by RJ Johnson
“Turn it off,” Meade looked away in disgust. “Is that how you get your jollies Corcoran?”
“This was no recorded video,” Corcoran said bemused. “That was a live video feed. You saw me dismiss the man a few minutes ago. I merely adjusted the course of one man’s day to accomplish my goal. It’s quite simple thanks to Cassandra.”
Meade looked at her in shock, “Now I know you’ve gone off the deep end.”
Corcoran watched him laugh at her, she licked her lips. “I’m afraid you’re sorely mistaken Mr. Meade. I’ve never been saner in my life.”
“You claim to know that Bell would drop that drill on your MP’s head just by a few simple…”
“Simple?” Corcoran’s eyes flashed in anger, deeply offended that anything she did was easy, “The research that went into that so-called simple math took me decades to research. There’s so much data that even our most modern computers can’t make sense of it all. It was only through my brilliance and hard work that Cassandra is able to forge it into a tool I can use.”
“Computers ain’t miracles,” Meade said derisively. “Every equation needs data like anything else, and even if you knew where everyone was, how could you possibly know where they were going without....” he stopped suddenly, flashing back on his conversation with Roxanne at the Lucky Lady. She said that they listened. At the time, Meade thought she meant Laszlo and the casino, but what if she meant something bigger than that. What if she meant the whole Coalition listened to everything they did?
“And you think it a coincidence that every Coalition citizen is required to use a SecureCard?” Corcoran laughed right back at him. “Don’t be so naïve. Every single bit of data on every citizen’s ArmBar in New Plymouth is sent directly here. It’s not just where they are and what they look up and read, it’s everything. Every conversation. Every movement. We know where every citizen lives, where they work, who they fuck, what their favorite position is and their dirtiest fantasies. Their ABRs are recording every breath they take, every heartbeat, even skin galvanic response.
“We know everything,” she continued. “And all of that data ends up with Cassandra who filters it to create a fully realized simulation of what will happen in New Plymouth over the next seventy-two hours. I can see out even further if I use a variable and constant. And when I saw you fight Chau in that bout to see who would face the champion, I instantly knew that you were the perfect variable.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Meade demanded. “I’m not some equation.”
“It’s like I’m speaking to a monkey,” Corcoran said shaking her head. “We are all equations and data points now in the eyes of Cassandra. I used her to consolidate my power. It was because of her that I learned of my chief of security’s treachery and plans to replace me on the council. It was Cassandra who helped me formulate the best plan to eliminate and consolidate my enemies.”
She stepped forward looking down at Cassandra lovingly, stroking the console. “Cassandra saved me when she alerted me to the idea through one of my simulations that if my Chief of Security learned of Cassandra he would approach Laszlo to have me assassinated. I always knew Laszlo wanted my seat, but I never thought he had the stones to come at me directly.” She sniffed, “I so detest being wrong. But that’s neither here nor there.”
“So what does that have to do with me?”
“It has everything to do with your my dear Mr. Meade. You were my variable,” she murmured while caressing his hair. “If you want a balanced equation, you must always have a constant and a variable. Mr. Meade, were my variable. You see, Cassandra told me of my security’s chief’s ambitions, but she did not tell me the best way to eliminate him. He has never been the most loyal soldier, but I always thought I could count on him to keep me alive.
“Once I learned from Cassandra that Hugh was planning my untimely demise, I used Cassandra to run thousands of simulations and viewed hundreds of scenarios.”
She moved slowly along the railing looking out with, Meade couldn’t quite describe the look Corcoran had on her face, but the closest he could say was love. She loved Cassandra like a mother would a defenseless child.
“This kind of power allows me to run any simulation I want, with whatever variables to find the best possible outcome. For a while there, I was stuck. No matter how many variables I introduced, or whatever situations I came up with, they always eventually ended with my death. Finding the right scenario with all the right pre-conditions was becoming difficult. To makes things worse, I was running out of time. Hugh had already robbed me of an improved algorithm I might have been able to use to find a more acceptable scenario. I was certain that there was no escape for me and that I was doomed to die at my security chief’s hands to help Laszlo consolidate his power.
“That is, until you came along,” Corcoran purred in his ear. “I love the Zero-G fights and I knew of your fight with Chau, but no one expected the kind of show you put on for us all. Once I witnessed you take the man apart in the ring, I knew you were the one for me.”
She turned and moved back to Cassandra shutting off the video of the couple’s tragic end. She tapped a few more buttons on the console and the displays shut off around him.
“After I found you, I was able to figure out what the right scenario would be so that I would be able to survive and eliminate Hugh and Laszlo all at the same time. All I had to do was nudge the proper pieces in place. It was Cassandra who alerted me of your connection to the captain’s daughter. All I had to do was have Sarah Gonzalez allowed to leave her post so she could approach you for help.
“I would remain in control and I could seal off this cavern from anyone else who might seek to control Cassandra. Afterwards, it was a simple matter to allow Hugh to have an opportunity to send his National Directive men up to the Madera to kidnap my body man and steal the algorithm. Cassandra showed me everything that happened, from the crash of the Madera to your little run through the marketplace.”
“What does me being a variable have to do with anything?”
“I keep trying to explain to you Mr. Meade, but you remain frustratingly stupid,” Corcoran sighed. “Equations must be balanced or else you run into uncertainty. If you can control the uncertainty in your equation, then you can control the outcome.
“I am the constant in New Plymouth. Like the sun that rises in the east and sets in the west, my presence here on this planet will never change. Cassandra needs structure to work. Which is why I play my theme at precisely determined places and times. Giving Cassandra that structure allows the program to readjust to any variables that may not be adding up correctly.”
“You used me…” Meade said slowly.
“Oh, don’t be offended Mr. Meade,” Corcoran purred in his ear. “I use everyone in New Plymouth to achieve my goals. You were a pleasant surprise during this whole distasteful transaction, I’m quite grateful to you for your help through all this. Because of your meddling over the last few days, I have all the pieces in place so that I can confidently expose Hugh’s treachery and his connection to Laszlo which will allow me to finally rid New Plymouth of that infernal Warlord.”
Meade was shocked. He didn’t know what to say in response to all this new information. His head was swirling with the idea that every move he had made over the last few days had been written out for him already.
“So now what do we do?” Meade asked. “I get the feeling that you telling me all this don’t exactly bode well for my future health.”
Corcoran smiled, “Now Mr. Meade, we do what we always do after every equation has been solved. You use to me is finished. I do not wish to kill you, though it’s perfectly within my rights to do so, but I’d rather allow you to live as reward for your service to me. But, as it is after every equation, the variable must be disposed of. You my friend are headed for Enzeli prison where you will serve out the rest of your natural born life.”
Meade’s stomach sunk as he heard the name of New Plymouth’s most infamous prison. Co
rcoran lowered Meade’s pistol as two Coalition MPs entered the room and stood impassively behind the Ambassador.
“Take Mr. Meade to Enzeli and install him into the cloud. I imagine his fellow prisoners will have quite a nice welcoming party waiting for him.”
Meade turned, ready to flee, but was quickly grabbed by Corcoran’s guards. He struggled against their grip and screamed in anger as he attempted to get away, but it was no use. The Guard’s powersuits gave them increased strength and he was powerless against it. Corcoran turned on her heel and headed for the door while they restrained him placing him in cuffs.
“You won’t get away with this Corcoran!” Meade screamed, “I swear it!”
“And who’s going to stop me Mr. Meade?” Corcoran questioned as she walked away. “Don’t worry, you’ll be taken care of quite nicely inside Enzeli. Please take him away gentlemen. I don’t wish to be disturbed by his cries any longer.”
The guards nodded and Meade was dragged away while Corcoran exited Cassandra’s server room.
Chapter Twenty One
The guards dragged him down the hallway and while he did his best to fight and struggle against their grip the whole way, their powersuits gave them all the strength they needed to make his escape impossible. They moved down a blank looking hallway for a few hundred feet until they reached an elevator that took them deep down into the Martian bedrock where the Enzeli prison had been constructed.
“Let me go you overgrown piece of steroid shit!” Meade roared. The two guards threw him down to the ground and Meade rolled until he landed against the opposing wall with a resounding “Oof!”
“Thanks…” Meade said sarcastically rubbing his injured head. The guards ignored him and moved to the opposite end of the wall where a terminal was set up. Meade checked his fingers for blood and after deciding that they hadn’t damaged him too much, took stock of his surroundings.
It was stark white with no furniture, lines, or even an entrance where they must have come in. It wasn’t a particularly large room, barely fourteen by twelve feet. There was no paint, and nothing to distinguish where he was, or what this room was used for. It didn’t look like any torture chamber Meade had ever seen or heard of, but then, the Coalition didn’t exactly advertise what those looked like.
“Better than my first apartment, but it lacks a woman’s touch in here, don’t you think?” Meade asked, hoping to get a reaction out of one of his guards.
They continued to ignore him while they typed on the terminal. Meade looked at his handcuffs and considered his situation. The MPs were wearing powersuits, powerful pieces of technology that allowed them to carry large amounts of heavy, high powered weaponry as well as the latest in defense tech. He wasn’t about to take them on without any weapons to even the odds.
Meade twisted his handcuffs, hoping that the duraplating steel they used might have some weakness. If he had some a pin or a length of wire, he might be able to pick the lock, but so far he had no luck finding anything he could use in the barren room.
A panel seemed to melt out of the wall, appearing next to one of the guards who watching him. He shouldered his rifle and moved towards the panel, typing quickly on the display. The panel flipped down and revealed a medical bed that was covered in wires and IV lines. It rolled out from inside the walls and the guard busied himself over the bed, preparing it presumably for him.
Meade’s face went white and he began beating his hand against the wall as hard as he was able. If there wasn’t any wire to be had, he might be able to break his thumb and slide out of the handcuffs that way. Unfortunately, one of the guards noticed what he was doing and grabbed him and lifting him roughly off the ground.
“Easy there,” he said as the guard pushed him towards the bed, “You could at least buy me dinner first.”
The MP lifted his gauss rifle and aimed it at Meade.
“Strip,” he ordered.
“Skipping right to it eh?” Meade asked. “You sure do know how to make a girl feel wanted.”
“Strip or I’ll do it for you,” the guard said menacingly. Meade glanced at the rifle in his hands and back at the MP.
“All right, I’ll play your game,” Meade replied. He slowly removed his boots, pants and shirt. Stripped down to his undies, he stood proudly in front of the two guards.
“Anything else?” he quipped.
“Get on the bed,” the guard ordered.
Meade swallowed and sat on the edge. The guard removed his handcuffs and locked them on the railing next to him.
The guard who had been working the terminal appeared next to Meade with a syringe that he plunged into his neck. Meade cried out in surprise and he looked back in shock at the guard who had injected him.
“Hey… that wasn’t very…” Meade felt his legs and body go wobbly and he collapsed on the bed next to him. The world around him faded, and for some stupid reason the instructions he was sending to his legs his brain weren’t connecting.
He felt one of the guards push him (not so gently) onto the strange looking medical bay bed that had appeared out of the solid white wall. Barely able to keep his eyes open, he watched as the guards began clipping wires all over his forehead. They brought down a wire harness and secured his jaw with a medieval looking device that clamped his head into place. Finally, through the haze of the drugs they had injected into him, he felt the faint pinch of the guard hooking up an IVs into his arm. After that, the world faded away from his vision.
He woke to find himself in a strange place with a splitting headache. He groaned and sat up, holding his head in his hands. Everything felt so strange, and, odd. Meade couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something off about how he felt. This was no ordinary headache, it was as if he were listening to static as loud as he could inside his head.
However, that wasn’t even his chief concern at the moment. For whatever reason, whoever dumped him, took all his clothing. He was completely stark naked. He looked down at his missing clothing and chuckled. It wasn’t the first time he’d woke up with a splitting headache and missing his clothing, but it was certainly the strangest.
He looked down beside him and saw a pile of clothing neatly folded as if it were waiting there for him. He dressed quickly, pulling the plain white cotton t-shirt over his broad shoulders and hopping into the pants one leg at a time.
Dressed, he got up and moved through a large room that looked like it might have been part of a warehouse once upon a time. There wasn’t much left of the walls however, as several dozen holes were scattered through the thin exterior metal sheeting. It was a cheap war-weary building that had been through hell at some point.
Meade moved towards the edge of the building he found himself in and quickly found a dirty window. He cleaned it off with his palm, looked outside and gasped.
He wasn’t on Mars anymore – or at least if he were it wasn’t anywhere he’d ever seen before. Through the splitting headache, he had vague memories of the Ambassador threatening to send him to Enzeli prison, the virtual gulag where the Coalition kept its more dangerous criminals. Yes, that was it. That’s where he was.
From the view outside, it was clear that the Enzeli prison was not designed to look like Mars. Instead of the constant reddish brown haze, it was cold, dreary and grey. It wasn’t raining exactly, but the air had that damp chill to it that made you realize you were in for a long and dreary day. Meade had never seen rain before beyond what he’d seen in broadcasts that took place on the Homeworld, so the premise of water falling from the sky triggered some primeval unease in his brain. He swallowed and backed away from the window slowly.
For the first time in his life, Meade didn’t know what to do next. Because of that uncertainty, he felt the cold seed of panic plant itself deep within his gut. There was no escaping from Enzeli, not from the inside. It simply wasn’t possible. His body was in the real world sleeping in a near coma-like state, doomed to be locked away as a prisoner within his own mind. Outside, time would pass normal
ly, days might turn into weeks, but in here, for every second that passed on the outside, Meade would have to endure weeks, if not months of time passing.
Meade noticed suddenly that he was shaking. Forcing himself to stop, he thought about his situation. Rule number 19, Fear hurts - think your way out. There was nothing in the world he couldn’t outthink – even the seemingly hopeless situation he found himself in had to have some sort of solution, some way for him to escape and get out.
But, even as his mind raced, he had the cold realization that Emeline, Sarah and Kansas couldn’t possibly know where the Ambassador had taken him - for all they knew he was dead and deep in some hole in the Martian plain. Meade sank to his knees as depression and panic threatened to take hold and never let go.
He was alone. Completely and utterly alone, with no one who knew where he was, or could help him escape.
Voices floating through the air shook him out of his reverie and he stood, looking for somewhere he could hide out of sight from whomever the hell was approaching. Enzeli networked the criminal’s minds inside together so that the prison was a shared experience for all currently under the jurisdiction of the Coalition justice system. This was done to keep the people inside from going insane from the isolation.
Meade didn’t know who it was that was coming for him, but if they were in Enzeli, they probably weren’t the good guys.
Two men poked their heads into the warehouse and shined a torch into the dark space.
“Where is he?” The first whispered to the other, “Source promised us this was where he’d land.”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” the other snapped back. “If he’s in here, he just heard your dumbass.”
They moved cautiously through the crowded warehouse, the light sweeping over the crowded room. One of the men knocked a box to the floor and the sound reverberated throughout.
“Careful!” The second man hissed. Meade kept his head low, watching them as they searched through the warehouse.