Shades

by Eric Dallaire

  “What is it?” Barnaby asked. He approached behind me and watched as the overhead view of the city changed. With a flick, my hand traversed the width and breadth of the city, searching for my target.

  “I may know where we need to go now,” I announced. “Okono's message wasn't just random noise from the network. He chose it as a literal clue of his location. He's there,” I said, zooming the view to Nova Sector, a wealthy district at the base of the Lunar Spire. The table’s virtual projection shimmered, updating to show a busy promenade. Among the row of nightclubs and bars, the glowing sign for Club Purgatory shone the brightest. I zoomed the view closer to show a line of people stretching across multiple blocks, all hoping to enter the moon’s hottest nightclub. “He’s being held there.”

  Eli considered the revelation, stroking the salt and pepper beard on his chin. “It’s possible,” he agreed. “Before he died, Guy Charon built the club for his son Gabriel as a birthday present. It's known to be an establishment where you can have any fantasy fulfilled for the right price.”

  “Something else is there. Security is stronger than I would expect for a nightclub,” added Rose. “We’ve had it on surveillance for months. An agent of mine managed to see inside. Her report suggested that tunnels connect the levels beneath the club all the way across town to the Goliath Corp Headquarters. Getting in will be difficult.”

  “And there is the matter of the stiff cover charge,” I joked, referencing the one-year afterdeath requirement to enter the club. Everyone turned to me, grim-faced. Silence greeted my attempt to lighten the mood.

  “I, for one, appreciated your pun, sir. A clever play on words,” Sasha whispered.

  “We need to go to Club Purgatory immediately,” Barnaby said.

  “I’m going with you,” Vanessa added.

  “No. No,” I responded. “It will be too--”

  “Dangerous?” she interjected. “If they can reach me here, where will I be safe? I’ll be better protected with you, Jonah.”

  “We will send Rose to help,” David offered. “It is the least we can do.” Rose nodded and sheathed her weapon. She took a few steps to stand next to Vanessa.

  “Besides,” Vanessa added. “When we do find Dr. Okono, he’s much more likely to follow you if I’m there.” She shot me a determined glare that ended the debate.

  “Fine,” snapped Barnaby. “It’s settled, we go in as a four person team.”

  “The direct approach will be hard. We should have a cover,” I recommended.

  “Perhaps we can also help with that,” David added with a grin. “Follow me to the dressing room.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Underworld Undercover

  “Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive!”

  - Excerpt from “Marmion”, Sir Walter Scott

  David Solomon escorted us through the back door of the conference room into a gray-colored corridor. Cameras pivoted to watch our movements. Each turn of a passageway took us to a more secure area of Titan Technologies. We navigated through multiple guarded checkpoints at a slow and steady pace. When we stopped at an apparent dead end, David pressed his hand against a portrait of his son hanging on the wall. A hidden door slid open in the middle of the passage.

  “Since I was a boy, I’ve had an obsession with secret doors,” admitted Eli with a sheepish grin. “This complex is riddled with them; elaborate ones too, but if I told you where, well, they wouldn’t be secret.” He snickered. His child-like love of technology endeared me to him even more. Envy rose within me. Someday, I wanted to have a home riddled with secret doors too. “Forgive the theatrics, but these days we have had to take many precautions,” he continued. He beckoned us to enter a laboratory brimming with sparking apparatuses, half-constructed machines, and three metal lab-benches cluttered with parts. An elongated mechanical claw-arm, equipped with sensitive micro-lasers, stretched down from a ceiling-mount. Silver colored mobile operating tables, like hospital gurneys, lined the far north wall. Each one held a robot in varying stages of repair or disrepair.

  Eli Solomon conferred with two of his scientists in the center of the room. One of them, Dr. Shelby Hemmons, I had seen in the executive room. She was a tall, olive-skinned woman wearing blue-rimmed glasses and a white coat. Since I saw her last, she had let her ponytail down so her hair fell below her shoulders. The other woman stood a foot shorter than Eli and Shelby. She was fair-skinned with short-cut brown hair. Her lapel tag showed the name Dr. Evelyn Briggs. When David entered the room with his slow shuffle, Eli nodded to his father and the two scientists turned to address him.

  “My staff has gathered the supplies you requested, Mr. Solomon,” Shelby said, gesturing to Evelyn. The junior scientist delivered a light metal container that looked like an over-sized make-up compact.

  “Thank you, Shelby and Evelyn,” replied David. “Jonah, our research team was kind enough to do a rush job for you. While far from foolproof, the contents of this case should help you get through the front security of Club Purgatory.” When he opened it, we saw four hypodermics with the stylized, calligraphic initials ‘V-V’ emblazoned on them. The box also contained four pairs of twinkling, multi-colored retinal lenses.

  “After the Promethean Laws closed our android labs, Titan Tech diversified,” explained Eli. “One of our subsidiaries created a new line of self-hypodermics -- Vitality Visage. It empowers customers to change their appearance with safe, home-based plastic surgery. We're almost FDA-approved for follicular stimulation, changing eye pigmentation, and minor alterations of cheek bone structure.” His voice then lowered to a mumble. “We just have a few kinks and side effects to work out, of course. You can imagine, these products have other uses as well…”

  “And I see corporate espionage is alive and well today,” I added.

  “A necessary evil,” Eli said with a smirk. “The hypodermics have already been preset for you to match new cover personas. They should allow you to spoof all facial recognition scanners.”

  “What personas?” Barnaby asked.

  “We've spent the last four years cultivating a garden of artificial identities,” Shelby replied. “Perfectly legal within the bounds of the Promethean Laws, of course,” she added after Barnaby shot her a curious look. “They operate from our servers and perform daily actions. Each of these personas has lived an active virtual life, with recurring bank transactions, property purchases, faked vacations, and a full virtual footprint. They'll pass any background check--”

  “We can insert your likenesses to these personas retroactively and give you a temporary new life,” Evelyn interjected. A slight tremble in her hands betrayed her nervousness. Maybe she felt competitive with the other scientist, hoping to impress her bosses?

  Without hesitation, Rose injected herself with a hypodermic. First, her hair changed from black to blond. Then the adipose tissue in her cheeks flushed and widened. Her lips swelled to look lusher. Stimulated melanin in her skin changed her tone from pale to a tanned complexion. When she put her contact lenses over her eyes, the irises altered to sea blue. All of those incremental changes combined to make her look like a different person.

  “Behold, Mrs. Sally Rickerson,” said Eli, pointing to a transformed Rose and beaming with pride. “Our entire fourth quarter projections indicate this product will be quite profitable.”

  The rest of us obliged and injected ourselves with Vitality Visage. Barnaby's cheeks sagged, and his beard became fuller and grayer, adding fifteen more apparent years to his face. Vanessa's hair changed to blond, her cheeks widened, and her eyes became dark green.

  Then my turn came to change. At first, I felt nothing. Then, a tingling sensation, like when an arm falls asleep and becomes numb, washed over my face. Although there was no pain, the feeling was uncomfortable. Looking at the reflection in the glass table, I watched my hair darken to black and grow longer, almost to the base of my neck. With a sparkle, my eyes changed to a light brown. Then the sk
in around my eyes and cheeks tightened, reducing my apparent age by almost a decade.

  “Vanessa and Jonah, you will be Mr. Warren and Mrs. Cheryl Baker,” Eli stated. “Both of you are wealthy lawyers from Staten Island.” Eli tapped the screen of a nearby display showing a convincing fabricated scene. The new Visage-induced likenesses of Vanessa and I had been inserted onto the virtual identities. In that scene, we smiled for an unseen camera and toasted champagne on the eighty-ninth floor of a Lunar Spire condominium. These images, forged to look like security footage, would be distributed into the datanet in the event someone double-checked our credentials. Even though it was not real, I yearned for that life with Vanessa.

  “Barnaby and Rose, you are the Rickersons,” Eli continued. “Last month, you both sold all of your Texas cattle ranches to become space ore speculators. You just bought a mine on Mons Wolff in the Mare Imbrium. Good luck with that.” Another display showed them embracing within their Lunar Spire home. Another display showed them embracing within their Lunar Spire home.

  “Don't worry if you don't like your new look,” Shelby added. “The effects wear off after seventy-two hours.” She gave a wry grin. “Which will make customers come back to us every week.”

  “I have set up an account with the funds necessary to pay the VIP cover charge,” Eli said, handing us each identity chips. I placed mine over my wrist-com, allow it to overwrite my basic profile information, name, and address.

  “Scanners at the club's entrance will prevent us from smuggling weapons inside. Our intel suggests there is security station with an armory hidden behind the club’s kitchen,” added Rose. “I can get to it.”

  “We need to get to the nightclub, now. They could be moving Dr. Okono any time,” Barnaby urged.

  “Good luck and mazel tov to you all. If there's anything else you need, let us know,” offered Eli.

  “Do you have a hypodermic to teach dancing?” I asked.

  * * *

  After departing Boreal Sector, our chute ride to the Lunar Spire proved to be quiet and uneventful. Rose and Barnaby sat like stone statues, intense and focused. Vanessa broke the silence, telling me more about her stay at Titan headquarters. It made me happy to hear they treated her like family. She had worked with Eli each day to prepare a defense for his cousin Saul, and she said their case looked strong. Before she spoke about the details of the trial, the glittering lights of the Lunar Spire filled our view. I took Vanessa's hand and leaned over to kiss her neck. My head lingered on her shoulder to share a private conversation with her.

  “When this is done, let's run away and start over,” I whispered.

  “I would like that,” she answered, smiling.

  “I gave up collecting, for good,” I said.

  “I know,” she replied. “David asked one of his agents to keep an eye on you. They found out that the IRS assigned you to reap Arnold Tornuckle, but he survived because of an anonymous tip. I'm proud of you, love.” She put her arm around me. For the first time in a long while, I dared to believe something might work out for me. “Then David showed me your death certificate from the datanet. What happened to you?”

  My mouth opened, but I paused. It was a struggle to find the right words to explain what happened to me. Sensing my hesitation, Vanessa pressed a finger against my lips.

  “Later. It only matters that you’re here now,” she said, squeezing my hand.

  The travel-pod slowed to enter a terminal within the Lunar Spire’s inner sector. We stopped within a silver archway. Dish-shaped sensors surrounded us, scanning the wearable identity chips of the passengers and cross-referencing with retinal scans. This checkpoint prevented non-residents from entering the exclusive Nova Park.

  “Permission approved. Welcome back to the Lunar Spire,” a female voice said through the speakers. “Enjoy your evening.” The pod sped along toward the final stop at the center of the city.

  “Once we get inside the club, Barnaby and I will acquire weapons. You two find Dr. Okono,” Rose ordered.

  “Keep the chatter and access to their v-cast network limited as long as possible. They'll be monitoring,” Barnaby cautioned.

  We stopped at the public terminal in Nova Park, at the ground floor of the sprawling Lunar Spire metropolis. When the canopy opened, I had to cover my eyes from the resplendent view of the bustling promenade. Vanessa smiled, while Rose and Barnaby still looked too serious and dour.

  “Most importantly, you two need to look like you’re having fun,” I said, using my fingers to demonstrate a forced, wide smile to Barnaby.

  Watching him try to emulate my expression made me laugh and put a real grin on my face. We all exited and walked toward the most outlandish, lavish party in the known galaxy.

  * * *

  At first glance, Nova Park existed under the stars with no protective roof. Most arriving tourists experienced a momentary panic, worried they might float off into space. However, a sophisticated covering protected the citizens. The dome's reflective plating featured a virtual projection system capable of mimicking the stellar view outside. I looked up to view white stars twinkling around a familiar planet swirled with blue oceans and choked with a polluted gray atmosphere. Despite its flaws, I missed Earth.

  The promenade featured a massive open pedestrian street running in two directions. To the south, glowing marquee signs flashed with garish colors. They lured young revelers into underground clubs where music with jackhammer tempos blared, creating the area’s rhythmic heartbeat. Along the north side, the street darkened, and turned more nefarious. Numerous liquor-drenched establishments maintained hidden backroom houses-of-ill-repute. Hotels with opulent exteriors allowed well-dressed dealers to sell the Icarus drug under shadowed awnings. In this place, money or afterdeath credit would buy you anything.

  We strolled north through a courtyard packed with an energized crowd. I looked up to see a dozen men and women wearing hover-boots. They danced above the partygoers and poured expensive champagne to open-mouthed people below. Everyone wore designer clothes matched with the most extravagant precious jewelry. Tuxedo-suited waiters darted through the promenade bearing plates of imported shellfish, caviar, and exotic hors d'oeuvres. White-suited sommeliers stood ready to refill wine glasses with expensive bottles priced higher than the annual salaries of most Earth-bound human workers. To fit in, I snatched a lobster tail plate and two crystal glasses filled with fifteen-year-aged lunar distilled whiskey. I swallowed the food, drank the shots of whiskey with Vanessa, and howled at the Earth. Rose and Barnaby joined the party spirit, downing comet-crystal distilled vodka. On the opposite side of the street, a group of young hackers hosted a friendly meta.duel contest using the promenade’s powerful Mark-V virtual generator. With so many people requesting access from the device, it came down to a test of skill and ingenuity for those seeking to control the finite supply of proto-matter. Some of the hackers played a game of alien invaders, conjuring virtual floating eight-tentacled creatures fighting against robots reminiscent of the old 1950s monster movies. I grinned when I recognized a perfect facsimile of MechaRonin smiting a slimy Martian blob with his electro-blade. A cheer erupted from a crowd of onlookers. An impish, competitive part of me wanted to whip out my wrist-com interface and challenge the youngsters to usurp control over the whole generator, but the rational part of my brain stifled that urge. We all made a point to look amused, then continued on to the north end.

  Finding our target, even amid a gratuitous sea of excess, proved to be an easy task. From a distance, I saw an immense spinning sign, churning with what I suspected to be simulated lava. Each revolution of the sign scorched the name of the club for all to see.

  ** CLUB PURGATORY **

  Abandon All Morals Ye Who Enter.

  Thirty-foot-tall transparent columns of roaring fire flanked an entrance carved from pure obsidian rock. Waves of pulsing sonic energy shook the ground near the club's entrance. A horde of fashionable young adults queued up alongside a wi
nding velvet rope. All seemed more than eager to give a year of their afterdeath for the time of their life tonight.

  We strolled up to the front of the line until a mammoth wall of a man blocked our way. The bouncer towered over me at a height well over seven feet tall. His muscles rippled across his arms, and he cracked his knuckles at my approach. A growling noise escaped his sneering lips.

  “Back of the line,” the mountain-man ordered, pointing behind us. The bicep on his arm flexed with a muscle bigger than my head.

  “We're celebrating tonight,” I said with an exaggerated slur. “We'd like to get a VIP table…hell, maybe we'll reserve the whole floor, what do you think, honey?” I blew a kiss to Vanessa and pretended to sway off balance.

  “You're not on my reservation list,” he replied with a look mixed with irritation and uncertainty. The bouncer cocked his head, studying me. Judging from his body language, I would need to sweeten the deal before he kicked us to the back.

  “My friend just struck it rich with a new mine. You let us in, we'll pay our covers and you get a fifty-thousand tip,” I offered. This offer brightened the mood of the bouncer.

  “Uh, yes sir, sorry, I didn't recognize you, sir,” the bouncer announced. He waved his hand and the virtual purple rope behind him dissolved. As we walked by, he scanned our wrists and deducted the credits given to us by David Solomon. Our forged identities must have worked, since a pleasant ringing sound indicated the money transferred. The bouncer bowed his head and ushered us into a sloping passageway hewn from moon rock.

  We descended into a corridor shaped to look like a lava tube. Cracks along the walls glowed with a hot orange hue, lighting our way into Gabriel Charon's private underworld. As we turned a corner, the cracks merged into recognizable patterns. Each corridor featured a different work of art, drawn with molten fluid, depicting interpretations of the biblical seven sins.

  “The scent of brimstone they're pumping into the air is a nice touch,” I remarked. Vanessa chuckled nervously and Barnaby made another attempt at a smile.