well all the interesting ones are; the technological secrets hidden in this place make the facilities very tempting targets. That is why most of CANA’s operations are housed covertly. We do not support specific countries, superpowers, or agencies. We support humanity.”
“So what are they all doing?” I asked, gesturing to the crowd of milling people.
Cole laughed. “I still don't know the half of it. They are doing what Sasha wants.”
“How?” I asked, “Where’s all the money coming from? You said that there are more of these? They are miniature cities.”
“The twelve investors,” said Cole, “They form the CANA Board. You saw them. They're more wealthy than the Queen, with corporate empires spanning the globe.” Cole turned and started descending a flight of stairs. “Wealthy men are often the most afraid of death. That's how Sasha hooked them. He promised them immortality. There are others but those are the main ones. Sasha despises them all. He's scared they'll try monopolizing it. Turn it into a business venture. The truth is,” Cole paused and leant in close, “Sasha has become their prisoner. He needs them but they are all petty, selfish men and women who do not share his dream. This is meant to be a gift to all humanity, not just a select few.”
Money always complicates the best of intentions.
“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked, “Isn’t it private.”
“Because you need to know,” Cole replied simply, “Now come with me. I’ll show you where the Synthetic’s optics are calibrated. I started out in optics.”
I followed Cole down the stairs into the swelling morass of bodies and spent the rest of the day taking a guided tour. They all spoke in gibberish to me though. I only understood a fraction of it.
***
That night I sat at my laptop in a posh little bedroom in the chateau, wondering how they got all the equipment down to the underground lab space. There must be another exit, perhaps on the other side of the hills. I would have to look for it sometime. I was trying to think of something really romantic to send Kate in an email but my mind wasn’t cooperating. Instead I settled for something short and sweet along the lines of, ‘Jet lagged as. Cole is wearing his Tweety Bird tie again. Eeugh. Missing you pretty badly. I’m going to go to bed now because there is a chance that I might meet you in my dreams. Ps. Now that was cheesiness incarnate.’ It went on like that for nearly half a page. I was the master of using as many words as possible to say nothing at all. She would understand though. I would send a better one when I got a chance.
Smiling to no one in particular, I flopped down in the massive bed and fell asleep. I was still living the dream.
***
“I happen to quite like this tie. Sasha gave it to me.”
Isn't it funny how a specific arrangement of words can induce an involuntary physical response? My eyes widened and my jaw dropped slightly.
“I should have told you before,” said Cole, “We are monitoring everything coming out of this place. So remember to keep it PG, and sensitive information free.”
I felt outraged. My personal space had been violated! Before bursting out in a tirade of indignant rage I took a breath and realized I didn't actually care that much. I'd already come to the conclusion my privacy was a thing of the past. I checked the bathroom for cameras without ceasing.
“I understand if you're angry,” said Cole noticing my silence. He had been showing me through the Neural Transmutation Division. It was possibly the biggest of the research spaces. Once again I was out of my depth.
“I don't mind,” I replied, “You should meet my Mum. I'm used to it.”
Cole started fidgeting with his shirt cuffs. He did not appear to enjoy his job anymore than I enjoyed being his job.
“So why doesn't he have eight legs?” I asked, flexing my topic changing muscles.
“Who's he?”
“The dude we saw in the board meeting. Frederick, I think.”
Cole bit his lip before responding. “It's not that simple Fletcher. Think of a person recovering from spinal cord damage, say from a car crash, who is trying to regain the use of one of his limbs. Now imagine that we sew on another leg, with new nerve endings, axioms; the whole chabang; the brains going to have a hard time coping. We wanted the transition to be smooth. Shock was one of the biggest risks in the procedure. We wanted to fool the brain in effect.”
“So you can't control a flamethrower with your thoughts?” I asked.
“Perhaps in the future. It's hard enough as it is.”
“And you'll never die?”
Cole did not answer immediately. “Death is persistent. It always has some new scythe to cut you down.” Cole paused again. He started stroking the stubble on his jaw. “There is more than one way to die.”
“You don't reckon the Synthetics are immortal?”
“I assure you I am as optimistic as a pessimist can be. I simply do not know.”
Cole stepped aside for a trim woman who looked like she was on a mission from the queen.
“Why are you here anyway?” I asked, “Do Kate and Stuart get a handler on their field trip thingies?”
“Loquacious as usual,” said Cole, “No, I’m not actually specifically here for you. I came to retrieve something and bring it back to Washington.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s a need to know thing, and you don’t need to know.”
I shrugged. “Fine by me.”
***
I sat quietly beside Cole, watching a demonstration of the latest signal transduction methods. This involved staring at a readout while a little chip fired off a variety of pulses. Riveting stuff. Electronics had never really been my thing. It had surprised me that my masters in Neuroscience had not actually been particularly useful throughout the internship. The material we covered was just too broad.
“By the way,” murmured Cole to me, while taking notes, “About Kate…”
“Yeah…”
“I realize you have a relationship going…”
“Yeah…”
“And I would just like you to know that I approve.” He paused and looked at me. “You’re a good kid Fletcher, but I will break a large percentage of the bones in your body if
you hurt her. She’s like a little sister to me.”
“That sounds reasonable,” I said, with a nod.
***
“Pack your things, we’re leaving.” Cole didn’t wait for a reply and started throwing my clothes into a bag. It was the middle of the night
“What’s the rush?” I asked, “It’s only been three weeks. Aren’t we meant to stay a month?”
“A big snowstorm is drifting down from the north. This could be our only chance to leave for months. I have to get back to Washington.”
“To return the thingy?”
Cole nodded and then chucked my bag to me.
“Come on, we’re leaving now.”
“Will this thingy be on the plane then?” I asked, “So I’ll get to see it?”
“You ask too many questions Fletcher.”
Somebody was a bit grumpy. I followed Cole down the elevator and into an underground garage. We hopped into a Bentley, Cole in the drivers seat, and drove along in what appeared to be an underground highway. Finally, we reached a checkpoint, got frisked by guys with Kalashnikovs and emerged into the outside world.
“It’s a three hour drive to the airfield,” said Cole, he had big black bags under his eyes, “You might as well get some shut eye.”
“Why aren’t we using the airfield we arrived at?” I asked.
“Too risky,” said Cole, “Hopefully the package will already have been loaded by the time we arrive.”
Too risky? What was going on? I was too tired to worry much however, so I just dozed off. I dreamt of Kate and cheesy pizza.
***
We arrived at the airfield as the sun breached the horizon. I had forgotten how beautiful a sunrise was. It reminded me of home and I got a sudden heartache. I hadn’t seen my parents in almost three months now. They seemed so distant. Like they were in another world. I wanted home. I’m such a mummy’s boy.
Cole didn’t seem to be in the mood to appreciate nature. Swearing under his breath, he hauled my luggage out of the car and ordered me to follow him to the plane. The plane was a twin prop antique, hidden under camouflaged netting. It was definitely a step down from the private jet we came on. When Cole found the pilot he started jabbering away in a foreign language, which I assumed was Russian. The pilot smiled at him and made a mock bow, gesturing to the open door.
“Get in,” demanded Cole, “Now.”
I was starting to wonder how serious this was and if we were really just escaping a storm. I did however, notice dark clouds on the horizon, threatening to ruin my sunrise. A storm was approaching.
The inside of the aircraft was cold and smelt like old boots. It looked as if it had once been a passenger aircraft, capable of seating maybe twenty people at max. Most of the seats had been torn out and a dividing wall had been erected to create a storage space. Cole’s ‘package’ must be behind that wall. I assumed it was a death ray or a batch of nanobots, or at least something intense like that. Cole was sitting in the copilots seat in the cabin so I was left alone. After we took off and I got used to the shuffling sensation of flight, I fell asleep for the second time.
***
I awoke to a cabin bathed in red and the stuttered scream of an alarm. I made sure my seat belt was fastened, shook myself awake, and put my head between my legs like the little cards in commercial air flights tell you to do.
“What is happening?” I called out. Cole and the pilot were shouting at each other in the cabin, but I couldn’t make out the words.
Two facts gave me a clue as to the nature of our current predicament. Firstly, it felt like my stomach had jumped into my mouth to say hello to my tonsils and secondly I felt like I had a negative weight. We were either making an emergency landing or falling from the sky to our certain deaths. I panicked and started screaming out to Cole. Screaming like a man; a man who sounds like a little kid.
“What?” Cole had stumbled back to the passenger area. “Stop shouting. We’re making an unplanned stop over.”
I abandoned the panic position and looked Cole in the eye. “Tell me the truth. What is happening?”
Cole sighed. I could even hear it, which was an impressive thing to do considering the noise of the aircraft.
“We were hailed by an unknown authority on the ground. They threatened to blow us out of the sky with stinger missiles unless we landed immediately. You’re going to be fine Fletcher. I’ll sort this out.”
Cole took a seat beside me and fastened his seatbelt.
“And now all we can do is wait.”
Chapter 8
The plane touched down to a chorus of groaning rivets and shrieking metal. We bounced along for a few seconds before shuddering to a halt.
I vomited.
Embarrassment, shock, and fear are an odd mixture of emotions. We sat in silence, composing ourselves, before Cole finally spoke.
“Well this is it then. We better go meet whoever is waiting outside.”
Or we could hide… That was an option. I liked that option. It meant I had a better chance of survival, which also meant I might get to see Kate again.
“Come on Fletcher,” said Cole offering me a hand up, “There is no where to run to.”
As we stepped outside I saw that he was right. We had landed in the middle of a frozen wasteland. It was white as far as the eye could see, and snaking through that white was a thin line of vehicles heading directly for us. We were screwed. I went around to the cockpit to check on the pilot, only to discover that he was already sprinting towards the convoy as fast as his stubby legs could take him.
“At least we know who ratted us out,” I called to Cole.
Cole looked so calm all of a sudden. He should be panicking like me. It was disconcerting.
“The landing gear is torn off and the left prop is mangled,” I observed, “I guess we ain’t flying out of here.”
Cole was sitting in the snow now. He had his tweety bird tie on again. I bet he had more than one.
“The storm is getting closer,” he said slowly, “I think we will be stuck here for a while. Welcome to Siberia, Fletcher.”
“Lovely to be here Cole.”
Cole didn’t reply. Perhaps he didn’t catch the sarcasm in my voice. At least I knew where we were now.
“They are taking a while to get here,” I observed.
“Where can we go?” replied Cole, “They are not in a hurry.”
“Are they military?” I asked.
“No they’re not. No tanks or heavy gear. They look like a militia, just small arms and jeeps. Probably some mob boss’s pet army. They probably didn’t even have the capacity to bring us down.”
“So why aren’t you having a nervous breakdown?”
Cole’s calm was rubbing off on me.
“Because they have no idea what they are getting themselves into,” he said.
“You gonna go all ninja on them?” I laughed.
This was the strangest situation imaginable. A group of well-armed thugs were approaching and we were sitting in the snow having a little chat.
“No need to,” said Cole.
“So they are after the package then?” I asked, “In the cargo area?”
“Yes, I imagine they are.”
“Can you tell me what it is now?”
“You will find out soon enough.”
***
When the convoy eventually reached us it was snowing. What had used to be a white expanse was now grey. They pulled up in the big trucks and arrayed themselves out in front of us. I saw a few RPG’s but they were mainly equipped with assault rifles. There were about twenty of them, all looking very fearsome and aggressive like I assume all wannabe soldiers do.
What looked like the leader approached us. He was a big man with a flowing moustache. Moustache Man came to a halt in front of us and kicked snow into our laps. “Lie down,” he growled, in rough English, “Do it now.”
I stared at his feet and at the men in the distance. Two rushed over and patted us down for weapons. The
y looked cocky. Moustache Man was stalking around the plane, looking for a way into the rear cargo space.
“You,” he said, nudging my head with his boot, “American. Inside the…”
“I’m Kiwi, not American,” I said on reflex. This earned me a sharp kick in the ribs. I regretted nothing.
“You are stupid,” he spat, “That is what you are. Now go bring me the…”
“You really have no idea do you,” cut in Cole, “Someone told you that the contents of this plane were invaluable and now you’re looking to cash in. But you don’t know what you are getting yourself into.” He looked up at Moustache Man and said slowly, “Give us a jeep and leave now.”
“I am the one making demands, Kiwi!” Moustache Man was getting angry so I refrained from clarifying that Cole was actually American and I was the Kiwi.
“Get me the package,” he roared, “Or I rip off your fingernails one by one.”
That would hurt.
Cole just smiled, “Okay then. I will do as you wish. I will get your package.”
Cole did not get up but stayed lying prone in the snow. Sharp and precise, he called out one word.
“Frederick.”
Confusion flitted across Moustache Man’s grizzled features.
“Frederick?” he whispered to himself.
“We are not transporting a package you idiot,” shouted Cole, “We are transporting the future. Now run! Because Frederick does not like Russians!”
But kindly leave us a jeep, I added mentally.
“I am not Russian,” said Moustache Man softly. The creaking coming from the plane entranced him. Finally a figure emerged, stepping down into the snow with a dull crunch. He was seven foot tall, looked like a cast-iron god, and appeared angry. Moustache man obviously had been expecting something that glittered in the right light and couldn’t snap your femur like a toothpick. Poor guy.
***
