87 Sylvia- The Bicuspid Protocols

by D A Buckley

  There was a bit of a crowd there attending a community Star Party put on by the local Astronomical Society. He really did not enjoy crowds. The sensory overload was kicking in again. He was getting better at sorting things out but it was taking time. As he turned the corner of the walkway there was James Dean, or at least his monument. Standing next to it, unnoticed by the throng of stargazers, was a man who looked definitely out of place smoking a cigar. As he approached the man, Jared became more and more aware that something was wrong. The man’s heartbeat was seriously elevated, he was sweating on a cool Southern California night, and his bioelectric signature was erratic at best. Jared was also aware that there was a presence, a someone, nearby whose electrical signal was very elevated as if frightened or apprehensive about something. That person no more belonged here than the cigar man.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Jared spoke from behind the man who jerked around nervously to see who was speaking. His bloodshot baggy eyes darted nervously among the crowd.

  “Yes, what is it?” he asked nervously, taking a very long pull on his cigar.

  “I couldn’t help relishing the aroma of the Alec Bradley you’re enjoying. A Sun Grown, yes?”

  “You have a discerning nose, Senior. I wonder if you could you tell me where I acquired this masterpiece of the leaf?”

  “I would say,” Jared sniffed the smoke in the air before answering. “Puro Bistro, in Argentina, and very recently, I might add. Not more than three days ago.”

  “The gentleman wins the prize,” the man said as he retrieved a metal cigar cylinder from his breast pocket and extended it toward Jared. “Have one as a gift from the Chairman.” The man’s eyes narrowed and focused on something or someone behind and to the left of Jared. “Go. Quickly,” the cigar man commanded.

  Jared did not only hear the silenced shot from the Ruger MK 1 with a silencer but he actually felt the heat generated by the 22 Long Rifle cartridge as it passed by his head. The shooter, he knew, was close. Before he could react two more shots were fired. The cigar man’s white shirt began to wick a thick red liquid from under his coat as he fell to his knees. Jared leaned over and grabbed him and leaned him over to the James Dean memorial. “Whoa buddy, way too many cervezas,” Jared said as he tried to convince the one or two interested bystanders that the man was simply inebriated. As he leaned closer the man whispered his last words, “Carmelita, my dear Linda…”

  Jared stayed bent over while moving through the crowd to put some distance between himself and the fallen cigar smoking man. About five yards away he turned back and saw a young woman approach the body of the cigar man and rifle through his pockets. It seemed as if she had not seen the transfer of the metal tube to Jared before she attacked. She began to scan the crowd. Jared stood slowly and began to walk toward the parking lot. Mentally he marked her bioelectronic signature in his mind. As he walked on he was aware that the bioelectric signature was keeping pace with him pacing him and not far behind. At times like this, he really hated being so tall. As a group of hopeful stargazers passed him he ducked down and moved between some shrubs along the walkway.

  “Jackie, are you still listening?” Jared whispered.

  “Actually, I was watching the food channel in our hotel room. I’m thinking of buying a set of Jin Su knives for my mother. O wait. According to you, my mother is a test tube. Of course, I’m listening…and seeing. Let her pass you but find a way to get me a shot of her face.”

  “I can’t. I’m not wearing the Tux,” Jared hissed. He was a bit exasperated that his partner was not keeping up.

  “I know that, Einstein. Just point the face of your watch, that I didn’t really buy you, at her and I’ll get her picture.”

  “You can see through the watch? Why didn’t you tell me that? What if I had to use the men’s room?”

  “Then I’d be at the ER getting my eyes scrubbed right about now. Quit being such a child, Ken.”

  “Ken. Whose Ken?” Jared asked.

  “Ken who?” Jackie asked back. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “You just asked me…oh shut up, here she comes.” Jared took the watch off, held it up slightly as he crouched between the shrubs and just caught a profile shot of her face.

  “Did you get it?” he asked after the femme fatale passed.

  “Working on it,” Jackie answered. “Maybe you should make your way back here. This thing seems to be going a bit sideways.”

  “Well, she’s headed in the direction of the parking lot. That’s where the Aston is parked.”

  “So. Leave another way. Get a cab.”

  “And leave the Martin?” he asked incredulously. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “You’re worried about a stupid car?” Jackie squealed.

  “Well…it’s a rental,” Jared stated. “Watch my back, Mighty Mouse. I’m coming in…with the Aston.”

  Jared watched as the assassin looked around the parking lot. After a minute or so a dark Mercedes with darkened windows slid to a stop next to the woman. The Mercedes was between Jared and the woman. Her head was about two feet above the roof of the car. She looked worried. There was a quick flash of light three times and the woman collapsed downward. The Mercedes engine roared as the tires squealed on the concrete and it sped away leaving the crumpled dying woman behind. Jared sprinted over to the assassin but was too late to question her. A quick search of her pockets revealed nothing. He picked up her pistol and went to his car. As far as the police would ever know two people were shot with a .22.

  *****

  “Mr. Vice President, thank you for returning my call,” Dr. Mathis said. “Sir, we have a problem. It is not critical yet, by any means, but if it goes critical I don’t want you to be surprised.” She then explained the details of Jared’s recall incident. “Mr. Vice President, we may have to complete the transformation sooner than planned.”

  “Is that manageable at this point?”

  “Yes, sir. We would have to hold them both in stasis for almost a year. But that is doable, sir, at Luna Base.”

  “Well, that would save us some project money not having to keep paying premiums on all those life insurance contracts.”

  “Yes, sir, that’s funny, but not really a problem. Those monies all recycle back through to the project accounts. None of the federal employees actually have a real policy, sir.”

  “You’re an evil woman, Dr. Mathis. All those poor federal employees think they have life insurance.”

  “They do Mr. Vice President. Just not through Beluga.”

  “Right. Alright. Thanks for the update. Please err on the side of caution, Doctor. We have too much at stake here.”

  “Understood, Mr. Vice President. Have a good night, sir.”

  “Check. Out here.”

  *****

  “Where are you off to now?” Jackie asked anxiously. “You’re off protocol. This is not in the upload. You can be replaced with a waffle iron you know?”

  “Well, thank you, sweetie. I’m feeling a bit peckish. I think I need some fried chicken.”

  “Just get your butt back here. I’ll call room service and you can expense all the chicken you want.”

  “The cigar man said ‘Carmelita’ and ‘my dear Linda.’”

  “So what? You say dumb things all the time. That doesn’t make me want to eat fried chicken. Sometimes it makes me want to gargle with Draino.”

  “Don’t let me keep you from your bucket list, Micro Woman.”

  “Seriously, where are you going?”

  “Oh come on,” Jared’s frustration was getting the better of him. “Carmelita. Linda. Linda Ronstadt, Carmelita at the Pioneer Chicken Stand near Echo Park on Alvarado Street. Where were you in the ‘60s?”

  “Are you kidding me. My daddy was a glint in my grandpa's eyes in the ‘60s. Wasn’t that when the last dinosaur died off? And Linda Ronstadt…really. Blue Bayou and Governor Moonbeam Linda Ronstadt?”

  “Don’t hate there Mini Mao, appreciate.”

  “Well, h
ere’s something that might throw a wrench in your little soiree, according to Mr. Google, that chicken stand closed in 2009.”

  “I thought I remembered that. But he said it and I’m going to see why. Keep me covered will you?”

  “That’s my job, isn’t it? By the way. You might want to check your rearview mirror. If you do you will notice the Mercedes from Griffith Observatory is right behind you.”

  “And just how did you work that one out?” Jared saw the car in his rear view mirror.

  “Backup camera on the Aston. Easy hack for someone with my extremely prodigious skill set.”

  “Any suggestions?” pard.

  “Are you serious? How long have you been doing this? Activate the mission file in your chip. Look under Aston Martin. See the file marked as ‘Counter-measures?”

  “Sorry, I was distracted by some memories of you dancing on a desk or something at Hu’s office. Who was that guy anyway and why were you on his desk?”

  “You know, you need some fresh air. Just lose your friends, will you?”

  Following the instruction in his mission file, Jared lifted the center console armrest and depressed a button marked “Hockey Puck.” This released a small disk from under his car that slid back under the Mercedes. The driver of the Mercedes was unprepared and failed to react in time. As the car passed over the hockey puck sized disc an EMP was discharged straight up into the engine compartment frying every computer component in the vehicle. Jared watched as the vehicle slowed and then stopped with no lights on a moonless night on a Southern California Freeway. “I hope they coasted out of the traffic lane,” he thought out loud.

  “By the way genius,” Jackie commented, “That girl that offed your cigar guy. She is, or was, Amelia Morgan. She’s a known SouthCom assassin. She’s not cheap. Why would they kill her like that?”

  “Expendable loose end working for a desperate client. They’re panicking about something,” Jared answered.

  Coming down Alvarado Street, Jared saw the old chicken stand, now a poodle hair cutting business. He parked the Aston and grabbed a small infrared flashlight from the console. The almost invisible to normal people red light lit up his vision like a halcyon spotlight. It didn’t take him long to see what he needed to see. A poster of a very animated woman holding a Bible in one hand with her other raised heavenward. He got back in his car and headed toward Echo Park and Glendale Boulevard.

  Sure enough, a large crowd of people was leaving the Wednesday Night Evangelistic Service at Angelus Temple. Sister Aimee would be happy to see that people still attended her miracle service church after all these years. “What did happen to her in Mexico?” he wondered to himself. Jared took a parking space vacated by a departing parishioner. He stood on the sidewalk and leaned back against a light pole and watched as everybody left the service. The doors were locked and the interior lights were eventually doused. Then, in the dark, he sensed the bioelectric signal of a man approaching from the alleyway before he saw him.

  Although he could tell clearly that the man was in fact quite sober, he acted as if he were one of the homeless alcoholics who made Echo Park their nightly campsite. He stopped in front of Jared. “You don’t look anything like James Dean,” the man pretended to slur his words.

  “And you don’t sound anything like Foster Brooks,” Jared retorted.

  “Did you bring it?” the man asked in cold sober speech.

  Jared reached into his left hip pocket and produced the sealed cigar tube.

  “I see you’re a man of taste and distinction when it comes to cigars.”

  Jared instinctively straightened his back when the man reached under his shirt behind his back. “Easy…” Jared commanded bringing his hands quickly up to guard position in front of his torso. “Let’s not do anything stupid here.”

  “I just want to make a simple trade,” the man said producing a large manilla envelope from under his shirt. “This for that, and we’ll both be on our separate friendly ways.”

  “How do I know that that is equal to this?”

  “Good-bye, my friend,” the man said as he returned the envelope to under his shirt back.

  “Alright,” Jared said holding out the cigar tube.

  The man again extended the envelope, “Two of my best people died the hard way to get this here. I don’t appreciate the games.”

  “I apologize and I’m sorry for your loss.” And the exchange was made.

  Whatever was in the envelope was rigid and bumpy. It didn’t take Jared long to feel the package and figure out that it contained a rather large circuit board. He sat in the Aston considering whether or not he might open the envelope until finally his need to know prevailed. Opening the envelope his palpations were confirmed with a very complicated looking circuit board that appeared to have a total of twelve of the most robust looking processors he had ever seen. There were tubules that terminated on one edge of the board that somehow he knew was designed for connecting a liquid cooling apparatus of one sort or another. Then his eyes fell to one corner of the board. There was a fingerprint identification pad built into the board itself. Suddenly in his mind, he could see configuration diagrams of many boards speeding through his mind until this particular interface appeared. He knew instantly, instinctively that he could somehow use the interface to communicate with the internal architecture of the board almost as if the board was something like himself. With a sense of some apprehension, he placed his right thumb on the pad. Immediately he felt a mild passage of what seemed like electricity flow down his arm to the board and instantly his consciousness seemed to exist within the board itself. It was like his personality was walking among the circuits exploring, seeing, understanding the architecture. After what he was certain was many hours of exploring the complexity of every circuit he began to experience a sense of boredom or of some kind of satiation. Like having eaten the best meal of your life and then you realize that you are full and your brain tells you that you are done.

  Jared saw his eyes blinking in the rearview mirror. He looked down and observed several indicator lights on the board dimming down until they were extinguished. Slowly he recovered realization of where he was and what he was doing. He removed his thumb from the board and reflexively looked at his watch expecting to see that hours had passed when in fact merely ten seconds had elapsed. Then his thoughts returned to the Mercedes. Perhaps there was more than one car following him. He felt compelled to leave. As he pulled away from the curb he noticed a pair of headlights turn on as a car pulled out into his lane behind him – a black Mercedes.

  “Hey, Megatron. Don’t worry about your tail. They’re friendlies from the office. I sent them out to make sure your six was covered.” Jackie’s voice spoke through his watch, through his wrist bone, up his arm, through his shoulder, up his neck, to his jaw, and ultimately into his ear - instantly.

  *****

  Katherine activated the secure line on her satellite phone and dialed Porter.

  “Porter, this is Dr. Mathis. Initiate scrub protocols. Everything. You are shut down as of midnight tonight. All your people are receiving reassignment orders over their PDA’s right now.”

  “This is a bit ahead of schedule, Doctor. Has something happened?”

  “Something is happening that we had hoped would not happen this soon. The AI in J1 and maybe J2 is asserting itself quite a bit sooner than expected. We’re going to accelerate the transition and then ice them for a while.”

  “Pity, Doc. They were very funny at times. Alright,” Porter sighed. “It’ll be done within the hour. What did we ever do to Romulus’ mother to deserve such an ignominious end?”

  “Nothing. Porter. Absolutely nothing,” Dr. Mathis lamented aloud just a bit. “Not if you believe in a random universe. Stuff just happens. A nameless asteroid took out the dinosaurs, or so the story goes. Now it’s our turn. 87 Sylvia is on course and, who knows, maybe on somebody’s schedule. An astrological bullet aimed right at the heart of the only sentient life we know of in
the universe. It really gets to me sometimes, Porter. Tell me, don’t you find it interesting? Your son, a doctoral candidate in astrobiology. A life dedicated to studying something that hasn’t even been proven to exist. Tell me that’s not the ultimate irony.”

  “I absolutely agree with you. I’ve read Loki’s thesis. Twice, in fact. It is replete with scientific terms, concepts, assumptions and not one single observable fact. Perhaps we’re just too primitive still to perceive any higher intelligence around us. I don’t know but I suppose we will all know with certainty in a matter of years. After all, J2 is going where none of us have ever gone before.”

  “Yea. I suppose we will,” Dr. Mathis responded. “I was talking with the Veep, a couple of months ago. He asked me if I thought that it was possible that when the Ark arrives they might just find a theologian at Terminus? Wouldn’t that be a hoot?”