by Scott Rhine
The third surviving board member was busy convincing his native India to weigh in on the conflict. Mori grunted. “Recent exercises by Pakistan on the Indian border almost guarantee the alliance, but commitment could take days of posturing. I will fill the gap between our enemies’ first fumbling attempts and the day we have enough armies on our side.”
“You’re not going to tell me how? I have encryption set to maximum.”
“The trick is to force the tiger to reconsider when all you have is a rolled-up newspaper. Timing and surprise are tantamount. How are our financials?”
“Brazil might only be the fifth largest country and economy, but they have enough resources to back whatever play we decide to make. While people sell corporate shares in panic, our families and the Brazilians buy. We’ve sold or leased our most vulnerable holdings. The obvious economic weapons have been blocked.”
“For now,” Mori cautioned. “But the price of everything scarce is increasing. People know what war means. Gold and fuel are climbing already. You can’t protect everyone.” He stopped lecturing when an icon flashed red.
When the Chinese Weather Service dropped equipment off the Tokyo coast to track a potential typhoon, Mori’s orbiting eyes told him the next phase of the dance had begun. Minutes later, the strike team landed on his roof. If Amanda had been here, she’d have cut off their balls, but Mori let them in with minimal resistance to make his point.
He tracked them every inch of the way. The moment they reached his floor, he spoke to his computer. “Koku, open the first of Amanda’s seals. Record everything that happens, and transmit to other board members and the prime minister.”
Originally, the Koku had been a measure of how much rice one peasant could produce in a year. It was the currency used by warlords to purchase and provision troops. The Koku management project had evolved from Fortune economic software that was designed to prevent global starvation and currency collapse. One merely had to adjust the goals of the expert system to make it useful for more commercial purposes.
Attempting to appear casual, Mori raised the receiver on his desk phone. A voice on his badge warned, “Explosives” in his daughter’s synth voice, standard on every Mori interface. He dove under the armor-plated furniture to avoid flying fragments of wood and hardware as the heavy doors he’d salvaged from a Shinto temple blew inward. So much for promoting serenity.
Koku activated the fire-suppressant systems and dropped the clear, bulletproof wall into place. The Chinese Special Forces soldier in front didn’t shoot the barrier but dispatched his black-clad technician to subvert the next hurdle. On the desk’s thermal monitors, Mori could see six men in his secretary’s office before her camera was disabled.
In fluent Japanese, the leader of the assault team said, “You will accompany me to the People’s Republic where you will be tried as a criminal. If you cooperate, you will be well treated. If not, we will make an example.”
Mori sneered as he sat in his custom-made control chair. What kind of moron would volunteer for years of torture and hard labor? Even with the arc welder, raising his barrier would take at least fifteen minutes, more time than he needed to make his point. “I think not. You have already triggered my first reprisal. At my signal, every Mori chip in Chinese hands, including those you stole the plans for, stopped working. Planes, trains, and cars are now crashing—military as well as civilian—all because you violated the end-user agreement.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Your high-tech VTOL on the roof is scrap now. You’ll have to use my secretary’s phone to call a cab home.” Mori lit a cigar to celebrate.
There was a pause while the soldiers noted the lack of response from their radios. A runner had to be dispatched up the hotly contended staircase. “Even if you knocked out our vehicle, there’s no way you can neutralize the aircraft carrier off your coast.”
“The low-cost game systems we’ve been handing out for two years broadcast the computer-chip kill signal. Power plants, TV, and radio stations will also be affected.”
“Impossible.”
Blowing smoke against the clear wall, Mori said, “Learn the definition of that word. This was not an attack; rather, I am attempting to get your country’s attention. This is only the first and least damaging method at my disposal. Cease your attempts to override my systems, or I’ll open the second seal.”
“Seal?”
“That’s right, you’ve never heard of the Bible. My wife had wonderful Jesuit tutors who scared children with stories about plagues of Egypt and the end of the world. You should at least stop until you confirm what I said about your assault craft being useless.”
With his expression covered in a face mask, the leader ordered his technician to pause. Then, he asked, “What do you threaten us with? How bad could your second seal be?”
“Nanotechnology has enabled us to breed a strain of the mumps that targets only ethnic Han Chinese. In case you haven’t heard, this causes sterility in men. If you think one child per family is hard, wait till you can’t have any.”
The head soldier backed up. “We would stop any missile that attempts to disperse such a plague.”
Shaking the cigar like another finger, Mori said, “Ah. That’s the beauty of nanofactories. They can be put in any number of innocuous places—even the pump housing of a rural well. Your modern cities, as mighty as they are, still depend on the poor farmer in order to eat, and there are fewer than ever.”
“Keep an eye on him while I try to find a working channel to command.”
As the soldier backed out, Mori added, “Remember, there are seven of these surprises, each nastier than the one before. If you take this to the next level, be prepared for the wrath of Amanda.”
“If we decide to kill you right now?”
“Koku, tell this gentleman what happens if I die?”
The feminine synth voice responded, “I am instructed to open all seals immediately.”
Mori smashed out the tip of his cigar. “Your dynasty becomes a pathetic footnote in history.”
“And if we hold him hostage?”
Koku replied, “I am to open one seal an hour until he is returned and duress free.”
“Check,” gloated Mori.
“We have declared war on your company.”
“So being on the board makes someone a part? By contagion, your war spreads to 129 other companies and three countries, yours included. By extension, you idiots just opened fire on the people who pack your parachutes.” The last part wasn’t completely true, but disinformation was a vital part of war.
A soldier ran from the stairwell to tell the leader in Chinese, “All electronics more advanced than our flashlights have ceased working, even the night-vision systems.”
Explosions sounded from the stairwell. All but two of the Chinese soldiers rushed to investigate. That would be corporate security retaking the floor. Mori said, “Koku, tell my security team they are to leave exactly one invader left alive to give the news to his superiors.”
The technician against the wall heard this order and promptly shot his own commander.
Mori applauded the man’s survival instinct. “Very good, Mister—”
“Ye.”
“Corporal Ye, you have a future in politics. Tell your employers that from now on, I will deal only with you.”
Ye bowed in thanks, arms behind his head as Corporate Security eliminated the other threats. With the evidence of Chinese aggression on their soil, Japan would have no choice but to join the Fortune side.
Mira, who had never closed their connection, interrupted his thoughts. “Mori, if we manage to get out of this mess, you could have a future in politics, too.”
“I thought you detested me after what happened to the island.”
“Although I find you morally and professionally repugnant, your enlightened self-interest may be our species’ only hope for survival.”
“Flattered as I am, the respite will only be temporary.”
>
Chapter 7 – Behind the Looking Glass
Mercy woke alone and vomiting clear fluid. Her hair was matted with something slimy. The experience would have terrified most people, but the fractal spiraling pattern fascinated her as a mesh of micropores in the floor slowly sucked down all the tinted glop. Kneeling in her granny underwear, she decided that somehow this was supposed to happen. She was acting like a drowning victim after CPR. A mist floated out of the nozzle above her, helping to dissolve the detritus that clung to her like afterbirth.
She appeared to be in a kind of shower tube with a translucent door that covered a quarter of the wall. There were grip rails mounted both horizontally and vertically. Between her talent and basic math, she determined that the gravity here was stronger than in the landing bay, about one-tenth Earth standard.
The warm fog actually helped to clear Mercy’s lungs. Breathing in deeply, she sat on a ledge two feet off the floor as she coughed up gobbets of the decontamination gel. The seat shifted gradually as it conformed to her behind. The intake pores were larger on the shelf and had stronger suction. Soon she was able to stand and direct the spray to places on her body that needed degumming. She had just begun to enjoy the shower when she heard panicked thrashing from nearby.
Mercy pushed on the frosted glass door, but it didn’t swing open. She pushed sideways, first one direction and then the other. “Think!” she ordered herself. How were they supposed to leave the pod in an emergency? She tapped the door three times, and the door slid into a hidden pocket. No time for self-congratulation; she spun around the hallway to locate the source of the distressed sounds. There were six identical tubes surrounding her. Light from another room shone in from above.
There, the shadow of a shoulder against the frosted glass.
Mercy tapped the glass three times, and a hunched-over Yuki flopped out, clearly in distress. Mercy grabbed her from behind, placed her thumbs under the ribs, and jerked. Fluid sprayed out. Sobbing, Yuki splayed on the shower floor. Mercy climbed in with her and shut the door, allowing the mist to resume. Stroking the Asian woman’s shoulders, Mercy said, “It’s okay. Let it all out. Throw up if you need to. Breathe in the mist, and cough out the decontamination glop.”
After a couple minutes, the heaving stopped. Grasping the showerhead, Mercy tried a theory. The nozzle stretched downward, connected by a long, flexible hose. “Just how I would have designed it,” she mumbled.
Using the nozzle, Mercy rinsed her team member’s hair. She stopped when she noticed the woman crying. “What’s wrong?”
This only made the Asian woman weep harder.
That’s when Mercy noticed the brown matter swirling before gradually vanishing into the floor. “Yeah. The rest of us didn’t eat much today. We were afraid of what the high g might do. It’s okay; the floor absorbs anything. I think you sit on the ledge for the toilet function. While you spray off, I can clean the shorts for you.”
Yuki looked horrified. Mercy said, “Please, I had three younger sisters. You haven’t lived till you’ve cared for three kids with stomach flu at the same time. At least this doesn’t smell. The process must’ve killed all the bacteria. I’ll step outside, and you can hand your bottoms to me.”
Hugging herself, Yuki replied, “No. This is my mess. I can handle it.”
Mercy triple-tapped out. “If you insist. I’ll wait for you before I head into the next room.” Pausing at the door, she remembered how cruel school cliques could be. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”
In the tubular hall, she noted that the five-centimeter disk above Yuki’s stall was pure black. Mercy’s still-open door bore a silver disk. She closed her own stall door for safety and scanned the area. The other doors had similar symbols; each disk was half silver and half black. While she stood in the center, the floor continued to siphon water from her dripping body. On impulse, she sat in a recess between doors on the narrow ledge. The entire wall cradled her like the toilet had, reclaiming liquid. Air pelted her from above and the sides to help dry her. She was in a car wash without the car. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her hair frizzing.
If only they had mirrors and shampoo with conditioner.
Two of the spaces between cleansing tubes were drying alcoves. Three were ladders leading up.
She couldn’t figure out the final curve where a recess should be.
Examining the circle above her stall again, she discovered it had shifted to a similar mix of dark and light—like the phases of the moon. The curved shadow of Earth occluded the glow of the moon.
When Yuki emerged, stoic as ever, Mercy asked, “How long were we floating in the pods?
Blinking, the young gravity-sensor specialist said, “Four hours and five minutes.” When Mercy raised an eyebrow, Yuki admitted, “I have a contact lens that shows me things when I close my eyes. Why is this important?”
Mercy pointed to the moon dial. “I think those are four-hour decontamination clocks. Watch. When I close yours it will go from silver to half black.” A few seconds after she shut the cleansing unit, the disk changed colors to a little less than half shaded.
“Are the others making faster progress as the machines learn our biology?”
“Or for some reason, the others climbed into their pods early.”
“Then that gives us two hours to explore before the others arrive,” Yuki said with a mischievous grin.
“We should return here to help them breathe again and show them how to work the equipment.”
“Of course, I’ll tell you when it’s nearly time.”
The smile was contagious, and Mercy asked, “Do you trust me?”
Nervously, the technician nodded.
“Then close your eyes and sit down where I lead you.”
When she was done in the dryer alcove, Yuki looked like she was fresh from a salon with no hair out of place. It wasn’t fair. “I’m surprised there aren’t nine showers.”
Mercy shrugged. “Have you ever arranged coins on your nightstand? Six circles pack most efficiently around a central core of the same size. Sometimes, economy trumps numerology.”
Yuki nodded upward. “Enough time in the bathroom. Let’s discover important things!”
The tunnel only extended three meters before opening into a well-lit room above. Dangling from the lip of the tunnel were gray fabric strips, of varying lengths, that waved in the micro breeze like jellyfish tendrils.
Mercy grabbed the longest entangled pair and tugged. The strap bore her full weight. “Where one strip bumps another, they stick.” A pale-blue edge about two millimeters from the end wasn’t sticky at all. Using this flap, she peeled the strips apart. Then she stuck one strip to itself in a loop. “They don’t stick to my clothes, but they’re like glue on the floor pads. What are they for?”
“Emergency air seals? Who cares? Let’s scout. Race you.”
Yuki climbed the rungs set in the wall between the cleansing tubes like a monkey.
Mercy took a different tactic to win, launching herself upward with the same force she used to begin a swimming race. Soon she passed the lip of the tube—and kept going. The next room had no gravity. “Whoa!” she pleaded as the ceiling of the saucer-shaped room sped toward her. She threw her arms up to shield her head and thumped against a frosted panel on the ceiling. A contraption ‘below’ her seemed like a giant snowflake chandelier. Which way was supposed to be up? Before she could analyze more, she was floating more slowly back the other direction. Unable to grab anything, the second bounce sent her back into the center of the room.
Yuki somersaulted and landed feetfirst against the ‘ceiling.’ Pushing off, she thrust her way back to the tube by which they’d entered. Then the Asian woman grabbed a fabric strip. “I think I know what these are for.” She wrapped each of her hands and feet with one of the adhesive strips.
Floating lazily in the center of the seven-meter-high room, Mercy said, “I think the longer ones are for around your waist, for when you want to play heli
um balloon.”
Giggling, Yuki said, “I’ll tether myself and pull you in.”
Waving her arms in circles, Mercy tried without success to counter the slight spin she’d acquired. “I’m not going anywhere.” Taking advantage of the lull, she studied her surroundings. The room looked like a squashed, eight-sided, kid’s jack-o’-lantern, about fourteen meters in diameter. Most of the walls had silver panels and a golden oval. Two had ramps and full-wall doors like the airlock into the decontamination area. There were convenient safety straps at each entry point to the room, but the color scheme in this place was limited.
“I won’t tell anyone about your problem, either,” Yuki said. After experimenting, she explained, “The gray areas are cushioned, like gym floors. I can walk on them. The silver areas don’t adhere.”
“Stay on the carpets, and keep off the grass.”
“Or the controls. I’m coming up to get you,” Yuki promised, leaping. The technician grabbed Mercy, but the engineer didn’t grab back.
“Um . . . I’m not so sure this is up anymore.” Mercy pointed to the light panels glowing on half the room. Each of the eight sections on the ‘ceiling’ opposite the showers was divided in two—a gray area for walking and the frosted glass panel. On one side of the room, the panels were dark, and the other half provided bright light. However, the panel she’d bumped into was now transparent, enabling her to see beyond.
“Trees,” mumbled Yuki.
“And grasses, and rivers and lakes.” They could see a single mountain directly opposite the shower tubes.
“We’re in a control pod, hanging above a forest. Where did the artifact take us? How?”
“Let’s climb . . . back where we came from, and I’ll explain. Down is a bad word. How about lensward for the side the bathrooms are on and mountainward for the other way.” When Mercy was sufficiently wrapped, hand and foot, she said, “Picture an inflated latex balloon. You know the neck where you tie it off? The little round leftover nozzle? That represents the airlock and decontamination rooms. Now we’re inside the balloon proper.”
