by Pond, Simone
Faraday looked at President Sullivan for some direction. But she was gazing longingly at the young Officer. She licked her lips. “You’ve convinced me, Officer West. I agree wholeheartedly with this plan. You have forty-eight hours to extract the information. If you don’t have anything by then, we move forward with the termination of Miss Strader. All in favor?”
The council members raised their hands. Faraday kept his hand pressed against his side, until Sullivan kicked his foot. She quickly adjourned the meeting and went over to assist the nurse with Officer West’s glider chair. What, no chat? His nerves tensed and he couldn’t swallow. He should have been relieved that she had honed in on a new target. But he was jealous.
Just before General Stier exited, Faraday caught his arm. “General, do you have a moment?”
The soldier peered at him over his long sloped nose. “You don’t look so good, Director.”
“I’m fine.”
“Have you slept at all since the attack?”
“Never mind me. Do you think this is a wise move? Keeping the prisoner alive. You know the family’s history with escapes.”
“She’s not going anywhere, Director. And I believe Officer West has finally come around to our side of the table. I see an opportunity and we have nothing to lose by keeping her alive another forty-eight hours. If he can’t get any information, no loss on our part. But we should at least make an attempt.”
Faraday nodded, though he detested the idea. Things could spiral out of control quickly. Nobody could’ve predicted Ava Rhodes escaping the Los Angeles City Center, let alone taking down Morray’s entire empire. Grace could pull off something similar. He’d have no rest until she was gone for good.
24
Ava’s eyes darted back and forth between the two versions of Morray: the one she came with and the one currently running the Los Angeles City Center. Each had similar qualities: black suit, shiny shoes, chiseled jaw, and pale gray eyes. Her version of Morray exuded a more distinguished air, while the original Morray holding a handkerchief up to his bloody nose came off as more impulsive and immature. Something he had learned to control over the decades, with Dickson’s aid. Regardless of the varying stages of Morray, at the core existed an arrogant monster.
Ava’s version of Morray stepped into the office, keeping his gun aimed at her. He was roughed up and bruised from the beat down she gave him in the alley.
“If you had to pick between the two of us, who would it be?” he asked.
She kept her gun pointed at him, glancing over to the original Morray on the couch. “How about neither of you sick bastards,” she said.
“That not very polite,” he replied. “Honestly, he’s a better looking model, but as you just witnessed, he’s still a bit unruly and impulsive.”
Ava tightened her grip, wishing she could take them both out. “Screw you, Morray.”
The original Morray stood up. “Will one of you tell me what the hell is going on?”
Ava’s Morray held out his free hand to stop him from approaching. “Stay right there.” He motioned to his gun, keeping it trained on Ava.
“I demand you tell me who you are and why she keeps calling you Morray. I’m Morray,” he shouted, blood dripping from his nose.
“Hmm, how can I put this in terms that won’t sound like a science fiction movie … I’m you in three hundred years. Different body shell, more life experience,” Morray paused. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t shoot you.”
“Both of you will pay severely for this intrusion. I’ll make sure you’re kept alive and, trust me, it will be a far worse fate.” He pressed his thumb and index finger together. “Dickson, get in here!”
Seconds later, the door opened and Dickson appeared. He briefly froze, eyeing Ava and Morray aiming their guns. He walked over to the original Morray and examined his nose. “Are you okay, sir?”
“I’m fine, but can you tell me what is happening? These residents seem to be glitching out.”
“I’ll handle them, sir.” Dickson faced Ava and Morray. “Do you have any idea what will happen for this outright rebellion? I can assure you, it won’t end well. Put down the guns. You won’t make it out of the building.”
Morray kept his gun on Ava as he studied Dickson, mesmerized. He reached out to touch Dickson’s shoulder. “I apologize for staring, but I’m overwhelmed with memories. It’s been a very, very long time, old friend. I had forgotten what your original shell looked like.”
Dickson stared at Morray, transfixed for a few moments. He released a sigh of laughter. “I did it. I did it!”
Enough of the reunion tour. Ava needed to get to the servers before it was too late. She didn’t want to end up imprisoned in the city center for a second time around. It was time to get back home to Grace and Joseph. Dickson and her version of Morray were preoccupied with each other, while the other Morray stewed in rage, still patting his nose. She sprinted forward to tackle her version of Morray, hoping to knock the gun out of his grip, but he must have sensed her coming. Without taking his eyes off Dickson, his fingers tapped the trigger. The bullet tore into Ava’s thigh and she toppled over. The pain anchored her to the ground.
“What is happening?” the original Morray yelled.
“Calm down. You’ve always been too emotional,” Morray said.
Ava’s vision blurred and the room spun in circles. None of it was real, but the pain was unbelievable. The bullet punctured deep into her flesh, igniting every nerve.
“You asshole!” she screamed.
“Oh, Ava, you know the pain isn’t real.”
“I can’t believe you just shot me!”
“That’s for leaving me in the alley to die.” He returned his attention to Dickson. “I need you to do something with her. Don’t kill her. I want to keep her alive. Put her in one of the containment rooms with an observation window. Assign your best guards on her––she’s a slippery one.”
The original Morray marched over. “I don’t know who you are, or what you’re doing here. But Dickson’s not helping you with anything. You’re going to hand over that gun and turn yourself in immediately.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here and reclaiming my empire. And not only that, I’m getting my son back, if we’re not too late.” He smiled at Dickson and patted his back. “I must say, old friend, you’re a mastermind. I couldn’t have imagined this scenario. Not only did you pull me out of that dreadful oblivion, but you managed to bring me home to start from the beginning.”
Dickson stared blankly at Morray, almost as though he were a computer compiling data. “It worked,” he whispered.
The other Morray shook Dickson’s shoulder. “Wake up, Dickson. You have to do something!”
Morray pointed the gun at his head. “Stay back,” he ordered.
Ava spotted her gun under a chair about five feet away. Ignoring the throbbing pain in her leg, she slowly scooted over to the chair. She snatched the gun and shot at her version of Morray, but the bullet penetrated the wall. The men whipped around. Morray lifted his arm to shoot Ava again, but the original Morray grabbed the barrel of the gun. The two wrestled while Dickson moved out of the way, observing with a strange grin. Why wasn’t he helping either of the men? Ava dragged herself to standing, trying to steady herself for a better shot. Before she could take aim, gunfire rang out and the original Morray collapsed to the floor. Blood poured from a bullet hole in his chest. Her version of Morray quickly turned around to fire at Ava, but she ducked behind the chair for cover.
In the chaos, Dickson had called the guards. They stormed into the room and surrounded Ava and Morray.
“Hold your fire,” Dickson instructed.
One of the men pried the gun from Morray’s hand and cuffed his arms behind his back. Thankfully Morray was weaponless, but why would Dickson order the guards to contain him? A guard pulled her away from the chair and cuffed her wrists. She had trouble balancing with her wounded leg.
&
nbsp; The guard kneeling by the other Morray shouted, “Chief Morray is dead!”
Dickson took control. “Yes, it appears he is. As of this moment, I’m taking over as Chief Dickson. Take these two prisoners and lock them in separate containment rooms. Do not mention a word of this to anyone.”
“What about the Arena event, sir?”
“I’ll handle it. Just get these two out of my office. Not a word to anyone.”
Shock registered on Morray’s pale face. “What’s going on?”
Dickson ignored Morray, sat behind the desk, and began typing into his digi-pad, pulling up multiple screens. Ava didn’t know what was happening, but Dickson clearly wanted nothing to do with either version of Morray. She wondered why he had bothered bringing him back into the program, just to lock him up inside this meta matrix.
“The lady’s injured, sir.”
“I have work to do. Get them into containment. Now,” Dickson ordered, not looking away from the monitors.
“Yes, sir.”
Morray struggled to break away from the guards. “I thought we were working together, Dickson. Isn’t that why you brought me back?”
Without making eye contact, Dickson motioned for the guards to move out. Ava limped between two of the men. Before they reached the door, she turned back to Dickson.
“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I don’t belong here. I have a family waiting for me. I hope you’ll let me go.”
He shook his head. “You might be necessary.”
“Can we just end this now? You got what you wanted.”
“And what is that?”
“To step out of Morray’s shadow.”
Dickson had achieved something that was beyond her level of comprehension. He had found a way to infiltrate the mainframe, merging his entire consciousness and essence––from across all time––into the network coding.
He had become the coding.
“Perceptive as usual. I was always most proud of you, Ava. You were my masterpiece.”
She tensed up, hating the fact that she had been designed by Dickson’s programming codes, and that her DNA had been manipulated to create a specialized human being. She just wanted to be normal. Old insecurities started to rise and she felt herself slipping into the prison of her own mind.
Dickson smiled politely. “You may have dismantled the system out there, but in here, I have everything I need to start fresh. I plan to implement my learnings across the network. To begin anew, so to speak.”
Ava didn’t want to hear about Dickson’s plans. “Please let me go. I need to get back to my daughter and husband.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”
“Nothing ever is with you or Morray.”
Dickson waved the guards off and they dragged Ava down the hall toward the elevator.
*
In the containment room, Ava stretched out on the table and ripped apart the pant leg of her jumpsuit, examining the wound in her thigh. The bullet was lodged somewhere in the muscle mass and she needed to get it out. She didn’t want to take any risks. If she died inside the mainframe, most likely her consciousness would vaporize, and her body on the outside would die.
Using some pieces of material from her jumpsuit, she tied a band around her upper thigh as a tourniquet. There wasn’t anything in the room to use to remove the bullet. But the Beautifier had used multiple clips in her hair. She tugged at the bun, extracting the clips from the tangled mess. They’d be sharp enough to prod into the hole and dig out the bullet. Without something to numb it first, it was going to be very unpleasant.
“It’s not real,” she whispered.
She used the longest clip like a clamp to spread apart the skin, then she used a more slender, tweezer-like pair to pinch down into the hole. Her nerves sizzled like hot lava. She went into the wound, holding back a screech, as sweat dripped down her face. Each excruciating second made it more difficult to concentrate. There’d be only one chance to remove the slug, because she wouldn’t have the strength to make a second attempt.
“It’s not real!” she shouted.
With precision, she plunged deeper into the wound, pinched the tiny piece of metal between the clips and pulled it out. The edges of the room blurred and she fell backward, smashing her head against the table. At least the splitting pain in her skull distracted her from the blazing fire in her leg.
After a few minutes, the intense throbbing dulled and she sat up, tightening the pieces of material wrapped around her upper thigh. The hole oozed blood and still needed to be sterilized before the mess got infected. “It doesn’t even matter.” She croaked out a laugh. Her neck muscles relaxed and her shoulders drooped. “I won’t be in this program much longer, anyway.”
25
Grace curled up on the cell floor, still ruminating on the footage Faraday had shown her. She hoped it was a simulation and that her father and Lucas were alive. It was impossible to conceive the natives breaking into the city center and executing such an attack. Everything had been too perfectly timed and precisely orchestrated. They were incredible warriors, but they didn’t have access to technology––they didn’t even believe in technology. Additionally, they had nothing to gain by killing the council members. Committing such a violent act would initiate a war––one they’d never survive. The natives didn’t want a war. But Faraday did. And the quickest way to start one would be setting up a false flag.
Faraday could’ve used some of his own mercenaries to infiltrate the tribes throughout the Pacific Northwest Region. His men would be able to convince the more aggressive natives to get on board with the attack. Faraday’s conspiracy was flimsy at best. He relied on too many unstable factors to create his illusion. Even if the natives obtained and operated a copter, where did they get access codes to enter the city center? He claimed that Grace had supplied them, but only Officers had access codes. It was the first time she was glad not to have the title of Officer.
There was enough reasonable doubt to save her from termination, but what did it matter? She couldn’t reach anyone and the electric shock component of the cell made it impossible for an escape. Faraday would keep her silenced until he got the council to vote in favor of termination. She would die without a chance to defend herself. The war would ensue, Faraday would become the President of the Pacific Northwest, and Christian’s future would no longer be his own. Grace wasn’t a defeatist, but there was absolutely no way out of this predicament. It’d take an act of providence, and she had already blown through those.
A stream of light came from the shadowy hallway. Someone in a glider chair approached the cell.
Grace dropped to her knees in overwhelming relief. “Lucas! You’re alive.”
He situated the glider in front of the cell. “Barely.”
“You’re injured.” She stared at the wrapping on his neck and the patch over his eye. “But this means the attack was real. Please tell me my father’s still alive.”
Lucas shook his head.
Grace folded forward and curled into herself. Nothing could hold together the shattering pieces of her heart. Her father was gone. Gone. He’d never take another breath of air, walk into a room, or give her one of his tremendous hugs. The person she admired more than any other human was gone. Gone. The man who trained her in sword fighting. The one who believed she’d become a mighty soldier. The person who taught her conviction and determination, along with love and kindness. How could such a powerful existence be no more? She sobbed, unable to contain the emotions thundering through her body.
“I’m sorry, Grace. I know how important he was to you. He died a hero’s death,” Lucas said gently.
After she got a hold of herself, she looked up at her boyfriend and placed her hand over her chest, wincing at his injuries. “Are you okay?”
“I am now. Almost didn’t make it. Your father saved my life.”
“You’re all I have left.” She stood up, getting as close to the glass as possible without touching it. “
I wish I could hold you. I can’t believe this happened. I feel so helpless in this stupid cell.” She began to cry again.
“Grace, pull yourself together. I need you to pay attention. Things aren’t looking so good for you.”
“Yeah, I know. Faraday already gave me the highlights reel. It’s awful. I had nothing to do with any of it. I’m just Faraday’s patsy. I’m going to be terminated for something I didn’t do. I don’t deserve to die. Nobody does.”
Lucas glanced at the floor. Did he think she had something to do with the attack? Had Faraday poisoned him? He couldn’t possibly think she was involved. Lucas was her only hope of getting the truth to the right people and she needed him on her side. Though she might not live to see another day, Faraday had to be stopped.
“You don’t think I had anything to do with this––do you? Because I didn’t. You know me, Lucas! I might make some questionable moves, but nothing like this. My father is dead!”
“Of course I don’t think you did it. But the whole situation is very odd.” He stared at the cement floor.
Paranoia started to set in. Lucas knew she’d never commit treason, so why was he acting so hesitant and distant? She questioned the rules, but she would never plot a murderous attack to break them.
Grace took a few steps back. “You don’t sound very convinced, Officer.”
“I believe you, Grace. But it doesn’t matter what I think,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.
“You don’t think the natives did this on their own, do you? There’s no way they could’ve done this without Faraday’s help. He staged the attack so he’d have a reason to go to war with them.”
Lucas averted his gaze, intentionally not making eye contact. Like he deliberately wanted her to think he didn’t believe her. Maybe he was trying to tell her something?
“What’s going on, Lucas?” What was really going on underneath all the non-verbal weirdness?
“We’re going to war, no matter what. The evidence shows that the natives carried out the attack. And somehow Faraday’s convinced the council that you orchestrated it. They’re going to have you terminated.”