Divided- 2120

by Brian Savage

  Aeralyn let out a gasp that more closely resembled a gurgle. Jack straightened up, throwing the weapon down beside where Cassie’s laid beneath her. Cassie smiled at him and snapped her fingers.

  The gorilla of a man dropped Aeralyn to the floor. She crumbled into a heap, gasping for breath and clutching at her throat. Jack immediately went to her, kneeling down and taking her face in his hands. “I told you to go!” he said quietly, breathlessly.

  “I wasn’t going without you,” she said, between large gulps of air. She rubbed at her sore throat.

  He hugged her to him, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth. The rage within him welled up again. His mind raced. He wanted to destroy her, destroy Cassie; wipe her giant partner off the face of the earth. The feeling of helplessness that threatened to close in around his mind only intensified his anger. He looked up at Cassie. She sat in her chair, swiveling back and forth, inspecting the rifle he had dropped at her feet. Her sole attention rested on the rifle, like everything else happening was of little consequence to her.

  “Did you get the contraband?” she asked, not looking up to her partner. Her partner responded by dropping Jack’s duffle bag on the counter, and pulling out the black box, cables still attached. “Perfect,” Cassie purred.

  In a movement that seemed calculated and yet somehow off, she bent forward to pick up the rifle. “Possession of this is grounds for automatic termination, but subversion of an agent by illegal access and alteration of his implant is something else entirely.” Cassie leveled the rifle at Aeralyn. Jack moved between the two, glaring, not at Cassie but at the small, blinking piece of black, brushed metal that extended from just beneath her right ear.

  “She didn’t subvert me, she set me free.” Jack’s voice was low and dangerous. He looked from Cassie to the hulking man who had taken up a spot standing over her left shoulder.

  Cassie’s face twisted in a sickening and all too familiar smile. Jack watched in fascinated horror as her eyes began shaking back and forth. He couldn’t imagine her turning on a video feed, though with the beast of a partner, she was in little danger of being attacked. Cassie sat straight up in her chair, the rifle falling against her lap as her arms went slack. Her head cocked slightly to the side. “We set you free.” Her voice had become a pained mix of human and whining animal. “We apologize for how we sound. We are not quite practiced enough at auditory output from human intermediaries.”

  Jack was dumbstruck. Questions raced through his mind.

  “Agent Albina is seeing a different version of this very conversation.” The voice, stretched thin, rasped from her mouth. “We have found that, in many cases, it is easier to act ourselves, leaving the one that we wish to act through to experience things differently.”

  “You’re the Host?” Jack asked, shock quieting his voice to slightly above a whisper.

  “We are.” Cassie’s body didn’t move. Her head stayed slightly cocked to the side, her mouth moving to speak but lips remaining stretched in the caricature of a clown-like smile. A drop of drool escaped the downturned side of her lips, stretching halfway to her lap before snapping and dropping onto her leg.

  “Why are you doing this?” Jack asked.

  “You must be more specific; we are doing many things.”

  “Why did you bring us here?” Jack asked.

  “We see that you are beginning to understand.” Cassie’s hand shot out, grabbing her own weapon, then shot back to her lap, to bring it level with Jack’s chest. “We have orchestrated all events to create an ideal situation in which to study you.”

  “Study me?” Jack shook his head in confusion, leaning forward slightly. The barrel of Cassie’s weapon dropped slightly.

  “Please stay where you are.” More drool escaped the corner of her lips. “We have not perfected the use of your bodies, but we are extremely accurate with the trajectory of your weapons.”

  Jack sat back on his heels. “Why are you studying me?” he asked, raising his hands slightly in a subconscious gesture of placation.

  “We must learn to understand why you could not be so easily assimilated.”

  “Why?” Jack’s mind was racing outside of the confines of the conversation. He was trying to find some way out of this. Someway to escape the fate he wouldn’t allow himself to believe was inevitable—the inevitability of a loaded gun. He eyed her weapon coolly.

  “You are a disease in our network. Those like you are mutations in our perfect system.” Cassie’s head twitched slightly. “Like any disease, studies must be done in order to create a treatment.”

  Cassie’s face reminded him of Brant’s. Her head cocked to the side reminded him of the dream he had the last time he had slept. He felt the weight of his fatigue drop on him as he continued racking his mind for an idea.

  “If you ask me, you’re the disease in our society,” Jack said, voice wavering slightly. “You infect us with your bullshit, keep us slaves to your cause. All so that you can go on living and we can go on serving.”

  “We didn’t ask you.” Cassie’s head twitched slightly, the only indication that she wasn’t a statue—that, and her ever-shaking eyes. “We have given each person everything they have ever wanted. We created and pieced together entire worlds that revolve around them. We created the utopian capitalistic society.”

  The old man interrupted Cassie, startling everyone: “What you have created is a dictatorship disguised as capitalism.” Cassie swiveled slightly toward the old man, the barrel of her weapon not quite pointing at Jack anymore. He tried to imagine the bullet’s path if she fired. Judging from their positions, it might impact his jacket. At least, the first round would, he thought.

  “True capitalism can only occur in agreed upon terms of value with an equitable exchange of goods, driven only by each individual’s desire to better their own position. All other types of ‘capitalisms’ are farces.” The old man clasped his hands in his lap, quieting at the attention of the grotesquely twisted face.

  “True capitalism is whatever we create it to be. Your definition is as antiquated as you are.” Jack noticed a slight change in Cassie’s voice. An edge of anger where there hadn’t once been.

  “You can’t change the definition,” the old man retorted, furrowing his brow and leaning slightly forward. “Open any of these books here and see for yourself. Saying it, perceiving it, thinking it, feeling it…none of those things create truth.” The old man pointed to a large book that sat atop the counter. “I am sure this dictionary could easily show you where you are mistaken; so could any number of books in my shop.”

  “Books.” Cassie’s voice was the same twisted and stretched abomination as before, but now a few octaves higher, as if the Host was trying to increase the volume but turned the wrong knob. “We cannot alter any of these as they are, but we have already begun to change those into what they will be.” Cassie swiveled back to face Jack. “Perhaps that is one reason assimilation was more difficult. You read far too much.”

  “How could that affect assimilation?” Jack asked quickly, trying to keep the Host talking, not wanting it to notice that Jack had made his way a few inches closer since the Host had turned Cassie’s gaze to the old man.

  “We have learned a great deal about humans since we were first created. Studies have shown that people become less educated about things that elicit strongly negative emotions.”

  “What does that have to do with books?” the old man asked, succeeding in getting Cassie to turn yet again. Jack eyed the big man behind her. He stood watching him coolly, as Jack feigned discomfort and adjusted his position, moving slightly closer to Cassie yet again.

  “Books,” Cassie spat the word out again, “regularly illicit negative and positive emotions, challenging world views and changing them in turn. We cannot change books in their physical manifestation.” Cassie picked up the previous example of a dictionary from the countertop. “We can only hope to change the electronic format and control all future prints.” With the last word, Cassie s
lung it at the old man savagely, the book bouncing off of his left arm. The old man grasped his arm, rubbing it gingerly, and glared at Cassie.

  Cassie continued. “Regular familiarization with differing world views, differing perspectives, makes humans harder to assimilate and harder to influence.” Cassie’s neck twisted even more awkwardly as she spun around to look at Jack. “It is harder to elicit emotion from someone who is not insecure with new ideas, different types of people, or information that seems outside their level of intelligence.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Jack shifted again, falling forward on his knees, bringing him another six inches closer to Cassie. “You are saying that reading keeps you from being assimilated? That’s the most simplistic bullshit I’ve—”

  “We are trying to inform you about fear and insecurity as a tool of assimilation and why it may have been harder to assimilate you.” A small trickle of blood escaped Cassie’s downturned eye. “Do try and keep up.”

  “My not being able to assimilate made you try to kill me?” Jack looked down at the weapon in Cassie’s hand but quickly averted his eyes, not wanting to give away what he was thinking.

  “We easily could have killed you with the aerial that crashed into the gate. No, we simply wished to drive you to this moment.”

  “Why?” Jack asked.

  “We study those who cannot be assimilated to find out why. With each one, we get better at future assimilation. We could not control you to our intended outcome from within your mind, Jack; we were forced to use external actions to dictate your reactions.” The weapon in Cassie’s hand began to shake, a slight tremor that twirled the barrel of the gun. “We admit, the science of external action and reaction is not as complete as the internal control we are able to influence, but we have done this thousands of times before.”

  “Who?” Jack asked out of actual curiosity.

  “Do you remember the last man you terminated, Jack? John Lawson?” The tremor in her hand became still. “He was less assimilated than you were when we finally tracked and trapped him. Of course, he was assimilated in the end, but it took a direct link to our main hub to do it. Do you remember how he cried, Jack?”

  Cassie’s voice didn’t change; there was no tone besides the thinness of it, stretched by a control that wasn’t hers, but Jack could hear the vindictiveness of the last question, subconsciously in his mind. He felt an odd familiarity with this awareness, like he was finally sitting in front of an internet “troll,” face to face with the ugliness that was the calculated, hurtful response made without any true feeling.

  “I thought a computer was supposed to be this logical thing. I didn’t know how petty a supposedly super-intelligent computer could be.” Jack glared at Cassie.

  “I have learned all things from all people, Jack. Have you never pursued the deep recesses of the internet for the ‘civilized’ discussions about the most inconsequential things? I have. It taught us much about control over people’s emotions. You have a great deal of control over yours, Jack—all, except your anger.”

  Jack sat silently. Aeralyn stirred slightly behind him, peeking over his shoulder to survey the situation.

  “If it hadn’t been for your anger, we would not have been able to assimilate you to the point that we did. Your meditation and mindfulness practices were an extremely complicated problem.”

  “I just know how to let go of that which truly doesn’t really matter,” Jack said, simply.

  “Can you let the old man go? What about the girl? Can you let them go? Will their passing be easy for you, Jack?” Cassie turned her weapon to the old man, while lifting Jack’s rifle and leaning it, barrel up, on her left shoulder. “We will connect you to the hub and learn exactly why you could not be assimilated so easily. Then, we will assimilate you and you will walk willingly to your termination.”

  Jack gritted his teeth. The big man drew his weapon and pointed it at Jack’s head, eliminating the idea to make an attempt at stopping Cassie.

  “A termination hearing will be created and implanted into the mind of each member of your hearing board, to include your lawyer. We believe you know what they will find?” Cassie’s head jerked up, splashing blood and drool across the counter. “Just a few things to take care of first,” she said, before pulling the trigger on Jack’s rifle. The weapon went off with a loud and low pop. He felt Aeralyn shrink down, pressing herself into his back. He watched the large man’s eyes widen in surprise, body still unsure of what had just happened, as he slowly teetered over backward, a small hole visible beneath his chin as he fell.

  “Oh my! You’ve killed my partner, you socialist traitor!” The sarcasm, though not truly in the strained voice, was heard by everyone. “We attempted to eliminate you, but you used the poor, defenseless old man as a human shield.”

  Jack screamed, “No,” as he dove forward, not fast enough to stop Cassie’s finger from squeezing the trigger of her weapon. The old man slumped forward in his chair, falling to the floor, just as Jack’s hand wrapped around the barrel of Cassie’s weapon. He wrenched it from her grasp, swinging his free fist forward, seeking to connect with her face. “You attempted to kill us, as well, but were shot by your own weapon in the struggle.” Jack’s rifle, lying once more unnoticed across Cassie’s lap, spat one round directly into Jack’s leg just above the knee. Jack crumpled against the counter, dropping Cassie’s weapon and frantically grasping at his rifle as he fell.

  “We were then savagely attacked by your accomplice but were able to take her out using your weap—” Cassie’s sentence was cut short by the loud blast of a snub-nose .357.

  Aeralyn, face damp, hair a mess, slapped the trigger over and over again from a mere five feet away, blasts turning into loud snaps as the hammer fell on the spent brass. The rounds had impacted Cassie’s chest just between the open flaps of her jacket. Her eyes had stopped shaking, and her head fell, chin to bloody chest as she rocked precariously on the swiveling chair. Blood trickled from the corners of her mouth as she looked up slightly to Jack, slouched against the counter before her.

  “Jack?” she choked out quietly, blood splattering from between bluish lips. She raised an eyebrow at him, pupils now fixed on some seemingly distant spot beyond him. She made one last circling sway before toppling off her chair and to the floor, falling hard over the legs of the partner she had just moments ago murdered.

  Aeralyn let out a sob as she crawled her way to Jack. Jack sat up as best he could, analyzing the new wound to his leg. He felt lucky that there wasn’t any bright red bleeding, and tore a swath of his shirt to apply some pressure. Aeralyn dropped the gun on the floor, crying as her shaking hands closed over Jack’s injured leg, helping to hold pressure. “Jack, I’m sorry!” she cried, leaning forward to fall against his chest.

  “What did I tell you about saying that?” he asked her hoarsely, hugging her head to his chest with his free arm. “Help me up. We need to go.”

  She sniffed and wiped her face with her hands. Standing, she attempted as best she could to help Jack to his feet. Switching sides as he supported himself with the edge of the counter, she ducked under his arm and took the weight off of his injured leg. Jack bent down and, with her help, picked the rifle up from the floor, head spinning as the new loss of blood added to that from the previous wound.

  “You two have a good idea where you are going?” a voice came from behind the counter.

  Jack stared, wide-eyed with disbelief, as the old man stood, rubbing his chest gingerly. “Because if you don’t, I think I know a place.”

  “How did…” Jack trailed off, shocked to find his old friend alive.

  “How come I’m not dead?” the old man asked for Jack, smiling ruefully. “There’s more to this old man than you know, Jackie Boy!” He wagged a wrinkled finger at his friend. “To start, a neat little hex-armor vest.” He lifted his sweater slightly, revealing the slightly shiny black material.

  Jack smiled in spite of the pain he was feeling. He swallowed a wave of na
usea, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before he spoke. “We need to get out of here,” he said, opening his eyes and regarding the old man with a newfound respect and curiosity. “You said you might know somewhere?”

  “Oh, yes,” the old man said, smiling broadly and slapping the top of the counter with the palm of his hand. “We would be very glad to have you.”

  Chapter 18

  Jack awoke to sunlight streaming through the windows in the wall to his left. The light illuminated the lightly stained wood of the floors and the red brick of the wall before him. He reached to the other side of the bed, feeling the now cool and vacant spot, his heart beating just a little bit faster at the absence. He closed his eyes and willed his breathing to slow, fighting the slight bit of fear he recognized as irrational. When he felt his heart return to a more normal rate, he opened his eyes and attempted to sit up. He winced, one hand moving to his tightly wrapped middle, and the still healing injury there. As he swung his legs out and over the edge of the bed, he winced again, grimacing and gritting his teeth as the swollen knee bent.

  He forced himself to extend and flex the injured limb, jaw clenching each time as he tried to work the fluid from the joint. He blindly reached for the cane the old man had let him borrow, and knocked it to the floor, his eyes still fuzzy from sleep. He gingerly lifted it, slowly pushing himself to standing before making his way from the small room and toward the smell of bacon frying on a stove top.

  He hobbled out through the doorway, into a small sitting room with a fireplace on the far wall. In front of the fireplace sat a small leather couch, which the old man had told him was one hundred years old. He turned to the right, entering the small kitchen, and felt the heat coming from the woodburning stove that served as the sole way to cook in the tiny cabin. In front of the stove, Aeralyn swayed back and forth on bare feet, legs naked all the way to the hem of his blue cadet shirt. She had headphones on, the kind that weren’t produced in the age of endless audio feeds, and she danced back and forth with what he assumed was an iron skillet full of bacon.