by Drew Avera
Chapter 1
Five years later:
Another assignment nestled itself snuggly into the promised chaos of my day. Multiple assignments in a single day had become something of a rarity for me as of late. Alas, good things often come to an end, and given the circumstances of my life, I’m quite surprised that the good things in life have lasted this long. My guess was that the Syndicate had a few extra thorns in their side that needed pulling today. The United Martian Syndicate, or the Syndicate as most people referred to it, has stood as the dominating power since the inception of our civilization.
It is operated by the wealthiest men in the world, the ones who hold control over everything; the economy, health care, education, even the population of a given region is in their hands. I suppose they figured population control was just short enough of a rein to allow them control over every aspect of our humanity. It’s fair to assume that they are right; the amount of criminal activity here is negligible for a place that has established so many laws. Our society did away with any kind of historical judicial system as it was known on Earth. Now any kind of criminal activity, confirmed or circumstantial, meets its demise at the end of a gauntlet. It stands to reason that fear would be the most motivating tool at their disposal and they use it with a gleeful vigor.
I could smell the sea salt in the air as I turned the corner on the rust colored sidewalk that drove me deeper into downtown Archea. All through the city you could see homage to our planet as each building’s exterior was constructed from the same rust colored sand, at least in some part. It was such a common design element that most people didn’t even notice, but it was my job to pay attention to small details like that. Those details are the ones that can keep a man alive in this society.
I moved quickly down the sidewalk maintaining my usual pace. Time wasn’t of the essence, but two years of training for this kind of job taught me to constantly keep on the move, regardless of whatever situation I found myself in. I have been a policeman for just over five years, and I have found over those years that I am just another pawn of the Syndicate. The policemen stand as the second most feared organization on this planet, but we are also the most oppressed. We are not eligible for marriage, property ownership, nor are we revered as citizens. We are basically the discarded children of our society, owned by some and loved by none. Of course that wasn't always true for me. I had hopes and dreams of having a family once upon a time. I was even engaged to be married when I finished high school, but that engagement lasted three weeks. My dreams were suspended by my recruitment into the Agency, the legal name for the company that I work for.
The one thing that every prospect learned about the Agency was that they found you for the job. Once recruitment began you were stuck, unless they determined that there was something within you that conflicted with their programming. I was certain that the resentment I held for the Agency for putting a hit on my father would have been enough to disqualify me. I was wrong, I was burdened with this job one way or the other because after all is said and done you have two choices; accept the position or accept the alternative...death.
I had been miserable for the first year of this job and it showed on my face, the misery still does even to this day. Coming out of the programming portion of my time as a prospect had a debilitating effect on my psyche. I had been cursed with the memories of a life that the doctors wanted me to forget. Those memories coupled with the programming forced into my mind almost drove me mad. I remember being called a success, but I felt like a failure as everything in my life fell down around me. The Agency accepted the fact that I remembered my family and what I had left behind, but I could not accept it for myself, this created a lot of tension in my life, and I found it difficult to create a balance in my world of regret.
I stand six feet tall and weigh in at one hundred sixty pounds; I’m strong and agile despite my looks. My face has become sunken in where my cheeks used to be plump. My black hair hangs longer than it should, but finding time for a haircut is not usually a priority when on the job. The only possessions I have are my uniform and gauntlet which was tailored to fit me, everything else is issued by the Agency. My apartment and furnishings are mine so long as my employment lasts. I have nothing and I am nothing. This job is the only thing that has defined me for the last five years. I have had nothing else to show for my life except for a death toll that rises on a daily level.
I turned another corner and entered the Whelming Building through the front entrance. Mr. Whelming was a wealthy man with a lot of power in the Syndicate, at least until he started making risky decisions with his investments in an attempt to build up his wealth. Now he was a target of the Syndicate because he had brought this undue attention to himself and they have tasked me with the hit. In case I failed to mention it before, the term policeman is a politically correct term for "political assassin". There is no law enforcement agency established here on Mars. There is only the Syndicate who controls the Agency, everyone else falls in line or is quickly removed from their life of servitude.
I passed by the reception desk on my way into Whelming's office which was guarded by two retired policemen. I noted the face of each of the men as I passed; a part of me recognized the taller of the two men. His weary face was very distinguishable, but after a few years in this line of work and dealing with the wealthy and all of their lap dog lackeys it could be easy to see a face and not remember the context for recognizing it.
The two men knew better than to interfere with official Agency business so they stepped aside. The brief eye contact I shared with them confirmed the years of mental scarring they had experienced with thirty years of assigned murders under their belts. Retirement was the only way out of the Agency while you were still breathing, and these men had served the Syndicate well. I often thought of retirement as a fool’s reward for doing such a dastardly good job. Maybe I was the fool because I'm still doing it instead of jumping off a cliff or firing a laser into my brain. Or, maybe my compulsion to succeed has driven me so far over the edge that I have plummeted further into the darkness.
I strolled into Whelming's office unannounced and I could see him seated at his large desk. He looked up to me and the fear in his eyes showed me that single characteristic which was shared by all of the distinguished guests on my hit list; regret.
"Serus," he said as his face whitened. Fear mustered into a stench that I could smell from ten feet away.
"Mr. Whelming, I believe you know why I'm here," I said. This was after all not a social call and he knew that better than most. Whelming had been responsible for many assignments that I’ve completed during my time in the Agency. For him, that time was coming to an end.
"I swear, Serus, I can explain everything. Believe me when I tell you that it's a matter of global security!" He was trying to buy me. It was a common way that people in the Syndicate tried to prevent their demise. They either paid you a ransom or they fed you enough lies to guilt you into buying them time to escape. Neither method ever worked with me, I retained enough pre-prospect memories to understand the process.
"Save it," I said. "You know that once a hit has been placed on you that it must be carried out unless it’s canceled by the person who ordered it."
"I understand that, but I have an explanation for what's going on. All I'm asking for is twenty four hours to sort this thing out!" He pleaded with me like a child.
I stood there and watched this man all but get down on his knees and beg for mercy. I was certain that he was stalling and that charade didn't make my job any easier. I contemplated which route I wanted to take. Kill him now and be done with it, or give him enough time to run and hide? I’ll admit that I don’t usually give it a second thought; luckily the right decision presented itself as a call came over the intercom in his office.
"Mr. Whelming, this is dispatching at the Agency. I just wanted to confirm your order for Dr. Kara Blackwell."
Our eyes met at that moment when the dispatcher said m
y sister’s name in conjunction with a hit that had been originated by this coward! Knowing that his time was up Whelming pressed the confirm icon on the holographic display that illuminated from the base of the intercom onto his desk. As soon as his finger touched the icon the call ended and I was once again alone with my assignment, the man who had just assigned another policeman to kill my sister!
Rage is an emotion that had been processed out of my mind during my training as a prospect. That long lost emotion splintered within my psyche as I jumped across Whelming's desk and wrapped my hands around his throat. There was something primal in my attack that defied logic. This was the reason why emotions were dissolved during our training; you never knew when an assignment might become personal. My resolve to choke the life out of him with my bare hands began wrestling with my programming; I could feel the tension of my hands ease around his neck. Whelming lay limply on his back, sucking at the air that had been deprived from his lungs moments earlier. I stood and walked away trying to gather my thoughts and calm myself down. It was very uncharacteristic of me to lose control of my emotions like that, but given the circumstances it should have been expected. I dare any man not to take the killing of his sister personally. Even those agents with a one hundred percent mind wipe learn to re associate their memories over time, especially when the death of a family member triggered their memories.
I paced in a circle around Whelming as he sat up coughing and rubbing his purplish throat. I could see the indentations from where my fingers had been. My adrenaline lowered with my heart rate as the seconds passed. I touched the silver gauntlet on my right wrist which gleamed against the black leather of my jacket and set the laser to the highest setting, the laser’s diffuser illuminated in a bright blue beam. I stood over Whelming and set the sight into the center of his forehead. He sat there and whimpered like a beaten animal cowering before its abuser. Regret showed on his face, but I did not give a moment’s thought about mercy for this man.
"Please, Serus," he choked while looking up to me through red, teary eyes. "Just twenty four hours. Please!"
"I may have relented and given you a chance at escaping, but putting the hit on my sister negated any chance I was willing to give you." I lied to him of course, but the emotional turmoil of knowing that he had a chance to live, satisfied the seed of hate that was growing in my heart for him.
"I didn't know that Kara was your sister! I'll do anything. I'll cancel the hit, I swear! Please!" He was crying out for me to save him. It was in my power, but it was not my desire to do so.
"It's too late," I said as I fired the blue beam through his skull. The heat from the laser charred the black glove on my right hand and cauterized the hole left in his head, a clean kill for the Agency’s recovery team.
I powered down my gauntlet before taking a seat at Whelming's desk and I activated his computer system. I scrolled through the files until I came across the paperwork associated with the hit he had placed on Kara. The personal information confirmed that it was indeed my sister, but the reason for the hit had been left blank. That was unusual, I thought to myself. If it had nothing to do with money then maybe it had to do with the global crisis Whelming had alluded to earlier. I looked at the clock and noted that Kara would be home within the hour, based on that information I knew that her home would be the most likely place for the hit to be conducted.
I rose from the chair and walked out of Whelming's office leaving his body sprawled on the floor with smoke still rising from the hole that I had put in his head. A look of terror had been etched onto his face the moment before I had killed him. It would remain there permanently. The two retired policemen who were his bodyguards still stood outside of the office. The taller one acknowledged me as I stepped out into the hallway.
"Serus," he said in a deep gravelly voice. It was at that moment that my memory jolted back to why I recognized him. I placed the voice with his face. He had been the policeman who had initially trained me when I first became a prospect, but even more than that, he was the one who pulled the hit on my father. It's crazy how human memory worked. Without the programming I would probably have wanted to kill him, but now all I felt was pity. I nodded my head in his direction and carried on quietly.
I left the Whelming building and began walking towards my sister’s home which was about two miles away. My mind was racing as I questioned why a hit had been placed on her. She was a scientist, what could she be a part of that would cause such interference within the political climate? Did it even have anything to do with politics, or did Whelming put the hit on her for personal reasons? A mind full of questions and doubts occupied my thoughts as I walked in a half daze, barely noticing the expression of fear on the faces of pedestrians who walked around me.
Most of the world would never need to face a policeman pointing his gauntlet towards them, but the fear was still there. I was used to these looks now. The horrific look on the face of my sister and my fiancée when I was recruited into the Agency was enough to shatter any thoughts of going through life unnoticed. Now fear and dread were the only emotions that connected me to another human life.
I had been immediately separated from my fiancée and my relationship with my sister had dissolved a few years ago because of my career. Now the only communication between us came in the form of a birthday card every year. I had no idea how to fix our relationship which was another byproduct of my failure to adapt after my training. The mental trauma of what I had endured caused me to shut down emotionally which had driven us further apart, that caused a deeper scar to be cut into my psyche, so I dove deeper into my work. That tunnel vision work ethic took my mind off of it most days, unlike today.
I traveled the two miles in just under an hour and I situated myself in a suitable position to watch her house. I felt that there was no need for me to alert her unless a policeman arrived to conduct the hit. I may not have been the greatest brother in the world, but I could at least spare her any unnecessary drama if I could take out the policeman without her knowing about it. I sat between two trash dispensers and hid in the shadows as the sun fell behind the horizon in front of me. From this vantage point I would be able to watch the house undetected, but still be close enough to be an effective barrier between any policeman and Kara. I looked down at my watch and saw that she would be home soon. With a clear idea of what was coming I sat and waited.
