by Ryan Rinsler
He dozed a little on the sofa, the soft cushions a welcome contrast to the hard camp bed-style mattress he was suffering downstairs. As the day drew darker the coffee shop became busier, with the clatter of crockery being almost drowned out by the chatter of patrons and bellowing of Daisy, who was busy taking orders. It was nice for Stanley to experience a little normality, if only from the other side of a blocked doorway, and he lay back imagining what it would be like to have a large vanilla latte in his hand now, rather than one of the three isotonic sports drinks the portable replicator was capable of producing.
Suddenly the door handle clicked. Stanley jolted himself upright, hands on the sofa, staring at the door. It was locked, that much he knew, with the key nowhere in sight. It clicked again, as though someone wasn’t quite sure if it was just stiff.
It can’t be Ella, he thought. She knows that door well enough. She will have locked it.
The white noise of the coffee shop continued, but for what felt like ten minutes or more there was nothing more from the door.
Time to go.
As he was about to get to his feet and descend to the relative safety of the tiny bunker, he heard a jangling of keys outside the door. He wasn’t hanging around anymore. Jumping out of his seat as quietly as he could, he dropped into the shaft and descended, closing the trapdoor behind him. He had no time to move the sofa back, nor could he risk making a sound, so he just had to hope it obscured the trapdoor enough for it to remain unnoticed by whoever it was trying to get in.
He reached the floor and paused, holding his breath. His ears were working overtime, straining to pick up any sound from above.
There was a thud as the door banged into the cupboard, then, after a second, a slow, low dragging sound as they obviously just pushed it out of the way. He heard the door close behind them, and then footsteps striding across the room, slowly and deliberately. It sounded to Stanley like a single person.
The trapdoor unlatched. Stanley panicked, his heart almost jumping from his chest. He clicked off the lamp instantly and hid in the corner, in the vain hope they wouldn’t have any kind of flashlight. A foot landed on a metal rung with a clink, and then another. One by one they descended, carefully, precisely, down the ladder. In the darkness Stanley suddenly saw movement. He stopped breathing, paralyzed with fear. His hands were shaking, his eyes almost bulging from their sockets in the pursuit of more information from the blackness.
A flashlight switched on and shone around the room, stopping on Stanley, who was now cowering in the corner, almost in the fetal position. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t looking, his mind telling him that if he couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see him.
“Dr. Chen,” came a man’s voice.
He didn’t answer, instead panting quickly.
“Dr. Chen, are you OK?”
The voice seemed inquisitive rather than authoritarian. He looked up slowly, the bright flashlight being the only thing he could see.
“Who are you?” he asked, squinting, trying to shield his eyes from the glare.
“Oh, sorry Dr. Chen,” he said, pointing the flashlight up to the ceiling. This illuminated the whole room, and he saw a young lad in a thick jacket, stood with a rucksack down by his side. “I’ve brought you some things. I have some news.”
“Who are you?” he asked again, straightening up. His heart rate had begun to slow, but he was still dizzy and breathless from adrenaline and hyperventilation.
“I’m Andy, sir,” he said. He mustn’t have been more than twenty-one. He was cleanly shaven and skinny, like a gangly teenager, but as no-one under the age of twenty-one could work for Silk, he guessed at the lowest age.
“Where’s Ella?”
“Erm, Ms. Stamford couldn’t make it,” he stammered.
“How did you get in?”
“The lady from the coffee shop, sir, she let me in.” He placed the rucksack on the bed as Stanley switched on the lamp. Stanley sighed heavily.
“Take a seat,” he said. “So, where’s Ella?”
“I’ve, I’ve been told not to say.”
“By whom?” asked Stanley, frowning, leaning forward.
“I’ve been told not to say that either,” he said, his cheeks reddening with nerves.
“Listen, I need to get out of here. Tell me where Ella is or I’m taking your I.D. card and scanning out with that.” He knew this was an empty threat, but he hoped the kid would be fooled enough to be scared by it.
“I… I… Ms. Stamford has gone away, sir,” he blurted, clearly wishing he hadn’t said anything the moment the words left his lips.
“Gone away? And who sent you here?”
He hesitated, but as Stanley raised his eyebrows to usher a response, he mumbled, “It was Mr. Patterson, sir.”
John Patterson was an elite among the resistance at Silk Corporation. As head of Aerial Security for Silk Corporation he had full visibility of the entire compound via the use of drones and satellite coverage, and was most likely in communication with Ella with a view to getting Stanley out of the park. At least that’s what Stanley hoped, but with Ella seemingly out of the picture he’d obviously taken over proceedings and sent this youth down to see him in her stead.
“What’s happened to Ella?” he asked again. Although they hadn’t seen eye-to-eye throughout their working relationship, the last couple of weeks had shown a different side to her. He hoped she was OK and had just got out of there, left the state or just found another job, but experience told him it was likely not the case. Once an employee of Silk Corporation reached a certain security level, it was rare they would ever leave. If they did, they wouldn’t be heard from again. Most put it down to them shunning the life of Silk Corporation, not wishing to remember anything about it and cutting everyone out of their lives that were involved in it, but rumors were rife that whole families would ‘move state’, never to be heard from again. He sincerely hoped this fate hadn’t befallen Ella, and hoped beyond hope he could also get out of there alive.
“So, why are you here?”
“There’s been a development.”
26
Stanley had no idea how they did it, but Connor was on his way back to Pure Reality.
Or should be.
The young man had brought him a lab coat, false access card and a charger that could be used with his BlackBook, so he could keep the time at least.
It was now down to him.
Somehow he had to get back into the Pure Reality center, down to the booths, negotiate with Red Oscar, Mana’s universe, to secure a host, meet with Connor, then send him into Red Oscar, all without being apprehended by Scouts. Deep down he always knew it would come to this — he knew it would be on his shoulders to get him in there, to push the final button.
Deep down, he knew it was likely a one way ticket.
Even if he could get inside the center — even if he could somehow make it to the Pure Reality booths, and somehow get a message to Mana, and even if he received one in time to send him in — even then, the mission was far from being a success. Connor had to get in there, to the right place, and make contact with Mana.
Stanley wasn’t even considering how he would escape the Pure Reality center at this point — his only goal was to get Connor in there. Everything else was a bonus. The boy had long since left, and Stanley sat on the edge of the bed, lab coat on and ready, watching the seconds tick by, closer and closer to the time he was told to emerge from the bunker and head into the center.
One hour to go. He was restless, pacing more than ever, wringing his hands, his brow sweating profusely. He took off his jacket and put it on again a few minutes later, only to do the same three or four times more before he eventually decided to leave it on.
Ten minutes to go. He climbed the ladder and emerged from the bunker into the dimness of the room above. Connor was due for his medical at five o’clock that evening, and as it was past that time already, it was time for Stanley to leave.
Along with the lab co
at, the young man had kindly given Stanley a hoodie to conceal his visual identity as much as possible on the way back to the Pure Reality center. Darkness made no difference — in this world it was no true form of concealment, only becoming useful when avoiding someone face-to-face, which was rare in itself. Surveillance cameras and drones would be on the lookout, but having a new ally, John Patterson in the Aerial Surveillance team, looking down on him, he felt some level of comfort stepping out into the open.
But he wasn’t there yet.
He picked up the key the young lad had slid back under the door as he left, and slowly turned it in the lock. He opened the door very slightly, barely a few millimeters, just enough to see shapes moving in the yellowish light of the coffee shop. The edges of the door and doorframe feathered together in his view as he tried to focus on anything through the hairline gap, but failing that he opened it ever so slightly more. He saw Daisy and her assistant working away behind the counter, and as the coffee shop was bustling, with patrons walking by the door frequently on their way to the restrooms, he closed it with a soft hastiness.
He contemplated for a second.
Whipping his lab coat off he rolled it up and stuffed it into the rucksack the youth had brought with him, and looking like a young lad himself with his hood up and hands in his pockets, he swung open the door and slid inconspicuously into the coffee shop.
Without looking up he walked past everyone, who thankfully paid no attention to him as he did, and stepped outside into the cool evening air. The sun was almost set, and with Connor’s medical likely to only take one hour, he had to get a move on. There was word that he may be entering with a friend, which added its own complications, but he was sure there must have been a reason behind this decision. He wasn’t about to question anything now. Maybe him having a friend there will help his cause, who would know, but as he strode along the ultra-smooth sidewalk, avoiding any vehicles by dodging into the same doorways he’d used on the way in, he headed with determination back to the Pure Reality center.
There was no missing it — the fifty story building rising high into the sky, dominating the entire compound. There had been talk the center was a further fifty stories underground, but this was idle speculation by those who believed in such things as ‘downstairs’. This threat, until a few weeks ago, had seemed rather farfetched to Stanley. He’d been involved in some of the most cutting edge technology available in their world, and at the time of him severing his ties with the project they seemed nowhere near any kind of level possible of the control and manipulation of Red Oscar, Mana’s universe. The concept of being ‘taken downstairs’ was often banded about, but no-one had either been there and returned, nor knew anyone who had, so for now it was simply a rumor. There would be consequence, that Stanley was sure of, but some underground torture center that every ex-Silk employee with any substance would be subjected to had long seemed fanciful to him, despite his knowledge of where the technology was taken in other universes.
However, seeing Neil the way he was struck a chord with him, and opened his eyes to the possibility they had broken through the technology even without Stanley’s help. His robotic actions, his scripted dialog. He’d seen it before in Mana’s world, albeit on a much stricter scale, but it was the start. The start of what may come.
His pace quickened. He was less than a hundred meters from the entrance now, so he took out his lab coat and swung it on, keeping his hood firmly over his head. The wind was brisk that evening so it wasn’t strange that he would have his hood pulled right over his head, so as he swiped the false card against the entrance scanner and entered the building, he kept it up.
The readout on the scanner said “R&D Intern, level C”, giving Stanley a boost knowing that no-one will even care who he is, let alone stop him to make conversation. Without hesitation he made his way through the lobby, head down, a familiar action to him now, and headed down to the lower floors via the elevator. There were four other people in there with him, but he kept his hands in his pockets and nodded his head rhythmically, pretending he had earphones in. When the doors opened he shot out like a dart and headed directly for the reception desk. The room was busy, with clients and employees passing in and out, and technicians going about their business. He pulled down his hood as he reached the desk and smiled as the girl behind the counter made eye contact with him.
“Oh, hello, Dr. Chen,” she said. “Long time no see.”
“Can I borrow your BlackBook for two minutes please?”
She handed it to him. “Your client’s just gone in.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Cooper.”
“You sent him in already? Who with?”
“Dr. Mariot.”
“Dr.—” He shot off in the direction of the booths, and to the annoyance of the girl kept hold of the BlackBook. He jumped through door after door until he was in the main corridor, and up ahead he could see a group of people about to enter one of the booths.
That’s him.
He ran. He ran as fast as possible without breaking into a sprint, skidding to a halt as he reached the closing doors.
“Waaiit, wait wait wait, wait, wait,” he called, sliding himself between the doors. He was sweating and out of breath, but he’d made it. “I’ll take over,” he said, bending to catch his breath. He sat down as Dr. Mariot left, and took a moment.
“So sorry gents,” he said, panting. “Bit of a mix up but I’m here now. Let’s get you ready shall we?”
“Stanley, what’s going on?” asked Connor. “We almost had to run here, and you actually did run here.”
Connor didn’t look pleased. He was here early, his medical likely to have been rushed, and Dr. Mariot was notoriously dreadful at displaying any kind of emotion or at the very least, customer service, to the point of being rude, and that was showing on Connor’s face right now. He had to think of an excuse. Fortunately for Stanley, he’d been late to an appointment a few times before, often having his head buried in some complex blueprint for a NanoBot, so he had a bank of excuses at the ready.
“Yes, so sorry about that, your window to enter the simulation is very narrow,” he said. “You remember last time you entered when your character was asleep? Same.”
He stood up and prepared the rigs, indicating for the two of them to change. As he was preparing, he stopped down to the access panel and whipped it off. From his pocket he withdrew a small device delivered by John Pattison’s delivery boy, and plugged it in. He dialed a message to Red Oscar, and held his breath. After a few moments a response came. He surreptitiously punched the air and took a note of the two long numbers on his BlackBook, then stood up and helped Connor’s friend into his rig.
“OK gents,” he said. “I want to apologize for the mad rush. It happens sometimes and the nature of what we do here means it can be a little… fraught, shall we say, when we get a late booking.”
He sat down on a nearby chair and loaded the numbers into the Pure Reality system, and, after a few seconds of scanning, it came back with an unusual reading. One of the hosts was injured, with a heart rate of 170 beats per minute. The other had a similar heart rate, but was uninjured, and both their geolocations were wildly distant from where Stanley was expecting them to be. One was out on the streets, with the other, injured host seemingly in a resistance safe house.
This can’t be right. How can I send them into this? It looks like a warzone.
He didn’t have any other option. These were the hosts that Mana had supplied, so these were the ones he must use. He paired Connor with the host in the safe house, likely in the least amount of danger, and the other to his friend, then sat and stared at the button to commit.
He had no idea what he was sending them into, and this was their last chance. This was his last chance.
“Everything OK?” asked Connor. Stanley snapped out of his gaze and looked up at him, dangling in the rig.
“Yes of course,” he replied. “I think we’re ready to go.”
; He looked down at the BlackBook again, his hand shaking as his fingertip hovered over the button. His breathing was heavy and labored, sweat dripping from every pore. He couldn’t do it. What if it’s a no go? What if they’re in the middle of a battlefield about to be killed, or captured? He stared at Connor, the desperate fear of failure building inside him with every moment that passed.
They have to go.
“You’ll fall asleep in 10… 9… 8… 7…”
With every second, every word that came out of his mouth his whole body had to force himself to say the next.
He had to prepare him. He had to say something.
“Stay alive Connor,” he said, and hit the button.
They instantly passed out, their heads being caught by the synthetic muscles built into the rig. He slammed his BlackBook closed and jumped out of his seat, and with a thump on the door pad it swooshed open and he stepped out into the corridor.
“Dr. Chen,” came a deep voice from beside him. He looked up and to his horror saw two Scouts and two military officers stood completely blocking the corridor. The soldiers lifted their weapons and aimed them directly at him.
“Come with us.”
27
Connor took a long intake of breath as he opened his eyes. The room was out of focus for some time before he got his bearings, and once he did, noticing the dull light of the low, evening sun drifting into the morning room of Jacob’s ranch, he closed them again.
“Back in the land of the living?” asked Jacob, who was sat by his side.
He rubbed his face wearily, not wishing to move. His arms were heavy, his body aching, and his buttocks numb.
“Just about,” he croaked.
“Take your time.”
His eyes were still shut. He was exhausted, and hungry. There was a bag raised high on a metal pole by his bedside, with clear liquid running down tubes into his forearm. He flinched as he saw it.
“What the hell is this?”
Jacob chuckled. “Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “That’s an old I.V. drip I had in the basement. They used to use these back in my day to keep you hydrated without having to drink. Now it’s all electronic of course, like everything else.”