The Bloodlight Chronicles: Reconciliation (20 page)

The security guard ambled back from his booth as the cab drove away. “This orange badge will get you in the central complex but nothing above the second floor. It will expire at five o'clock and must be returned to this station before you leave,” the guard droned. “Any deviation from your assigned schedule will get you in a load of crap, especially today. The place is crawling with
VIP
s.”

Jimmy shook his head knowingly with conspiratorial chagrin. He scanned several squads of greensuits in front of him and stroked his thick moustache and goatee.

“We don't need all these hired guns,” the guard continued as he pulled a small cart from a broom closet. “Our people are equipped for anything. We've had full-scale riots right here at my station,” he added with pride, trying for eye contact.

Jimmy arched his eyebrows briefly with requisite respect. “Thanks for the cart,” he said and turned away quickly. He placed his black box with precise ease and pretended to kick it to the centre of the dolly. He manoeuvred it gently up the long sidewalk, navigating to avoid as many tremors as possible. As he approached the glass doors up front he studiously avoided the greensuits and headed toward a single navy blue patrolman on duty.

“Computer tech,” he said, tapping the laminate he now wore around his neck. “Where's the service door?”

The patrolman glanced toward the menagerie at the main gate and grimaced with empathy. “Okay, follow me,” he said and strode away fumbling with a large ring of keys clipped to his belt. He unlocked a painted grey door thirty metres to the right and held it open.

“Thanks,” Jimmy grunted as he tipped his cart gently over the threshold onto shiny tile floor beyond. He kept to the right as he had been instructed, avoiding the noisy crowd milling in the main foyer, keeping his head down but recording the layout with roving eyes. He took a service elevator to the basement without incident and met Phillip Davis precisely on schedule.

Mia bustled her way past the mercenary squad at the
ERI
with less than feminine finesse. Her husband had security clearance as a field operative, and her son was inside. She demanded to see the Director, and Silus Mundazo was summoned to the gate to sign her pass. He took them up to his office on the third floor and briefed them on the day's events. He looked harried and overwhelmed, but Mia could tell he was a man of great strength. He was a co-founder of the Institute and had worked with Helena in the heady days when their dreams were little more than scientific speculation. He had medical credentials unrelated to the field of hematology, but he carried the Eternal virus and had sold his own blood on the black market to fund early research.

“It is of critical importance that all fifty dosages be administered under strictly uniform and repeatable conditions. Without a clinical control group we are already operating on the fringe of science.”

“I'm sure history will afford us this privilege,” Zak said. “Nevertheless, I really must see to it myself.”

“Of course.”

“Chairman Tao will be arriving by air ambulance from Singapore in twelve minutes. His condition is critical but stable. I think you should intercept him personally, Zak.”

“I agree.”

“I have taken the liberty of creating an
ID
badge for you . . .” He handed over a laminated badge, dark green—full access. “. . . Operations Director Davis.”

Zak hung the laminate around his neck.

“Madame Shakura and her entourage are in the lobby demanding a face-to-face meeting with Helena Sharp, of course—eight authorized subjects in total.”

Silus turned to face Mia, his face blandly suggestive.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head in resignation. “Fine. Who am I?”

He smiled at her theatrics. “We'll use your own name. We're not secret agents. You're one of Helena's executive secretaries.” Silus offered another green
ID
pass.

“And how do I explain her absence?” she asked as she draped it over her head. She brushed at her dishevelled hair with her fingers. In her estimation, this whole situation was moving wildly out of control. She did not have enough backstory to make any plausible representation.

“Well, Helena is not Eternal, so naturally she is on the official list of fifty subjects. Your story is that she has already gone to prep under strictly sterile conditions. Any meeting is out of the question. Afterwards we will feign complications and play it by ear. Who knows, perhaps Madame Shakura will take a liking to you.” He handed her a wristband monitor. “I'm locked on this speed dial. I'll walk you through the rough spots.”

Mia peered at him, appraising him anew, gaining confidence from his quick mind. “You are very good at what you do.”

“Helena left me in charge, so I'm making the best of a bad situation. Let's move now, folks. Zak, you have eleven minutes to get to the rooftop helipad.”

Zakariah tapped his V-net plug to confirm the time. He bent close to Mia. “Thanks for helping out,” he whispered. “I'd like to spend some time together, when we get through this. You know, to give it a chance.”

“That would be great.” She followed him with her eyes as he stepped through the door. Was this the new beginning she had prayed for? A blossom of love?

“You okay?”

“What?”

Silus pursed his lips at her.

“Sorry.” She met his gaze. “The fiftieth subject, using Helena's name?”

“You guessed it, Mia. I snuck Rix in under the radar.”

“He's fine?”

“Safe and secure. He's in final prep now. Rix is a capable and confident young man. You must be very proud. Get the Shakura entourage settled in the East wing as quickly as you can. I'd like to get all eight subjects in prep within the hour. We're making headlines today.” He reached for her and smoothed the fabric on her upper arm, barely a caress. “Don't worry,” he said and showed her his matching wristband. “I'm right beside you.” He whisked out of the room.

Mia stood in a daze, tying to summon enough energy to pull off this charade. She felt as though she stood on a great precipice, surrounded by infinite potential. In a few hours, her son might be Eternal. In a few hours she might win back her husband from a pit of despair. One last run. One last pay-off. Her dreams were almost close enough to touch. She could almost get her fingers around them.

Could it really be true? For once in her life, could circumstance finally work in her favour? A week ago she had been without hope, a bare grit of coral on the seashore, tossed by tides and scorched by the sun. Now, another blessing. She'd had more than her fair share of happiness in the early years with Zak, when they had both believed in providence. Was there indeed a god directing the Eternal virus? Had this entire situation been choreographed so that her own clumsy prayers might be answered?

Mia bent to her knees in meditation and took the time to close her eyes and drift with deity. Precious moments stretched out as she stilled her voice within. The way of the warrior was a path of humility, a reconciliation of fire and holy water. She mustered her chi for one final battle.

Mia arose empowered to find a woman standing in the doorway watching her—a blond dignitary wearing an ebony business jacket over a yellow v-neck sweater with black skirt and stockings. She looked severe.

“Can I help you?” Mia asked, fingering her laminate for legitimacy.

“I think you can, yes. My name is Helena. This is my office. One of them, anyway.”

“The real Director?”

Helena smiled at the notion of a false Director. “You must have met Zakariah.”

“I'm his wife, Mia.” She stepped forward to offer a handshake.

New warmth spread in Helena's face, and Mia wondered for a moment about her offplanet relationship with Zak. She looked a bit mature for his taste but showed the timeless health of a disciplined regimen. Perhaps a rejuve user or chronic vampire.

“Has he recovered any memory?”

“No.”

“I'm sorry.”

Was that an admission of culpability? Mia could see no guilt in her placid brown eyes.

“I have an appointment,” Mia said. “Madame Shakura and her entourage are waiting for me downstairs.”

“Goodness! Well, that would drive anyone to their knees.” Helena offered a conspiratorial grin. “I'd offer to help, but I find I'm lagging the pace a bit here. I've been away, as you probably know. I'll have to plug up and run the numbers for a few minutes.” She nodded toward an open doorway where her launch couch sat waiting.

“Of course.”

“How many vials do they have?”

“Just the one, but it's been diluted two decimals. Fifty subjects in the first trial.”

“Doctor Mundazo is on the ground on this?”

Mia chopped her hands out firmly. “Silus has everything under control.”

Helena dropped her gaze as though peering doubtfully over imaginary sunglasses. “It looks like a zoo downstairs.”

“Nobody said it would be easy.”

She smiled. “I like you, Mia. You've got some spunk under that pretty face. Zak is a lucky man to have you.”

The thought of her husband seemed to tighten Mia's throat. He was probably in the basement by now, a master criminal preparing to hack the Beast in Seventh Heaven. She became aware of a simple swallow, a forced breath.

Helena winced with empathy. “Perhaps he'll come around in time,” she said. “A stroke victim recovers new brain function daily. And Eternals are steadily regenerating.”

Mia ducked her head, trying to compose herself. It bothered her that she was so transparent. She would never make a good field agent. “There's certainly hope for him.”

“Well, I won't keep you from your work,” Helena said to defuse any further discomfort.

Mia held up her wristband. “Can I tell anyone you're here? Is there anything you need right away?”

“Tell Silus I'm just checking my email. Business as usual.”

T
he boy is late,” Phillip Davis said as he tapped spectral colours on the computer touchscreen at the end of his arm.

Jimmy returned delicate tools into foam compartments in his black box and locked them down with velcro tape and heavy-metal shielding. Satisfied at last, he looked up. “What is that gadget anyway? Some early form of biosystem interconnect?”

Phillip nodded. “The landmark advances in neural interface were made by the prosthetic industry, long before wetware surgery became commonplace. I have upgraded, of course, to stay ahead of the trend.” He held up his cybernetic arm for inspection. “I have exponentially more storage area here than any temporal implant, and, of course, I have fiberoptics bundled into my spine now, direct to the cerebral cortex.”

Jimmy whistled, looking at Phillip with new wonder. “Why are you out slummin' with an old fart like me? What's the game here? Money?”

Phillip chuckled and shook his head. “I'm adjusting reality. Bartering influence, you might say.”

“Influence?”

“Money is for scorekeepers and bureaucrats.”

“Well, I don't mind checking the score now and again.” Jimmy snapped his tool box shut and placed it on his transport dolly.

Phillip smiled. “I know you're a hardware guy, and I respect that.”

Jimmy checked his wristband. It was not like Zak to be late—not when realtime was chiselled out in nanoseconds. “So you're just doing a favour for a friend. Is that right?”

“Friendship has nothing to do with it, but, yes, we all play by the same rules.”

Jimmy nodded. He really did like this guy—he was pretty suave for an evil genius. Phillip had quick wit and a foxy charisma, but his heart was made of superconductors way down the Kelvin scale.

Two black office chairs with padded armrests had been positioned side by side in the centre of the room. Two V-net plugs lay coiled on the floor, spliced into the main cable and secured with black electrical tape. No single component could be traced to Jimmy or his allies, and he had long ago had his fingerprints surgically removed. He had fulfilled his contract and could walk away squeaky clean any time. But he waited. He still had a soft spot for all the young sliders from back in the day.

“How long before we abort?” he asked.

“My working parameters are not for you to know.” Phillip glanced toward the door, a sheen of perspiration beginning to glisten on his brow.

Jimmy snuffed at him and began to whistle a tune from a breakfast-cereal pop-up. No sweat off his bum. These days, it seemed like everybody was a prima donna up past Prime Four.

A knock sounded like a judge's gavel in their sterile closet. Neither man flinched.

“Get the door,” Phillip said as he moved to sit in one of the chairs. He picked up a coil of wire and eyed the network receptacle as though checking for dirt or disease. He slipped it into a slot just below the crook of his elbow. His eyelids fluttered and closed as he slipped quietly into V-space.

“Zakariah,” Jimmy said and reached a warm hand for his long-lost friend. “I hear you've had quite a trip to the top.”

“Jimmy?”

“You don't remember?”

Zak's mouth worked into a tight line. “Not exactly.”

Jimmy grinned. “Probably just as well. Have a seat.” He gestured with a strong arm toward the unoccupied chair.

“And listen carefully,” he began as they approached the jury-rigged launch couch. “You are working from extreme disadvantage. This guy is hardware heavy and a psycho to boot. I know you've been supercharged, but this guy is state of the art, Prime Level Six. You with me?”

Zak nodded.

“I don't trust him and neither should you. Just get in, get the goods, and get out. Any backlash from the Beast will do more than burn you—it will kill you outright on an unfiltered line. Abort at the first sign of trouble. The very first inkling. You got it?”

“Mia says I can trust you. Is that right?”

Jimmy grimaced and shook his head. “All those long years—wiped out like a faulty hard drive.” He placed a hand on Zak's shoulder. “Listen, kid, you were like a son to me in the early days, but don't take my word for it. You've never trusted anyone, and this is no time to start.”

“I had a son once myself.”

“Don't worry about Rix. He's got the Davis gift. I'll be watching out for him.” He offered a nod as a token of his sincerity. He wanted to say more but had neither the time nor the eloquence. “He reminds me of you, back when cybersaurs roamed the Earth.”

“What's the run this time?” Zak picked up a length of V-net cable and coiled it in his lap.

“Total hush-up. Phillip's doing a favour for a friend.”

“What's in it for you?”

Jimmy shrugged with casual ease. “A backdoor into Prime Seven could come in handy some day. Rumour says the Beast may be vulnerable. The old bugaboo, you know. Control the
AI
, control the world.” He offered a mischievous leer that he hoped Zak might recognize and respond to.

Zakariah made no show of camaraderie. He looked grim and professional. In the old days, Jimmy had seen him banter with the best of them right up to ground zero. This time he seemed distant and thoughtful, letting anxiety take him down like a victim. The kid was getting old. He was losing his edge.

Zakariah looked back only once, barely a recognition of presence, and plugged into V-space.

Niko crept stealthily into the sterile lab where Rix sat in a white gown wired with biometric relays. She wore a dark flightsuit with a medical company monogram on the breast pocket.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

She smiled. “I wanted to see you. You asked me to visit, remember?” She pulled up a chair. “So how are you?”

“Fine. Everything's going great.” He grinned. “Thanks for coming.”

“Did they give you the virus?”

“No. Another fifteen minutes or so.”

“How do they do it?” She pantomimed a needle pointed to the crook of her arm with her eyes wide in query.

“No, it's sublingual.”

“Ahh.” She nodded. “Kinda takes the fun out of it.”

“You have a weird sense of humour.”

“I know. That's why you like me.”

Rix was content just to watch her again. Her simple movements seemed to fascinate him. He was way beyond puppy love now. He was seriously falling deep and wide for this chick.

“So, I've got to get back to work soon. Duty calls.” She gave a wan smile.

“I'd invite you to stay, but it's supposed to be a sterile room.”

“I just wanted you to know . . . I mean if things work out for you . . . that you're welcome home any time. I miss you.” She took his hand between her palms. “And to wish you luck, cousin. The best luck.”

“Thanks.” Oh, man, she was beautiful.

“And, well, to give you this.” She fumbled in the pocket of her flightsuit and handed him a picture. “As a keepsake, you know. Just in case.”

It was an old photograph, an antique chemical reproduction now fading slightly pinkish. Two young children stared out from a distant age with big smiles and innocent eyes. The boy was dressed in a collared shirt with all the buttons done up to the neck. He draped a brotherly arm around a girl in a fluffy lavender dress, barely a toddler. They looked like they might be on their way to a festive family event, puffed up proud for the camera.

“It's your dad and . . .”

“A distant cousin?”

“Yeah.” She looked impish. “Very distant.”

Rix peered closer at the photo, looking back through a window in time. Roots. He had lineage in history. He was not just dust on the wind. “Are you sure you want to part with this?”

Niko tapped her forehead with a finger. “I've got a copy. Not to worry.”

“Well, thanks. I appreciate it.”

Her eyes roamed away, and she seemed momentarily pensive, as though considering an awkward thought. “Anyway, it was a pleasure getting to know you. I mean, working together.”

“Niko, is anyone supposed to know you're here?”

She pinched her V-net plug and shook her head. “Not for nine more minutes.” She stood up and held her hands aloft, grinning. “Okay, okay. I can take a hint.”

She bent down to kiss him. Her lips tasted of strawberries.

“I'll see you,” she whispered.

The tall cityscape of Prime Level Seven sheltered a narrow avenue of entry, a constricted vestibule for corporate authentication. Structural edges appeared hard and sharp, defined with mathematical precision. The lighting was subdued, pinkish, reminding Zakariah of an inner-city twilight in realtime. The avenue was criss-crossed with pencil beams of red laser light that moved slowly, sweeping the entire area from roadway to ceiling.

Phillip stood like a statue immediately to his left, his online presence looking perfectly human, his business suit lustrous and impeccable. “Helena, you're looking well,” he said.

“Sorry I'm late.”

“This backdoor is protected by defence-in-depth and hybrid firewalls,” Phillip whispered as he stroked his wrist controls. “Hold out your hand.”

Phillip reached over to touch Zakariah's open palm. A red glow sprang up around them like an aura, matching exactly in hue the laser beams monitoring the hallway.

“This subprogram replicates the signal exchanged by the beams when they cross each other, making our movements indistinguishable. The white searchlights above we will have to manually avoid.” Phillip pointed up the roadway with a nod.

Zakariah noted the ghost lights, wider and more faint than the red lasers, and blinked his understanding.

Phillip stepped forward into the red lasers, which diffused into his force-field surface without giving an alarm.

“We could still be subject to surveillance,” Zakariah warned as he followed. “Any program tracing the number and position of random intersections will see our shadow.”

“Not if we dance,” Phillip offered and began a slow ballet that zigzagged down the avenue like a martial arts exercise.

Zakariah followed, contorting in a comfortable rhythm, avoiding red beams where convenient and white beams on pain of death, spiralling through the entry gauntlet to where Phillip waited and watched in appraisal.

“That's quite the body for an old spinster,” he said.

“Don't get cheeky, Dad. She's not your type.”

“You're not still mad about your mother, are you?”

“Why shouldn't I be? You left her to die.”

“Don't be silly. She stayed behind of her own accord. We grew apart. It happens.”

“You took my sister.”

“We divided up the assets.”

Phillip entered an alleyway to the left and palmed access into a cathedral of cut glass filled with white security beams that broke into prisms on the multi-faceted walls. “This encryption algorithm would take hours to decipher but can be easily circumvented. To the ceiling, my boy.” He jumped with Zakariah right on his heels. He reoriented and stood on a rough granular surface, then raised an arm to indicate the scene before them. “Because of the angle of this architecture, the white beams are sparse here, geometrically. We go one at a time to allow for complete freedom of movement.” He dove, ducked, rolled, jumped, and swam his way through a maze of light, and splayed himself like a salamander on the far wall.

Zakariah eyed the beams. One touch and it would be over. One mistake. Hard data was a merciless foe. He launched his avatar and let his inner senses loose to guide him. Mia liked to call it her chi, her body energy, but Zakariah imagined something greater, some unconscious power, an invisible spirit guiding him. He twisted and contorted around pencil flashes of light without thinking, without waiting for his brain to define his movements. He lived the path. He knew it in his heart, and he arrived safely to meet his father on the other side.

“This is as far as I have been,” Phillip said as they stood side by side on a thin ledge. A christmas tree of portals lay on the wall beside them. “The second green door over is the one we want. I have all the entry codes, which rotate on a timed schedule every five minutes. What we do not have is the background retinal key, but I know it can be bypassed by system security in case of emergency. I can get you to the appropriate terminal for three minutes.”

“You want me to hack it with no prep?”

“It's downlevel gear, practically archaic. Easy access for a man of your talents. This is a low-priority area for bureaucrats and bean counters, the weakest link in the chain. I doubt a human has ever walked this path.”

“What are we doing here?”

“We're sliding a few beans. It's a proxy vote.”

“That's it?”

“Almost too easy, isn't it?”

Zakariah glanced around with nervous anxiety. He had to admit that things looked pretty clean at the moment. “Whatever reason drove you away from my mother was no excuse to abandon me as well.”

Phillip glared back at him. “Would you really want a small child to be caught in a tug-of-war between hateful parents? To be ammunition in a vindictive struggle? I think not.”

“You never gave me the choice.”

“The codes will rotate in fifteen seconds. We can go now or take five minutes for you to collect your wits and settle longstanding grudges.”

Zakariah set his teeth with an incoming hiss of air. “No delay to destiny,” he murmured.

“That's my boy.”

“I'm not your boy.” Together they dove for the conduit.

Phillip worked some white magic for several seconds at the portal, then entered and activated a standard flatscreen subterminal. He keyed in some code, reading from his palm panel, then stepped back to allow Zakariah access. “Two minutes and forty-five seconds,” he said.

The algorithms looked harmless, the system stable if not dusty from disuse. Zakariah tried some background harmonics and slipped easily to the core program. The coding was ancient, old corporate American stuff. He recognized the language and began looking for classic patterns he had learned as a child. An alert flashed briefly on the periphery of his field of vision. “We've been tagged by a sniffer,” he said.