furtl

by Strobe Witherspoon

  6.5

  “The reason I went there was because it was the most remote place I could find on the planet,” Manny told the group, which had assembled in the dining room for some soysage and to hear about his findings. The air was thick with the sugary smell of LSDollipops.

  “The symbols in the computer correspond to the symbols and language structure used by the hill tribes of western Bhutan,” Manny said, unable to contain his enthusiasm.

  “The Annamanagurj tribe,” Francesca said.

  “Yes!” Manny proclaimed. “The most obscure language on the planet.”

  “Does that mean small pox is off the table?” Muffin Top asked.

  “I’m not finished, so let’s not all celebrate just yet. The code’s cracked, but there are still three layers of encryption left for me to make my way through — and they are actually not part of the HoloTab. They are furtl encryption codes that allow access to the voting machines that then link the contact info from this machine to the fmail server, and so now I need to figure out how to link the HoloNet data to the furtl cloud portal to access the fmail system. Not an easy task. But – and this is an important ‘but’ – the furtl encryption code is the same from my days there. I think I can do it in about…”

  Basil walked into the room. He looked startled to see the meeting. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize there was a meeting in progress. I just finished my third straight shift in the infirmary. I could use a break, if that’s okay.”

  “Why don’t you see if Benson is around?” Francesca told Basil. “Your dedication to the children’s infirmary has impressed us all. Congratulations. Soon you will be a full-fledged member of the Leftea party.”

  “Great! This means a whole heck of a lot to me. I didn’t interrupt anything important, did I?”

  “Important?” Francesca asked. “Well, we’re on the verge of hacking into the administration and bringing them down. So, yeah, it’s important. And Manny here is a genius.”

  “Amazing, just amazing,” Basil said. He lingered in the doorway, staring at them for longer than was comfortable for everybody in the room.

  “I think Benson is outside playing hacky sack,” Chadwick said.

  “Okay, I’ll go find him.” Basil exited.

  6.6

  Francesca walked into the computer room to find Manny sprawled out on the decaying hardwood floor. He was lying on his stomach and fiddling with the exposed back of the Holospace. “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “Almost there.”

  “Okay. I just wanted to say thanks for all your help. Sri Chin would be proud of your commitment.”

  “No problem.”

  “So what happens when you get this information out?”

  “The American people will decide that.”

  “You think it’ll work?”

  “I believe in them. It’s almost ready. Just one more level of encryption and I will be able to put together the blast email to the entire American voting public that contains all the vote massaging evidence I could find.”

  6.7

  During a bathroom break Manny looked outside the window and noticed Basil pacing the perimeter of the house. When his profile passed by the bathroom window Manny focused on his glasses. Manny hadn’t noticed earlier, but Basil’s spectacles looked like they might be third generation furtl glasses, or fglasses (the proper pronunciation was flasses – the g was silent), but Manny couldn’t get a good look.

  First generation fglasses came out in 2014, allowing the user to surf the web, take pictures, video chat, update their status, walk, and buy chewing gum at the same time. At first, they were a curiosity. But by the second generation of fglasses released in 2016, the price came down and much of the nausea and dizziness that users complained about was taken care of with a topical sea sickness pharmaceutical solution, Dizzitor™, which was affixed to the side of the glasses and penetrated the frontal lobes of the wearer. By version 3.0, which increased the resolution and improved the eyeball movement recognition hardware on the device, the glasses started to gain acceptance in everyday society. That is until fglasses-related injuries became commonplace. Also, people who wore the glasses regularly became unable to walk around without them due to a severe addiction to Dizzitor™. When healthcare insurance companies refused to reimburse individuals for Dizzitor™ dependence therapy (DDT), the glasses’ popularity took a nosedive. There was no fourth generation of the fglasses.

  Intrigued and concerned by Basil’s glasses, Manny walked to the back door of the house to see if he could get a better look. He cracked the door and stuck his head outside. Basil now had his back to Manny and was standing about twenty feet away, navigating the perimeter of the tent camp. Manny walked outside and hid behind a tent as Basil passed by.

  Basil looked around to see if anybody was looking. When he thought he was in the clear he started talking to nobody. “Hey fglasses, email time. Subject: Activity update. Body: The harvest has yielded unexpected fruits for the season. See attached video for details of impending operation starring crop disruptor M Kahn. I will stand by for further instructions. Attach video MK1. Send message.”

  Manny sat still as Basil walked by. After Basil made his way into the house, Manny followed, making a direct line for the computer room.

  Basil’s message made its way through the DCS channels and onto Susie’s desk in four minutes.

  Francesca saw Manny’s frantic figure race through the living room and she followed him into the computer room. When she saw Manny packing up the Holospace and the decommissioned GPS-less furtl phone he planned to use for the blast email, she grabbed his arm. “What’s happening?”

  “We have to get out of here.”

  “What?”

  “Destroy these computers!” Manny started ripping out the memory boards and stuffing them in a plastic bag.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Do it!”

  Francesca helped Manny destroy the memory boards.

  Four minutes and 45 seconds later Manny felt a twinge in his stomach.

  Francesca’s confusion turned to terror when she heard the gun shots from the living room.

  Through the crack in the computer room Manny saw Muffin Top drop his ketamine brownie batter as he took a number of bullets to the chest and legs. He hit the ground.

  Manny heard more gunfire. Chadwick had run outside and made a break for the garbage wall perimeter. A contingent of DCS agents promptly showered him with bullets.

  DCS agents armed to the hilt were following their handheld GPS beacons to the computer room. Manny turned to the window. Francesca was already half way through the window and Manny followed suit.

  Manny landed on his shoulder, protecting the tablet and his furtl phone on the way down. When he got to his feet, he saw Francesca pulling up an unoccupied tent to reveal a deep hole in the ground. She climbed down the hole’s ladder and Manny followed, just making it into the hole amidst a hail of bullets tearing through the discarded tent.

  Twenty rungs down the hole’s ladder they came to a tunnel that had been dug by former occupants that were fearful of a Chinese nuclear attack. After about three minutes of crawling, they came upon an abandoned bomb shelter. It contained a bible, a bedframe, and some rusty tools. The air had a mildewed thickness to it. Francesca stood up dusted herself off, and started looking around with panic in her eyes. “Whahappened!?”

  “They found me,” Manny said, also panting, with his hands on his knees.

  “How?”

  “My wife.”

  “What?”

  “She injected me with a GPS tracker before I escaped.”

  In fact, Mindy was with Susie when the latter found out about Manny’s plan. After a few seconds of feigned surprise, Mindy broke down and told Susie everything, about his escape and about her failsafe measure, the device in his stomach. She then handed over the GPS tracking beacon, her hands shaking as she did it. Susie then transmitted the beacon’s coordinates to the DCS force already e
n route to the Leftea compound.

  “Unfuckinbelievable!” Francesca shouted.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

  “They’re gonna find you. I’m out of here,” Francesca said, turning for the exit ladder on the other side of the room. “Don’t follow me!”

  “You have to help me.”

  “Screw that. You’re on your own.”

  “WWSCVD?”

  “Don’t you pull that ‘What would Sri Chin do?’ crap on me,” Francesca said.

  Manny grabbed a rusty knife hanging on a wall. He was able to grab Francesca’s arm just before she got to the ladder that led to higher ground. He looked straight into her eyes. “Sri Chin would carve the shit out of my stomach,” he said.

  Francesca froze with anger.

  “I need you to cut this tracker out of me. Just dig in there and carve,” Manny said.

  “No way.”

  “Mr. Dinkleberry,” Manny whispered.

  Francesca looked at Manny, and he could see that she changed her mind. She grabbed the rusty knife and cut Manny’s stomach about an eighth of an inch deep and sliced along the one inch diameter that Manny pointed to. She rubbed her hand over the area and paused. “I think I feel it pulsating,” she said.

  “Take it out,” Manny said, sweat forming on his forehead.

  Francesca stuck her two fingers into Manny’s now bleeding wound and spread the wound further.

  Manny screamed with the strength of a thousand Bhutanese monks. Francesca jabbed her fingers deeper into his stomach. He grabbed a discarded cloth from the ground and shoved it in his mouth to contain his screams. The strong taste of moist dirt did not prevent him from biting down on it. Francesca dug her fingers in deeper.

  “I think I got it,” she said. Tears ran down Manny’s red face. He was afraid he was going to lose consciousness just as Francesca slowly withdrew her fingers from his stomach, revealing a thin pulsating green gel about the size and firmness of a miniature wet chopstick. When she got it all out of his stomach, she threw it against the wall. “Let’s go. Now!” she said, and she grabbed the HoloTablet from Manny.

  Manny grabbed the pulsating GPS beacon, shoved the cloth from his mouth into the bloody stomach wound, and bolted for the ladder. He summoned all the adrenaline he could to make it up the ladder just as the DCS began firing on the bunker from the tunnel.

  Outside, in the forest behind the Leftea compound, Manny hit a functional, if somewhat stilted, gallop and was able to keep up with and ultimately pass the un-athletic Francesca. As he passed her, he saw her face go blank as bullets pierced her shoulder and back. He grabbed her as she fell to the ground.

  More bullets hit her leg as Manny dragged her to a protected area behind a large tree stump. He threw the GPS beacon as far as he could in order to buy himself some time.

  Francesca was now the one shaking. Her face was losing color as Manny sat her on the ground. Manny sat with his back against a tree and brought her limp body over his legs and propped up her back with his arms. She mustered up the energy to lift her arms from her stomach, where she had been hugging the HoloTablet. She looked up at Manny and presented him the tablet, her arms struggling as if she were trying to lift a small car. “Take it,” she said, out of breath.

  “You’re gonna make it.” Manny knew she wouldn’t. He could hear the DCS closing in on their position, rustling through the forest like a team of determined attack dogs. He heard one of them bark orders to others in the distance, the voice growing nearer by the second.

  “Take the tablet and go,” Francesca said, shaking more now. Her eyes were thin, fluttering slits.

  Manny heard the oncoming DCS agents again. He had at best ten seconds before they would discover his location. Manny looked at Francesca as the life drained from her face. “You have done Sri Chin Vanderweiss and Mr. Dinkleberry proud,” he said. “The movement will never forget your sacrifice, Francesca.” He took the tablet from her hands, gingerly laid her back down while sliding his legs out from under her, and took off into the woods.

  The DCS followed the beacon to find their quarry, which bought Manny a few extra minutes as his gangly injured body galloped through the woods of exurban Virginia.

  After trotting along for about twenty minutes, Manny found his way back to Main Street and tried to walk inconspicuously, but he was in immense pain and so limped as much as he strolled. He came upon the FASTMART. He walked in and gave a nod to the cashier, pretending that they were old friends. The cashier, an old man in an ill-fitting orange uniform, looked at him with suspicion but didn’t say anything. Manny saw a bathroom key sitting on the checkout counter. He grabbed it with a strained attempt at nonchalance and walked toward the bathroom.

  Inside the bathroom, Manny sat down on the floor and tried to clean up his wound with toilet paper and paper towels. Mostly what he did was cover the cold tiled floor with blood. Realizing this was a futile endeavor, he focused his attention on the HoloTablet, which he removed from under his jacket. It was now covered in blood, but it was still functional.

  Five minutes in, he cracked the second to last layer of encryption and began preparing the email to send to the American people. The evidence from the Holospace machine could now be sent over the furtl network, and Manny was close to accessing the email database. As he neared completion, a loud pounding sound came from the door.

  “Yo! Open this door, bitch!” a man screamed from the other side of the door.

  “One second,” Manny hastily replied, reaching over and flushing the toilet. “Be out soon.”

  “I’m sick,” the man from the other side replied.

  “Me too,” Manny said. “One second.”

  “Open this shit now! I can’t wait no longa!”

  Manny continued to direct his furious attention on the tablet. “Almost finished,” he yelled, his voice echoing in the enclosed space.

  The banging got louder. “I can’t wait no mo.” The person on the other side started to kick down the door. He succeeded in busting the door open on his third kick. Manny was the only thing between this man — skinny, unkempt, the sores on his face suggesting he enjoyed fermentil with his breakfast — and the toilet. Ferm-face almost made it but not quite. He ROF’d all over Manny and the Holospace machine. Manny got up and started wiping down the machine, which still seemed to be working. Ferm-face perched over the toilet and settled in for a few more minutes of violent digestion reversal. A crowd gathered at the doorway to see the commotion. Manny, bloody and covered in vomit, limped to the exit.

  The cashier looked at him as he passed. “I know who you are!” he yelled. “You’re the terrorist I seen from that furtl news feed.” The cashier pulled out a shotgun from behind the counter. “You hate freedom!” He pointed the shotgun at Manny. Manny broke into a painful, disjointed jog toward the exit as if he had a washing machine on his shoulders. He made it out the door as what sounded like an explosive device detonating in his eardrum deafened him and hundreds of sharp pains erupted from his back where shards of glass from the shattered storefront window and lead pellets entered his body. Slowed down, Manny continued his agonizing escape from the parking lot and limped onto Main Street.

  As he limped down the street slower and slower with each step, he realized that he had nothing left in the tank. He made his way about twenty yards to the ELECTROMART. The storefront window was wallpapered with TVs of all shapes and sizes. He propped himself up against the outside wall of the store and began working on the HoloTablet. He uploaded all of the vote massage files, videos, and correspondence that he could. Then he started working on the last layer of encryption, all the while his image flashed across the TVs above him with banners that read “armed and dangerous” in flashing bold red font.

  The last network security layer he had to crack was just a traditional password. Manny was happy to realize that nobody bothered to change it — p@sswordpower59! — since his days at the firm. He was sitting in a growing pool of his own blood and lacked the strength
to lift the Holospace. His arms unresponsive, his vision blurry, he looked at the HoloTablet sitting on his lap, resting on his pants that were now a dark shade of red and covered in ROF. His head felt lighter, less secured to his shoulders. There was the “send” hologram hovering right in front of him. It taunted him, stomach high, about twelve inches from his body. But with his arms barely listening to what his brain had to say, the button might as well have been three football fields away.

  Manny looked at his limp arm. The catchphrases that came to his clouded mind ranged from the mundane to the absurd: You can do it, be the ball, may the Schwartz be with you. Then he heard sirens in the distance and knew he was down to his one last at bat. Manny was not a baseball fan, but for some reason that was how he chose to frame these final moments in the execution of his plan. Maybe it was the image of the all-American game that he needed. Maybe he was just delirious. Mustering all his energy, he managed to get enough movement out of his arm to move it over the hologram area. With absolute concentration, he squeezed his fingers together over the “send” hologram, initiating the grab function of the machine. He flicked his hand upward, finishing the motion. As the sirens grew louder, he watched the upload hologram near completion. Then he passed out, his back creating a languorous squeak as it slid against the glass wall from its upright position toward the pavement, just as DCS vans screeched up onto the sidewalk and agents descended upon him from all directions.

  chapter 7

  Consciousness came and went over the next few days. Pain in Manny’s midsection combined with handcuffs attached to his hospital bed curtailed his movement. Sometimes he noticed people milling about his metal hospital bed, and sometimes they asked him questions about how he felt. He mumbled responses about massages and algorithms and GPS trackers. Frequently these memories mixed in with the image of someone standing over him with a syringe, speaking to him in ways that he found confusing and disingenuous, including: “This should make you feel better,” and “You’re going to be just fine.”