Flux

by Jeremy Robinson

  “You once called me the most trusted man on Synergy’s payroll.” It was during our second meeting, after I had created a series of new security protocols designed to keep everyone safe. His approval led to the hiring of extra security staff, including Cassie.

  “I did?” The drone is motionless, but I get the sense that Langdon is searching his memory. “Oh, yes. In regard to your security refinement. I’m afraid much has changed since then.”

  “I’ve noticed.” I think back to the bodies. While lethal force is authorized inside the facility, people who have breached the perimeter fence are supposed to be met with non-lethal force. Had Minuteman’s people engaged first, that would be different, but the only bullet casings littering the ground around those bodies were 7.62 rounds—the bullet of choice for mini-guns, not the kinds of weapons a serious operator like Minuteman, or research facilities, would use.

  I’ve got serious apprehensions about following this drone, but I suspect retreat might put us at odds with Synergy’s new security, and I can’t take that risk with Owen and my father. The devil I know and all that.

  A distant roar sifts through the trees. Speaking of the devil I don’t know.

  The drone tilts at an angle, then zips closer to us, the camera pointed downhill. For a moment, I’m worried it will spot Inola, but she’s nowhere in sight. When the sound doesn’t repeat, the drone makes a slow spin toward me. “Forgive my ignorance, but do you know what made that sound?”

  “Best guess,” I say, “Some kind of large predator.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “Something from the ice age?”

  “Unlikely,” Langdon says. “While it is impossible to determine the precise year without seeing the stars, based on the size of the gravitational wave, and previous observations, we believe the current year is 800 B.C., give or take a handful of decades.”

  When the roar repeats, a little louder and closer, I say, “Whatever it is, I’d rather figure it out from behind Synergy’s walls than standing out here, exposed.”

  “Right,” Langdon says, “Of course.”

  I lean the Winchester against a nearby tree. The weapon will be easy for Inola to find, which is good, because whatever is stalking the woods sounds big and unfriendly. She already has the shotgun, but it holds only four rounds and there is still a good number of unsavory people about, and the mountain lion, and who knows what else we’ve picked up along the way.

  “Lead the way,” I say.

  We resume our upward hike. The trees thin and then, sunshine. For a moment, bathed in yellow, surrounded by damp air and smell of fresh growth, I feel a sense of peace. We’re above the fog here, and when I look into the distance, I can see the familiar Appalachian range, mostly swallowed by a soupy layer of gray mist.

  It’s when I focus on what’s in front of me that things become unfamiliar. There are some things I recognize. The main science building and its futuristic shape, like Disney’s Omni Center squished into the shape of a peanut. But there are several other buildings rising up behind the wall. Buildings that weren’t here two days ago…along with the wall itself.

  Synergy’s first line of defense is the outer perimeter barrier. The chain link fence combined with the signs threatening legal action, not to mention the razor wire, are enough to deter even the most foolish vandal. The second line of defense is—was—a taller fence, also topped with razor wire, and patrolled by three armed guards—Kuzneski, Brown, and Harper.

  This…this is different. And impressive.

  Instead of chain link, there is a line of five-inch-wide metal posts separated by two-inch slits. Not only does the top come to a razor-sharp point, but the sides look like serrated knife-blades. Climbing the ten-foot-tall fence would be all but impossible. The simple act of grasping it might result in the loss of several fingers.

  Instead of one guard shack by a chain-link rolling gate, there are now two metal towers. Long windowless slits on the tower walls would allow those inside an easy-to-fire-from, hard-to-hit position from which to fend off intruders. I can’t see what’s hidden within, but I have no doubt that there are hidden weapons pointing outward, maybe even tracking us right now.

  “No comment?” Langdon asks as we approach. “This is all new to you, yes?”

  “Most of it.”

  “And?”

  “I’m impressed. You could fend off an army.”

  “And we have,” he says. “As you’ve already seen.”

  “I’m not sure I’d call four people an army, but I see your point.” Keeping my tone more interested than threatening is tough. I want some answers, and right fucking now, but that’s not going to happen if I’m combative, or if he senses any judgement on my part. I remember Minuteman’s impression of me, based on his research, and decide to stick to the script. “Far as I’m concerned, if you keep cutting my checks, I’ll keep doing my job. Though I would appreciate knowing exactly what I’m up against.”

  “Also a fair point,” Langdon says, “but explanations will have to wait. As for your job, I’m afraid your services are no longer required.”

  Three more drones rise up over the wall and take up positions around us. None of them are armed, but they’re still intimidating. Owen clings to my father’s leg.

  “You have nothing to fear, as long as you cooperate,” Langdon says. “And I do apologize for the circumstances and sudden termination, but our situation is extremely fluid, and I’m afraid we must take precautions.”

  “I can help,” I tell him, trying to sound confident, and loyal.

  “Perhaps,” Langdon says. “But for now, the best place for all of you to be is out of the way.”

  And with that, the massive spike-topped gates open inward, revealing what once was a parking lot and is now closer to a military forward operating base. But instead of soldiers, there are drones. Dozens of the flying machines are lined up under three large open structures, allowing them to come and go. I watch one buzz down from the sky, slip into one of the buildings, and dock with a charging bay. It was all done so fluidly that I suspect it was on autopilot, controlled by AI rather than by a human operator. Several warehouses that weren’t here before contain who knows what, but they’re being patrolled by what looks like an armored dune buggy with tank treads.

  I remember the sound of grinding treads in the woods. The vehicle doesn’t appear to be armed, but it’s large enough to sport a concealed mini-gun. I confirm my suspicions by looking down at the dirt beneath my feet, where a collection of human footprints has been run over by several pairs of treads. This is the path taken by Cassie’s killers.

  I pause at the threshold, taking everything in.

  My father stands next to me, holding Owen in his arms now. “This is where you work?” he whispers. Like me, he’s equal parts impressed and terrified. Rightfully so. People don’t prepare for war unless they’re expecting one.

  “No,” I say. “This is different. This is…new.”

  And then it all makes sense.

  From the very beginning, I have assumed that it was my Synergy that caused the flux, that they had accidentally triggered our jaunt through time. But this isn’t where I work, and while Dr. Langdon might still be running the show, he’s not the man I’ve met.

  He’s the man he will eventually become.

  “This isn’t from my present,” I tell my father. “It’s from the future.”

  27

  “You are correct, of course,” Langdon says from the drone, as it leads us toward an unfamiliar building. The square, brick and steel building is built like a fortress, with tall walls, high windows, and two staggered levels. The second floor is a bit smaller than the first. Outer stairs lead to both roofs, which are walled in and perfect for fending off an attack. If I were to design a fortified security building, it would look like this. “This facility is from your future, Mr. McCoy. In fact, you inspired much of what you see here.”

  Maybe I did design the fortified building?

&nbs
p; “How far in the future?” I ask.

  “Seven years.”

  “All this is seven years?” It doesn’t seem possible that the almost quaint Synergy facility I work at could become this shining beacon of militarization in seven years. But nations have been destroyed and reborn in less time, so I suppose it’s possible. I just can’t fathom what would transform a company, whose outward appearance favored the local economy, people, and environment, into…this.

  Four drones zip past in formation, flying up and out of the facility before diving down the mountainside. All around, the sounds of machines at work fill the air, buzzing, grinding, and churning. Just below the din is a constant but pulsating hum, like muffled energy. I can feel it in my legs with each step, subtle but ever-present.

  Even stranger than all of this is that I haven’t seen a single person. Synergy is both full of, and completely devoid of, life.

  “A lot can change in seven years,” Langdon says, and I sense a bit of remorse in his voice. “The world is a different place than you know. Science, once revered for its contributions to society, became the scapegoat for all the world’s perceived problems. Facts no longer mattered. Truth was shunned. Violence won most arguments. The world became petty, ruled by squabbling children. The town that once embraced this company turned against us in the name of Jesus himself. Several employees were slain, including members of your own team.”

  “Not Cassie,” I guess, trying to sound hopeful.

  “She survived,” Langdon says. There’s a hint of something in his voice. Anger, I think. It’s hard to tell without being able to see his face.

  “While there were still some countries open to the reality of scientific knowledge, advancement, and achievement, much of the world had resorted to a kind of suburban tribalism. Sensing a civil war brewing, I took steps to ensure the safety of my staff, and our research.

  “But it wasn’t enough. Attacks on the facility became more organized. More deadly. I thought I had prepared for the war to come, but in the end the only way I could save my work was to retreat.”

  “Into the past?” I guess. Some of what he’s saying gels with the existence of Minuteman and his people, but I find it hard to believe that Cassie would get caught up in the kind of religious fervor he’s describing. It’s been a long time since I set foot in a church, but even I know that Jesus would turn the other cheek before raising a hand in violence. Then again, history is full of people using God—all gods—as justification for unspeakable violence against people of other races, religions, and regions. The Spanish Inquisition. The conquistadors. The Nazis. Modern white supremacists. The very founding of the United States. All that blood in the name of a God who so clearly opposed violence. I wish I could say Langdon’s story is completely unbelievable, but it’s not. The rumblings of such a future already exists in my time. The only real stumbling block is Cassie.

  I just can’t imagine a future where she is a militarized religious zealot.

  “Why not just leave?” Owen asks.

  The drone continues toward the building, but the camera swivels toward the boy. “Everything you see and cannot see around you is unique and irreplaceable. Nothing like it exists anywhere else in the world.”

  “I feel like that’s obvious,” my father says with a slight grin. “Seeing as how we’re a thousand years plus in the past.”

  The comment manages to get a chuckle out of Langdon, which is good. I’m having a hard time not sounding combative, and the moment Langdon figures out I’m not with him, I’ll be against him. That’s not going to go well for us. My father’s lighter touch is welcome.

  “But there must be something else,” my father says. “Something that ties you to this mountain. It’s a special place for anyone who stays here long enough. We all have our reasons for calling it home, and coming back to it. I grew up here. I’m raising my son here. My wife is buried—”

  The drone stops, the camera locked on to my father’s face.

  Something he said hit a nerve.

  And then, I know.

  “Jacqueline.”

  While Langdon was the scientific and entrepreneurial genius behind the company, his wife was the heart and soul. She made time to connect with everyone, bringing a touch of homestyle affection to every meeting. I only met her a few times, but every encounter was positive, and the one time I saw her with Langdon, I knew he adored her. The coldness I sense in him now, even through this machine, only makes sense if she is no longer here. “How did it happen?”

  The drone continues forward, hovering at half pace. Langdon is silent for a good ten seconds, and then says, “She died in that first attack. Killed by the people of Black Creek, whom I had hoped to help. Whom she had convinced me to help. I would have been happy to buy all the land and send everyone away, but she insisted we do the right thing. And what did we get for it? A revolt. Violence. Blood. All of which you did little to stop. As dedicated as you were to this company, you wouldn’t kill the people of Black Creek in defense of my wife.”

  The contempt in his electronic voice is potent. While he might not blame me for his wife’s death, he is no friend of my future self. But would I really not defend Synergy from any threat, even one that I know? “That doesn’t sound like me.”

  “Like I said, a lot can change.” The drone pauses by a metal door on the side of the brick building. It turns to my father once more. “My wife is buried on this mountain as well, and now, I’m afraid, all I’m married to is my research.”

  The door opens on its own, providing entry into a long, sterile, white hallway with no markings, no décor, and no guards. “Mr. McCoy…all three Mr. McCoys, please step inside.”

  The threat isn’t overt, but it sets my insides twisting. He knows who my father and Owen are. Knows what they mean to me. Knows I will do anything to keep them safe, including unconditional surrender. He hasn’t pointed a weapon at me, but there’s no need. We’re surrounded by a robotic army from the near future and have already seen the damage they can inflict.

  “I realize this must be disconcerting for you,” Langdon says. “You’ve had your world turned inside out. But there have been some positive benefits, wouldn’t you say? Reunited father and son...and son. A life spared, a young life free from grief. Let’s say we keep it that way.”

  I allow my father and Owen to enter first, taking one last look around, searching for weaknesses and finding none. I step into the hall and follow my father toward the ominous unknown via a featureless corridor. Our footsteps echo as we walk, but the ever-present droning buzz lingers behind. I turn to face Langdon’s drone. This is, apparently, where we part ways.

  “Take your first right. The rest will be self-explanatory. Should our quest come to a successful conclusion, you will be allowed to leave, and with luck, live out the rest of your natural lives.”

  With that, the drone’s camera retracts into its body before it turns and zips away. A moment later, the door closes on its own, leaving us alone in the barren hallway.

  “Sorry I brought you here,” I say.

  My father shakes his head. “No way to know what we’d find. And near as I can tell, this is still the only place you’re going to find answers. And if I’m honest, I’d rather be in here, where the guns are pointed out, instead of at us.”

  He’s got a point. The mountainside is far from safe. But I’m not convinced Langdon will honor his offer to let us live if his mission, whatever that is, is successful.

  “I think it’s cool,” Owen says. “Did you see all the robots? It’s like Blade Runner out there, but for real, and without Harrison Ford.”

  “You’ve seen Blade Runner?” my father asks.

  “At Scott Flanagan’s house,” both Owen and I say.

  “Keep moving,” says an impatient voice, broadcast from a hidden intercom. Aside from Langdon, it’s the only other trace of humanity we’ve encountered. “And I don’t want any shit, so don’t give it to me.”

  I recognize the voice. It’s differe
nt, angrier, but the inflections are the same. I take the lead, heading for the T junction ahead. When I turn the corner, I’m faced with a gateway and a glassed-in security booth. Behind the glass, I look into a pair of eyes that are familiar, but changed. Where there used to be good humor, there is now only disdain and scars. Still, I’m relieved to see him. “Kuzneski, what are you—”

  “Shut the fuck up,” he snaps. Of all the men on my team, he was the closest to being a friend. But whatever goodwill there once was between us has clearly been lost.

  “I don’t know what I did to you,” I say, “or how things played out, but that’s not who I am.”

  His glare softens for a moment, but then flares back to life. “It’s who you will be, and that’s enough.” He points his chin at my father and Owen. “Is this little asshole your kid self?” Though we’ve just recently been picked up, he’s been briefed on who we are and when we’re from. He’s surrounded by four screens I can only see the back of, but I’d guess three show security feeds and one allows him to communicate with Langdon, or whoever else is in charge around here.

  “You’re an asshole,” Owen says. My father holds him tight, but doesn’t scold him for the language.

  “Yeah, that’s you,” Kuzneski says, and pushes a button. The door beside his station unlocks with a thunk while a buzz fills the air. “Enjoy your stay at hotel fuck you. If you need anything, feel free to eat a dick.”

  I smile despite myself. He genuinely doesn’t like me, but I can’t help but be amused by his foul-mouthed sense of humor, no matter how dark or foreboding it has become.

  “Don’t smile at me,” he grumbles. “Just…don’t.”

  My father opens the door, revealing what might have once been a dormitory for security forces, now used as a jail, and it is overflowing with prisoners.

  “It’s not too late,” I tell Kuzneski. “Whatever reason you’re still working for him, we can work it out.”

  “Funny,” he says. “You said the same thing before doing this—” He traces his finger along a scar on his cheek. “—and this.” He tugs the collar of his shirt down, revealing an old bullet wound. “There are more, too, but I’m not a fuckin’ stripper. Now…” He flips me the bird and then uses the extended finger to point toward the open door.