Recalling Destiny

by Michael Blinkhoff

  “Ok,” she reminded herself to ask later about that one. “Why are we hiding down here anyway?” Catlin asked.

  “Probably because if the government got their hands on this technology they’d most certainly abuse it. Like I said, I work in here, but from what I understand the technology we have here is virtually limitless.”

  “And we don’t abuse that?”

  “Touché,” he acknowledged. “Although my distaste for modern governments leads me to think they would most certainly abuse the power here, to continue to persecute, control and manipulate the populace they apparently serve.”

  “Wow, sounds like you have a grudge against someone.”

  “I’m just informed, that’s all. People think politicians serve them when in all reality, it’s the people who serve them. The many prop up the few, who coincidentally make all the rules and tell the many how to behave. I’m more for independent thinking, like I said, I’m an adult.”

  “I thought the government didn’t know what really went on here anyway?”

  “Well, they don’t, but they do if you know what I mean?”

  “I don’t.”

  “From what I understand we do contract work for them, find things out for them, special tasks et cetera. Now, all that comes from the facilities upstairs … but the government is not stupid.” He leant in to whisper in her ear, “thanks to a certain someone who used to work here, they may have learnt about a few of our extracurricular activities.”

  “Why use the government anyway?”

  “Got to make money to pay for all this right?”

  “I guess, but who said money really makes things happen.”

  “It’s the current means of slavery, agreed, it gets results though.”

  “How do you know all this stuff anyway?”

  “Now I actually don’t know a lot about that side of things …. but, I am a Doctor. And everyone must have their check-ups, right?” he smiled and winked at her.

  “People tell you things when they come to visit?” Catlin caught on quickly.

  “People need their check-ups,” he smiled. “And I need to check their mental state.”

  “I got it.”

  “That’s usually how I find out about what goes on out there.”

  “And what are people like in here?”

  “Well, if you mean from a medical perspective, I can tell you the biggest problem down here is claustrophobia.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “But … we have a cure for that!”

  “Cure?”

  “Well actually, think of it more of an adjustment.”

  “You mean you can alter claustrophobic anxiety?”

  “Of course, we can change almost anything down here,” he leant in close. “Want me to change any of yours?”

  “Don’t have any,” she replied confidently.

  He huffed and smiled, but didn’t venture further on the subject.

  “Well I thank you for being so forthcoming with me, this is all very confusing.”

  “Not a problem!” He clapped his hands together, stood up from the chair and went over to a tray resting on the bed. “Now … time for shots, he, he!” he said, brandishing a large syringe.

  “Paul, I just have one more question for you?”

  “What’s that my dear?” He said, about to jab her with a syringe.

  “Why am I here?”

  - -

  SMith

  Crack, crack!

  Smith’s head moves sideways at the sound of gunfire, he turns and briskly makes his way along the side of the building towards the back steps. Something’s happening inside the building as more gunshots start to ring out from within. Smith is starting to believe it’s likely one of the team has been shot, or worse.

  He makes his way towards the back door and just as he’s about five feet from the entrance, he hears a whooshing sound faintly in the air. He stops himself just before a body comes hurtling down in front of him, smashing into the pavement.

  He pauses momentarily, recognising the body of Pigeon and looks above from whence the body has come.

  He leaps over the body in a single jump, catches the fire stairwell ladder affixed to the building and quickly ascends upward, not even taking a second look as he does so. He climbs quickly, hearing more shots ring out from within the building.

  He hits the roof and immediately sees a figure, shrouded in the darkness, creeping along the roof towards the front of the building. The roof has been built with tiles on an incline, the black mould covering the surface showing the tiles to be old. The man moves quietly and stealthily, trying not to give away his position as he stalks the front of the building from above. Smith notices his all black attire, large frame and the outline of a silenced rifle in his hands.

  Smith doesn’t hesitate when he notices the gun, he moves toward the shadowed figure with an almost casual debonair. He moves slowly and purposefully, creeping up on the dark figure patiently. The dark figure is preoccupied, trying to scope out targets in the street below, Smith knows he must be searching for him.

  As Smith gets closer he reaches out to touch the shadowed man on the neck, just as the crash of a door opening sounds from below. The sound must’ve come from the back door of the building and echoes out loudly in the still of the night.

  The shadowed figure halts warily at the sound, as does Smith. Then the sound of Truck’s voice rings out from below, cursing at what he must’ve witnessed below. The shadowed man turns where he stands and looks back in the direction the sound has come from and is surprised to see he is not alone on the rooftop.

  Without thinking the shadowed figure fires a shot from his rifle, which at such close range, has nowhere else to go but straight into Smith. It lodges itself silently in his stomach.

  “Don’t move, don’t speak.” a voice hisses out, challenging Smith in a South African accent.

  Smith doesn’t move.

  “Aha, Smith hey?” The voice calls out in surprise as he recognises him, “what a strange place to be meeting you again, hey boy.”

  Smith, despite the rifle pointed at him, now moves forward towards the guy, until his face comes into view. “Viper.” he says aloud, recalling what Harrison dug up on his phone earlier.

  “Yeah boy, you found yourself some trouble now hey?”

  No response from Smith as the Viper turns fully around to see him, gun raised and now aimed at his chest.

  “Still trying to pull bank jobs boy? Heard the last one went well.” The Viper laughs aloud, hands still clenching his rifle. “I know some guys going to pay me well for your head, they say you ripped them off and put an open bounty on your head.”

  Smith still doesn’t move or say anything, just continues to stare at the Viper solemnly.

  “You never were one for words, ja?”

  “Ja.” Smith replies loudly, mimicking and mocking his voice.

  “The hell you say boy?” His grip on the rifle tightens.

  Smith doesn’t reply, only smiles rather placidly and then takes a step forward, towards the Viper.

  “Surely not.” The Viper says, thinking that Smith means to take him on at gunpoint. “Your friends are all dead you know, you’re the last on the list.”

  Smith stops, less than a foot away from the gun.

  “Such a weak man Smith. You know, considering your size I would’ve thought more of you, but you are nothing. Such a bloody waste man!” He spits on the roof tiles in disgust, “well I guess none of this matters anyway, you’ve lost this one … again!”

  Smith stands, still and stoic.

  The Viper can’t quite understand the man, “why do you not fear me hey boy? Is it because you think we are friends, or are you just bloody stupid man? What?”

  “Don’t know.” Smith replies.

  “Em
pty your pockets first, weapons?”

  Smith looks up at the Viper, noticing the bulge in his side pocket, but makes no move to comply with the Viper’s orders. The Viper, eying him carefully, follows his gaze and notices Smith’s eyes transfixed on his pockets.

  “Ah, you came for this hey?” He smiles, tapping the small bulge in his thigh pocket, “too bad man, the device is mine now.”

  “Device.” Smith repeats the words.

  “Ja. I got it hey. You were too slow.”

  “Send the device to the kid.” Smith says aloud, looking around him.

  “Huh?”

  Smith remains silent, looking down at the Viper and his gun with a blank stare, his face devoid of any signs of thought or emotion.

  “Screw it then boy ... any last words?”

  “Take hand.” Smith stretches his hand out as if to shake the Viper’s hand.

  “Piss off man!” The Viper baulks, “what do you think you are doing?”

  Smith just stands there, hand outstretched and when the Viper doesn’t take it he asks, “need pen?”

  “You’re a weird one Smith. I seen some crazies in my time but you take the cake, ja. You want a pen? What for?”

  “Need pen?”

  “Ja, I have a pen. But I’m not giving it to you hey.”

  “Please?”

  “Man.” The Viper spits again, “do you not remember me? Who I am?”

  “No.”

  “Ha, and you want to know hey?”

  “Yes, take hand.” Smith persists, still holding his hand out.

  “Ja, we’ve met before.” He waves the hand away.

  “Destiny?”

  “Get this right huh, one day this guy comes up to me claiming all sorts of wild shit about the world, serious stuff about some stupid place he kept calling Destiny. None of this I understand, too much bloody technical talk for me, I’m a soldier man. But what I did understand, once he showed me the real truth, was that I no longer had a future in my life. He told me this life was over because someone had planned to kill me that very same day …”

  Smith smiles, almost knowingly.

  “Find that bloody funny do you, hey?”

  His attention diverted by Smith for a moment, the Viper is now looking well over the lens of his rifle as he tells the story, consequently the point of the barrel lowers. Smith senses his opportunity and reacts quickly by raising his foot and slamming it back down hard onto the roof tiles, causing them to shatter under his weight.

  The Viper is also quick to react, firing a shot off his rifle. His aim is off, but the bullet still strikes Smith to his side.

  The shot takes some of the momentum out of Smith’s stride as it hits him, but he continues to pound the roof with his boot until he breaks through the tiling, creating a hole. It has an instant effect, causing the rest of the tiles to cascade and fall as they slide off the roof. The Viper’s unable to let off another shot and he loses his footing with the sliding tiles.

  Smith sees his chance and dives forward with an outstretched hand, consequently plummeting into the body of the Viper. But it’s not a charge designed to wind or attack him, it’s only so Smith can touch him. Confused at Smith’s actions, but still spurred into action, the Viper kicks him off and jumps on top of him with ease.

  They roll on the roof of the building together in a mess, arms of both men waving in all directions as they try to get a hold on something. The Viper loses control of the rifle and instead launches as many punches as he can, whilst Smith seems to be doing nothing to defend himself.

  The roof keeps falling away but Smith and the Viper roll out of harm’s way, coming to a halt together to the left of the hole that’s been created.

  Once they’re out of danger the Viper moves quickly and freely as Smith appears to be distracted, seemingly no longer interested in the Viper. He’s bent over and facing the other way.

  The Viper utilises the moment, grabbing Smith’s arm and rolling over on it, locking his legs over Smith’s arm in a jujitsu manoeuvre. Smith wriggles a little in the Viper’s grip, but still seems largely disinterested in what he’s doing, almost as if he has no care for self-preservation.

  The Viper doesn’t think twice, he steadies himself and quickly snaps Smith’s arm backwards at the elbow.

  Smith’s elbow makes a blood chilling, sharp, shattering crack as his arm is snapped in two. Smith clutches the injured arm to his chest, holding it with his other hand, but doesn’t let out a scream. The Viper, satisfied he’s disabled Smith, rolls off him and springs back to his feet, turning to reach for his rifle.

  “Sousa! See as seen.” Smith says calmly, laying there clutching his injured arm.

  “What the bloody hell you talking about man?” He replies, retrieving his rifle. “you’re a bloody crazy one you know that?”

  Smith smiles back at him.

  “I remember we had a fight once before and you did nothing then hey, you some sort of pussy hey?”

  Smith doesn’t say anything, only gets back onto his knees like he did earlier. The Viper looks at him strangely, noticing that Smith now holds a pen in his hand.

  His pen.

  The Viper moves backwards as he sees it, out of reach in case Smith tries to pull the same manoeuvre and checks the pocket he thought his pen was in. “What the hell is wrong with you man? What game are you playing?”

  “Sousa is the key. Send the …”

  “You stole my pen, what the hell man?”

  Smith only looks up at him plainly, the smile now gone.

  “You could’ve had me there, why didn’t you attack me? Why the hell you take the pen instead hey?”

  “Cannot harm.”

  “You cannot harm.” The Viper mocks him, mimicking Smith’s voice.

  “Sousa.”

  “What is that now?” The Viper looks over the sights of the rifle, noticing that Smith now has something written on his arm.

  “What is that shit?”

  “Thank, Sousa.”

  “What did you write there, on your arm, what is that?”

  Smith doesn’t hesitate, he obliges by lifting his arm to show what he has written there.

  The Viper, looks at it for a second and only shakes his head as he reads it. “Right man, whatever. Time for you to go.”

  “Thank, Sousa.”

  “For what? Damn idiot.”

  “Sousa is the key.”

  “Key to what?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Ha!” he laughs.

  “Write, remember.” he shows the arm again.

  “Ja, well shit load of good that’s going to do when you’re dead boy.”

  “Sousa is the key.”

  “I ain’t key to anything buddy, you just damn crazy.”

  And with that the Viper angled the rifle upwards, bringing the sights to rest between Smith’s eyes. He doesn’t fire straight away, he savours the moment, licking his lips in anticipation.

  And then squeezes the trigger ever so slightly. Smith, smiling, makes no moves.

  The rifle fires, at point blank range, right into Smith’s head.

  - -

  Catlin

  “Ok Ms, now move to the left a little, that’s it ... now hold that.” Ursula instructed Catlin. “The pigmentation just to the left.”

  “What exactly am I looking for?” Catlin replied, sweat pouring from her forehead as she manned one of the stations at Destiny.

  “See the grey thinning line here?” She pointed to her screen.

  She saw it, “oh yes, there it is.”

  “Lock on target, use that button … that’s it,” she guided her. “There’s a zoom function here.”

  Catlin had no idea what she was doing, this was her first foray into Destiny, or what everyone else here was calling the thre
ad. On her first day, after meeting with the doctor, she’d been given a pile of books by Jenny and told that she had to read through them before she could start.

  But after just three days and a stream of constant questions Jenny had called in Ma’am for backup, complaining Catlin was too much to handle. Catlin argued she’d never been much of a book reader, more the type to learn on her feet. Eventually she convinced Ma’am to allow her to get on the console and try for herself.

  Ma’am had freed Ursula of regular duties and instructed her to take Catlin through how Destiny worked, particularly how the thread operated. Ma’am had introduced her as Station Eight but after they were left alone Catlin managed to get out that her real name was Ursula.

  The installation setup wasn’t too hard for Catlin to understand, the main operations room formed the basis of the facility. The room that most intrigued her though was commonly called ‘the thread room’. The thread room was the room that housed the actual thread itself, Ma’am had been the first to show it to her.

  “Try to imagine something like this. If you can connect your computer to an I.S.P then you can access the world wide web right?”

  “Yeah,” she replied, looking at a box shape that’d been cut into the wall, separated by glass panelling, housing a mysterious blue light.

  Ma’am had indicated just inside the box. “If you look inside Ms you will see a small black device on the bottom, do you see it?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, that little device allows us to tap into that world wide web.”

  “That’s it?” Catlin asked.

  “That’s the device and the thread, yes.”

  She leaned over and looked inside the shelf to see a small black box and a series of wires that ran from it to another on the desk that was inside the room.

  “So, this is what we call the device, it transmits the raw data from the thread and sends it to a mainframe, which is Station Eight.” She pointed to the operational floor, “and from there, various data gets sent to the other stations for follow up. We use an image translator to decipher it here at Eight, the translator then effectively deciphers it into a video.”