by In Churl Yo
Instead of an infinite, disparate list of parts that had somehow vanished somewhere in the supply chain, now Zoah had aggregate lots of inventories collected together in myriad storage areas waiting to be shipped. By seeing what had been bundled with what, she could make an educated guess as to what was being constructed at the end of the line. Most of what she saw was routine stuff, but the scope of the project was way beyond anything she had imagined.
“This is definitely where all the missing stock was funneled,” she said. Zoah swiped across the virtual desktop and brought over a new database to compare with the list she was already scrutinizing. “I mean, the sheer array of goods and equipment is comprehensive and deep. They could be building anything from habitats to aircraft, office complexes to hospitals. It’s hard to say, but one thing’s for sure: whatever it is, wherever it is, it’s big.”
“How big?” asked Nox.
“Like a city. They’ve collected enough raw material and equipment to build a city, or a massive fleet of warships, but why?”
“There’s nothing here,” Caleb said. “What you’re talking about doesn’t exist. It’s just kilometers of sand and rock outside.”
“Not here,” Nox replied. “Somewhere else.”
“We’ll know soon enough,” said Ogden. “That I promise you.”
Zoah turned away from the display and considered Ogden and his words. Her eyes soon lit up. “Take us with you,” she said.
“No.”
“You have to. What if you need our help again?”
“She has a point,” Nox said. “We should bring them both.”
“I disagree. Their usefulness to us has come to an end. Captain?”
The officer stepped close to the CEO. “Sir!”
“This facility has a brig?”
“Yes, sir!” he responded, then waited for the anticipated follow-up order, but it never came. Several seconds of silence hung in the air before Ogden gave him a harsh look and waved his hands at the prisoners. The captain then nodded and had his men usher Zoah and Caleb out of the office.
“What if you’re wrong? It’s not like we’ll be able to summon them later if we need them,” said Nox.
“I’m never wrong,” Ogden stated, a cool look in his eyes. “Never.”
CHAPTER 26
Milton felt sick. Maybe he had the Zombie Flu. Maybe he’d even welcome it. A part of him already seemed dead inside, so why not let it finish the job? A rotting brain felt like such a small price to pay. He looked at the pistol in his hand—its heavy steel an anchor, cold and malignant, dragging him down. Milton tossed it away, but the damage the gun had delivered—that he had delivered—real or imagined, was already done.
The Virt was a slippery slope. The engineers had done a good job simulating the real world, and in the beginning fooling one’s senses relied on a willingness to accept that what you were experiencing was in fact true. Since its inception, designers sought to close that gap, to trick the brain into believing the lie they were selling, and they succeeded. Boy, did they.
Of course, it didn’t take long for the pundits and philosophers to question the ramifications of living in a such a world—people forming communities that were both authentic and a complete sham, being friends and having intimate relationships with those you’d never even met in person before.
In this pale reflection of society, there still had to be consequences for your actions. Violating someone physically or mentally in the Virt was an absolute crime. Still, if you were killed in the Virt, did you die in real life? (Safeguards and redundant systems insured that you didn’t.) What if you shot someone, stabbed them or hit them with a car and killed them? Did that make you a murderer, even if that person hadn’t died in real life?
In that moment, Milton thought so.
As a hacker, he knew the possibility that malicious code existed; code that could infiltrate your interface at any time and make death in the Virt a reality, be it a death you experience yourself or one you meted out. It was rare and illegal but had been known to happen. He knew this and still decided to pull the trigger. He wanted to end the game. He wanted to win. And he didn’t want to be killed himself.
Milton looked at his friend’s lifeless body and collapsed to his knees. Even if the Kiter Five had played him, even if none of this was in fact true, Milton knew he would never be the same again. He’d crossed a line. This wasn’t self-defense. This was premeditated. This was Neema.
“Hello, Milton.”
He didn’t respond, just dropped his head and closed his eyes.
“You did it.” A reassuring hand squeezed his shoulder. Milton stood and turned around. The scene around him then shifted, shimmering out of focus until it faded into an infinite panorama of white. The body, the crime, the room full of mercenaries—all gone. Neema reached out and hugged him.
“Did I?” he asked, treading atop the swell of emotions that threatened to undo him. She offered him a warm smile, then lifted her hand and in a familiar motion tapped them both out of the Virt.
The transition was short. Milton’s eyes blinked open and found hands disconnecting the various input wires still attached to his haptic suit. He looked around the room. There were several people he didn’t know, all dressed in similar suits, and in the back, he saw Neema greet him with a two-finger wave.
“How are you feeling?” she said.
“Shitty. I killed you.”
“I know. That wasn’t my idea.”
Milton nodded then started pacing the room, his shoulders arched back, fists clenched tightly at his side. “So, whose idea was it?” he asked, ready to punch the first person who spoke up. “Which one of you programmed that last round?!”
Neema stepped forward. “Milton, it doesn’t matter.”
“Stay out of this, please.”
“Yeah, Neema, stay out of this,” a voice behind Milton agreed. Milton turned around and sized up the man smiling in front of him who was offering his hand. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Arsenal.”
“You’re Arsenal?”
“I see my online reputation precedes me.”
Milton pushed his hand away and tackled the shorter, dark-haired man, landing hard on him as they hit the floor in a heap. The two men struggled against each other before being separated by the others.
“The test was necessary,” Arsenal spat. “We had to know how far you were willing to go. You asked for this, didn’t you?”
“I wanted to be a part of something important. I wanted to make a difference. I didn’t ask for what you did to me.”
“You think the Kiter Five is all goodness and light? I have news for you, kid,” said Arsenal, “we’re not. We can’t be, not if we want to win. You may be good with a cufflink, but that means jack out here in the real world. Out here, you do what you have to. You do what needs to be done.”
“That’s enough, Arsenal,” said Neema. “Everybody out. I need to talk to Milton.” The group shuffled out of the room, leaving the two of them alone.
After a long moment of quiet, Milton spoke: “It wasn’t right.”
“No, it wasn’t. But I can’t argue the intention.”
“Meaning?”
“These people don’t know you. This isn’t a social club. The tests weren’t designed just to find out how good you are, but to see what you’re made of. They have to know whether they can trust you.”
“Trust this: I’m done. I don’t want any part of it.”
Neema shook her head. “Are you forgetting we need their help?”
“Says you. You’re probably the best hacker in the world, and I can hold my own. Whatever comes our way, we can handle it—just the two of us.”
“Milton, you’re not listening to me. We need their help.” She sighed and leaned against a counter across from him. “I’ve been out here more years than I care to admit looking for the truth, and the Kiters have been with me most of the way. Yes, it’s an uneasy alliance. Yes, these guys are arrogant and anti-social. Some ma
y even be borderline psychotic.”
“May be?” Milton said, offering her a weak smile. “God, I can’t believe I wasted all those years dreaming about taking that damn test. What a total let down.”
Neema smiled back and waved him over to sit next to her. She rested her head against his shoulder. “But we’re so close now thanks to you and Zoah. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had the truth right at my fingertips only for it to slip away at the last second. It can’t be that way this time. I feel it in my bones: Whatever’s happening out here, we’re near the end of it. And if we’re going to finish this on our terms, we must be at our best and do it with every resource at our disposal. That means together, as Kiters one and all.”
“I’m with you, Neema. You know that. That doesn’t mean I’m not still pissed.”
“Fair enough. You’re one of the good ones, Milton, and I appreciate you sticking with me. Don’t worry about Arsenal. I’ll handle him.”
“Arsenal should be worried about me—if he’s smart.”
“Oh, he’s smart. Too smart for his own good,” she replied. “Now, you ready to help me convince these guys they need to come with us?”
He took a deep breath, nodded and followed her to where the rest of the Kiters had gathered together in waiting. Neema scanned the room.
“Would you look at this? When was the last time all of us got together? It’s been years.”
“Because it’s dangerous,” said Arsenal.
“Thank you for coming,” she continued without missing a beat. “You know I wouldn’t have asked you here if it wasn’t important. But first, I want to introduce my friend Milton Lee, even though you’ve all met already—in a manner of speaking.”
A large man who towered over Milton and was twice as wide came forward and shook his hand. “Nice ta meet cha,” he said in a thick London accent. “Call me Baller, mate.”
Milton’s eyes lit up in recognition. “You were the hulk. I battled you on the first level.”
“Guilty as charged. I’m a bit of a bruiser and end up taking most wankers right off, but you? You’re alright. You’ve got some style.”
“Thanks, Baller.”
Neema walked Milton over to a young woman fiddling with her cufflink who seemed preoccupied by something on her visor and tapped her on the shoulder. “Tifa? Milton.”
“Hiya,” she said without stopping. Milton smiled. He’d been there.
“You play Final Fantasy?” he asked.
Tifa slid her visor down to the end of her nose and looked at Milton. “What gave it away?” she replied.
“Your name—I figured it was either you or your parents…”
Tifa snorted. “My parents were always working. I doubt they even know I’ve been gone for two years. Besides, they didn’t name me. I named me.” She dropped her hands to disengage her cufflink interface, then sat forward in her chair to get closer to Milton, pink hair falling at either side of her face, framing it perfectly. “You’ve got some talent, but if you really want to impress, tell me, which FF was your favorite?”
Milton considered the question. “XXI was pretty good,” he said, “but if I had to pick my all-time, I guess it would have to be VI.”
“Old school, huh?” Tifa leaned back and grinned. “I guess we can be friends.”
The next person in the room stepped forward, offered his hand and used the handshake to lead him away from Tifa. “You heard her, right? She said ‘friends.’ I’m Elsif. Tifa and I are together. What I mean is, she’s my girlfriend.”
“Congratulations,” said Milton. “I’m guessing you two were the Mirror Twins.”
Elsif nodded. “We almost beat you.”
“Well, there’s always next time.”
Neema waved her hand and said, “And you’ve met Arsenal already...”
“Now everybody knows everybody,” Arsenal muttered back. “Can we get on with it?”
Neema sat down at the conference table and invited the group to join her. Once everyone was settled, she cleared her throat and began: “Have you all had a chance to review the data I sent you?” As she gestured her hand across the table’s surface, multiple displays came to life in the air showing stacks of windows filled with data.
“Only reason I’m not on a virtual beach right now sipping mai-tai’s,” Baller said. “A bloody shame, really.”
“The conspiracy is real,” said Milton. “For decades, even longer, maybe even as far back as when the pandemic first spread, a shadow organization has been operating on a global scale, setting up infrastructure, moving massive amounts of inventory, but why? To what end?”
“You’re being naïve. When has there never been a shadow organization? Or a secret operation? Or a massive cover-up?” Arsenal asked. “That’s what governments do. The Ceres Corporation’s even worse. You haven’t discovered anything.”
“There’s a difference between suspicion and truth,” Neema countered.
“The data is pretty compelling,” said Elsif, using his hands to stretch out one of the virtual windows displayed in front of him. “Especially how it all points to this facility in New Mexico.”
“Keep in mind none of this was given to us,” Milton said. “It took months of cross-referencing multiple independent sources to get us here, and we had to fight hard to find what we were looking for.”
“What if it’s a trap?” Tifa posed. “They send all this murky data out into the world knowing we’re the only ones smart enough to put it all together?”
“Or dumb enough to do something about it,” said Baller. “Yeah, but I reckon it can’t always be hunky-dory now, can it? Whatever it is you’ve got cooking, Neema, count on Baller to back you up. I’m in.”
“I appreciate that, Baller,” she said. “I’m glad you’re in.”
“In? In what?” asked Arsenal. “What’s your plan?”
“We have to get inside. We have to find out what they’re doing.”
“Well, from what I can see here, New Mexico is a fortress,” Elsif said. “Seismic sensor minefield. Laser fencing. A fleet of military drones. And their node point has some aggressive defensive measures. I had to kill the connection straight away because of a dynamic trace program.”
“I could’ve warned you about that,” Milton offered under his breath.
“We have another team of people already on their way,” Neema said. “It’s their job to create a distraction so that we can disable the facility’s command functions and take control.”
“I think you’re insane to try,” said Tifa. “It’s a suicide run.”
“How many times have you done something you were told you shouldn’t do?” Milton asked. “How often have you done something that everyone thought couldn’t be done?”
“Mm…every day,” Tifa answered, smiling. “If I’m lucky.”
Arsenal laughed dismissively. “Luck is the only thing that’s going to get you out of that place alive.”
Neema stood up in her chair and leaned forward on her hands and gave the group a stern look. “Listen to me,” she said, pounding her fist on the table. “Have you forgotten everything we’ve worked so hard for all these years? The sacrifices we’ve made? The terrible losses we’ve all experienced? And for what—so we can sit like petulant children too afraid to finish what we started? If you do nothing, then the revolution dies here, stillborn, having never made a difference. Hope and truth die here.”
The Kiter Five sat in silence, their eyes scanning the room at each other, searching faces for intentions.
“Whatever you decide, I’m going,” Neema said. “The question you have to ask is, can you live with yourself if you don’t join me now? Can you live with the knowledge that, fail or succeed, you could have influenced the outcome somehow if only you had had the courage to try?
“Do you remember more than 10 years ago when I escaped to the outside alone? Some of you even watched me do it. I asked then what I’m asking you now: Join me. Help me seek out our own truth—not settle for
the truth they’d have us all believe. It’s why we were put on this planet. It’s why we’re together now. What do you say? Are you in?”
# # #
The flowers had all died. Zoah saw them in the rose garden, gated by a white picket fence in the front yard by the sidewalk—a place where passersby would notice and appreciate them, perhaps even stop to smell them on a warm spring day.
But now the skies were gray and the streets empty. Weeds had overgrown the beds that were tired from neglect, full of shriveled stems craned up naked and brown. The entire block of homes lay desaturated and still—a neighborhood long abandoned by families gone in a hurry, never to return.
Zoah was floating down the street. The many front doors left open and half-empty suitcases and boxes strewn everywhere told a familiar scene. The Zombie Flu had visited here and overstayed its welcome. It had devastated this town and every other town on Earth in the exact same way. But Zoah felt nothing as she passed through the littered sea of forsaken relics and lost memories. She simply moved on.
Then a light in the distance caught her eye.
Zoah moved toward it. The glare was blinding and hard to look at, but she couldn’t take her eyes away from it. As if it were calling to her, reaching out across a vast expanse, the illumination was drawing her closer and closer. Then when she could almost touch it, the light shimmered and began to coalesce until it dissipated, leaving Zoah standing in front of a little girl with pigtails in a pristine white dress.
They stood there motionless for minutes, or was it hours? Zoah fell in and out of the moment, losing track of time. The girl offered nothing, frozen like a snapshot taken from a more innocent time before the world ended—never moving, eyes empty and unblinking. When Zoah tried to speak, nothing came out. When she struggled to find her voice, a dry, horrid pain filled her throat.
Zoah clutched her neck, and it felt thin and sinewy. She looked at her hands, and they were gray, emaciated. Her entire body convulsed, and Zoah buckled, overcome by weakness and agony.