by D. B. Goodin
“Outer door secured, additional verification required,” the woman’s voice said.
“Computer, what is your name?” Brenton asked.
“You can call me Scorpio. Now I require you both to identify yourselves.”
I don’t see any speakers, so Scorpio’s voice must be projected from a single location. The acoustics in this room are impressive, Brenton thought.
The men performed a series of checks that included a retinal scan, badge access, and a personal pin code. The inner door opened. Brenton entered the room beyond, and the air seemed suddenly thinner. For a moment he couldn’t breathe properly; it was like the wind had been sucked out of him. Before him he saw what looked like a robotic assembly line. At least a dozen people in protective gear were putting together arms, legs, and other parts. The next room was even stranger; a few technicians were pulling some soft, epidermis-type material over the robot limbs. Brenton’s nose was assaulted with a burnt latex smell.
That must be the skin?
A scrawny middle-aged man approached them. “Hi, I’m Rex.” He held out a hand to Brenton. “You must be Mr. Morris.”
Brenton nodded, but didn’t shake Rex’s hand. Rex slowly withdrew his hand.
“I’m here to discuss the parameters for the M2 project. Is there a place we can meet in private?”
“We can meet in my office,” Rex said.
Rex led them to another series of rooms, each with an enormous window. Brenton looked into each room as they passed. Most of them featured robots in several stages of construction; some were clothed, while others wore nothing. Brenton stopped at the giant room just before Rex’s office. These robots were playing in an orchestra, and each was playing perfectly from what Brenton could see.
“Are those people with these robots?”
Rex laughed. “No, they are all synthetics. These are the most advanced models we have. I think you know one of them—a Ms. Augustine, I believe.”
“She’s a synth?”
“I thought you knew,” Rex said.
“Well, she seemed authentic enough.”
I can’t believe that I had a romantic evening with a robot a few days ago! Brenton thought.
“I can’t hear anything,” Brenton said. “What are they playing?”
“These windows are soundproof, but if you’re quiet, we can go and view the performance,” Rex said. “They are playing a variety of classic works, such as those by Mozart, Bach, Tchaikovsky, and several others.”
If these robots can perform as good as humans, then I will control the CityWide Concert this year, Brenton thought excitedly. No more human performers demanding high salaries and requiring countless breaks! And these musicians can be controlled.
“Okay, well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!” Brenton said.
Rex led them through a glass door just beyond the performers. After climbing at least two dozen stairs, they reached an upstairs balcony area with several rows of seats. From this angle, the three of them could see all the orchestra members. The robotic group played a combination of Mozart, Mendelssohn, and Bach. There was a synth beat running in the background. Brenton noticed the lack of brass and woodwind instruments, such as trumpets and flutes.
“Why aren’t there any brass flutes or horns represented?” Brenton asked.
Rex looked surprised by the question, and then said, “Well . . . we’ve had some problems with some bots generating enough lung capacity to play the instruments. They seem to play the notes, but—”
“The music sounds artificial, like it’s missing something!” Brenton said, cutting Rex off.
“The robots are playing the music—the instruments are tuned,” Rex said as he took out a handheld device of some kind. “And according to the calculations on my meter, the timings are in order.” Rex closed his eyes for a long moment. He seemed to be listening intently. “The music lacks something that no scientific tools can measure.”
“What does it lack?” Brenton urged.
“Some human musicians would say it lacks soul.”
Brenton scoffed. “No such thing—these robots need a tune-up. Fix it, or else.”
Rex gave Brenton a thoughtful look.
“I will have the sound engineers run another full diagnostic. They will know what the problem is,” Rex said.
“I shouldn’t need to remind you that the resurgence of the CityWide Concert is what this company needs—what this town needs!” Brenton said.
Rex looked at the floor as if there was something interesting to view, and said nothing.
“Tomorrow I’m still announcing that MuseFam is sponsoring the first CityWide Concert in more than five years. We will hold it at the MuseFam Hall in Central Park in the summer. You have eight weeks to fix this problem. Our customers demand the MuseFam version of Mozart’s Magic Flute, and I demand it.”
“We will double our efforts,” Rex said. Then he stiffened.
Good, Brenton thought. He should be on edge. I’m just getting started.
Later that evening
Roxy’s club
Alice entered the back entrance of Roxy’s club around 8:30 in the evening. The line in front of the club was longer than normal. Alice glimpsed at Charlie; he was running back and forth and looked like he was trying to perform several tasks at the same time. He waved at Alice as he approached.
“Thanks to your excellent recruiting efforts, we’re packed,” Charlie said.
“I got you Bobby as promised.”
“Yeah, and several of his buddies.”
Alice frowned; she must have looked as confused as she felt, because Charlie kept talking.
“Bobby is popular in the New York underground scene. Many bands signed with us just because he is playing tonight. So whatever you promised the Goth Queen, you must make good on that deal.”
“Don’t worry—I always keep my promises. Besides, the Goth Queen hasn’t asked me for anything yet.”
Charlie nodded, then said, “See you around. We have even more auditions tomorrow. They won’t start until one or two, so sleep in.”
“Don’t worry, I intend to,” Alice said.
Alice made her way to Roxy’s back office. Lucy was lounging on the couch, smoking something that smelled awful. Her eyes were open, but she didn’t seem conscious.
She looks wasted.
“Lucy, are you feeling better . . .” Alice trailed off when she saw the man with his back to her; he was kneeling in front of Lucy. It was Jamie.
He turned around, blew Alice a kiss, then smiled.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Alice growled.
“Hey, babe, good to see you too,” Jamie said, chuckling.
He got up and looked at Alice for a long moment before sitting next to Lucy. His expression turned icy. He winked at Alice. He seemed different, colder—more calculating since their last interaction.
Alice immediately thought back to the last time Jamie had been this close to her. He had been shoving his computer into his bag and yelling at Alice.
What did he say?
She realized that she couldn’t remember much about the encounter, except that he had left angry. She remembered being upset for a long time after. She also remembered dropping out of the music program at Columbia not long after their breakup.
Why can’t I remember any details of my last moments with . . . Jamie?
Lucy grabbed Jamie and kissed him.
I can’t stay here! Alice thought, frenzied by what she’d witnessed.
Alice turned to leave and froze in her tracks. A bald man of average height, dressed in a suit, blocked the exit.
“You must be Alice,” the bald man said.
“Who are you?” Alice said.
“Where are my manners? I’m Lawrence, Roxy’s husband.”
Alice recalled Charlie talking about Roxy’s husband recently.
What did he call him? Oh, the Abbott!
Alice didn’t know what to say.
“I’m sure you’ve
heard of me—one of your acquaintances is my brother.”
“Well, I have a lot of those, so please clarify,” Alice said.
“His name is Elias, and he sends his regards . . . Emissary!”
Alice thought back to Elias’s tent at Pasture’s Field, and the synchronic keyboard in the guitar case. Elias—the so-called “Reverend”—had referred to Alice as “the Emissary.”
I still don’t know why everyone is calling me that!
“I got the feeling that he didn’t like me very much,” Alice said.
“No—he did. My brother can be eccentric.”
“So what’s the deal with you people, anyway? Tents in the wilderness, people roaming in the woods.”
Alice noticed that Lawrence’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched, but after a few seconds he said, “For someone in your position, you lack respect. You are young, so I will explain only once. A higher power chose you to be our emissary. To spread the word of our mission of faith in music to all humankind.”
Alice thought for a moment.
Well, that explains the keyboard in the guitar case. I better play along here.
“Forgive my words, Your Eminence. I will need to learn my place.” Sarcasm dripped from her words.
Lawrence placed a hand on Alice’s cheek in a way that reminded her vaguely of her father. “You will, my child—in time.”
Alice heard Lucy squeal. She turned her head to see Lucy and Jamie embrace.
“Get a room!” she snapped.
They ignored her. Alice turned to face Lawrence again. She needed more information about this . . . group.
But Lawrence had disappeared.
Well, that was strange. Lawrence seems to know me, but from where? I don’t remember him. Why do I get the feeling that I’m being watched? I should leave—it’s a lengthy train ride, and then a walk to Newark Heights.
“That man creeps me out,” Doris said.
“Doris, where have you been?”
“I stopped talking to you because it’s too dammed noisy in here. Go outside for a debrief.”
Debrief on what?
Alice left the club; she had seen enough. The night air was refreshing.
What’s going on here? What’s this “emissary” business about? I’ve seen more weirdos in the past week than I have in my entire life! Need to get some answers . . . soon.
Alice started walking toward the train station.
“Are you there?” Alice said.
“Here comes trouble!” Doris said.
Seconds later, just before the 14th Street subway station, a top-of-the-line Neon Five Thousand stopped in the middle of the crosswalk, blocking her path.
Whoa, a luxury sedan that costs more than five years’ rent. What the hell is it doing in this neighborhood?
As Alice walked around the vehicle, the window rolled down. It was Lawrence.
“Hello again, Ms. Parsons. A word, please?”
This strange week just got a lot weirder!
“There’s a twenty-four-hour diner close by with some excellent breakfast food—interested?”
Alice felt her stomach rumble at the sound of food; she realized that she had skipped dinner, again! Alice said nothing for a long moment. She heard the honking noises and jeers of annoyed drivers.
What the hell does he want? Why did he bail on me at the club? She hesitated, then relented to the absurdity of it all. But what do I have to lose? Maybe I can learn about the Emissary.
“I just want to talk—you probably have questions about the Emissary. It’s a calling, and not everyone knows what to do with their gifts. I can help with that,” Lawrence said.
Alice sighed and got into the car. As soon as she fastened her safety belt, she felt the familiar motion of the vehicle.
Mister K looked at his wall of screens in his darkened basement workspace. An alarm sounded, and the following message appeared on his visor:
* * *
Subject reacquired.
* * *
With a few fast hand gestures, he rearranged the view until he found the camera he needed. Several camera feeds around the immediate area of the club were visible across several screens in his immediate line of sight. The cameras just before the 14th Street subway station had enhanced capabilities, such as zoom and pan. Within seconds, Mister K had a high-resolution image of Alice; the night’s darkness and angle of the streetlights cast strange shadows across her face, but he recognized her. She was talking to someone in the car.
“There she is, Mr. Winkles. I lost her before, but now she’s found.”
Still lying at Mister K’s feet, Mr. Winkles drooped his head and let out a whimper as he rested his head on his paws, his eyes darting around rapidly.
Mister K’s visor started ringing. The following text appeared:
* * *
Accept call from Mark Olaf?
Yes/No
* * *
Mister K tapped “Yes.”
“Hey, Marky boy!” Mister K answered.
“Did you find the girl?” Olaf asked.
“Hmmm, yes. She’s about to . . .” Mister K watched Alice enter the vehicle.
“Shit—call you back.”
Mister K dropped the line, grabbed at the current set of camera feeds, then made a tossing motion toward a virtual wastebasket. He grabbed at another feed from the top of his view, then moved his hands apart to expand the view with a wider camera angle. With a pinching motion the camera zoomed in; the vehicle’s license plate was in view, but something was wrong—he only could see part of it.
The dammed camera angle is wrong!
The vehicle left before he could grab another feed.
“Dammit, only a partial license plate. Hmmm, but . . . that should allow me to . . . Hmmm . . . find who it belongs to,” Mister K said.
Mr. Winkles got up, howled, then chased his tail a few times. Mister K enhanced the image and was able to see the following:
* * *
MK5-3
* * *
Still missing a few digits.
His visor rang again, and he accepted.
“Did you lose her again?” Mark Olaf said.
“Hmmm, no! Well, sort of.”
“What does that mean?”
“She got into a car, but I was able to get a partial plate.” Mister K tugged at his beard.
“It sounds like you lost her . . . again!”
“For the moment. How much pressure should I apply once she’s found?”
“Just track her for now. With her bank account frozen, it’s only a matter of time before she’s in a suitably vulnerable position. Keep me updated,” Mark said.
This girl seems to be very important to Marky boy. Hmmm, if she’s that special to him, then her value has increased for me too, Mister K thought.
“It’s none of my business, but why is she so important to you?”
“The girl has an uncanny ability to rally people to her cause, which is rare these days. She has chutzpah, and a little of that goes a long way. The boss doesn’t want to give the Purists any more excuses to rally, not with the big event coming, and not until our plans are in place. Then it won’t matter what she does. Keep tracking her.”
“Will do, boss.”
Mister K severed the connection. He hated long goodbyes. He brought up the encrypted digital dossier on the Purists. Several stacks of folders appeared. He tapped the stack labeled “Alice Parsons,” then added his latest findings. He was about to close the folder when he had a thought. He ran a program to display all correlations. A minute later, a new information stack appeared. It was labeled “Hugh Parsons”: her father. He opened the folder, then began his examination.
Continue the Adventure
I hope you enjoyed reading Resonance. I invite you to continue Alice’s adventure with Ensemble. The exciting follow-up to Resonance.
I invite you to join my reader group to learn more about this book. To sign up visit: www.cyberoverture.com
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A Favor
Thank you for reading my book.
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* * *
Thank you.
D. B. Goodin
Acknowledgments
Developmental and Copy Editing by Hayley Evans
Proofreading by Beth Dorward
Cover Design 100 Covers
About the Author
D. B. Goodin has had a passion for writing since grade school. After publishing several non-fiction books, Mr. Goodin ventured into the craft of fiction to teach Cybersecurity concepts in a less intimidating fashion. Mr. Goodin works as a Principal Cybersecurity Analyst for a major software company based in Silicon Valley and holds a Masters in Digital Forensic Science from Champlain College.
Also By D. B. Goodin
Cyber Teen Project
White Hat Black Heart
War With Black Iris
The Making of Cyber Teen Project
Reckoning of Delta Prime (Summer 2021)
* * *
Cyber Overture
Sonorous
Chromatic
Resonance
Ensemble
Ramble
Cyber Hunter Chronicles
Mark of the Triad
Cyber Hunter Origins
Synapse of Ash