The woman will sign off before she hears the cough.
The two will walk through the yard towards the porch, illuminated by the rays of the sun that will be falling on the horizon, behind the trees along the avenue.
“Let’s go into the house. What time do you have to make your call?”
The man will look at his watch, then at the little girl playing on the porch. “In an hour, just about.” He will put his hands in his pocket, inhaling the air, a slight humid breeze. “Do you mind if I keep Niki company for a while?”
The woman will look at him, surprised. “Well... If you want. Yes, of course.”
“Yes, I need to be alone a while to reflect. And I want to get some air and relax my mind for a while,” the man will say, looking at the yard. “I have to relax for a moment. If it’s not a problem for you.”
The woman will look at him, then at the little one under the porch.
“Whatever you want,” she will comment, finally. “No problem.”
The black woman will be standing in front of the window, watching the courtyard from behind the pink curtains, softened by time.
The little girl will smile as she stretches her legs towards the sky, gripping the handles of the old swing tightly. The man, behind her, will push her rhythmically. The two are talking about something that the little girl evidently finds interesting.
Who pays almost two thousand dollars to sleep a couple of nights on a broken-spring couch?
The woman will rethink her life, her youthful experiences, and the times when she found herself sleeping outside her own bed, in rather precarious hospitality conditions, so to speak. She will remember well the nights and the men, all the same, the stories she told as a girl with friends, when she thought about leaving that neighborhood and traveling. She had made trips, yes, but only with the help of a few pills with some filth brought in by friends, when it was still fashionable to do so. And then she will remember the passing of the years, and the mistakes of youth, for which she will not feel any kind of nostalgia.
He’s a strange guy. What’s he hiding?
189 days earlier
The sunlight on the bay will sparkle on the waves on that windy day in Yeşilköy, Bakırköy District in Istanbul. The girl with long black hair sitting on the veranda will put her personal display on the table under the pergola and open the holographic game, making the three-dimensional plan of Kasserine’s step appear on the brown background, then moving the three-dimensional tokens on the holographic space, which will display the situation of the game theater on February 14, 1943. The girl’s hands will quickly move the pawns of the Kampfgruppe Reimann and Gerhardt, causing them to form a pincer movement with those of the Kampfgruppe Schutte, and Stenkhoff in the location marked on the map as Sidi Bou Zid, in the inner plain of the Atlas. The girl will observe the simulation of the tactical move and will watch the battle unfold without particular interest. Explosions will break out on the table men in uniform will run into the barren ground, gunshots and shouts will be heard. She will observe the sequence of orders given to the units, the effects of near-complete destruction of two American armored battalions, and the encirclement of American infantry units. At the end of the move, before the artillery setting and aerial reconnaissance phase, the girl will put a hand on the screen, slide the battle order index, and find the company she is interested in. With the other hand, she will take the encrypted file and put it into the command tank’s orders. Then, she will assemble the move, inserting a single comment word.
Hudel
Then, exhaling, she will send the holographic move, watching the tanks disappear in transparency on the sea.
Few offices will be open in Rome at seven thirty in the evening of that weekday in May. The magistrate will sit in the dusty office at the Federal Counterterrorism Directorate, looking at the blackboard. Through the glass of the closed door at the end of the room, in the light of the corridor, he will see the shadow of some passing person and insert the headset to isolate the sound of the communication program.
She will also remember that she had struggled to hide her mistakes, and suffered when someone later, coincidentally, or on purpose, tried to learn more. Difficult to find a regular job, to make a new life. She had discovered that prejudices were still very strong in that city, and that someone like her would find it very difficult, if not impossible, to go to live in the places shown in holographic postcards, complete with moving images and photomontages of the sender in places they, in fact, had been.
He doesn’t lie about his job.
She had learned to know men, more out of necessity than by choice. At least, after adolescence, troubled by facts that she wants to, and cannot, forget.
His hands and his face match what he says.
And she didn’t need books and teachers to figure out which ones were bastards and which ones to count on.
So, what’s he running from?
Of the second category, she had met very few on the long road of her life in which few goals were achieved.
Maybe he committed some kind of federal crime.
No, that’s not true. She had accomplished a goal. Niki. She was her whole life. And now there she was, being pushed on a swing by a stranger that her mother had brought into her house in exchange for money. Was she an irresponsible mother? But that money was damnably necessary, especially at this time. That guy was definitely weird, and he had done something serious.
Anyway, who am I to judge?
The important thing was to get that guy on his way quickly. It’s certainly not normal to hide from the world. And if he’s hiding, someone will be looking for him. And you don’t know who it is, the police, or worse.
I’m sorry for him, but the sooner he leaves, the better.
She may have heard stories of showdowns, but she hadn’t experienced them directly of course. It was enough for her to know that she would never want to see them. And, of course, she wouldn’t show them to Niki.
“... I am fully aware, Minister. Moreover, I thank you for proposing my name for the Commission...”
The small, balding man will observe the figure of his interlocutor, a man in his seventies, his sparse dark hair combed to one side.
“... Yes, yes, thank you. For now I don’t need anything else. In fact, I also thank you for the complete cooperation of all law enforcement agencies. We’re really working as a team ...”
The magistrate will play with the rubber ball, rolling it on the desk.
“... No, I can’t say we’re sure. It’s just a possibility. However, our Chief Commissioner is directly following the operation in cooperation with the Poles... Yes... it should be for tonight...”
The man’s Neapolitan accent in the earpiece will be very marked. The little man at the desk will let him talk, smoothing his thick dark mustache, before intervening.
“... Unfortunately, it’s the only concrete lead we’ve had, since our investigators tell us that those funds ended up in a cyber black hole, and we can’t trace them... but this second clue...”
The ball will rotate towards the edge of the desk.
.”.. For the sole and simple reason that we understand from the interceptions that someone is planning a weapon to assassinate a person, and that this weapon has absolutely innovative characteristics. I felt that, however little, it’s a clue to be followed...”
The man’s hand will hesitate, and the ball will fall over the edge of the desk.
.. Yes, Minister... of course, we’ll keep you informed... No, this conversation never happened... Yes... good evening.”
The little man will apathetically watch the rubber ball bounce oddly on the floor, hit a corner of the desk, and bounce several times, making a series of unpredictable and random trajectories, until stopping under the old cabinet covered with ancient paper manuals.
At that moment, the holographic call will sound, and the black woman will look at the face of the person calling, transparent on the swing oscillating towards the sky.
“Jenny, hi. What’s going on?” the black woman will ask, sticking a hand in the back pocket of her pants.
“Hi, Beatrix.” The blonde projected into the living room will seem edgy. “Well, there is a problem, unfortunately.”
“For tonight?” the black woman will ask, alarmed.
“Yes, that’s it. You know that friend of mine? She stood me up.”
“But how did she stand you up? You told me everything was fine!”
“Yes, I know, but it’s not my fault. She told me there was no problem. Now she called me back and told me that she had a commitment, that she didn’t know it and can’t come.” The blonde will seem troubled and will hold out her arms. “Look, Beatrix, for tomorrow night, there’s no problem for me. I told you ...”
“And I now what do I do? It’s almost six... At this hour, who do I find now? You told me not to worry, so I waited. What do I do now?”
“I’m sorry, it’s not my fault.”
“Yeah, sure. Damn it, Jenny, I called you this morning! I told you tonight was a problem, and you told me not to worry, that this friend of yours was free. If you told me right away that she couldn’t, that would suck, but I would have looked for another solution...”
The blonde girl will be silent, embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she will repeat at the end.
The black woman will run a hand through her hair, shaking her head. “All right, it doesn’t matter. I’ll see if I can make different arrangements.”
“See you tomorrow night, then. I’m sorry about the inconvenience. Be patient, bye.”
“Bye.” the black woman will say, turning off the communication “Bitch!” she will add aloud, throwing the communicator on the couch. She will fall back on the pillows, looking at the window, with her hand resting over her mouth.
And now, all I have to do is call the Greek and say I can’t go tonight.
The new building of Opera Software, the Norwegian company, will occupy a modern skyscraper in Wroclaw, Silesia, Poland. The boy with long hair will receive the message while he is still at work, at his desk in an open space between rows of employees, separated by modular glass barriers of about one meter.
Janus. Damn it. What time is it?
The young man will know that the holographic move is only a means of passing messages in relative safety. The police don’t usually think of scanning the thousands of moves those kids and adults from all walks of life and from every country will make in video games every minute in every part of the world. The method, invented by holographic space hackers, will allow sending messages in an ingenious way. The young man will know that the reason the message is unlikely to be intercepted is twofold. Firstly, because the game will take place on public holographic nodes, with unsealed access, in which people will usually register with fancy names and addresses, and in which everything will be usually talked about, except to commit crimes of some kind. Secondly, because the message will not appear in the file name, but will be encrypted within one of the parameters of the game itself, according to rules agreed between the players, who will then use the game and virtual moves only as an emergency communication tool. No keyword or suspicious term will then be used in the file name, even if it’s intercepted.
Damn it, do you have to contact me right during office hours?
The boy will look over his desk. It’s almost time to close, but since it’s an emergency, by mutual agreement, he will know that he must open the move, without delay. He will get up, take a few steps to access the cubicle of another employee, an overweight man, bent over his programming device.
“Look, will you warn me if the old man comes? I need to do something with a friend for a second. Five minutes, okay?”
The old man is the office head, a former programmer of about forty years. In the sector, obsolescence, not only technical, will be very sudden, even for people.
The sun will disappear behind the trees and the swing will rise into the shadows.
The door to the porch will open and Niki will enter with the doll in her hand, followed by the man who will take off his leather hat and jacket.
“Mom, I’ll go get Betty ready for dinner!” the little girl will say cheerfully and will climb the stairs running, throwing her colorful windbreaker over the armchair.
“Take off your shoes before you go up!” her mother will shout. “How many times do I have to tell you...”
The little girl won’t seem to pay much attention. The man will watch the woman sitting on the sofa, looking at the ceiling and blowing air out of her lungs with a long breath before inhaling again.
“Is there any problem?” he will ask, hanging his jacket and placing his hat on it.
“It’s nothing.”
“I don’t think so.”
The woman will look hesitant.
“It’s just that the bitch threw me under the bus.”
“What bitch?”
“The blonde, the one you saw last night, the girl who watches Niki for me. She told me her friend was coming. She told me don’t worry, don’t worry, don’t worry! I trust my friend,” the woman will imitate the girl’s voice. “And now I’m in deep shit, that’s what.”
“What’s the problem?”
The woman will raise her arms. “The problem is the Greek. You met him last night. My ass will be kicked from here to the river if tonight at eight o’clock, even better a quarter of an hour before, I’m not there on time for opening!” she will exclaim, then continue, lowering her voice, “and now I’m trying to think of what words to use to call, invent an excuse about the end of the world, apologize repeatedly, humiliate myself, swear that it won’t happen again, hear his screams, and finally beg him to let me keep that shitty job.”
“Come on, now?” the overweight man will ask, looking at the clock on the wall. “But, sorry, can’t you do it quietly at home in an hour?”
“I owe you a favor, man,” the long-haired boy will say, returning to his place.
“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t say...” the overweight man will protest “... But fuck it.”
The long-haired boy will open the personal display and load the game, choose Kasserine’s game, and open the last move, reading the message attached. He will understand the meaning very well. He will scroll through the battle order for his opponent’s army, commanded by Rommel, open the tenth panzer division, scroll through hundreds of pieces, search through the armored units for Captain Helmut Hudel’s company command, and open the commands, using the password. The program will open the encrypted message and read instructions regarding the need to explicitly add two parameters to the database: TF and RB.
Twilight Factor, damn it. Relative Brightness, double damn it.
The young man will look stealthily over his own cubicle, observing the overweight man’s sulky face. The old man won’t be in sight. The boy’s hands will quickly move the pieces into the holographic screen, shrunken and soundless, frantically moving Ward’s first American armored division and Fredendal’s second corps, looking up quickly from time to time. The young man will observe the effects of the move: many dozens of M4 Sherman tanks will lift dust into holographic space, with beautiful animation effects, but crossfire will soon come from German tanks placed on the flanks of American battalions.
Hurry, damn it, hurry up.
At the end of the action, the boy will raise his eyes above the cubicle, then insert his hand to open a sheet. With the other hand, he will compose a message and insert it into a holographic piece, then save the move and send it to Janus’ address, inserting a single comment word:
Stack
The woman will lower her arms, laying her elbows on her thighs, and clasp her hands, remaining silent. The man will sit composedly on the sofa in front of her, reflecting.
“I’m sorry, but what’s the matter?” he will simply say. “Why couldn’t I watch Niki for a few hours?”
The woman will look at him like he’s a Martian.
“
Well, yes,” he will continue. “I understand that I’m not qualified as a babysitter, but if you tell me what to do, maybe I can handle it.”
The black woman will stand up, put her hands in her back pockets, take a few steps around the room, then turn around to look at him again, without speaking. Motionless, thoughtful.
“I only have one request,” he will add.
The woman will shake her head, thinking about what solutions are still available, before the phone call to the Greek, then she will look out the window. Almost dark. Only in the end will she decide to open her mouth. “What?”
The man will look at her earnestly, before asking, “Couldn’t we stay away from the shed?”
“Look I have to go,” the overweight man will say, sounding annoyed as he enters the cubicle. The young man with long hair will turn off the projector. Then he will lean on the desk, breathing deeply twice.
“If you wait two minutes at the elevators, I’ll close everything and join you.”
The woman will walk into the cellar of her Onna Son restaurant in Okinawa, followed by the girl. By now, it will be late at night, and she will have her employee re-open it after closing the premises.
“That pig deserves special treatment. He sent me back the delivery of the work,” she will explain, turning around and accompanying her words with gestures to be understood by the girl behind her. The woman will turn behind a column and enter one passage, entering another corridor covered with bottles, under a curved vault of exposed bricks.
“We’ve got to give the asshole a present, don’t you agree? We won’t go empty-handed. It would be rude, right?” She will signal to the girl, at least a span taller than her, despite her high heels. The woman will observe the hundreds of bottles on the walls, neatly arranged in separate areas, with brass tags bearing a description, dwelling on the area called blended.
Futura: Parallel Universes. Book 2 Page 11