14.
To claim that Xeno-Tower was an eyesore was to be kind. A looming, over-sized structure that hovered over mid-town like a predator, it cast a permanent shadow across the city. Limited in height by fast-enacted restrictions, the xeno architects had gone in another direction — an ultra-logical, space efficient, upside-down pyramid. Or better said, an enormous square umbrella.
They never lied to the planning commission. The exact dimensions and specifications had been carefully adhered to, and although the tower encroached only over additional xeno buildings, the fanned out upper floors appeared to be jutting out over a number of commercial and residential buildings whose owners were none too happy for the intrusion.
The monolithic structure had ruined the skyline from just about every angle. It was a hideous monstrosity, and only the fact that Xeno Corporate was by far the largest taxpayer in the city kept their edifice from being ordered torn down. City officials, like all the rest who profited so handsomely from the rise of the xeno, could hardly force them to destroy their East Coast headquarters. Not when they were approved to go ahead in the first place by a bunch of yes-men, all of whom assumed it couldn’t possibly be as bad as it sounded.
New Yorkers themselves had little problem with the black hole, as it had been dubbed in local-speak. Known as the place to be for the upscale and bargain-conscious alike, it was the entertainment capital of the city these days — gyms, clubs, restaurants, movie theaters, entertainment venues, and the coolest virtual reality experience on Earth, all offered at rock-bottom prices. Managing to be the coolest and yet cheapest place to party, residents even got a hefty 25% discount on top of if all, plus priority reservations.
THE Xenoline of products spanned the gamut; from low cost housing developments and foodstuffs catered to third world palates, to cutting edge technological gadgets and fashion accessories — all the way up to massive infrastructure innovations such as monitorless roadways, transportation networks, and eco-friendly power grids.
Attempts were made at coordinated takeovers, which went nowhere. Lobbyists attempted to cajole the xenos into taking their corporate end public, where investors could profit from it, but they were met with flat denials. The xenos had no interest in selling off pieces of their hard work. They were achieving plenty enough profits as it was, without having to answer to stockholders every quarter for each decision they took.
The situation fast grew untenable for the great captains of industry. Beyond the usual yearly gatherings, they began holding more pressing — one might say emergency — meetings on the matter. Brainstorming sessions for the best and brightest, with the main objective being what should be done about this xeno threat. One such meeting, chaired by Great Lakes Biotech’s venerable Chairman, Sanford Walker III, was attended by a notable percentage of the Fortune 100 executives. The intent was to map out a counter-offensive, in the form of media buys and public awareness campaigns. A hit-job from beginning to end.
“First off,” the Chairman of Great Lakes Biotech announced to his cadre, “we’re going to go after their foreign-aid projects. We need a campaign that makes the people stop and think. What right do those people over in Africa have to damage-resistant homes and a cellphone in every pocket, free of charge I might add, while hard-working Americans can’t even make ends meet. Am I right?”
Several of the others around the table muttered agreement.
“And along those same lines, you all know I’m a country man at heart. And let me tell you it pains me to see real Americans suffer under the yoke of corporate oppression while city-folks get all the benefits of, let’s face it, a new kind of welfare.”
More agreement, and a few light claps. If it strikes a chord with these bastards, Walker thought, it’ll work on the base. Those were the true believers, the ones he’d have to convince if he were to have any chance against the xeno threat.
15.
Once the firewalls were down — which took some doing, but he pulled it off without tripping any alarms — Alixs had unfettered access to the outside internets. Unfortunately, with that came all the crackpottery such a system inevitably contained. For every one bit of legitimate information, he had to wade through fifty bits of garbage. It was slow going. Such a meticulous search would have to be, even under the best of circumstances. But when so many thousands of results were nonsensical, it was close to maddening.
There were the usual number of ‘xenos want to eat your babies’ conspiracy sites Alixs was able to dismiss straight away. Then there were the scores of theories that sounded plausible at first glance, but didn’t match up with what he already knew from the Ahmis. For all he knew, the Ahmis could be wrong, or deceiving him in some way. But at the moment he had to proceed on the assumption that what he’d already learned was correct, and work to find corroboration. Some of the theories came dangerously close, but upon deeper inspection the author was either speculating wildly, or else stealing their information from better sources. Once Alixs began narrowing the focus, though, he got closer to the sites and publications that were in line with what the archives had revealed.
While he did find several plausible sources on the outside, more surprising was the one he found on the inside. From somewhere inside Tera-Prime itself. That didn’t necessarily mean it was a xeno source, but the odds favored it. Either that, or it was someone with a lot of xeno knowledge, which might be the next best thing.
Whoever it was, they’d cleared their tracks carefully. The publication was untraceable, authorship unknown, and there was no way of even determining when it had come out. It could’ve emerged years ago, which meant the trail was probably cold and useless, or maybe someone wrote it just yesterday. At any rate, his every attempt at tracking down the source led to a dead-end. It was as if it’d never existed. The only way to learn more was to attempt direct contact, a dangerous option he wasn’t ready to test unless he had no other choice.
For now, he focused on the outside sources. Tracking down I.P. addresses and electronic publications for the most promising leads, he crossed one after the other off the list whenever he found ramblings, or insanely prejudicial rants. Usually included in the diatribes were some sort of an anti-government or anti-intellectual slant, along with some extremely unorthodox views on the xeno-sapien race. Alixs quickly found his list cropped to just a half dozen candidates, all which seemed to be, on cursory inspection at least, somewhat rational.
Then he began to reach out, and the list dwindled even further. Two of them were just clever enough to hide their insanity in print form, and a third was deceased. Of the three remaining candidates, Alixs decided that a face to face encounter was the only way to determine their intellectual validity. Fortunately two of them were willing, and lived close enough for him to afford a visit.
16.
The first candidate was Nathan Fraine, a blogger ‘journalist’ who lived out in the sticks. A survivalist, his cabin boasted woodsy surroundings and challenging terrain, accessible only down a dirt road that meandered for miles. Mr. Fraine had recommended an all-terrain lender in his invitation, and Alixs had booked accordingly. Now that he knew why, Alixs wondered if a regular car might have gotten stuck, and what he’d have done about it way out here. The locals weren’t accustomed to xenos, and the place had a distinctly territorial feel.
Walking up to the porch, Alixs noticed several bones and dry pellets, indicating the presence of animals. Pets maybe. Or guards. But he didn’t detect any movement. Once he set limb on the first step, though, setting off a woody squeak, the commotion from inside was immediate and intense. At least two dogs, big ones at that, were attempting to force their way out, kept at bay only by a half-hinged screen door which hardly seemed up to the task. But much as they pushed and pawed at it, it remained in place. Alixs gingerly stepped up three more creakers to porch level. He didn’t bother to knock, but within a minute, the sharp command of their owner sent the dogs fleeing. The man himself leaned forward to swing the door open with a muted apology.
>
Inside it was surprisingly dark for mid-morning, especially once the screen slammed shut. Looking back, Alixs saw the reason why. The screen was so filthy on the inside, it all but served as a shade. That served an additional purpose, since it wouldn’t have been much of a bugcatcher otherwise. There was a front door as well, heavy and rotting, but Mr. Fraine obviously preferred it open, so Alixs didn’t touch it.
Moving deeper within, the interior revealed itself. A hallway opened out to a living room on the left, a bathroom under the stairs, and what looked like a kitchen straight ahead. ‘Lived in’ was the phrase that sprung into Alixs’ mind, though filthy was another way of putting it. Fraine motioned for Alixs to go into the living room, but didn’t follow. Instead, he started for the kitchen, calling back to his guest, “Guessin you’re not wanting any coffee or—?”
Expecting this, Alixs politely declined, and scanned the room for furnishings that could bear his weight. He sat carefully on the sofa, stirring up dust, but it held him sturdily enough.
The man returned with a steaming mug, sitting opposite Alixs and sizing him up. “Find yer way over aight?”
They stared awkwardly at each other until Alixs processed the meaning and blurted, “Yes! I found it. Found the place. Alright...”
There was a pregnant pause.
“Thank you,” Alixs added, feeling off-balance.
The man kept staring.
Alixs began to feel disconcerted. “You did get my request?”
“Uh huh,” he answered, “You’re lookin’ for an interview. That why you come all the way out here?” He sat back and set his drink on a coffee-stained glass table. He didn’t seem particularly interested in talking.
“Well, yes. I was interested in learning more about your research.”
“My research?” The man seemed perplexed. “Oh, you mean the site. Yep, I can see why you’d want to know more. Seein’ as you’re one of ‘em.”
“A xeno-sapien.”
“That’s what you wanna call it.”
Alixs knew what he was implying. Over the years he’d heard plenty of derogatory terms; MechHeads, TechHeads, Xeros, Xeno-Saps, along with a few of the more colorful ones he’d chosen not even to commit to longterm. Mr. Fraine, and cynical sorts like him, probably didn’t worry much about proper terminology.
He decided to ignore the taunt and press on. “Your site talks about the new cold war. Not many sites have that kind of information.”
“That’s right. Didn’t come cheap, neither.”
They talked a while about Fraine’s website, and the information he’d gathered, and some of his crackpot theories. Even a few that weren’t so insane, including some that lined up with what Alixs had learned of late.
“I appreciate all the information,” Alixs finally said, “but I was hoping you might be willing to share some of your sources—”
“Information is one thing. Sources, though...that’s more expensive.” He paused a moment, then grinned.
“I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer,” Alixs admitted.
That was an understatement. Aside from his scholarship funds, which weren’t freely available anyway, he had nothing to his name. The overwhelming bulk of his semester’s incidental money had already been spent on this wild goose chase.
“That so?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”
“Well, now, you may be in luck. An information broker such as myself might be willing to part with valuable information in trade.”
“Trade?” Alixs had no idea what the man was talking about.
“Information. There’s something about Tera-Prime that never quite sat right. And someone like yourself might just have the kind of access someone like me needs to figure things out. See, there’s this source of information coming from that city. Some say it’s a ‘mystery source’, and I’ll be damned if I haven’t tried to track it down all these years, only to come up short.”
Alixs shifted his weight. “I’m afraid I don’t know how I can help. I’m not connected with Tera-Prime systems like that. At least not the ones you’re trying to get at. It’d take an army to get in there.”
“You’re sure about that?”
Alixs nodded.
“That’s too bad. I don’t suppose I’ll be of much help to you, then. That being the case and all.”
Disappointed, Alixs got up to leave.
“You ever do track down that mystery source, though, come on back and see me,” the man said, extending a hand. “Maybe we can do business then.”
“Alright,” Alixs said, shaking hands.
“Good luck to ya.”
ALIXS’ NEXT INTERVIEW was in a more accessible place, about a hundred and fifty kilometers drive, and close to the accessway home anyway, so he’d decided to drive there and drop off the rental afterward. Along the way, he’d had time to think through and process what little Fraine had told him, and piece it together with what he already knew from the archives and his own meager findings. So far, the evidence fit the facts as he knew them. Somewhere down deep he was still hoping, somehow, that this was all an elaborate hoax. The outright lies and falsehoods were difficult to stomach, particularly coming from a society that prided itself on academic rigor, and by extension, candor. Nothing was as it seemed any longer though.
Alixs also thought about what the man had requested in trade. As uncomfortable as it was to think himself a traitor, that was precisely what he’d become, if he actually did attempt to betray the city. This Mr. Fraine was after something only a xeno could provide, information from Tera-Prime’s databanks. Information seekers were always in search of Tera-Prime data. And it wasn’t easy to find a xeno willing to part with city secrets, aside from the bold and, as Alixs now found himself, the desperate. He might just have to consider the offer, assuming he could even get anywhere with it. He was unaware of anything like this mystery source Fraine referred to, nor how one might even begin to access something like that.
Parking was abysmal at the next stop, which threw Alixs off his game. Close to fifteen minutes late, he shuffled his way down the long eighteenth floor corridor and counted down the entryways to 1984. With little exterior light, and no bell or knocker visible, Alixs fumbled for a moment with his papers before setting them on one limb-joint and reaching up to knock. The metal door gave a hollow clanging protest, and after a minute a voice called out, “That you, Al?”
Al? Apparently they were on a nickname basis already. Alixs shrugged and called back, “Yes, it’s me. Sorry to be late.”
There was a pause, then several lock-clicks from top to bottom before the door swung partway open to reveal a wide, suspectful green eye.
The eye looked Alixs over top to bottom, then blinked. The door swung fully open and David Saunders said, “Welcome Alixs! Please come on in.”
17.
The pleasant afternoon of conversation and refreshment was a welcome surprise, particularly given the curt treatment Alixs had received at his first stop. Although he once again chose not to partake, he was impressed with the array of eye-catching snacks and drinks, never mind the fact that he must have known his guest would have no need of it. It wasn’t out of the question for a xeno to sample a thing or two, so it made some sense. But Alixs rarely saw the point, preferring to be upfront about his requirements. He asked only to use the facilities, and was doubly impressed to find them xeno-compliant. He wouldn’t have to charge up in the rental before his long ride home. Why would this person? What reason would he? He allowed thoughts of conspiracy to drift through his mind for half a minute, before calling himself foolish and shaking it off. The man was simply polite, and took care of his guests needs. Nothing alarming or sinister about that.
After his return, feeling refreshed and invigorated, Alixs broached the subject of his mission.
“As I mentioned in our correspondence, Mr. Saunders, I’ve been reading your publications.”
“Oh, those.” He laughed, looking nervous for the first time. “That was
a long time ago.”
“Still, you’ve come up with some intriguing theories.”
“Theories?” he asked, looking puzzled. Then he laughed again. “Yes, theories, you’re right! That’s the way to put it. Just my own theories. Right.” His laughter, a mix of amusement and fear, faded away.
“What prompted you to write about our history, if I may ask?” Alixs was careful to keep his tone friendly, non-confrontational. He wanted Saunders to feel comfortable enough to open up.
“That’s a good question,” Saunders replied, “though I’m not sure my answers will be the ones you’re looking for.”
“I’m just looking for the truth,” Alixs assured him.
“Well...” He made a grab for the snacks, then pulled himself back. “Watching my weight,” he explained, chuckling nervously.
Alixs just nodded, waiting for more.
“The truth, hmm?” A pause, then another reach out - draw back motion, as if he had little impulse control. “Truth is, I lucked into that stuff. It was sent to me by mistake, and I ran with it.”
By mistake? This one might turn out even less worthwhile than the first.
“Do you know who sent it, at least?”
Saunders nodded. “As a matter of fact, that’s the one thing I do know.”
“You traced it back?”
“Didn’t have to. The sender showed up to claim it,”—he moved in closer, as if worried about someone listening—“but I’d already saved a copy on a flash drive,” he whispered.
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