Revolution: Luthecker, #3

by Keith Domingue

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “I think you will.”

  “Things won’t work out like you’ve planned.”

  “So you’re saying you know how things will work out? I’m involving you now, whether you like it or not, so how can you know if you yourself are involved? That’s a mathematical impossibility. Do you want to know why?

  “It’s the Schrodinger’s cat paradox. To observe is by definition to change. And because of this the observer can’t observe himself. In the end, there are mathematic explanations for everything. Even you. It’s all cause and effect, and for every cause there’s the potential for unintended effect.

  “People live in denial of the unintended. You have the ability to see this unintended mission creep of people’s choices and hold them directly accountable for it. It’s what’s got everyone so scared of you. Scientific method accepts cause and effect too, you know. We just see it as a natural law and not some dogmatic form of magical thinking.”

  Kirby started to sweat again. But this time, he didn’t care. He kept going.

  “But I’m glad that you brought up my plan, because technically I haven’t planned an outcome. Science doesn’t work like that. It simply measures and adapts its conclusions based on constantly refining its analysis of new data. It’s self-correcting, not self-enforcing like politics or religion.

  “That’s why we’re so fucked. The self-enforcing nature of politics and religion mixed with greed and money is a goddamn death spiral that’ll inevitably lead to our extinction. But you can break that pattern of behavior. Seeing patterns is your thing, and that’s why I’m here. That’s why I think that together, you and I, we can save the world.”

  “And you want nothing from this personally? You’re not looking to profit in some way?”

  “If money’s there I’ll grab it, sure. I’m no different. There’s no crime in that. And there is no power without ego. Not even in your case. Or do you think you’re different than everybody else? That you’re all that different from me?”

  Luthecker didn’t answer.

  “Look—extinction is imminent. The data keeps showing it with more and more clarity. You’re trying to change the world, aren’t you? Well I’m trying to save it. We’re on the same team. I’ll either fail or I won’t, but wouldn’t helping me accomplish my goals fit in with yours? You can’t change the world if no one’s left on it, can you?”

  Kirby felt like he was on a roll. Something about being examined by Luthecker, with the soothsayer’s incredible ability to record every detail, had liberated the scientist. Kirby felt like he’d never thought or spoken with such clarity of mind before. He felt that in many ways, he was every bit Luthecker’s equal.

  Kirby decided to push further. “But since you brought up ego, let’s be honest here. You’d like to take them down, wouldn’t you? The Coalition. Well, help me with what I want, and I can help you with that.

  “I know what you’re thinking—this guy’s not loyal to anything. He’ll turn on the people he works for, so he can’t be trusted. But you see, I can be trusted, because I’ve been very clear on my goal. Stop the extinction of our species. That’s what I am loyal to. And if it takes bringing down the Coalition then so be it. Now what do you say?” Kirby crossed his arms, self-satisfied.

  He watched Luthecker for signs of what the young man was thinking.

  Luthecker was a stone. So much so that when Luthecker spoke next, Kirby nearly flinched.

  “I have friends who have been arrested by Coalition influences. I want them and the refugees that they rescued freed immediately. Do this and I’ll help you.”

  Kirby could hardly contain his excitement. He knew he had Luthecker on the hook now. Between his deal making with the Coalition CEO and the legendary Alex Luthecker, Kirby felt like he was a real player. For the first time in his life, he felt empowered and in control.

  “That’s why you’re being so quiet,” Kirby finally responded. “That’s why you’re not ripping me apart like you’re file says you like to do to with powerful people like me. You want something from me. You need me.”

  “I do think we can help one another. But it starts with this gesture.”

  “I can do that. I’ll make the call. Consider it done.”

  “And one more thing. I want to meet my second biological mother.”

  “As expected and already in the works. I’ll arrange for your friends to get out first. I’ll spin it as a way to get close to you, and I’ll have my friends in the press start snooping into their illegitimate arrest in order to dial up the pressure. I’ll go out on a limb like this to prove to you that you can trust me, as long as you understand my loyalties are to the survival of the species. And then you can help me with what I want. Do I have your word?”

  “Yes. You do.”

  “You have to let them go,” Kirby said into his cell phone as he paced across the living room of his Studio City apartment.

  He had been smart enough to leave his cell phone at home so his movements wouldn’t be traced, but it had taken him nearly three hours riding on his Vespa scooter, dodging followers, to get back to his apartment after his meeting with Alex Luthecker.

  “Why would I do that?” Turner asked. He was beginning to regret the deal he had made with Kirby.

  “First, because you’re repeating the same pattern of mistakes that the CEOs before you did, and it’s going to have the same result, getting you clobbered in the press. And that will lead to investigations, which if you are not careful, will lead you to a cell right next to your predecessor James Howe.

  “Second, these people are inconsequential, so why are you bothering with them? Luthecker is the only one who matters, and this will only serve to make things more difficult with him.

  “And third, the most important reason is because I told him I could make it happen.”

  “What?” was the only word Turner could manage to say. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You fucking talked to him? And you didn’t think to tell me right away?”

  “Yes, I did speak with him. I’m telling you now, and only because I have to. Don’t you remember what we talked about in our last conversation? About trusting me, and you not knowing these kinds of details?”

  “You know I’ve thought about having you killed.”

  “I’m sure you have, and you wouldn’t be the first. But that won’t help you. Look—if you let his people go, it establishes trust between he and I, and that’s much more important than keeping his friend’s captive on some trumped up charges, which will only cause you problems in the long run. And once you’ve let them go, he’s already agreed to help me, and that gets me one step closer to my goal, the one that we discussed.

  “Remember, the goal is to get him to come in voluntarily and help me. And when he does, Nicole Ellis will be right behind him, and you’ll have them both. Does that make sense to you now?”

  Turner hated to admit it, but what Kirby said did make sense.

  At least Turner was one step closer to having Luthecker in hand, and the Coalition leader could always come in heavy whenever he wanted. He reminded himself what he had told the board about patience and calm.

  “Fine. I’ll let them go. It’ll be more productive to monitor their movements anyway,” Turner finally replied. “But if this doesn’t end with Luthecker and Ellis in my hands soon, it ends with your head on a stick.”

  Yaw reacted to the sound of the heavy dead bolt on his cell door being pulled back and the door being opened.

  He shielded his eyes from the sudden brightness and tried to focus on the guard filling the doorway.

  “On your feet,” the guard said.

  “Are you guys alright?” Was the first thing Yaw asked as he approached his small cluster of friends standing close together in the prison parking lot.

  “We’re good,” Chris Aldrich answered, although his eyelids were heavy from lack of sleep.

  Yaw looked over at Masha. Under the disheveled countenance
, her confident ferocity remained.

  “I know Russian hotels that are worse,” Masha said in response to Yaw’s look.

  “What happened? Why the sudden release?” Chris asked.

  “Someone must’ve made a phone call,” Joey Nugyen responded.

  “Or they choose to let us go so that they may watch us,” Masha added.

  “So who got us sprung? And why?” Chris asked.

  “I don’t know,” Yaw replied. “But Alex would.”

  “That may be what they want. Us to lead them directly to him,” Joey said.

  “They kept asking me about Nikki,” Chris explained.

  “Yeah, me too,” Yaw agreed. “Said there’s some apocalyptic level shit going on with PHOEBE they want to bring her in for.”

  “They mentioned this to me as well,” Masha added.

  “It’s about PHOEBE,” Yaw decided.

  “So we can’t reach out to Alex, Nikki, or use PHOEBE, or we risk leading the Coalition right to them. How do we make contact?” Chris asked.

  “By going back to square one,” Joey Nugyen said.

  They all looked at him.

  “Doing what we do best. We all started as off-grid couriers, right? Untraceable, hand-to-hand only messaging? Write down what you want to say to Alex on a piece of paper, I’ll run it through my channels, and we can get this conversation going right under the Coalition’s noses, just like we used to.”

  19

  Soldiers

  Officer Dino Rodriguez had to laugh as he looked over the group of people gathered together at Winn Germaine’s gravesite. That bizarre fate-predicting wizard-boy Alex Luthecker was smarter than the patrol officer thought.

  Rodriguez quietly did a quick head count, and it looked to be thirty-four people. He was unsure if more would come. They were all here to pay their respects to a recognized member of the Los Angeles community—and to let Rodriguez know they were available any time Alex Luthecker needed them.

  Rodriguez recognized several members of the LAPD, many of them young and idealistic, unspoken members of the Blue Curtain. This was contrasted by several retired gang members, graying or bald, with faded tattoos, all having left their criminal pasts to become active members in their community.

  It was an uneasy truce that began at the martial artist’s funeral, a truce driven by common purpose—to free slaves and make the world a just place for all.

  “Are we safe here?” Ellen Levy asked Rodriguez. “I mean this is right out in the open.”

  “We’re all just paying our respects to a respected member of the community.”

  “And being recognized.”

  “Yes, to one another. And without a word.”

  Rodriguez turned to Levy. “Tell me you can’t feel it in the air.”

  “I definitely feel something. But how did they know to come here?”

  “I don’t know. But they were all here for the funeral. Alex said a few words, and it must have resonated. And there’s some new faces in the crowd too. Must have spread by word of mouth.”

  “Why today?”

  “Today’s the six month anniversary of the funeral. Alex must have known they’d show up for that.”

  “But how did he know?”

  Rodriguez shrugged. “You’re going to be asking yourself that question a lot.”

  Levy nodded to Rodriguez as someone approached. The man looked to be in his late fifties, with the darker skin of Mexican American heritage. He was heavy set, his skin covered in faded tattoos. A bandana of the American flag was wrapped around his baldpate. He stopped directly in front of Rodriguez.

  “My name is Javier,” the man spoke, his voice rough from age and cigarettes. He held out his hand, and Rodriguez shook it. “You were here at the funeral when the pattern reader spoke.”

  “Yes I was.”

  “I heard him speak to you. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to hear. But I did. He spoke of…being ready.”

  “Yes he did.”

  “His words stayed with me,” Javier said. He looked out over the gathering, before looking back to Officer Rodriguez. “They stayed with all of us.”

  Rodriguez and Levy looked out over the gathering—men and women, young and old. There was a clarity and determination in all their faces.

  “Sir, if you could, tell him we are ready.”

  20

  Bloodline

  She sat nervously at her kitchen table, reflexively checking the clock on the wall. It was now three minutes until 4 p.m. He said he would be here at 4 p.m. He said he would not be late. Her heart raced at the thought of their meeting.

  Her name was Miriam, and she was fifty-four years old. He said he was a doctor, and he had found her through her medical records. He had introduced himself as Mark Kirby and said that he had found the man who was genetically ten percent her son. And he asked her if she’d like to meet him?

  She remembered the day she volunteered like it was yesterday. In fact, it was twenty-seven years ago. She had answered an ad. She had needed the money. She convinced herself that she was helping a young couple make their child healthy.

  She signed papers and never heard from them again. She had gone on and lived her life, working as a nurse. Gotten married. Had two children. Gotten divorced. Moved to a smaller apartment. Worried about money. Worried about her two teenage boys, now in high school. She figured she was average at best.

  Miriam had been surprised when she got the call. Occasionally, over the years, she’d wondered what had become of that couple and their child. She wondered if there would be any part of her visible in the child. There had been confidentiality agreements signed, so she never spoke of it, not even to her now ex-husband, not even to her two children. She hadn’t even known, until her conversation with Mark Kirby, that the child she had given ten percent of her genetic legacy to was a boy.

  At first, she turned down the offer of the meeting, but this Mark Kirby character was very persistent. And he offered her money. There was irony to the offer, as she was in need of money. Some things never change, she thought.

  She had shared her genetic material so a young couple’s child would not carry a genetic defect. That was all that she’d been told. And now she would meet that child. She hoped he would be nice. She hoped that he had turned out okay. She hoped that he’d had a good life thus far. Miriam was unsure what she would say to him when they met.

  Miriam jumped at the sound of the doorbell.

  “Would you like some tea?” Miriam asked the young man who sat at her kitchen table. He’s handsome, she thought. He had the same color eyes as her father. She wondered if those eyes came from her.

  “No, thank you,” Alex replied.

  Alex looked over the kitchen area of Miriam’s two-bedroom apartment. The dining table was worn and used, with Miriam being its third owner. She was frugal but clean, as evidenced by the neatness and order of her home. The paint on the wall, a faded yellow that had last seen a touch up fifteen years ago, showed no signs of peeling or stains. He could tell she took pride in its appearance despite its simplicity.

  The evidence of two teenage boys was present—from the faint masculine odor to the backpack in the hallway to the boxes of Pop Tarts on the counter to the athletic sneakers neatly assembled near the entrance. As she sat back down at the table, Alex took several seconds to read every fiber of her being.

  Her life oscillated between hope and despair. The lines on her face showed the wear of multiple disappointments, yet the glimmer in her eyes remained resolute. The hope revolved around her two sons and their futures, which were her primary motivation.

  Like most mothers who had limited means, she always had an eye toward her children’s prospects, which gave her the emotional resources to see to it that things for her family remained as stable as her strength of mind could create.

  Her mannerisms struck a faint familiarity to Alex, something he couldn’t quite place the origin of, which was rare for him. To Alex, the combination of faint familiarity combined w
ith an inability to read the origin could only mean one thing—this person was already connected to him.

  For the first time, not knowing the origin of a detail was a comfort to Luthecker. It was the only part of her that didn’t fit a readable pattern to him, the part that was potentially a faint trace connection to him.

  This small mystery made him smile. It was a mystery he would covet and keep precious, a feeling he would store in the deeper recesses of his memory to examine any time. He realized this feeling of comfort with the unknown, and the awareness of it, was in part why he was here. But there would be nothing else for him to find.

  He knew that the reason he could do what he could do, read the patterns of people’s lives, did not come from Miriam. He realized that whatever block chain of DNA they shared was not different from what would normally pass from generation to generation. It had not proactively formed him, as Kirby suspected.

  Correlation is not causation, and there was little more than correlation here. He had suspected this would be the case before he came to visit, but he still felt it would provide closure of sorts to meet her.

  Now that he’d met her, he knew for sure there was no connection between Miriam and his abilities. But it was not because of what he saw in Miriam that Alex believed his pattern reading skills were not created in a lab—it was because of his encounters with Maria.

  “So, what do you do for a living?” Miriam asked Alex, interrupting his train of thought.

  He could tell she was nervous.

  Kirby looked back and forth between Luthecker and Miriam. He had promised Luthecker that he would let the conversation be organic between ten percent mother and son, and it took considerable will on his part to refrain from interjecting or trying to steer the dialogue in any particular direction.