I could sneak into my department office.
The man will consider his desperate idea while the flying bus flies over the working-class neighborhoods.
Sleep hidden.
Then, he will resign himself to the conclusion that the agency’s men will most likely be far more dangerous guards than the “sgrunf.” When, at the last stop, twenty minutes after midnight, the speaker will report that it is mandatory to get out, only four people out of eighty seats in the cabin, will exit onto the ramp.
What now?
He will find himself in the station near the terminal, in a suburb he had never visited before, looking decidedly dilapidated. It will be cold.
I need to find a place to sleep.
He will drop the wool cap over his forehead and raise the collar of the jacket, both to protect himself from the humidity of the evening and to be less recognizable. He will cross the courtyard, watching the few passengers who got off with him disappearing in different directions. He will enter the gardens of the small station, practically deserted, except for a couple of bums sleeping on the benches.
Am I going to end up like this tonight?
He will cross the haze-shrouded, dimly lit gardens, entering a small square from which will branch out some narrow streets leading to depressing areas of the suburbs, old, abandoned factories and barges.
“I would probably have done it too” he will say, raising his head to meet her eyes. “I accept this, and that is fine. Second, I don’t have time to waste, I’m here for work and not to bother with a little girl, which I’m not sure you’re sorry about. So, your aggression wastes my time. And that, I don’t accept. My time is very valuable.”
The girl will cross her arms over her chest, looking at him defiantly.
“What I meant,” the man will continue, “is that this place is not suitable for the technical conversation that we must have, and I fear that you have greatly underestimated the complexity of the assignment for which I have engaged you, paying you a figure certainly higher than you have ever earned in your short professional experience. Remember, I’m the client, and you’re the supplier, and I’m not used to paying to get sarcastic jokes about my sexual tastes, which you know nothing about. As far as I’ve seen up to now, I can’t honestly say that you particularly impressed me. So, make a decision: either grow up quickly, or I invite you to return my advance to me.”
The girl will extend her arms and put them on the table. Inhaling, she will carefully look at the man in front of her, her own purse, his communicator, the red button on one side of the table, then the door behind her. Finally, exhaling, she will take a knife and a banana from the table, and after cutting it in half will offer a piece to the man standing in front of her.
“Maybe we started off on the wrong foot.”
Did we?
“You know, I get a tremendous hunger when I’m nervous. Do you want any?”
“No, thank you.”
“Well, sit down.” With the two pieces of the banana in her hands, she’ll look at the standing man. “Please.”
“I think you have a little personality problem,” the man will state, sitting down.
“Yes.” The girl will talk while chewing a bite of the fruit. “You’re not the first one to tell me. My best friend thinks so too. The one with the short hair, the one you saw today, you know?”
Left alone, in the middle of the square, he will look around without seeing a living soul. He will remain huddled in his jacket, in the dark, with his collar raised and his hands in his pockets. He will turn to observe the tree branches in the dew-covered gardens and the silent side streets shrouded in haze. Then he will notice, on the corner, a pub’s yellow lights filtering from the windows on the street.
The man will also watch her eat the second piece of banana, offering her a drink. Excellent white wine.
“How much time do we have?”
“As much as you want. The place closes at 4:00. Tell me what you need.”
The man will take a glass of wine, smiling.
“Oh, you’re definitely optimistic about your ability to analyze the problem.”
“I’m a quick one. They say.”
Fast.
“Have you ever built software drawings for a sniper rifle?”
The girl will shake her head, swallowing the last bite and throwing the peel in a wastebasket.
“Ah, no. What is needed?” she will comment, opening a small screen in front of her.
And arrogant.
“Take note. Let’s start with the basics,” the man will say, relaxing and resting his head on the soft pillows. The music of the nightclub will be decidedly muffled.
“First of all, the rifle is just part of the project, which you’re part of.”
“And where do I find this rifle?”
“It doesn’t exist.”
The girl will raise her head from the video screen on which she will be writing notes.
“Not yet at least. They’re making it happen.”
“Who?”
“Nobody that matters to you. A woman friend of mine.”
“All right. But what do I integrate the software with?”
“I brought you the drawings. And if you have any doubts, you will only have to talk to me.”
The girl will take the minidisk from the man’s hand, the size of the nail of a little finger, and insert it into her display, then manipulate the patterns in the holographic space with interest.
But good.
Thursday, 00:39 a.m.
The night will be cold, and the sky will turn white when the quarter moon sets. The clouds will let the stars shine through in that suburban area, where light pollution will be less pronounced. The man will walk with his hands in his vest pockets, crossing the street, bent under the lamppost, the bag in his hand. He will open the orange glass door, taking off his wool cap and entering the room.
A little hot.
A hallway will lead to a large room where four men will be playing at an old billiards table. In the central hall, several wooden tables will be occupied by patrons drinking beer. Whiley will prefer the side section, where he will find a free table, sitting at the back, towards the window, from where he can watch the entrance to the room.
I have to eat something.
The music, dispersed by the speakers of a large holographic projector at the end of the central hall, will accompany a barely-dressed wriggling girl singing a song from a few years earlier, circling among the tables. Behind the bar counter, a man with a pair of long sideburns will serve beer on trays, yelling orders at a young man at the back and passing the trays to a couple of waitresses who will serve at the tables. A blonde, white, middle-aged woman, with an experienced look, will serve beer to a patron, passing in front the unrestrained singer, amid the protests and irrepressible laughter of a group of three guys, clearly a little high. Whiley will put down the bag and jacket when a black woman with curly hair arrives at the table with a fixed smile:
“What can I bring you?”
“I’m hungry. What’s good here? Can you advise me?”
The black woman, a beautiful face under a mass of raven hair, will indicate a couple of sandwiches on the menu.
“Well, look, I don’t mind that, and the potatoes aren’t bad, with sauce, at least.”
She may not be a marketing expert, but she seems sincere.
“I’ll go for number thirty-two, then.”
“And to drink?” the black woman will ask.
For half an hour, the man will illustrate the images and the girl will look at drawings, diagrams, and data tables.
“Let’s start from the basics, as I said,” the man will continue. “The rifle will only be part of a much more complex project. Your program will have to take into account my equipment, which will consist essentially of four basic parts: binoculars, camouflage kit, cleaning and setting devices, and the holographic support of integrated data management.”
“Equipment. Four components,” t
he girl will echo.
“That’s right.” The man will sample the pistachios. “Then you’ll have to take into account the night devices. I haven’t decided yet, but maybe I’ll work at night. Anyway, it’s a possibility.”
The girl will nod, barely convinced.
“This means that you’ll have to take into account two elements,” the man will continue. “Light-intensifying devices, and heat-detecting devices. In addition, there will, of course, be binocular intensification systems, face mask, supports, infrared illuminators, and an electroluminescence watch.”
“A watch. Well, I don’t think it’s that complex.”
The man, without commenting, will take a slice of pineapple.
“Well, in this section, you see the calculator. It will be a normal processor bought on the market; the compass will be inserted here, the stopwatch here; this is the directional window, and these are the anti-glare lenses.” Holden will comment on all definitions, and the girl will take note. “Then, I need the protective elements for escape. These will be of two types: alarm bells and anti-intrusion mines. So, the software will have to ensure that within a certain perimeter, I’ll be notified if someone violates the security space, and I can trigger mines of different kinds.”
“Such as?”
“Smoke bombs, tear gas, or anti-personnel, things like that. Nothing that concerns you. You just have to take the activation systems into account.”
“I can’t work well if I don’t know the details,” the girl will protest.
“A beer, ma’am, thank you. Medium. Red, if you have it, please?”
The black woman will look at him, astonished. She won’t be used to being addressed formally, let alone as ma’am.
The blond man with tired eyes and a fatigued face will examine the recordings once again, sending the images to the computer. He will take surveillance camera data, manipulating the holographic space with his hands, and moving it from the center to the side screen. A colleague of his will be sleeping on a cot, snoring slightly. He will once again look at the data of a dozen surveillance cameras at the flying bus stations, comparing the images of the man by his side, on the left. The hologram will walk down a street, a blond man with long, straight hair, sports clothes, white sweater around the neck, and velvet trousers. The walk, recorded the previous morning, will be retrieved by a camera on the way to the Medoc offices. The blond man will request control of the images on the computer, which, based on the information, will select twelve recordings. Other human figures will walk around the room, and the blond man will observe them wearily, noticing a certain resemblance to the first on the left. At the twelfth recording, the blond man will almost fall from the chair. The central hologram, though a little blurry, will show a man climbing into a jet, mixing into the crowd. The blond man will turn off the other twelve human figures and move the initial image in space alongside the last. He will select a section of about three seconds in both recordings, and make the two holograms move through space several times, in a continuous loop, comparing the gait, posture, height, and features of the face, when observable. After about five minutes of careful viewing, he will open the door and rush into the hallway.
“Mr. Daft, we’ve a confirmed image!” he will shout, looking out the door down the hall, “About eleven hours ago, sir, at a flying bus station!”
The tight trousers will cling to the black woman’s thighs in a way that the three guys at the table will deem worthy of spicy comments.
The man will watch the girl.
Good, Kane.
The man will open other sheets, widely illustrating the characteristics and operating mechanisms of anti-intrusion systems.
“Time is passing, my dear,” he will say after a while. “We must move if we don’t want to work until dawn. Mom doesn’t yell at you if you’re late, does she?
The girl will look at him, and he will pass her a pistachio, smiling.
“Now pay attention, an interesting part is coming. I’m probably going to need a system that puts a relaxing drug in my body. When you shoot, there are three elements that are difficult to control: breathing, finger pressure on the trigger, and muscles. These three things can make your life difficult if the shot is at long range, and if the waiting time before shooting is very long. So the software will have to monitor my biological parameters.”
“Biological parameters,” she will repeat.
“Keep in mind that shooting will probably take place from a prone position known as Hawkins position; here you can see the details. So the software will have to monitor a number of the parameters shown here, see? Eye relief, parallax error, parallax adjustment on the telescope, stressful breath control, trigger pressure control, and so on.”
The man will patiently answer the girl’s many questions. She will have lifted her shirt due to the heat.
“Let us now come to this very delicate part: camouflage.”
The man will get up and walk to stretch his legs.
“The program will have to monitor the target indicators, which consist essentially of three elements: shine or refraction, profile, and contrast. See? This is called a ghillie suit, and it’s a kind of camouflage suit. I’m going to have to make it to measure.”
“Something like the green and brown military jumpsuits that you see in documentaries, those guys with twigs on their heads?” the girl will ask, raising her head.
“Well, yes, something like that.”
One of the three will touch the woman’s butt while she is bent down to pick up the dishes, causing an explosion of laughter from his two companions. Maybe they’ve had a little too much.
“Try it again, and I’ll cut that hand off, all right?” the black woman will yell, turning with a table knife in her hand. The young people will continue to laugh, while the boy will seem even more pleased.
“Guys, come on, stop this,” Whiley will say.
The boy will stop laughing. “What the fuck did you say?”
“I just said it’s a nice evening. It’s not worth ruining it, don’t you think?”
The boy will get up with his fists clenched, looking at the blond man sitting in front of him. He definitely doesn’t look like he’s used to fighting.
“And who the fuck are you to give me orders?”
“No orders, just advice.”
“Hey, do you hear this asshole? Stick your advice in your ass, okay?”
The black woman will take the boy’s arm.
“Come on, sit down, and let’s not have a scene, okay?”
“What’s going on there? If you have something to discuss, go outside. I don’t want any disturbance in my club!” the man with the sideburns will shout.
“This asshole started it. Do you understand, asshole? If you want to argue with me, come outside.”
“There’s nothing to discuss. It’s all right,” the black woman will say, putting her hand on the young man’s forearm. “Come on, guys, how do you want this beer?”
“He’s just a poor asshole. Forget it,” the boy on his left will comment, pounding a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
Whiley will think of the pulse gun in the inner pocket of his jacket, then lower his head and continue to eat his potatoes, looking away.
The muscular man will listen with drowsy eyes to the brown-haired man ordering him to look for more clues.
“Where did this flying bus go?”
The man will cross his arms over his chest.
“I’ll probably be in an urban environment there, so I’ll have to study that exact vegetation.”
“Ah, okay.”
Blessed ignorance.
“So, you want some kind of alarm, for example, if your profile is more or less visible, a bit like in holographic video games, where there’s a red or green bar indicator that tells you how much others see you, right?”
Wow, she’s good.
“That’s a good idea. The system will have to take into account these five fundamental parameters: my movement, if any, my visi
bility with respect to the background environment, my position and any reflections, my image on the horizon and the profile, and any noise I produce.”
“That’s because someone might look for or detect something that looks like a sniper. That is, you,” the girl will say putting a hand on her chin, thoughtfully. “And maybe they could use scanners and satellites to detect...”
“Yes.”
“And have you thought about body heat, if they use infrared?” she will ask suddenly.
Definitely good.
“I haven’t found the solution yet. I’m working on it. Maybe I’ll use a covered position.”
“Covered position?”
“It means a built structure, a fixed position from which to shoot.”
“And in a covered position I could do something to solve this problem too,” the man will say thoughtfully in turn. “But we’ll get to that later. Let’s stick to the basics for now.”
The girl will ask many more questions about the images projected from the disk into the holographic space.
“... And then, you have to consider the four parameters that will condition the shot at long distance.”
“That is...?”
“It’s the line for Brookfield.”
The man with brown hair will raise his head, taking another file from an open sheet in the holographic space. After looking at it, he will turn to the blond man, standing beside him.
“And here he took money from his account. How much money?”
Futura: Parallel Universes. Book 1 Page 18