Backland: Insecurity (Book #2)

by Jeff Shelnutt

  The general nodded. “I wish I knew. If anyone could’ve figured it out, though, it was Cam. But there are ways, as I’m sure you are aware.”

  Kyle thought about this. “It is possible to erase one’s personal electronic presence. It could be done with a low-yield concentrated EMP blast.”

  The general was nodding again. “We’ve considered that possibility. But where he would’ve obtained such a device or how he would’ve done it so quickly, we can’t say.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Kyle exclaimed. “Where did this occur?”

  “I’m talking to you from the Free Zone of Region Eight. It happened on the base here.” The general lowered himself back into his desk chair. Sighing, he said, “It’s a bad business all the way around, son. Cam’s much too valuable of an asset to have him running wild like this.”

  “There’s got to be some explanation,” Kyle said. “Cam is not a traitor.”

  “I’m having a hard time with it too,” the general admitted with another sigh that was preceded by an exaggerated expansion of his cheeks. “But, it’s still my duty to find him. He’ll have to answer for what he’s done.”

  Kyle wasn’t really sure himself exactly how to classify what Cam had done. All he saw was him flee a situation that he obviously no longer wanted to be a part of. “Where do we go from here?” Kyle asked.

  “We need you to be ready in case Cam tries to make contact.”

  “But surely he knows it would be too risky to try to get in touch with me.”

  “I can’t tell what Cam is thinking these days. Based on what I’ve seen, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did something that he would otherwise avoid if he was in the right frame of mind.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can to help, sir.”

  “I know you will, son.” The general stood. Kyle followed his example. “We’re counting on you in this process.”

  *****

  Baines was waiting outside to usher Kyle back to the lobby. “I hope we’re able to locate your brother,” he said along the way.

  “You know about what’s happened?” Kyle asked, turning to him in surprise.

  “I’m one of the general’s aides. I’m privy to more intel than most.”

  “Do you know Cam?”

  “Sure. I served under him for a while.” He frowned suddenly. “You never can tell,” he followed, looking away quickly in what might have been embarrassment.

  But Kyle didn’t seem to notice. He was too distracted processing all he’d taken in over the last hour. “It doesn’t add up. Cam would never turn against his own.”

  “Something is definitely wrong,” Baines offered.

  “Hmmph,” Kyle grunted in agreement.

  By now they had passed back into the lobby. Pausing to dismiss Kyle, Baines caught a glimpse of the receptionist. “Good grief,” he said under his breath.

  Kyle followed his gaze to see her back in a neuro-trance, this time with drool seeping out of one side of her mouth. “That’s pathetic,” he moaned.

  “Where do they find these people?” Baines asked in exasperation. “Somebody must’ve been fooling around in the genetics lab when they were mixing Stacy’s soup.”

  Kyle laughed. “I don’t know. She looks a bit too old to be a tank baby.”

  Stacy perked up upon hearing there were people conversing nearby. She grinned at them as she wiped the stream of saliva from her mouth. “All finished, then?” She bubbled forth.

  “Yep, thanks, Stace. Just need to sign out Mr. Bennett,” Baines told her, adding in earshot of Kyle, “If you think you can handle that.”

  Stacy nodded vigorously and promptly zoned back out.

  Baines pulled an ACAD from his pocket. Kyle instantly took note of its dull gray color. It was military issue, containing a mercury-based substance lining its shell which prevented electromagnetic penetration. Strictly speaking, it was illegal to possess one. But Kyle knew military officers got their exemptions.

  Baines began fingering the screen. “Here,” he said. “You should be receiving my personal access code…”

  Kyle pulled his ACAD out. “Yep, got it,” he confirmed, peering down at his screen.

  “You can only communicate with me through yours,” Baines told him. “Neural communication is out on this matter.”

  “I figured as much,” Kyle said, locking in the code. “But what keeps my ACAD from being monitored?” he asked as he gave a knowing nod toward Baines’.

  “There’s an encrypted application with my access code. Any one that tries to read a message will only see garble.”

  Kyle wasn’t convinced. “This is ATS headquarters. If anybody can hack it, they work here.”

  Baines smirked. “If you find anyone who can hack that, he’s already working for us.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Kyle laughed. Though the chill he felt contradicted it.

  “Contact me if anything…I mean anything, comes up,” Baines insisted.

  “You think this whole thing with Cam is really serious, huh…?” Kyle ventured cautiously.

  “What I think is not relevant on the larger scale.” Baines’s replied. “But personally, I am concerned.”

  “For him?” Kyle risked asking.

  “As opposed to only for national security?” Baines returned, eye’s narrowing.

  Kyle slowly nodded, wondering if he’d overstepped his bounds.

  Baines’s features relaxed. “For both.”

  *****

  Kyle went back to his office. It was too late in the day to dive into any assignment. Besides, between his conversation with Lloyd and then the general, his mind was occupied enough. He sat down at his desk with a grunt, leaned his head back in his chair and closed his eyes. He needed a distraction. He needed to interface. But with strenuous mental effort, he forced himself to direct his thoughts to focus on the present and tangible.

  He rehashed the question: how was I-2 manipulating neural function at such elevated levels of consciousness? Having high-level corporate clearance gave him almost unlimited access to the database. His continued research into the matter held him at the office late, and kept the sleep from his eyes when he did go home. The conclusion he’d fought against but finally began to concede to was staggering in its implications.

  Sheila was coming around every now and then to check on his recent findings. Popping her head in his doorway at one point, she took a few moments to survey the piles of paper and general disarray of his workspace. “You’ve gone through more paper this month than this whole building does in a year,” she commented with a smirk. “Are you trying to destroy what’s left of the rainforests?”

  Laughing, Kyle answered, “You’re not the first to ask me that. You should see how many credits it cost me.” He waved his hand toward a chair. “If you can manage to move that stack onto the floor, have a seat and I’ll run something I’ve been thinking by you.”

  Sheila crinkled up her face. “Hit me with your theory, but I’ll stand if it’s all the same.”

  “Let’s say.” He began, “that you are interfacing and have two options before you: A and B.”

  “Though there are many more choices than that,” Sheila countered, as she leaned back against the wall.

  “Go with me here,” Kyle admonished. “I’m trying to boil it down into layman’s terms.”

  “Good, continue,” she encouraged with a smile.

  “What you aren’t made aware of is that there is also options C, D, E, and so on. You might’ve chosen one of those if you knew about them. But since you didn’t, you only chose from the options before you.”

  “A and B,” Sheila confirmed.

  “Right. So the problem is A and B represent a small fraction of the whole picture.”

  “Define the whole,” she requested.

  “Any subject. But for the sake of illustration, let’s go with current events.”

  “Okay, I see. Like news items. So A and B—the two views you are presented with—are only a fragment of the overal
l information.”

  “You got it,” Kyle confirmed. “As if there are set parameters beyond which you can’t go. It’s not that there is nothing else to be known, it’s that there is knowledge not offered.”

  “That could apply to any subject,” Sheila added. “History, science, even technology.”

  “Right,” Kyle said enthusiastically, pleased with her perception. “Think of it as a suppression of information. But here’s the kicker…”

  Sheila cocked her head to the side in anticipation.

  “…A and B are apparently different viewpoints. But both ultimately lead to the same destination…”

  “Which is?” she cut in before he could continue.

  Kyle breathed deeply. “I don’t know.”

  Sheila laughed at his candidness.

  “But regardless of the destination,” he continued, “perhaps the journey itself is what is altering cognitive function.”

  Sheila was looking directly at him now. “You’re saying I-2 is programmed to put particular choices before the individual in order to get the desired result.”

  “Exactly!” Kyle exclaimed as he snapped his fingers. “Choices,” he said while putting the word in air quotes, “are really tailored to one’s particular neural patterns—or personality.” He paused. Sheila raised her eyebrows expectedly. “And what is the result?” he asked

  She suddenly straightened up and stretched. “Beats me. But let me know if you figure it out.”

  What is the result? Kyle asked himself again as he thought about that particular conversation.

  Suddenly and unexpectedly, Cam seemed to present an unsought link in the chain. He had been exposed to next generation neural-tech. That didn’t work out too well for him. Could Cam have discovered something that caused him to reject traveling any further down that road? If so, Kyle really wanted to know what that discovery was.

  5

  For the second time in two days—in what must’ve been a new record for him—Kyle found himself back in the caf.

  “We missed you last night,” Hank exclaimed as he spooned out some gravy for his biscuits. “Were you sick?”

  “No,” Kyle replied. “Something came up—work related.” It was true, just not in a way that his friend needed to know. He then caught a full view of Hank’s face, noticing the black ring under his right eye and a swollen cut on his lower lip. “What happened to you, man?”

  Hank grinned. “You should’ve seen the other guy,” he smugly replied.

  “Fighting? Come on! We’re not in still in high school.”

  “It was the ref, man. He made an idiotic call,” Hank defensively retorted. “And this dumb guy at the bar—he started it…but that comeback, man. The Falcons were down by 14 at the start of the fourth quarter….”

  Kyle kept looking at Hank as he droned on about the game. But he had no interest in the details. He was thinking about the many fights that seemed to be spawned by it all. Sports naturally aroused intense, primitive emotions. As if that wasn’t enough, SIM units wirelessly linked to the viewers’ neuro-chips, beaming synthetic sensory pulses to the brain.

  It’s not that Kyle couldn’t enjoy a good game with the best of them from time to time. He just had gotten to where he couldn’t handle the emotional overload of it all. Whether it was sports or the latest melo-drama, he walked away feeling like his soul had been slowly sucked out through a long, narrow straw. It was ridiculous and irritating. It tended to leave him feeling like he’d lost something but couldn’t figure out what.

  “Man, you don’t know what you missed.”

  Kyle knew all too well. “Yeah,” he managed, “It must’ve been some game, alright.”

  “You couldn’t have kept me away for all the special assignments and extra credits they could offer.”

  Hank waited expectantly for a response Kyle didn’t offer. After a pause, he coughed, grabbed a bowl of mixed fruit and excused himself, heading toward the tables with his tray. Kyle automatically shoveled a couple of biscuits on to his plate. Lifting his head to see what else was on the food line, he caught sight of Lloyd shuffling back into the recesses of the kitchen.

  A pointy finger tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey,” a red-headed girl he recognized from Marketing said as he turned to look at her. “You’re backing up the line.”

  “Sorry,” Kyle muttered, quickly scooping up his tray. He stopped mechanically in front of the scanner at the end of the line. After his bill had been tabulated and the credits automatically deducted from his account, a bright red message suddenly invaded the space in his head: “Your breakfast does not meet the suggested nutritional intake,” it chided. “Please take note and pay particular attention to your next meal. Your health is our priority.”

  Kyle shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it. Looking down at his two plain biscuits, he noticed out of the corner of his eye the red-head gaining on him again. Not wanting to cause any more annoyance, he quickly picked up his tray and began walking toward the sitting area. But before he fully acknowledged what he was doing, he had walked over to the depository window. Lloyd looked at him strangely from behind it.

  “You throwing those away?” the old man demanded incredulously.

  Kyle glanced down at his tray. “No,” he managed as he tried to figure out exactly what he was going to say.

  “You wanna talk again, huh?” Lloyd asked with a leer.

  The old guy didn’t mince words. Kyle decided not to either. “I guess so,” he admitted, feeling a bit childish.

  “That’s good.” Lloyd said. “I thought you’d be back. I’ve got something for you.”

  “Really?” Kyle felt like he needed to say something else, but nothing came. He took an awkward step back and swung around, almost running into another person coming to deposit their empty tray. He mumbled something in apology at the puzzled look he received and made a concerted effort to find a seat.

  Lloyd watched him go, cracking his semi-toothless grin in amusement.

  *****

  “Take it,” Lloyd said, holding out the book toward Kyle. “It doesn’t bite.”

  Kyle was indeed looking down at it like it would. “What is it?”

  “I told you, son. It’s a journal.” Lloyd shrugged and sat the book down on a milk crate beside him. “You want to know about the past. Well, here it is.”

  Kyle reluctantly reached out and plucked up the book. Opening to the first page, he read, “This Journal Belongs to: Stuart Fields.” Flipping a few more pages, he discovered line upon line of cursive writing. “Where’d you get this?”

  Lloyd squinted one eye at him. “Does it matter?”

  “I guess not,” Kyle shrugged, still turning pages.

  He looked up to see Lloyd digging around in his pocket, an action that resulted in him producing a slim, round tin. Momentarily distracted from the journal, Kyle tried to read the lettering on the top, though it was up-side down to him. “Escudo” is what he thought he made out just before Lloyd managed to get the lid off.

  “That man, Stuart, he lived it,” Lloyd said, abruptly glancing up.

  “The war?”

  “Yep. At least, he was around before it started. He might answer some of your questions. Or, he might tell you more than you thought you wanted to know.”

  “What does that mean?” Kyle asked sharply.

  Lloyd didn’t answer immediately. He was busy rolling a coin he’d taken out of the tin between his fingers. He then shoved the ball of tobacco into his pipe. Striking a match and slowly circling its flame around the top of the bowl, he took several short puffs—an exercise he appeared to immensely enjoy.

  “There’s a reason you’re curious,” Lloyd began again, pulling his pipe from his mouth. “You’re not supposed to be, and that’s what bothers you. Yet, you can’t help rootin’ around a little to see what might pop up. It’s human nature. We poke our noses where they’re not supposed to go. There’s history and then there’s history,” he emphasized. “Always suspect a lie. The j
ob of the good student is to unearth the truth which is almost always buried with the bodies. Only when you understand where you’ve come from can you really begin to understand where you’re headin’. Why are you looking at me like that, son?”

  “Because there’s either a whole lot more to you than meets the eye, or you’re absolutely mad,” Kyle replied.

  Lloyd’s head flew back and out of his throat came a hysterical cackle that was quickly cut off by a fit of coughing. He waved one hand frantically in the air while covering his mouth with the other. Recovering enough to talk, he managed between gasps, “It is a thin line, son. That I’ll give you!”

  “This isn’t even a reference book,” Kyle said as he thumped the journal with the back of his hand. “I’m supposed to believe this guy, this Stuart whoever, paints an accurate picture?”

  “No, you’re not. You need to take it for what it is. You need to let it be a link in your chain, one angle from which you look through your prism. Don’t be afraid to think. If they take that away from you, you have nothing left.”

  “Don’t you still have faith?”

  Lloyd eyed him suspiciously, his pipe dangling from the side of his mouth.

  Kyle was curious see if he could throw the old man off his game.

  Recovering, Lloyd smiled approvingly and said, “You must first think clearly in order to believe correctly.”

  “How’s that?” Kyle asked, drawing him out.

  “Real faith is never a blind leap in the dark,” Lloyd returned. “It is a decision based on reason and evidence.”

  The conviction with which Lloyd said this amazed Kyle. “But then is faith really faith?” he parried. “I mean, there’s no need to believe in what you can see.”

  “I’m not talking about physical sight. I’m talking about the evidence all around us that point to the unseen. I’m talking about the reason that your heart will not let you ignore. Call it your conscience, if you prefer.”

  “You can’t make up your mind,” Kyle declared as he stifled a grin. “You want to reconcile two things that dwell on separate planes. It’s all well and good to have faith. Faith is what you as an individual define it to be. But it’s the physical plane upon which we as a society have to function. There are physical laws and we’re all equally subject to them.”