by Matt Ward
And a liar too. “I know.”
“Plus, for all they know, Lyam disappeared again. He did once, what’s to say he wouldn’t again? So that’s out, at least for now. Option two, stay with me and hide out in Caen.”
He gestured to the small apartment, tiny kitchen and carpeted living room.
“It’s workable, but to be honest, you’re on the news once a day and this is the most policed city in the world. I’d rather get you out of here. Option three, escape to a town somewhere. Locals might even protect you cause you’re one of them. Or they may go for the huge reward and turn you in. That’s a chance we’d have to take.”
Would they really do that, turn a fellow animote in?
Lars shook his head. “Those first three options are garbage, too dangerous, but I wanted to outline all the options. Things might change.”
He sipped his coffee before continuing. “Option four, roughing it, get out of the city and live in the woods for a bit. I could come with you if you want, that’d be up to you. From what you’ve said, you’re comfortable outdoors. May be our best option.”
I’d been thinking the same thing. “Then what?”
He shrugged. “It’s a temporary solution to buy us time and see what happens. With the GDR and the Initiative both rushing thanks to you, things are bound to change fast. And with what you told me about the Initiative’s willingness to go to war, we shouldn’t have to wait long.” He paused to let that sink in. “In a month or two, things could look different. If they push for war or the towns revolt, the Initiative could be dependent on you. You might be able to make demands, maybe even to lead.” His eyes twinkled. “You know the story of Jesus?”
The hairy religious guy? “Sort of.” What’s he got to do with anything?
“For thousands of years, people looked to the heavens for answers, prayed to gods—or god, depending on your era—for guidance, survival, sex… anything. Jesus is the father of Christianity, a religion that reigned for thousands of years. Story was, he was the son of God, the chosen one to lead humanity to salvation, and people united around that.” He shrugged. “Something inside draws us to charisma, to power, to hope. Today our people have nothing: no freedom, no future. You could be that hope.” He smiled.
“You think I should be a prophet? Pretend to be a gift from god or something?” Was he serious?
“No, no,” Lars said. “That was a metaphor. This isn’t about religion, it’s about unifying hope. If you channel that, and step in at the right moment, you could turn the tide of history.”
“That’s what the Initiative wanted, for me to inspire the people to rise up and revolt. Fitz said we weren’t ready.”
“Bet you he was right, too.” Lars shook his head, smiling. “Lyam—Fitz as you knew him—was the sharpest military mind I knew. He’s right, that’s what I’m saying. It isn’t only the message, it’s also timing. And you have to survive long enough. Get it?”
I nodded.
“How much combat training do you have? Lyam teach you anything?”
I wish. “We didn’t have time.”
“That’s priority one once we’re out of here,” he said. ‘You need to learn to fight. You’re fast and strong, you’ve got enhancements. You need training to take advantage of that. The best in the world are in Zone Three. I have contacts over there, people who run combat academies and monasteries. We just need to get there.”
Zone Three? “That’s far.”
He grinned. “They won’t expect it, either of them. Besides, GDR’s weaker there. Their honor culture and long history make Asians some of my favorite people, and those least like to submit to foreign rule.” He pursed his lips. “Flying is out of the question, too much paperwork and security. Plus I don’t have that kind of legal money.” He shook his head. “A ship’s our best bet, either as stowaways or joining a crew. I’ll put out feelers and see what comes back.”
“You think I should run?” I asked.
A nod. “I need to go get stuff ready for the trip and talk to some people. I’ll be back. Need anything?”
“When do we leave? How can I help?”
“Depends what I find. I’ll be back tonight.” He stood, grabbed his jacket, and strode to the door. As he was about to leave, he turned. “Stay here, kid. There’s food in the fridge, leftovers. Feel free to make something. I’ve got books in my room you might find interesting. Take a look if you’re bored. I’ll be back before 19:00.”
He left, and once again, I was alone with my thoughts, which drifted to Fitz. He’d died protecting me. And as stupid as it was, he’d felt a bit like a father to me. I missed him.
And Mom, and Vynce, and Elly… I missed them all. But I had to make it through this. If I didn’t, their deaths would be for nothing.
I’d do what I had to, like Mom raised me.
Didn’t Lars mention books? Could be a nice distraction, anything to escape feeling and the reality of the situation. After finishing my coffee and cleaning like Mom drilled, I headed to the bedroom.
Lars was a bachelor all right: bed unmade, clothes and socks covering the carpeted floor, and a distinct sweaty musk permeating the place. The far corner had a small wooden desk and an impressive bookshelf. So many non-governmental books... there must have been twenty real, physical books. These weren’t outdated Ministry of Education ones either. No one read real books anymore, but Lars had books on history, science, space. Even fiction near the bottom. Where to begin?
Opening the cover of The Rise of Immortality, I scanned the faded table of contents. It looked good.
A History of Man
A History of Medicine
The Birth of Modern Agriculture
The Human Genome Project
Transhumanism
Biological Immortality
Mechanical Immortality
Virtual Immortality
The Birth of Emulates
Immortality at Last?
A New Chapter
It was written around 2060 or so, when scientists cracked the code on the human brain and virtually emulating consciousness.
While the chapters on biological and mechanical immortality were familiar, I was clueless about the emulate origin story. How brain-fields could be transferable to new semi-organic surrogate bodies was beyond me. Sounded like magic.
The early experiments sounded horrible: from plugging physical hard drives to invasive personality destroying scans, the earliest tests were done on political prisoners, like the first animote trials.
In 2051 some European scientist figured out probablistic mapping. Progress exploded after that, a huge surrogate market before it was banned and taken over by the government. Playing god was dangerous, as the world had seen.
Today, no one knew how many bodies there were, or where they were stored. The book mentioned “repositories”—the brain-fields storage facilities known only by the upper echelons of the emulate GDR where emulates rebooted. Like a respawn location.
My stomach grumbled.
It was fascinating, if a bit technical. For sure banned. I’d never heard any of this, at least not in any detail. The author must have published under a pen name, or be dead.
But one thing didn’t make sense. How’d the GDR function? If your coworkers lived forever and wouldn’t share the secret with you or your kids… there must be bad blood, right?
Too bad the book was outdated, no mention of more recent events or politics. Could have been helpful.
Food time. Grabbing a random book, I headed for the kitchen, poured another cup of fantastic coffee, and opened the fridge. Wow, he had food... Maybe Lars wasn’t your typical bachelor.
Yes, ribs! It had been ages since I’d eaten something wild. I found a pan in the cupboard, put it on the burner, and poured some synthoil.
This was all new to me, Elly usually cooked when Mom couldn’t. But how hard could it be?
As the pan was heating up, I grabbed a chair and opened the book, Man’s Fall From Heaven. Interesting. Was this
like that Jesus stuff?
A burning stench hit me. What was that?
Crap, the burner. I must have lost track of time. Dropping the book, I sprang to my feet, coughing. The room was filled with noxious fumes and it was hard to breathe.
Shit. Running the pan under cold water didn’t help as burning black curdled through the apartment. This wasn’t working.
And the building would have smoke detectors. What if the fire department came? They’d be on the lookout for anything suspicious. Running to the detector, I ripped it from the wall but the numbers on the screen kept skyrocketing.
It screamed a high-pitched mechanical beep as I hurried to the window, struggling with the old fashioned lock. It shattered, but at least the street was empty.
Winding up, I heaved the beeping detector as far as I could. It fell with a metallic crash, exploding in a violent thud as thousands of tiny pieces scattered the pavement.
Phew. That was close.
The fire alarm sounded.
29
Grabbing A Lift
I couldn’t stay here. I had to get out, ASAP. But if they investigated and no one was here, they’d be suspicious. They’d swab DNA. If they did, they’d get a match.
The officers that had drugged me must have taken a sample. If I was in their database, I’d be screwed. Lars too.
I had to warn him. How? He hadn’t left a note.
Stay calm. Hustling around the apartment, I searched for any way to contact him. There had to be something.
A stack of envelopes on the counter. I flicked through, skimming. One caught my eye.
United Comms Co. The GDR’s telecom and media company was too lazy and bureaucratic to digitize their comms. I tore it open. A bill.
Dear Mr. Avery,
Come on... The back had account information. BINGO!
I memorized it and ran to the couch, grabbing my bag and hurrying to the fridge to stuff all the food I could fit.
Outside, sirens wailed over the blaring alarm. A kilometer or two at most.
Decision time… Staying was too risky. I had to get out of here and get ahold of Lars.
Racing downstairs, there was a back entrance. I took it and was in luck. The shabby lot was empty except for several busted scooters.
Trucks sped to the building, tires screeching as I ran, jumping fences.
Once I was two blocks away, I slowed and merged with other pedestrians, trying to act normal. They’d do a DNA swab and ID me in no time. DNS would be there minutes later.
Hurry.
I opened Lars’ information from the telecom, careful to keep my eyes down like the other animotes. It had his username name: @larsmars, and I called him. No answer.
Again, nothing. I sent him a voice message, avoiding any trigger words and told him what happened. As long as he was okay, I’d hear from him soon.
We had to leave the city. Schedules for every lev train and pool ride leaving the city entered my field view. Some headed east, a few west. Either could work and I filed them away for later, sharing the plans with Lars.
Two police cruisers whizzed past, sirens screaming. Shoot. No breaking stories, yet. That was good at least. The longer the World News Network (WNN) took, the more time we had.
A notification. It was Lars calling.
‘Got your message, kid. Shit! Where are you?’
‘Sending my location now.’ I transmitted GPS coordinates and a map snap of my position.
‘Okay. I found a boat. It’s leaving from a port south of Fiern two days from now.’
Two days? All the way out west... ‘Can we make it?’
‘We’re going to have to. I got the lev times you sent. Thanks. Our best bet is hitching a ride on the noon train to Mile High to put some distance between us and the capital.’
‘But that’s thirty-five minutes from now!’
‘We need to hurry. They might shutdown the city when they realize it’s you. We need to be out of here.’
‘Where do we meet?’ I asked.
‘Lockerbie Station. It’s three kilometers northeast of you. Sending details. Meet me at the coffee shop across the street. Find a hat or a pair of sunglasses, something to blend in. Steal one if you have to.’
Steal? ‘Okay.’ My heart hammered, but I was up to it. ‘I’ll be there.’
‘And if I don’t show, Raek, assume something happened. Get yourself on that lev, hide in the freight section. It should be fully automated. Go to Taub port, two hours south of Fiern. Ask for JJ and tell him Birdman sent you. I gotta go, kid. Good luck.’
I wished him the same, switched off, and ran harder. So this was what a real fox hunt felt like... Time to throw caution to the winds.
A squad car approached as I rounded the corner. The rest of the street empty, except me. A store was open and I slipped in.
It was one of those retro urban clothing stores. Colorful sneakers and jerseys, posters plastering the ceilings, old school hip hop shaking the building from the massive sound system by the counter.
“How’s it hanging?” the store owner said with a smile.
“Just looking.” I hurried toward the back.
“Let me know if you need anything, brother,” he replied in a strange accent.
He was an animote of some kind, long black hair braided in twisted snakes down his back. He turned and busied himself with a box by the credit scanner, humming.
The cruiser passed a minute later. Phew.
“Thanks, man, maybe another time.” I headed for the door.
“We be here, me brother, if you be needing something.”
I wasn’t hip hop savvy enough to have a clue what he meant.
A black cap with odd markings hung by the door. Without breaking stride, I slid it off the display and under my shirt. Was I really stealing this hat?
I slipped out, the owner humming away.
After sprinting a block, I tried on the hat. It fit well, covering my eyes and face. A quick adjustment, and I was off
I’d come back one day and pay that guy.
A notification flashed. I pulled it up. A breaking story.
‘Authorities confirmed the animote wanted for killing four cynetic officers last weekend has been staying with this man, Lars Avery. Firefighters investigating reports of smoke and a potential fire at 1104 Heartlow, reported Mr. Avery’s room unresponsive after several attempts to notify the occupant. Upon entry, EMTs and local law enforcement took genetic samples. DNA matching the murderer, Raek Mekorian, was found at the scene. Citizens are encouraged to stay vigilant and report suspicious activity or sightings of either Raek Mekorian or Lars Avery to their local DNS precinct.
Clicking off, I pinged Lars the news. I’d set an alert on my name and he might not have thought to do the same.
Two minutes later, he called. ‘I saw. Doesn’t change anything. Be careful,’ he added.
‘I’ll be there in twelve minutes.’
‘Good. I’m organizing some last minute things. I’ll be there soon.’
After the stress of the morning, the rest of the way was uneventful until the station. It was crawling with cops. Not good.
I messaged Lars. Anywhere else we could get on?
Incoming call. ‘Kid, you here?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Good. Head west. See the gray and blue tower? Meet me at the entrance. Hurry!’ His voice was loud and strained. It was 11:53. We had seven minutes.
I sprinted for my life. Lars had sounded worried and he’d been unflappable to this point. Did he have a plan?
Four minutes later, the entrance. There was a whistle.
“Over here!” Lars knelt behind a bush, pretending to tie his shoes. “You made it.”
“What’s the plan?” My voice felt fine. Weird, I wasn’t out of breath despite sprinting for thirty minutes.
“We jump it,” he said matter-of-factly, surveying the tracks from all possible angles.
“Wh, what? What do you mean jump it?”
“It’s simple.
As the train goes by, we run alongside and hop on. We’ll pull ourselves up, sneak into the freight compartment, and we’re golden.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Jumping onto a moving train?
“Wish I was.” He shook his head, calm despite what we were about to attempt. “It’s our only option. Besides, trains don’t pick up real speed until they’re a kilometer outside the metro area. Follow me, kid.” We ducked a wire fence, hopped a crumbling concrete wall, and moved toward the edge. “Don’t touch the track. You’ll be fried.” Lovely.
“Also,” he added, “the train’s visual detection system can’t see us. If it does, it’ll alert security or turn around. We have to wait until the engine passes before we pop up.”
Pop up? “What?”
He pulled me behind a breaker. “Here it comes! They’re silent until they get going. Electric engines and magnetic levitation.”
Sure enough, the bulleted monstrosity hurtled toward us with scarce a whine.
Where’d Lars want us to grab on to? There weren’t any openings.
“Take these and hold tight.” He handed me a pair of fifteen-centimeter poles. “They’re maggrips. Jump and squeeze the handle as soon as it hits the train. That’ll activate the electromagnets and should be strong enough to support you. Don’t stop squeezing! Anything below a rough handshake and the EM coils deactivate... Loosen your grip slightly to climb or reposition the handle.”
“On my count,” he said, his eyes set in slits. “Three, two, one!”
He took off and I hurried after him, squeezing the handles like my life depended on it, which in a lot of ways, it did. He took a forty-five-degree angle toward the train, correcting as he closed and narrowing the gap as the train flew by.
It was pulling away from us, too fast… He jumped. “Holy shit!”