Existence Oblivion

by Kai Ellory Viola

  She led him into a null room, just off the edge of the stairs, the banded markings around the door flashing as they took in his nanites and cataloged them. The wall lit red, and she looked him up and down slowly, before gesturing to a seat in front of him. It was a restraint chair, one designed to ensure the person was perfectly still for a spinal nano injection. Elliot swallowed hard.

  "I don't need that," he said automatically.

  "The door says otherwise," she said, pointing to the lurid, red band marking the glass panel that was slowly sliding closed. He saw someone watching them at the end of the corridor. She waited until it closed before popping out the cartridge and dumping it into a bucket. He heard a soft smash.

  “For reasons I will not explain right now, I am not giving you that dose. It’s not medicine. It’s something else,” she said. Elliot tilted his head and looked at her.

  “What?”

  “Senior Detective, I do not have the time to explain. I promise you can trust me,”

  “Trust you? You’re a MK2,” he said. “I don’t think you even know the meaning of…”

  “Don’t insult me Detective. I’m not a MK2.”

  “You certainly don’t sound like one,” he said.

  “See…” she said. She offered him a card. “Look at this later. You and I need to talk…after this.” She looked at the wall, a wholly alien movement, robotic and sharp. "We have to get on with things," she added. She reached for a second vial, and said, "I can't avoid giving you this one." She tipped his head and injected him with nanites.

  "There's a prisoner in here that requires you to be inoculated. I can't tell you who – I can't see that information," she told him, quietly. "This injection WILL make you dizzy, so I also need you to sit still.” He began to speak, and she held up a hand. “It's easier to sit and listen, than question," she added.

  Elliot subsided, closing his eyes.

  "I need to ask you..." She shook her head.

  "Time's up," she said. "I'll be on the front desk for another hour, and then I'll join you up stairs until t - 20. I might be able to be your Render for a while," she said. Renders, the slaves of the clone business. Another illegality - the one that Morri dealt in. "I know of your...other machine," she said, and sent a jolt up his arm, making his port tingle

  "I'm sorry, but if you're above a two, you're illegal," he said. "And if you're illegal, I close this project now."

  She shrugged, pulling him out of the chair, setting him on his feet and then walking out the door. “In about three minutes, that phrase…that idea…won’t work. Not for a little while anyway. I’m sorry – if I didn’t do it, they’d be able to tell, and they would do it.” She added.

  “You’re not making any sense,” Elliot said, his mind slowing even further. “I can…” He tried to say ‘close this down’, and suddenly, it didn’t come out. Like the slip-slide away whenever he thought of Beth and the baby. “What did you do?” he demanded finally. His mouth felt like mush.

  “Something to protect you for now. You’ll find that things go a lot easier if you hold down what few objections get through. You’ll get one or two, of course, or they wouldn’t believe that you’d been dosed correctly, but they’ve been preparing you for this, for weeks.” She looked in square in the eye and said, “I’ll try not to do anything that hurts up there, but I can’t promise. I need you to remember the following words though; saxophrase, musipop, DJ.”

  “You’re still making…” he began and she pulled him up out of the chair. Objecting seemed physically difficult, as if his conscience was across a vast gulf.

  "Remember what I said about surprise? Justin now expects me to tell you, in range of one of the monitoring cameras, that I'm a five, and that I do certain things. He expects you to react then move off as if I’d told you a slightly silly joke. It’s to prove your reprogramming took… Can you act?" she said, her hand hovering in front of the opening. He nodded carefully, the dizziness spilling through him again. "This isn't all it seems. Ask your friend at the department - I think the name is Detective Roth - though...” she paused and winced, “make sure it's the woman, not the man," she said and Elliot's eyes widened, shocked. "She'll know who is here. You won't like the answer, but you can't leave now anyway. Well, you might get to, but its better you know now. They want YOU here. No one else mattered on the list."

  His mouth worked, but no sounds came out, only a soft whimper halfway between a yes, and nonsense. She did a theatrical count, then put one hand on her mouth, the other on the door. He nodded once curtly, then automatically reached up for the cool spot the needle had broken his skin.

  The door opened, and she continued as if she were briefing him on the injection "… and you'll find that your injection site might itch for a few hours. Don't scratch, you'll encourage some of them to the surface, and that's not good for your skin,” She moved differently in public - more like a robot, less like a human. Things were spinning now, the nano injection wiping out objections. Filing them away.

  "I'm just curious why all of the staff are either identifiably android, or identifiably clone. Or in your case, self-identifying." She turned to look at him, her face set in a soft mask - a neutral, expressionless gaze. They'd reached the stairs again by this point, and she'd stopped. She stepped forward - the equal, measured pace of someone stepping onto the first step of a drop that she didn't know would end. Her foot made contact with the next rung, and she began to move more smoothly, and Elliot followed.

  "It was felt, I believe, that we couldn't be bought. So it was for the protection of the show, and the protection of its participants. We cannot do anything that CORETEX would not allow - and are continually audited. It's a protection mechanism," she answered, then added in a mechanical voice, "Question answered in deference to rank of Detective Inspector - this answer would not be available to a member of the public, or filming staff. Other people on the set and show believe it is a monetary concern - no downtime, no need to leave the building - a constant occupation. This is protected by CORETEX C-EO 92, under the Freedom of Investigation Act and therefore considered confidential." She blinked twice, then smiled again, "I hate that," she added with a rueful smile.

  Elliot's eyes narrowed. Human responses - they can't be programmed appropriately. Maybe she isn't lying. His hand reached for her arm, she seemed about to topple. He could almost feel the metal lines under her sweater top - the cloth collapsing under his fingers as he stabilized her. It was his imagination, it had to be. She stopped dutifully.

  "Critical event order?" he said softly. She looked behind her - the man at the bottom of the stairs was deliberately bent in the doorway, making a conspicuous amount of noise, "C-EO's aren't issued for stuff like this.” I didn’t get one…

  "They are if they want them to go ahead," she answered tightly, before continuing, "I've more in common with it than the mark 2s - the exoskeleton system hasn't changed since the first clones who didn't grow appropriately," she added, pulling back a sleeve. Metal was surrounded by translucent gel, collapsed for now. Intricate movement flickered in her arm, and she smiled - it was almost ghoulish. Another pass of her hand, and the skin was rendered opaque again, and looked pink and healthy.

  He shivered, his foot meeting the top step with a slight stumble. She let him go, going back to the flat, uninterested woman that had met him.

  "What are you?" he asked, as if he had finally realized something.

  "Your render, probably," she told him. Louder she said, "I am designated, 13/5 – Mark 5, 13 copies." Elliot gulped, and blinked.

  "What's your name...was..." Elliot stumbled to a stop.

  "My name is Cerys," she said softly. "One of 13," she added. Elliot frowned again. 13 here would be a problem. 13 others...that would be something Morrigan would need to investigate. Elliot swallowed hard and acted shocked. He gave it a beat or two, blinked, then looked over with a polite, slightly confused smile. She dipped her head slightly, and the hand shielded from view made a brief flash of ‘ok’.


  She stopped, and Elliot stopped too. Turning to him, she smiled, the bottom half of her face happy, the top half still and neutral. "Here is your ID, and this is as far as I can go with you sir," she said, pulling a laminate-looking card from her pocket. It looked identical to the one she’d handed over before. He took it, turning it over a couple of times before he frowned at her.

  "What's this for?"

  "Claudia or Justin will tell you," she said, and walked back towards the stairs. She'd become distant in those last few sentences, and as he turned, he saw the glint of several cameras, at floor level, waist height and in the rafters. Completely monitored, so Justin would have got his surprised reaction. And though perhaps she controlled some of it, he doubted she had enough to have a safe zone, bar that null room.

  CHAPTER TEN

  He rounded the first bend in the stairs, and discovered another set, leading up into the space above the prison itself. A small ledge formed a perfect little balcony with room for two, and Elliot slowly recognized it as one of the areas they’d filmed with the onscreen talent standing over the prison. From the balcony, he could see the render area - a quickmatter pool below that had been edged into walls. Prisoners were being led into the areas, and placed, almost reverentially, in rooms.

  He noticed one was commanding more attention than the rest, and cocked his head curiously - trying to look out over where he was supposed to be watching, trying to see if, from here, the prisoners were more or less obvious than the experts. He couldn't say that they were - the light over the prison was diffuse, but still poor in most of the rooms. He thought that might change when the show began, but couldn't be sure.

  There had been no information released on the actual layout of the prison - in part to ensure no participant had an unfair advantage. Though according to the last memo Elliot got, because they’d hit a snag designing one of the designated safe paths - one of the walls would fail periodically, which made it unsafe and unsuitable for their needs. The last diagram he'd seen, the experts were in the middle - and were working their way out, via the central gap, while the prisoners were on the outside, and were obviously heading in.

  There would be, by the end of it, one exit. Only one. That exit would be randomly designated, based on various factors, but most prominently, how long they had left after the last man standing was finally discovered. Elliot shook his head, disgusted - this was one pilot he hoped didn't get a regular viewing slot.

  Turning back to the route to the control room, he turned the card over and over in his hands. It was mostly blank, the logo shimmering as he moved it - he could see some information, light colored and becoming darker.

  "Stupid sweat-dots" he said softly. Moving off, he looked around cautiously. Sweat dots were one way to check on clones. It could be faked, but not without obvious other tells. Mostly the fact that they were unexpected. But, the other problem with sweat-dots were if they were testing, there was a reason for it. And he hadn’t been told.

  There was no one around. The stairs in front him were lit as if they led to an upstairs terrace - like a fine restaurant's most precious seats and lined in golden, delicious light. It was almost like a sunset. The banks of monitors flickered on; silhouetting the figure in the semi-dark doorway. Unmoving, one hand on the door frame, it's pose seemed one of shocked horror, one foot raised, toe to the floor, it's other hand apparently up to its face. Elliot Peters ran up the final flight of stairs, his heart increasing pace with every step. The pounding in his ears made the healing scrape at the side of his face ache. He caught his fingers rising to scratch the nanite injection site and stopped himself. He knew from experience that would only prolong the discomfort.

  The woman stood in front of him wasn't quite...right. Her silhouette was close but it hadn't changed since he'd approached. Like an image frozen in time. He'd heard - and seen - people frozen with fear before, but this person had not moved, hadn't screamed, hadn't even breathed.

  "It's our logo," a soft voice said behind him. Elliot frowned and turned. A small shape slipped past him, tracking up the stairs sleekly, before stopping and waving his hands through the holo-projected logo unit. "New tech - highly effective. Based on your reaction you're one of the few that can't see the hologram, just the one dimensional slice. Those that see the hologram turn around straight away to see why she's screaming."

  Elliot turned and the man continued, "And yes, your card has sweat dots. We've found it's the most reliable way of issuing ID from a clone, given that clones can rewrite almost every other requirement that people use."

  "Sorry, back up. Hologram?"

  The man nodded and looked him up and down. "It's good to know that it's still not foolproof. You guys would have a problem if you couldn't tell the difference between image...hologram and reality, wouldn't you? Or are you old school, Officer?"

  Elliot's frown deepened, and he shrugged.

  "Oh come now, there really are no secrets here. You're Detective Elliot Peters, responsible for most of our participants capture, arrest and subsequent conviction. I wouldn't go as far as saying you're a legend in your own lifetime, but there's so much on public record about you, finding out whether you're CORE compliant or chose not to jack in isn't difficult." His disarming smile made Elliot's skin crawl.

  "I'm not jacked in entirely - I think your 'tech' relies on enhancement," he said after a pause, then offered his hand. "Though, I'm now at a disadvantage - who are you?"

  "My name is Justin St Clair, I'm the head tech," he said, absentmindedly offering a hand in return. Elliot took it, and shook it, with a smile. "In the 'bad old days' I was a journalist. I covered some of your cases," he continued, as Elliot looked at him closer. A young face, less lined with apathy and frown lines, peered back at him. That scar is new, he thought.I think I remember him. The scar was a lurid line from just below one eyes,

  "Yes, Justin?” The guy tipped his head, pretending to doff a cap. “I remember you now. Darkness 411 right?"

  He smiled sardonically. "Oh, yes, that's us. Was us," he paused. "CORETEX sure put an end to us though, locking down all of the public domain documentation after its pilot." Elliot sighed, as he continued. "Though, you're just a high ranking grunt, right? I'm guessing from the 'augment' comment, you're not even one of the new breed," Elliot tilted his head in assent and Justin smiled. "Oh wow, a real live policeman," he said mock-awe in his voice. Then he rolled his eyes and Elliot laughed.

  "I guess that's one way to look at it. The eye-rolling at least," he said with a sardonic, self-depreciating tilt of his head. Considering something.

  Justin grinned. "Shall I give you the grand tour and fill you in on the final details of what we're doing...?"

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Elliot's head spun with all of the tech that he'd examined and learned in the last 30 minutes. He knew that he'd had jackloads to help - he'd been required, on the first two runs to be 'jacked in' via his space. It wasn't the most difficult thing; Justin had introduced him to everything he was using to 'monitor' and 'contain'. There was, he realized, a kill switch - which was only to be used in dire emergencies. That already breached the agreements he'd seen, in place with UCPS.

  "That can't be right," he said, pointing at the three code locked Kill switch, "they were phased out last year," he added when Justin frowned at him.

  "No, they weren't. They were phased out from populace that were considered for parole. Life timers haven't had the patch yet," Elliot's eyes narrowed, looking at the 'vcard' style images around the walls. Nine were banded in red. One was banded in lurid orange and red.

  "No, they were..."Elliot began, and Justin cut him off.

  "We've had this planned since before that patch. You might be right about the rest of the population, I have no idea, but I do know, right now, that these guys still have them. Perhaps it was left in so we wouldn't need to repatch," Elliot frowned, and his hand rose to automatically scratch his neck. "Uhm, the medicae we have on site will slap your hand if they catch you doing i
t. And trust me, Cerys doesn't know her own strength."

  Elliot looked around at the monitors. All of them had kill switches. Even the survival experts. He pulled three of them into a stack and gestured, fanning them out like three out of five before the river turn in poker.

  Justin frowned and said "They don't have them - that's a fault of our software," when he saw what Elliot was looking at. But he said it just that bit too fast – there was a furtive and terrifying tone underlying and underpinning his words and Elliot decided that the less he saw of this, the less comfortable he was.

  He felt as if he'd been set up. He felt as if he didn't have all of the information, and none of the cards. He knew he didn't have all of the facts, and that made him feel chill and angry.

  His job mostly involved watching the prisoners and ensuring that no one attempted to break the glass walls. Well, the fleximatter walls really, but they were being made into glass for the project. Smoky for privacy, air clear for confusion. Justin showed Elliot what he could do to subdue, discourage, or render the prisoners unconscious, and the nanite tracking and a dozen other things. And the failsafe - if one agent couldn't see something (there was supposed to be four of them, including Justin), then the monitor would flash red. There were a very few blind spots in the prison, and though Elliot knew that this basically meant that he knew about them, but couldn’t find them. Maybe that would change after the renders.

  Justin's set up was different again - a huge bank of TVs showing all of the monitors. The first two columns of five monitoring the consultants - the second two columns watching half of the prisoners. A row of ten in the middle that would be 'dark' unless there were problems, and then a final two rows for the prisoners. At each 'purge', he explained, the bank in the middle would widen, meaning that anything appearing in the very central strip was the stuff that he'd make the judgment calls over. To keep it legal, the use of lethal force was ultimately Elliot's call, but, given the fact that the prisoners in the program were not only some of the worst UCPS had caught, but were also lined up for execution anyway, Elliot didn't think the problem would be whether they had executed them - in fact, Beth had told him the last time he'd consulted on this that the biggest problem would probably be the idea that he wasn't shooting them, on sight. Elliot still felt that the measures they were employing, though television viewing 'friendly' were barbaric, but he'd given that opinion on joining the project and been ignored. Or so it seemed.