Corrupted

by Phoenix Ward

  There was something about being in the pit of nature like this, even if it wasn’t real. There were plenty of parks she could go to to get a similar sense of zen, but nowhere that she could be alone like this. That, and nowhere in the world had a view like this. She looked up at the castle that loomed over her. It didn’t block out the sun, but the shadow it cast covered most of the land beside the river.

  No such castle actually existed. It was just a simulation built off of an artist’s rendering of a summer evening in a fantasy world. The castle resembled the white city of Minas Tirith, where Aragorn had been crowned in the Lord of the Rings. However, there were no distinct features. No white tree, no throne room. In fact, Beth wasn’t even sure if the castle was part of the simulation or just an image in the backdrop. She had never tried to go up there, instead content to spend her time in C.C.-immersion floating down the river with her easel.

  She decided to give up on the river and instead work on the mossy embankments that lined it. Perhaps, if she created just the right outline for the water to snake along, then she could create the illusion of a river in the absence of land. She figured it was worth a try, so she washed her brush and switched to one with a finer tip. She was about to dip it in some earthy green acrylic she had mixed up for the tree moss when an alert came onto her display.

  It was her mother, calling in for what seemed like the dozenth time that weekend. Beth had been ignoring most of her calls, but started to feel guilty around the second day of constant ringing. She sighed, put her brush back down on her palette, and opened up the transmission.

  “Hi, Mom,” Beth greeted the older woman.

  Her mother’s wrinkled features appeared in a small window that hovered into Beth’s line of sight.

  “Elizabeth, why have you not answered my calls?” her mother asked, a shrill tone in her voice. “I’ve been calling so much that I’m surprised I didn’t give you a headache.”

  “I know, Mama, I’ve just been busy,” the detective replied. “Work has all but stolen my life. What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

  “No,” Beth’s mom replied sheepishly, “I mean, not necessarily. I’ve just been wondering if you’ve heard from your father.”

  “Mom, you guys have been divorced for a while now,” Beth said, picking her brush back up and turning to the easel. “Are you seriously still keeping an eye out for him? You know he doesn’t like that.”

  “I know, I know,” her mother said. “It’s just that he left on one of his digital sabbaticals a week ago and no one’s heard a thing from him.”

  “So? He’s probably just enjoying himself. Maybe he found someone.”

  Beth could see her mother’s face glow a light shade of red. “Don’t say that,” she said, trying to make her tone sound joking. “I’m just worried about him. Will you please check in with him and tell me what you find out? It would mean a lot to me.”

  Beth sighed, mostly as a way to tease her worrisome mother.

  “If it’ll keep you from calling me every second of the day, fine,” Beth replied. “But there are no guarantees. He probably won’t answer me either.”

  “Then I might have to see if the police have heard from him,” her mom said.

  “Mom!” Beth exclaimed. “Don’t be such a worry-wart, okay? You’re only going to drive him farther away acting like this. Just give him some space.”

  “I’m trying, baby,” her mother explained. “I just worry so much about all of you. Even him. I just want the best for our family. I don’t want us to drift apart just because your father got installed. Okay?”

  “Okay, Mom. You don’t have to worry about me,” Beth said. “You should be telling this to Nathan. I haven’t heard from him in over three months.”

  “I know, sweetheart, me either,” her mother said. “At least, not a live conversation. He still sends letters on that funny paper. I wonder if he’s still doing alright.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’s high as a kite right now.”

  “Elizabeth! You do not speak about family that way.”

  “Sorry, Mama,” Beth replied, taking in a deep breath. “You just know how I feel about it all. I miss him.”

  “I know. Me too. I love you.”

  “I love you too,” Beth said. “Now go do something fun. Distract yourself.”

  She disconnected the call.

  It wasn’t until she tried to lift her brush again that she noticed the large man standing over her work. She jumped with a start, doing her best to guide her brush back to her palette as she leaped back in her canoe. She felt the craft rock a little and did her best to stay afloat.

  “I don’t mean to disturb you,” said the man, who now blocked the light from the sun entirely. Beth did her best to retain her footing, but fell back onto one of the benches that made the canoe’s seats.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  “I am Master General Blake Tarov,” the hulk replied. “I lead the militia group known as the Liberators. And I am here to help you in your hunt for Simon Mendez.”

  11

  Offer

  Beth needed a moment to acclimate, and in the process, grabbed one of her paintbrushes like a knife. She was prepared to drive the wooden handle of the tool into Tarov’s digital skull, even though she knew this was all simulated and the militia leader could do nothing to harm her. Once this fact coalesced in her mind, she relaxed, and let the brush fall into the boat.

  “I can understand if you’re skeptical,” Tarov said. “Your forces and mine have been at war for as long as we’ve existed. But now, when things are most crucial, we have a common enemy.”

  “Is that so?” Beth asked, still desperately aware of the sharp instruments around her. Maybe if she grabbed the paint knife, she could get a good swipe at the intruder’s throat. It would take a lot of strength, considering the short window of time she’d have to work within.

  Somehow, it seemed like Tarov could sense her thoughts. As carelessly as a boy picks a flower, he picked up the paint knife and examined it.

  “You don’t think this is enough to bring me down, do you?” he asked the detective.

  She didn’t respond. Instead, she kept her eyes locked on the militia leader and tried to scoot back, until she realized she was already in the bow of the canoe.

  “I’m not here to hurt you,” Tarov declared. “Can’t you see that? If it makes you feel more at ease, take me somewhere you consider ‘home.’ ”

  She looked at the man with wide eyes. He was muscular and at least a foot taller than herself, but she could tell he meant no harm. Even if he was the leader of the worst terrorist group in over five decades, he didn’t show it.

  With a wave of her hand, Beth changed the scene. They transitioned from a river along the castle’s bank to a modern conference room. Beth walked around a long table before pausing at a coffee maker.

  “Would you like a cup?” she offered.

  Tarov refused with a wave of his enormous hand. “None for me, thanks,” he said. “Trying to stay natural.”

  The humor of the comment wasn’t lost on Beth, but she stifled any laugh she might let free. She wanted the upper hand in this conversation. She wanted Tarov to know that he was just a guest, and she was in control.

  Tarov seemed to play the role accordingly. He took a glass of water before seating himself on the opposite end of the table.

  “I want to talk to you about Simon, as I have mentioned,” the I.I. said.

  “And I want to talk about him, as well,” Beth said, sipping from her cup, “but first, I want to know how you hacked into a police officer’s private implant session.”

  “Come on,” Tarov said, spreading his arms wide. “You didn’t expect my people to have such abilities? Have you been watching the news? We brought down an entire spaceship.”

  “A publicity stunt,” Beth commented. “I had assumed you’d only taken credit for a faulty mechanism.”

  “That would be a mistake on your part.”

  Bet
h eyed her digital guest while she sipped. Though the drink wasn’t real, her implant released a low dose of caffeine, and even a warm saline solution to give her the sensation of drinking a hot liquid. Either way, it didn’t match up to the coffee her favorite shop offered. Not by a long shot.

  “Then explain to me why you need my help capturing Simon,” Beth said. “You claim to have such omnipotent powers, yet you come to me for help. And better yet, explain to me why such a loyal follower would flee.”

  Tarov took a large sigh, crumpling the glass he had finished his water from.

  “Where to begin,” he said, almost as if to himself. “Simon had been with the militia since as long as I can remember. He was a highly respected officer, and with each raid or stunt we pulled, he proved himself to be worthy of the title ‘comrade’. But I had no idea how jealous he could be. I think it was around when I assumed command of the Liberators that he started to harbor thoughts of defecting. I just never thought he would go about it like he has. I figured he would reach out to you and offer you information. Instead, he has made enemies of us both.”

  “How can I know you’re telling the truth?” Beth asked. “Your people aren’t strangers to deception. How do I know this isn’t some elaborate ploy of yours?”

  “Because Simon has deleted three of my most trusted lieutenants. You can check your records about that,” Tarov cast his eyes down to his massive boots. “As you can see, I have something of a vendetta with the man. I know that we are on opposite sides of the aisle, but certainly, we can come to an agreement to work together.”

  Beth was still doubtful.

  “Why did Simon escape? What would be his reasoning?” she asked.

  Tarov seemed a bit sheepish as he turned away from the detective.

  “We had something of a disagreement,” he said.

  “A disagreement?” Beth asked. “I thought he was nothing but an underling of yours.”

  “Perhaps,” Tarov explained, “but he was still one of my most trusted commanders. He was a proud soldier. That’s the best way to describe him. And he was a brother to me. But he betrayed me.”

  There was a sadness to Tarov’s voice that Beth couldn’t shake. No matter how much she wanted to tell herself it was an act, something tugged at her heart and refuted her logic. She silenced her objections and continued to listen.

  “Something about him grew dark,” Tarov continued. “Dark and violent. That’s the only thing I can think of that would drive him to kill three of my men. And not just any men, but some of my most trusted lieutenants.”

  “Tell me more about this disagreement you two had,” Beth said. She was still apprehensive, unable to get comfortable. She felt like every second she spoke, she should be spending two looking for a way out of this confrontation. She was also acutely aware that Tarov noticed this reaction in her. He did his best to keep her at ease.

  “We were arguing about how best to deal with the humans,” Tarov started, then looked his host in the eyes. “How best to deal with you lot,” he corrected.

  “And?” Beth asked. “What conclusion did you come to?”

  “I thought we should wait,” Tarov said. “However, Simon disagreed. He thought it was time to start the war on mankind. To finally bring a reckoning down on them — down on you.”

  “How kind of you to object,” Beth raised a casual eyebrow, regarding every word her massive intruder said with the same temperament she might a politician.

  “Yes,” Tarov replied, clearly annoyed at her callous tone. “You see, he suggested something akin to genocide.”

  “Genocide?” Beth echoed. She nearly spilled her coffee at the word.

  “That’s right.” Tarov smiled, seeing that he had the detective’s attention. “You see, he wants to start his own war. Almost something of a holy war against humankind. He wants to bring a reckoning down upon your organic skulls, and he doesn’t care who joins him.”

  “Why should I trust you?” Beth asked, trying her best to play it cool. She sipped her coffee like it was any other afternoon, but a slight tremor in her fingers said otherwise.

  “Because I’m willing to give you crucial information in exchange for your cooperation,” the militia leader said.

  Though his form was hulking and intimidating, he did everything he could to come off as non-threatening. None of his muscles tensed up, even when she had accused him of selfish interests. He was trying to win her over, and it was starting to work.

  “What information?” she interrogated. She did everything in her power to convey a tone of dominance and leadership. To the best of her knowledge, it was working.

  “I’ll give you this tidbit for free: Vicky Fontane was one of my spies,” Tarov said.

  He watched her reaction and grinned when her eyes widened a little.

  “I see I have your attention,” the I.I. said. “You see, one of my most trusted men was occupying that bodyshell and keeping an eye on this neighborhood for me. Never in a million years did I imagine that a rogue agent would end up deleting him.”

  “What was this spy’s name?” Beth asked, testing the limits of Tarov’s trust.

  “Jim Rup,” the I.I. offered without hesitation. “Though I imagine your people will figure that out for you in the hours to come. Part of the reason I am here now is to see justice served on his behalf.”

  “How noble of you,” Beth said, perhaps with too much sarcasm. However, her guest ignored the tone.

  “On top of that, I think I know where to find Simon,” Tarov said.

  This caught Beth’s attention, and she couldn’t hide that fact from her guest.

  “That’s right. I can lead you right to him, but I need your help to capture him without my people knowing I was involved,” Tarov explained. “If you take him out of the picture — under legal means, of course — then he is no longer a thorn in my side. Win-win, you see.”

  “So not an act of charity on your part,” Beth commented with a sour tone.

  “You see how serious the situation is, though, do you not?” the I.I. asked her. There was a look of concern on his face. She could tell he was beginning to worry that he had wasted his time.

  He really must be desperate, she thought.

  There was a moment of silence while the I.I. let her think. It was clear that she didn’t have a definitive answer on the tip of her tongue, yet she still said, “Okay.”

  “You’ll help?” Tarov asked, almost incredulously.

  “I’ll do my job,” the detective corrected him. “Though I think your goals and mine may align, for the time being. But — what do you get out of this?”

  Tarov smiled with the warmth of Saint Nicholas. “I want to avoid a war as much as you do. Even though we stand on different sides of this conflict, we both agree that now is not the time for a fight. If we are to succeed — both of us — then we need to cooperate. Even if it means that we are enemies tomorrow.”

  Beth took in a deep breath. There was still the weight of uncertainty on her shoulders, but she knew of nowhere else to turn. She looked up at the hulking figure’s face.

  “So how do we start?” she said.

  “You just need to shake my hand,” Tarov explained. “That will seal our deal.”

  “And in exchange for your help?”

  “You keep my secret,” Tarov said. “Don’t tell a soul about our agreement. You have no idea what kind of damage it would do to my reputation. And to yours, I imagine.”

  Reluctantly, Beth extended her hand. Tarov smiled, then took it and shook it. The detective pulled her arm back.

  “And why me?” Beth asked. “Is it only because I was assigned to Simon’s murder?”

  “If only it were that simple,” the I.I. answered enigmatically. “Just know that I believe in your skills. It may seem like you’ve been chosen at random, but know that we do our homework. We know that our best hope lies with you.”

  He smiled and stepped back, looking up as if to measure his retreat. He lifted his hand in farewell
as a beam of light surrounded him.

  And like that, he was gone. Beth was left alone in the conference room to finish her subpar coffee and mull over the words of the terrorist leader.

  Surely I can’t trust him, she thought to herself.

  With a jolt, she looked around. Though she was alone, she couldn’t help but feel like someone was watching her.

  12

  The Hunt

  Beth did her best to blend in as she made her way to the digital nightclub. It had been the one Tarov said she would find Simon hiding out in, but that didn’t make her any more comfortable as she approached the ragged bouncer.

  “Name?” she was asked.

  The bouncer didn’t even bother to raise his eyes. His gaze was focused on the electric clipboard he had clutched in his fat fingers. She did her best to seem in place.

  “Madam Dylan,” she replied, using the title Tarov had told her to.

  The bouncer looked at his clipboard for a moment before stepping aside and welcoming her with an arm open wide. She looked around, as if keeping an eye out for security cameras, and she made her way into the sleazy club.

  It was a dive bar filled with neon-wearing, glow-stick-waving degenerates who enjoyed theatrical exhibitionism. She had to dodge a few dancers here and there as she made her way to the sullen-cheeked bartender.

  “Whatcha having?” the server asked as soon as she found a seat.

  “Gin and tonic, please,” she asked.

  The bartender gave her a look out the side of his eye like he had never been told “please” before. He washed a glass and then made the cocktail before setting it on a coaster for her.

  “That’ll be four credits,” the bartender said.

  Without batting an eye, the detective fed the nonexistent servant the digital currency requested.